Almawt Virus Series (Book 3): Days Since...Jenny [Day 986]

by Wilson, Robert

  “Probably something outside like scavenging through houses, stores—things like that.”

  “I thought I saw something different in you. You like danger. You're not like the other women here. There's something special behind those eyes. How old are you?”

  “I'm... sixteen.”

  “Hmmm. I would've guessed you were at least twenty. You just carry yourself that way. I like that. Maybe after a few more weeks of getting your feet wet around here, I can get you on Danny's team. Derrick's there now, but he's expressed interest in working sentry duty. Maybe we can work a transition for the both of you.”

  “I'd like that.”

  “I figured you would. You and Danny seem to have hit it off pretty quick. You two have something going on there?”

  “No. I just— He just... What are you doing?”

  “He's my partner, and... partners share.”

  “Wait... What? There's nothing to share. He's just a friend. Danny reminds me of my dad. That's it! That's all! What the hell?”

  “Well maybe I can be your daddy...”

  “Get off! Get the fuck off me!”

  “Nuh uh uh. Another outburst like that and...”

  “You can't—”

  “Oh, I can. And you'll let me. If not, you won't see past the end of the day. And if you say anything to anyone, run off, anything like that, your two friends won't make it either. So, how about we get started by taking off that top?”

  Jenny woke in a filthy sweat, heaving her blankets to the floor. Only a dream. It didn’t happen again. Her hand trembled toward the lantern and turned it on. She winced, but the sight of her empty tent calmed her shallow breaths, her racing heart. It wasn't the first time she'd awoken like this. Not by a long shot. The mere presence of Griffin, the thought of him, triggered the nightmare of what he had done to her.

  At first, she considered fleeing the Depot, but couldn't. The fear of Griffin following through on his threat to end her life, and worse, her friends', had stopped her. Now, it was the painful realization that finding something better might not be possible. Everywhere she turned seemed no better than the last—the Second Alliance, Griffin, and most recently, several maniacs shooting up a neighborhood for no apparent reason.

  Griffin had happened only once.

  She had convinced herself she could deal with only once...

  Shivering from the sweat and frigid air, she lay there, her stomach still knotted due to Griffin's unexpected visit and Danny's pending decision. The uncertainty tormented her. If Danny chose to keep her grounded, then encounters with Griffin would only become more frequent. The nightmares, more frequent. She could only hope Danny would do the right thing, but oftentimes his idea of what constituted right conflicted with hers.

  If I could just tell him... Then he'd know it's not just me being stubborn or difficult, or whatever he convinced himself I'm trying to do. She sighed. But what if he wouldn't believe me? Or what if he already knows and doesn't care? No, that's not possible. He'd never stand for that. Danny's one of the good guys. I can't—

  A rustling came from the side of her tent, loud and inconsiderate. It might not have been intended for attention, but it certainly grabbed hers. Out of habit, especially with what happened last night, she covered her exposed body with one of the blankets from the floor. Nervously, she listened, anticipating the sliding against the nylon wall of her tent to round the corner toward the front. But it didn't, whoever brought the disturbance finally passed by completely. There could've been plenty of reasons for the commotion. Someone doing rounds. Someone simply walking past as it seemed in this case. Or Griffin, coming back.

  Why, after two months of barely a nod given in passing, had Griffin sought her out again? And in her tent? He's not that stupid. There'd be no hiding it. But—But what if Danny hadn't come when he did? What would've happened then? What the hell did he want? He's up to something. I just... If Danny doesn't let me continue with the scouting, it's only gonna get worse. She bit her lip, dreading the day ahead of her, managing only a huff, a sigh.

  The anxiety that had built up inside made her unable or unwilling to rise from the lounger. Instead, she lay there alone, forcing herself to find something positive in the moment to take her mind off the bad. For now, the warmth of her blanket would suffice. Underneath it, she traced along her bare skin, taking her fingertips across the receding goosebumps and down to her belly where she hesitated.

