by Eden Darry
Meg couldn’t help thinking all of this was on her. True, Wendy hadn’t been the one to dig up the treasure, and if she was right about the Norse legends, then Ptown was screwed as soon as the work crew removed the treasure from Winthrop Street. But if Wendy knew—or at least suspected—that was why all this happened, why wouldn’t she just say so?
Because then she’d have to hand over the treasure and put it back in this Ivar Sigmarsson’s grave like Lane wanted. For whatever reason, Wendy didn’t want to give it up.
Meg tried to be charitable. After all, their current situation might have nothing to do with Vikings—the whole thing sounded totally far-fetched. A government experiment gone wrong did sound much more likely, but even so Wendy wasn’t even willing to contemplate it.
And now, Teensy was dead. Or worse than dead. It wasn’t fair. Meg hadn’t exactly been close with Teensy, but she’d liked her. They’d had a drink together more than a few times. Teensy hadn’t deserved to die, and if Meg found out Wendy could have prevented it, she’d kill Wendy herself.
Meg tracked Lane as she went behind the bar and poured herself a drink. A big one. Meg guessed she deserved it. Even Lois probably deserved a large Scotch. That kid was going to be messed up for life after this.
“I’ll have one too,” Meg said.
Lane nodded and got another glass. “Water?”
“No. Thank you. I consider watering down good Scotch a crime,” Meg said.
“I don’t think this is good Scotch, Meg.” Lane sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure if this is even whisky.”
“It doesn’t matter. As long as it takes the edge off,” Meg said.
“Yeah. It might do that.” Lane brought the drinks and the bottle over to the table Meg was at and sat down.
“How are you holding up?” Lane asked before she took a hefty swig of whatever was in the glass.
Meg did the same. Brandy. Cheap brandy. “I’m not sure. I mean, I’m functioning. You know, walking, talking, drinking shitty booze. Beyond that, I just can’t say. What about you?”
Lane shrugged. “I feel like I’m in a waking nightmare. Or a video game.”
“You know Wendy has that Viking zombie’s treasure, right? In her bag,” Meg whispered.
“Yeah. I know. I’ve been thinking about that. I mean, say it is this zombie. He’s had his treasure nicked, or whatever. Surely if we give it back, he’ll leave us alone. Won’t he?”
“I don’t know. I mean, the whole thing sounds crazy. But Wendy is refusing to let us look in her bag, and short of forcing her to give it to us, what can we do?” Meg asked.
“Convince her to give us the bag. I can go to his burial place or whatever it’s called, leave the treasure there, and hopefully he’ll go away,” Lane said.
“And if he doesn’t? And you end up getting killed?” Meg felt sick at the thought of Lane going back out there.
“Then at least we tried. Have you got any better ideas?” Lane drank the rest of her brandy and shivered. “God, that’s horrible.”
“You want another?” Meg asked.
“Sure.” Lane picked up the bottle and poured them another.
“The authorities must know what’s going on by now, right?” Meg said.
“You’d think so, but if they do, where are they?”
“I don’t know. But it seems ridiculous to think they have no idea what’s happening here,” Meg said.
“Unless these zombies got out and are taking over the whole country,” Lane said.
“Yeah, there is that. Way to lighten the mood, Lane.”
Lane smiled. “Sorry, is that what we were doing?”
Meg sighed. “No. We were trying to figure a way out of this mess. I vote we make Wendy give us her bag.”
“We can’t do that. We should try to talk her round first,” Lane said.
“Lane, for Christ’s sake. She’s had a ton of opportunities to give it up, but she won’t. For whatever reason, she won’t. She is not going to let us just have that bag.”
“So we take it? What if she resists? Do we fight her? Hit her?” Lane asked.
“No. Maybe? I don’t know. All I know is that there’s a good chance we’re in this mess because of her. If we are, she’s responsible for a lot of shit and doesn’t deserve any kindness.”
