Peter pulled the gun out of its holster and slowly lowered it to the desk. Then he laid down his machete and stepped back. “I’m Peter. Peter Spencer.”
She didn’t seem particularly afraid, but he thought introducing himself might break the ice. Or at least get that gun pointing in a different direction.
She nodded. “Natalie. Nat.”
“Thanks, Nat. For sending the ladder down. We didn’t know there was anyone in the building.”
He smiled; she flashed tiny white teeth in return. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t just let you die after that whole martyr thing. Even though my dad and uncle are going to kill me.”
“Are they here?”
“No, they went for supplies. They’re fixing a place up. We’re here for now, ‘cause it’s high.”
She still had her finger on the trigger, although the pistol had fallen by her side. She screwed her mouth to the side and studied him. “So, Peter, you’re not going to rape me or anything, are you?”
“No!” God, this crazy world, where a kid had to ask things like that. He opened his mouth again, but that was the only answer he had.
“I didn’t think so,” Natalie said. She waved her gun and shrugged. “But I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Grab your stuff. Let’s get up to the third floor.”
She led him into a hall lined with ugly brown carpeting. Footsteps carried up from the restaurant below. All those Lexers were still in the building. And they’d probably be there forever, since they were too stupid to find their way back out through the door they’d broken down.
Natalie opened a door to a narrow staircase and motioned for him to follow. Peter thought that she was far too trusting to keep her back to him, to take him only at his word. He wanted to tell her that, but this was one of those times when it was better to keep your mouth shut. The wooden stairs deposited them in the center of an open space that ran the length of the building. Two beds took up one corner, with a third across the room. The bright comforter and stack of young adult books by the lone bed were dead giveaways as to whose it was, although Peter remembered being a teenager well enough to not need those hints. No way would you want to sleep near your dad and uncle. Not if you were safe, anyway.
There was a sofa and coffee table. A table and chairs by the street-facing windows. A folding table and shelving unit held a camping stove, boxes and cans of food, assorted pots and jugs of water.
At the edge of the table was a handheld radio. The voice blasting out of it was deep and anxious. “Nat. Natalie! Are you okay? Answer me, damn it.”
Nat skipped over to the radio. “Sorry, Daddy. I was on the second floor.”
“Rich and I can see the group from here. What’s going on?” His voice was less frantic now, although still concerned.
Natalie sat on a chair and crossed her legs. Her foot swung, like she was on the phone with a friend. “There were people down below. The zombies came in after them.”
“What happened to them? Could you tell?”
Nat cut her eyes to Peter. “They got away, out the back. But one of them got stuck here.” Her voice got higher, like a little girl. “Daddy, promise you won’t be mad when I tell you something?”
“Spit it out, Nat.”
“I kind of threw down the ladder and he’s up here with me.”
“He’s up there? Natalie, what the hell?” He seemed about to go into a lecture, but then sighed. “Put him on. Now.”
Nat held the radio out to him with a small smile. She might not be afraid of her dad, but Peter knew he should be.
“Hello?” Peter said.
“What’s your name?”
“Peter. Peter Spencer.”
“Peter, we’re going to draw enough of them away to get up there, and I swear to Christ, if my daughter is harmed in any way, we will kill you. Understand?”
Natalie rolled her eyes and whispered, “Just say, ‘Yes, sir.’ ”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said. His life had taken many strange turns these last months, but for some reason, being threatened via radio by the father of the teenage girl who’d saved his life took the cake. “I wouldn’t harm her. She saved my life.”
“You’d better not. Give the radio back to Nat.”
“Hey, Daddy,” she said. “So, what’s the plan?”
Peter had been thinking that she was altogether too lighthearted about this situation, both with him being a stranger and the fact that there were hundreds of Lexers downstairs, but now her posture straightened.
“Rich’ll draw them away and swing back when he’s far enough. I’ll be there in a few. Sit tight.”
“Okay.”
Peter followed her to a window and watched a truck roll down the street. It was a big pickup, with an American flag decal across the rear window and chrome rims. It stopped just past the bar, windows lowered, and the music began. Not the music Peter would have ever guessed would come out of this truck. He’d been expecting classic rock or country-western, anything but the classical music that echoed off the cement and brick buildings.