  With a frail smile, she whispered, “How could I forget about you?” Her lips quivered. Quickly, she forced them into a smile. Fear and regret weren't things she planned to share with her baby. “I love you. You probably can’t hear me, though, huh?” Her chest fluttered through a whimpered chuckle as tears blurred the soft glow of the lantern. “I'm scared, you know?” she continued through her soft crying. “I am, but I'll never let you know that. I'll always make the hard choices for us, so you don't have to.” A deep breath in. “The world's crazy, but you'll never know any different. I promise, by the time you come, I'll find us somewhere safe, or I'll make it myself. Somewhere not crazy at all. Nothing bad will ever happen to you. Too many people will love you. Too many people will fight for you.” Determined, she stood, brushing away her tears. Danny's not telling me no today. Not today.

  Wrapped in her blanket, she shambled toward the front of the tent to check the zipper but stopped. After only a few steps, her bladder began screaming at her. Whoa! Where's that bucket? Hurriedly, she snatched it from under the lounger and fitted her toilet seat on top. There we go... She relieved herself, and once finished, set it to the side so she could check the door to her tent before slipping into a pair of cargo pants.

  While dressing, Jenny realized the mess that had accumulated over the past day. So before leaving, she straightened up her space. The blankets. Books. Clothing. A few odds and ends on her table. A quick spritz of perfume finished its refresh. “Much better. And now”—she inhaled sharply—“we don't take no for an answer.”

  Carefully, she rolled the zipper, doing her best to be more considerate than the last person who had walked past. She slipped her head through the partial opening in the door, holding her breath, still nervous about Griffin. After a few glances, it seemed she'd be alone, so Jenny eased from the tent, bucket in hand. Immediately, she braved taking a breath to get it out of the way—no small feat by any means. Moist and heavy, one could feel the air. It wasn't taken in breaths. In the “Cave,” where most the Depot residents slept, you chewed the air.

  The Cave sat in the middle of the Depot, consisting of most the aisles from the original store's floor plan. Tarps were stretched aisle over aisle, creating a ceiling across them. Then, only along the perimeter shelves, tarps were bound along their sides for the walls. Inside the Cave, gaps had been made by pulling some of the shelving units apart, leaving just enough room for a body to sneak between aisles. And for the rest of the space, tents were lined up side-by-side. To Jenny, it reminded her of a homeless encampment she had once seen on the news a long time ago, only cleaner. I guess...

  In reality, she lived in a squatter's camp, pure and simple. Despite the conditions, she couldn't complain too much. It served its purpose. A place to sleep. A place to rest. Fortunately for her, she stayed on a perimeter aisle. Less foot traffic and it stayed quiet for the most part. But there were others that had it better. Only a few, maybe a handful, had the pleasure of one of the back offices converted into bedrooms—Griffin and Danny being two of them. Those were true luxury. A lock. Privacy. True privacy. Being able to choose who came and went.

  Following the low-voltage lighting, she squirmed her way between the tents—through the cramped pathways—underneath ropes with moist clothes and rags slung across them—tiptoeing over extension cords snaking their way across the concrete floor toward the front of the Cave. All while managing not to spill a single drop from the bucket.

  “Hey, Jenny.”

  Startled, she turned toward the line of tents behind her.

  “Just me...”
a woman in her forties mumbled through a surgical mask, tinged with brown. Tentatively, the woman shuffled forward, her heavy trench coat hung loosely over her meager frame. She made certain to keep some distance between them as she spoke. Some still played it safe. Safer than most believed was necessary nowadays. “You have anything fun on the agenda today?”

  “Fun? Doubt it.” The snarky reply caused the woman's shoulders to slump. Realizing her curtness was uncalled for, Jenny tried to lighten the blow. “But we'll see. Probably going to take it easy today.”

  “Makes sense.” The woman nodded. “Heard you weren't feeling well. You ain't sick are ya?” She forced the question quickly. Jenny could see the nervousness in her eyes, the fear.

  “Not sick. No. Just overdid it yesterday.”