“Come on, Meg. She wasn’t to know this would happen,” Lane said.
“Right, but she must have figured it out pretty quickly once people started turning into fucking zombies,” Meg said, struggling to keep her voice to a whisper. “Why are you defending her?”
“I’m not. I just don’t think this is entirely her fault. She wasn’t to know. Let’s talk to her first. See what she says,” Lane said.
“Fine.” Meg nodded and looked over to the table where Wendy had been sitting. “She’s gone.”
“What?” Lane looked round too. “She can’t have gotten far.”
Meg glanced over to the pile of coats covering Lois. “Maybe she just went to the bathroom.”
Lane walked down to the back of the bar where the bathrooms were. Meg followed close behind.
Lane knocked on the door. “Wendy? Are you in there?”
“Leave me alone. Both of you,” came Wendy’s muffled response.
“We just want to talk to you, Wendy. About your bag,” Meg said.
“I know what you want. You want my treasure. Well, you can’t have it.”
Meg looked at Lane. “Can you kick the door in?” she whispered.
Lane looked shocked. “No. We aren’t kicking in any doors. She has to come out sometime.”
“And until then, we just wait out here?” Meg asked.
“Wendy?” Lane spoke to the door. “No one is trying to take your treasure. We just want to talk to you. Work out if giving him back the stuff will make all this stop.”
“It won’t. And you’re crazy. Viking zombies? Can you hear yourself?” Wendy said. Her voice was shrill, and even through the door Meg could tell Wendy was on the edge.
“You said yourself, draugr get the arse when someone takes their stuff.” Lane continued to try to reason with Wendy, which astounded Meg. Lane was kind of amazing in a crisis. “Could we not just give it back to him?” Lane asked.
“No. Don’t be stupid. This situation is an experiment, or a chemical spill. Not zombies,” Wendy replied.
Lane leaned her head against the door and Meg felt sorry for her.
“Look, Wendy,” Meg joined in. “Get out here. We can put the treasure back where it was found, and if that doesn’t work, then you can have it back. How does that sound?”
“I already told you—no. You wouldn’t be doing this if Teensy was here. Do you know how long I’ve spent studying and writing papers and trying to convince people that Vikings landed in Provincetown?”
Lane looked at Meg and shrugged. “No. But—”
“Twenty years. And now that I have proof, now that I can show all those people who told me I was wasting my time, they want to take it all off me. Send it to Boston. What is Boston going to do with it that I won’t? This treasure belongs here in Provincetown. With me.”
Lane looked at Meg and shook her head. Meg nodded. There was no point in trying to talk to Wendy.
But like Lane said, she’d have to come out sometime. And when she did, she and Lane would take the bag. They wouldn’t hurt her, but they would take the bag.
“What shall we do? Go back in the bar?” Lane asked.
“No point waiting out here. She’s not going anywhere. Only one way out, and all the doors are barred. We’ll hear her trying to get out,” Meg said.
“I don’t think she’d go out there by herself anyway. She’s terrified,” Lane said.
Meg walked back to the table and picked up their glasses. “I don’t think we should have any more of this.”
“I agree. We should probably eat, though. Is there food in the kitchen?”
“Sure. Tons of it. Sandwiches again?” Meg asked.
“
Yeah. We were lucky to get back here without running into more of them, and I don’t want the smell attracting them to us,” Lane said.
“There’s still some cold cuts and cheeses. And another loaf of bread out back.”
“Sounds good. Lois?” Lane gently shook Lois’s shoulder. “You hungry?”
The coats moved and Lois stuck her head out. “No,” she said.
“You should try to eat something even if you don’t feel like it, honey,” Meg said.
“I don’t want anything. I just want to go to sleep,” Lois said and stuck her head back under the coats.
Meg didn’t blame her. If she had her way, she’d probably bury herself under a pile of coats and not come out either. But she couldn’t. It was up to her and Lane to get them out of this mess.
