Bound in Desire: Love's Dark Hold Amidst the Zombie Apocalypse

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Mason picks up my bag and opens and rummages through it. Annoyance fills my veins.

"Nothing of any use to us." He says zipping the bag up.

"Well, toss it back then," I say with an outstretched my arm.

"I think I'm going to hold onto it for now." He sides the bag over his shoulder.

"I'm not sure why you would want to keep women's clothing; that's a bit weird, don't you think? They certainly wouldn't fit you." I say annoyed.

Being robbed even though they said they had no use for any of the items I was carrying.

Lincoln laughs muffled.
"I think you would be right; they wouldn't fit either of us, but you know who they would fit?" He asks me

"We already established they fit me; that's why they are in my bag. Now the question I'm asking is, Why would you keep them if they don't fit you?" I say agitation laced heavily in my tone.

"Oh, I think you answered your question," Mason says beside me as he smugly smirks in a cocky nature.

I laugh plainly. "That's not happening. Trust me, I won't be going back to your house or bothering you or anything like that." I say monotone and sincerity.

Mason's voice was firm as he addressed me, "It's not like you are really in a position to be arguing with us. None of us are going back to that house. We only stayed there overnight while we were out scouting. So, follow us and don't make things difficult. I promise you, if I have to carry you, I will. But I'm not sure you will like the ramifications of that." With a gentle push, he urged me to move forward.

"Fine, whatever can I have my water in my bag?" I ask, looking at Mason holding my bag.

"Here," Lincoln says, shoving a big bottle into my side.

"I want my water," I say untrustingly.

Mason looks into my bag and rolls his eyes.
"This?" He asks, holding up the practically empty bottle up in the air for me to see.

"Yes," I say, holding. My hands out or catch it.

Until he opens it and pours the small amount on the ground.

The water Lincoln offered still pressed against my back.

"Now do you want to take this water or do you want to be thirsty?" Lincoln asks smugly as he watches the childish display in front of him.

Carefully, I take the offering of water.

"You can have however much you want; just drink it slowly," Lincoln says sternly.

I drink the cool water, feeling nice water against my dry throat.
Until the water is softly taken from my mouth.

"I said slowly; otherwise, you are likely to get sick," Lincoln says.
He puts the water back in his bag.

"Let's go and go back to the sanctuary," Lincoln says.

Lincoln pushes me to signal me to walk.

I stand my ground.

"Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I'm not going with you," I say carefully.

"That a fact, girl?" Mason asks me with a plain face.

Until he strolls over to Lincoln and me.
Flicking his knife open and pressing it to my throat.

"Is that a fact, girl?" he repeated more sternly.

The knife was slightly dogging into my skin, but not enough to cut me.

"Fine, I'll follow. Just take the knife away from my throat," I say, still noticing that Lincoln is off to my side holding his gun.

"Good girl, you just need some persuasion," he says, putting the knife back into his pocket.

He doesn't look behind him as we walk to the front and opens the gate.

"What's your name?" Lincoln asks me.

I tune him out. I refuse to respond just because they're pressuring me to go with them.
As we walk aimlessly in who knows what direction.

Mason stops walking, turning around, and looks sternly at me.

"Unless you only want to be called a girl. I suggest you tell us your name, girl," he says to me smugly, as though he knew it annoyed me.

I sigh the sound escaping my lips. "Emmaline," I say.

"Okay. Emmaline. Are you hungry?" Lincoln asks me.

My stomach practically eating itself, growling painfully.

"Kinda, i guess," I say awkwardly, uncomfortable with his gun still pointed at me.

Mason hearing the conversation stops.

"Toss me your bag, Lincoln," Mason says
The exchange was quick, and I wasn't able to retrieve it even if I tried.

There was a log.

"Sit down," Lincoln says, gesturing to the log.

Mason pulled out a rope from Lincoln's bag.
"Hold out your wrists. Nothing is going to happen. We just can't have you running off while we make something to eat," Mason says to me softly, guiding me to the log I was standing next to.

I sit down and hold out my wrists. He wraps my wrists with rope with ease, leaving a lead. He attaches the rope to his pants.

Lincoln puts his gun away, and a breath of relief leaves my lips.

Mason grabs the black trash bag out of his bag and pulls out a squirrel.
Before Lincoln walks away.

Mason took out his knife and started to skin the dead squirrel.

He looks up every now and then as he butchers this squirrel.

Lincoln comes back with some logs and twigs.
"We will eat and then continue. We will have to stop in between; it's a long trip," he says as he starts the fire.

Helping me stay warm my small jacket doing very little to keep me warm.

Lincoln pulled out a pan.

Once Mason had butchered the squirrel, he cut it up, dropping it into the pan.

Lincoln stirs it with a spoon he pulled from this bag.

Slowly, the unfamiliar smell of cooked squirrel fills the air.

Slowly Lincoln adds broth and drained vegetables, heating it.

"Emmaline, how long have you been by yourself? Where is your family?" Mason asks suddenly as he stirs the soup.