  “That's good,” the woman said, visibly relieved. “No tellin' what's still floating around in the air out there.” Again, she shuffled closer to Jenny. This time, pulling a small jug from her trench coats inside pocket. “You mind running this over with yours?” Once she brought it forward into the light, Jenny realized its contents—the same as her bucket.

  “Go ahead.” Jenny set it to the floor. “I'll get yours to the yellow tank too.”

  The woman tipped her jug until it was empty, then wiped the spout with a rag she had hanging from her belt. “Thanks. I just—”

  “Don't worry about it. I was already going.” Jenny went to leave, about to push the tarp clear from the makeshift door frame that led out of the Cave, but hesitated. “You haven't seen Griffin around have you?”

  “Not in here, no. I'm not sure I'm the one to ask. You know I don't like to venture out unless I have to.” The wrinkles across the woman's forehead creased inward. “But if you'd like me to, I could ask someone in here to go out and find him? You need him now?”

  “No!”

  The woman gave her a baffled look.

  “Sorry, no.” Jenny settled her voice. “I was just wondering. Thanks, though.”

  The woman offered a quick nod before Jenny pushed the tarp clear and left.

  Jenny flinched, raising a hand to block the natural light pouring through the rectangular cutouts in the roof—numerous sections that had been punched out, framed, and filled with windows. Even with the light—that tiny bit of added warmth—the drop in temperature when exiting the Cave was noticeable. It helped remind her why the tarps were necessary. Justified the staleness of the air inside. Every time she made it out of there, Jenny eagerly sucked down a large portion of what she considered real air, no matter how frigidly cold it was.

  In front of her, a large shadow moved across the wall. A person atop the roof, one of the sentries, no doubt. She craned her neck to follow the person's path through short glimpses in the windows. They paused every so often, most likely to wipe the falling snow from the solar panels which powered the car battery banks.

  If Danny won't let me continue on the team, he could at least arrange a sentry post for me, right? I mean, why not? What could he argue? Of course, he'd find something, but he'd have to at least hear me out. I already proved I can shoot. I'd be at the Depot for regular meals and rest. It's pretty much what he wanted for me anyways, so just stick me on the damn roof with the other guys.

  I guess it'd be cold, but at least Griffin wouldn't be up there to bother me. And during my downtime, I could hang with Grant. That'd keep Griffin away from me around the clock. Win-win. This could be as easy as swapping me with Derrick. What the hell could Danny say was wrong with that?

  I'd miss Sherman, though. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. That's a lot of training I'd be wasting. I guess I could always ask Danny if he'd still let me train with him every once and awhile. Now, I'm probably getting close to asking too much. Damn it...

  At the registers in front of her, several people gathered, some standing, others relaxing on the conveyor belts, chatting between spoonfuls of stew. Jenny caught someone's attention. “Heard this is thanks to you,” a man said, lifting his spoon in the air as a salute. Jenny smiled, slightly embarrassed, but gratified with the recognition as others joined him in thanking her. They waved her over, but Jenny declined, lifting the bucket to show them her excuse why she couldn’t, unsure that if she didn’t have it, she would have obliged them anyway.

  “Come back when you can,” the man followed up. “Don't be so damn shy all the time.”

  After a polite nod, she stepped off toward the Garden Center. A few people passed her in the opposite direction, smiles plastered across their faces, hands being warmed by bowls steaming with stew. Each person made eye contact with her, speaking to her between slurps. Word had certainly gotten around.

  “Thanks, Jenny.”

  “Way to go, kid.”

  “Tastes great.”

  “It smells like it,” Jenny replied as she neared the not-so-automatic sliding doors which led to the outdoor Garden Center. She pushed one side open, leaving barely enough space for her and her bucket to squeeze through. Straight away, the air stung her face, cut through her pants—an instant pang of numbness smacked her thighs. “Whew!” She shivered. The deep freeze that greeted her and the shrill scrape of shovels across concrete sent a chill down her spine. Each breath seemed to bite back—harsh and bitter cold.