Right now, food sounded good. Normal, even. The whole town had gone crazy in a few short hours. Meg found it hard to believe that just this morning she was thinking about how to get rid of Lane. Now, she’d never been so grateful for anyone in her life. Lane had proved herself to be all the things Meg accused her of being deficient in. Solid, reliable, brave. Selfless. So what did that make Meg? How had she misjudged Lane so badly?
Meg knew she wasn’t a bad judge of character. So what was it about Lane that made Meg judge her so harshly? As she watched Lane inspect the boards covering the doors and windows, Meg thought she might know, and it made her ashamed.
All her life, she’d walked around with a chip on her shoulder about wealth. Told herself she was better than those people who had it handed to them on a plate. She’d been attracted to Lane and despised her at the same time because of her privilege. Meg admitted to herself she’d been cruel. She’d treated Lane like nothing more than a fling and then dropped her without care—maybe she’d planned it all along subconsciously. Or maybe that was too harsh.
The truth was, she’d liked Lane. Maybe even been halfway in love with her. Perhaps that had scared her too. Either way, she’d dropped her like a sack of potatoes and then been angry when Lane hadn’t come running after her. And then, Lane did come running.
And Meg had been cruel.
Meg squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples. She’d been so cruel.
“What’s up?”
Meg jumped when Lane touched her shoulder.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump.” Lane sat down next to her. “Teensy did a good job on the boards. But there’s a couple loose. I’ll sort them out in a bit.”
“Lane, we need to talk,” Meg said. The urge to do it now was overwhelming.
“Okay. What about?” Lane asked.
“Us.”
“Us? Is this really the right time?” Lane asked.
“Probably not, but when else? There’s things I need to say to you. And I…they can’t wait,” Meg said.
Lane nodded. “Is there somewhere we can go? I don’t want to do it in front of Lois.”
“Sure. I have a little office off the kitchen.” Meg stood.
“But what about Wendy? She’s still in the bathroom.”
“Where’s she going to go? Everything’s boarded up. Plus, she’s terrified. She won’t leave the bar.”
“Okay.” Lane stood too.
Meg felt equal parts dread and relief. She needed to say things, so many things. And Lane was allowing her to in a way she hadn’t done for Lane. Another thing to feel guilt for.
* * *
Lane followed Meg into the office. It was a tight fit. Lane motioned for Meg to take the only chair while she perched on the edge of the desk.
“Okay,” Meg said, and Lane watched her take a deep breath. “I’ve been an asshole to you.”
Lane stayed silent. She couldn’t argue.
“A total asshole. And not just here, in Ptown. In London too. I treated you badly, and Lane, I am so, so sorry. Please, forgive me.”
Lane was at a loss for words. She stared at Meg. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “Of course I forgive you,” Lane said. “And I’m sorry for—”
“No.” Meg held up a hand. “No, this is all on me. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I do, Meg. I’ve been most of the things you said I was. Childish, aimless. I never understood why you wanted to work so hard when I could just buy you what you wanted. I think I do now.”
“You do?” Meg asked.
“Yes. Today has been a steep learning curve for me. I never meant to try to buy you, Meg.”
“I know. I have a chip on my shoulder about the size of the Cape. I build walls and push people away. I’m terrified of commitment, and I use my bar as a reason not to get close to anyone—God, I sound like Dr. Phil.” Meg laughed. “I guess I never wanted to think about all this stuff before, Lane. But almost dying and being trapped in a bar while zombies rampage outside can kind of put things into perspective. When I saw you at Joanne’s, I panicked. No one’s ever come halfway around the world for me before.”
Lane nodded. It was hard to speak around the lump in her throat. “I did fight for you back in London too, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“After the pub, after you dumped me.” Lane looked up at Meg’s face. God, she loved her. “I went to your flat.”
* * *
“Just get over it.”