  Her way to the yellow tank and soup line was mostly unhindered. She took a swath of bare cement, sidestepping one of the younger boys shoveling paths in the fallen snow. He scooped his work into coolers near the Depot's outer wall. From there, it would be hoisted onto the roof and added to the catches. Each catch fed the rainwater (or snow in this case) down through the roof and into the filtration systems assembled upon the shelving units inside the Depot. Every bit counted. The semi-trucks full of bottled waters on the dock wouldn't last forever no matter how many times they replenished the stock. When they had nature's help, they took it. Even if it was hard work

  “Running late today, Jenny?” A middle-aged man took the bucket from her with a gloved hand and set it on the table between them. “You, Rita, and...”—he pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose then tapped his wax pencil down the clipboard, searching his list—”and Tony are the last ones I need for the day.”

  “Well, I have Rita's there, too.”

  He eyed her suspiciously, looking into the bucket, swirling its contents.

  “It's all there.” It's all there? It's not a suitcase of money. It's piss, Lars, no one's trying to steal it. Get a grip.

  “It does look like a pretty good amount.” Lars must've believed her because he checked two boxes and set the list on the table. He brought his glasses back toward the tip of his nose. “Grant told me you weren't feeling too good. Time for a break? Any way you'd cut that cowboy stuff out and join us? He said you're pretty handy with a set of tools.”

  “I'm not sure I'm ready for all that.” Jenny flicked her hands toward the yellow tank. “You guys can have it.”

  “May not look like much, but that urine's pretty important.”

  Jenny's face slumped into a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

  “I mean it. Once there's enough, we'll boil it, turning it into water and urea. We'll use the water for whatever, but the urea.” He shook his pointed finger. “The urea can be used to make fertilizer and”—he lowered his voice—“a pretty nasty explosive.”

  “I'd like to help with that.”

  “I bet you— Tony! Just the man I was looking for,” he called out. “Thanks, Jenny. I'll let Grant know you said hi.”

  “Thanks. I'll make sure to get my replacement bucket after I eat.”

  “I know you will.”

  On the adjacent table, Jenny grabbed a bowl, spoon, and cup for breakfast. One of the cooks took a jug of water from near the fire and poured her some. “Thanks,” Jenny said, but she eyed it warily. No hint of yellow. With those two stations so close together, she always checked just to be sure.

  With the next cook in line, Jenny held out her bowl, and the woman ladled in some of the stew. “Deer and potatoes,” she said
before adding a touch more and winking. “Nice job yesterday.”

  With a slight grin, Jenny nodded. “Thank you.”

  Balancing the soup and the water within their vessels, she teetered over to the lawn chairs encircling one of the burn barrels. Several conversations rose and fell around her. Voices loud and low, but for the most part respectful of one another. Some looked to Jenny as she sat in one of the empty chairs, but most ignored her, respecting her habit of never sharing her own stories. Instead, she filled her mind with their words and her belly with the stew. This stew is pretty good. A tug at her coat. Closing her eyes, she muttered, “Damn it,” thinking of only one person to ruin this. Griffin.

  “What?” Matt asked.

  Pleased at the sound of a friendly voice, Jenny turned in her seat. “I didn't say anything.”

  “Uh-huh...” Matt rolled his eyes. “You feeling better yet?”

  “Yes.” She said it firmly, although it was a borderline lie—too much still consuming her mind. At some point, she would have to tell him about the baby. He deserved to know. Still not the right time.

  “Stew's good.” Matt took a seat next to her.

  “It is. Especially because we made the kill.”

  “You made the kill,” he stressed.

  “Wouldn't have been able to do it without you guys. We're a team. Well...” She rolled her spoon through the stew. “I hope we're still a team, but I haven't heard from Danny yet.” She looked to Matt for something, any tidbit. “You know anything?”

  “Danny was impressed with your kill. Even talked you up a bit.”

  “What?!” The rise in her voice caught the attention of a few others around the fire. Jenny stopped talking to allow some of the eavesdroppers a chance to consider another conversation to take interest in. “What did he say?” she whispered.

  “Well...” he stretched the word out just enough to annoy her.