Lane looked up from her beer and into the face of her closest friend. “It’s not that easy.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “What I don’t understand is why you’re so upset. You told me you weren’t even that bothered.”
“I lied.” Lane pushed the pint away. She’d spent the last week in a drunken stupor, and the smell of booze was starting to turn her stomach.
“What do you mean?” Sophia asked and pulled Lane’s pint over to her side of the table. She’d drink literally anything.
“I mean, I lied. I pretended I didn’t care because…I suppose my pride was wounded. I don’t know. The point is, Sophia, I think I love her.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “I thought we agreed we weren’t ever falling in love. We made a pact.”
Lane looked up at her friend and smiled. “We were seven.”
“So? We swore on Celine Dion.”
“No, you swore on Celine Dion. I went along with it because…because…”
“Because that’s what you always do, Lane. Anything for an easy life. Anything to avoid making your own decisions and risking hurting somebody’s feelings,” Sophia said.
“Yeah.” Lane sighed. “And look where it’s gotten me.”
“You’re a great artist, you know,” Sophia said. “I always thought your parents were wrong to stop you pursuing that.”
“What’s that got to do with this?” Lane asked.
“It’s part of the point I’m making about you doing what you’re told to avoid rocking the boat.”
“Oh.” Lane felt a little exposed. She and Sophia rarely talked like this. “They didn’t stop me, exactly,” Lane said.
“As good as. Threw a load of money at you and told you to forget about it. And you went along with it because—”
“That’s what I do,” Lane finished. “I’m weak.”
“You aren’t at all.” Sophia reached for her hand and held it. “You’re just so used to doing what your family tell you because the alternative is losing the money they chuck at you. They’ve got you over a barrel. Don’t worry—I’m in the same boat.”
“I don’t want to live like that any more.” The realization hit Lane like an oar off a rowing boat. “I’m so sick of being me.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Sophia said.
“I’m entitled.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “We all are.”
“I’m spoiled, I’m lazy. It’s no wonder Meg dumped me,” Lane said.
“Meg dumped you for reasons that are her own, and that’s not on you, Lane. As much as I hate to compliment you, you’re one of the nicest people I know. You’re loyal, which is rare in our social circl
e, and you’re accepting. Again, also rare in our circle.”
“It’s not enough,” Lane said.
“What do you mean?” Sophia asked.
“I’m not sure. For the last year I’ve been restless. I can’t explain it except to say that I feel as though there’s something more I’m supposed to do with my life. We’re so aimless, Sophia. So lost.”
Lane saw Sophia bristle at that. “Well, I’m happy with my life. I may not have a job, but I do charity stuff and—”
“I wasn’t having a go. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to insult you. I just meant that I’m not happy. I’m not content. In all honesty, I’m fucking miserable.” There. She’d said it. Out loud. She was miserable and had been for years. No amount of money was going to change it.
“Then do something about it. Go and get your girl,” Sophia said.
“You know, I think I will.” Lane laughed, and suddenly she felt lighter. She’d made a decision for herself, for her happiness. She stood up.
“Where are you going?” Sophia asked.
“To get Meg back.”
“What, now?”
“Why wait?” Lane asked.
Sophia shrugged. “Fair enough. Want a lift?”
“That would be great,” Lane said.
* * *
“But you didn’t come and get me back,” Meg said.
“I did. I went to your flat, but your roommate said you’d gone. Back to America,” Lane said.
“I’m sorry.” Meg squeezed Lane’s shoulder. She’d had no idea. Her roommate never mentioned it when she emailed to settle the last of the bills. They weren’t close, though.
“It’s not your fault. I left it too long. I suppose I didn’t know you were planning on leaving so soon. I thought you were in London for longer. But I must have misunderstood.”
“No, I’d planned to be. Two days after I ended things with you, my mom called. She told me my brother was in a car wreck. I went home and spent all the money I’d saved to open the bar on his medical bills. No National Health Service in the US.”