He knew the piece. Grandma not only made him take dancing lessons, but she’d also expected him to go to museums and the symphony. It was Verdi’s Requiem. And whatever orchestra was playing the piece was playing the hell out of it. The timpani crashed, the strings wailed, and the choir gave it their all. Deliver me, Lord, from eternal death—Peter remembered that one line from the end. It was a fitting selection.
The Lexers in the bar streamed out to meet the music. When they’d almost surrounded the truck, it pulled forward another half a block and stopped. It did it again and again, until a trail of zombies a block long followed it around the corner and out of sight.
“My Uncle Rich calls himself The Pied Piper of Bennington,” Nat said.
Another truck pulled onto the sidewalk. Peter could make out a large-framed figure before it disappeared into the building. Footsteps thundered up the stairs. Peter quickly removed his gun, set it down on the table and stepped away from Natalie.
The man burst in. Natalie walked forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Daddy, this is Peter. I’m sorry, I know you say not to get involved, but he was going to die because he—”
The man held up the hand that wasn’t holding a pistol. There was nothing about him that resembled his tiny elf of a daughter. He had a square face, ruddy cheeks and short brown hair with a beard. The only thing remarkable about him were his eyes, which were ice blue and, Peter guessed, probably friendly when he wasn’t staring you down.
He raised his chin. “Let me hear what he has to say.”
That was kind of open-ended. What should he say? What was most important? Probably that he didn’t plan on sticking around and using up any of their valuable supplies. “We were on our way up to the Vermont Safe Zone. Kingdom Come. We got trapped downstairs, and I stayed behind so my friends could get out. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for your daughter. I just want to continue on my way up there.”
The man took off his flannel jacket to reveal a barrel chest and another large pistol. He waved his gun toward the door. “Well, get going then. Glad—”
“Daddy!” Natalie yelled. She stamped her foot. “You know they’re still in back. Some of them are probably down the street. Peter has a little girl. She was one of the ones that got away because of him. You can’t just send him out there!”
The man breathed in through flared nostrils. “That true?”
Peter nodded and held his breath. He didn’t necessarily want to be where he wasn’t welcome, but without a vehicle he might be dead in minutes on the street. The man lowered his weapon and looked at Natalie.
“You always say I’m a good judge of character,” Natalie said. Her eyes widened and grew wet. “I saw the whole thing. He sacrificed himself for them. He was going to die! Daddy, you would do that for me, too.”
Her dad’s face softened. She was playing him, the same way Bits played Peter when she wanted an extra treat or another chapter. Not that what Nat was saying wasn
’t true, but it meant that she could accomplish in minutes what would take Peter days to do, in terms of gaining her father’s trust. He couldn’t resist Bits when her eyes were big and her lips trembled. The funniest part was that he didn’t even mind he was being suckered.
“Take his weapons,” her dad said, and Nat scrambled to grab his pistol and machete off the table. When her back was to her dad, she winked at him. This kid was bananas, as Nel would say.
“I’m Chuck,” the man said. He holstered his weapon and extended a hand. The calluses were filled with dirt and grease. “We’re going to hold on to those for now. This afternoon I’ll see about helping you get a way out of here.”
Peter realized his own hand wasn’t much different from Chuck’s. Chuck seemed to notice the signs of hard work and gave him a nod that, if not friendly, was respectful. “I’d appreciate that, Chuck.”
“You might as well make yourself comfortable. Not much to do until Rich gets back.”
Peter stripped down to his t-shirt and sat at the table. Natalie sat opposite and waved a magazine at her face. It was hot up here. And he had to pee. It was getting pretty imperative that he find the bathroom.
“Chuck,” he said. The man looked up from where he was loading his pistols. Peter was pretty sure they’d already been loaded and that this show was just for him. “I need to use the bathroom. Where should I—”
“I’ll take him,” Nat offered. She leapt out of her chair and waved Peter up.
Chuck pointed her back to her seat. “No, I will.”
He led Peter to the second floor and opened a door at the end of the landing. Peter realized they’d entered the second floor of the building next door. It was an apartment almost barren of furniture, probably where they’d gotten the stuff in their space upstairs. Peter opened the door Chuck had pointed out to find an actual bathroom.
“Looks right, but take a closer look,” Chuck said. Peter walked to the toilet and opened the lid. They’d bored a large hole in the toilet’s bottom and placed it over a hole in the floor. Anything and everything was being deposited into the dark of the floor below. It didn’t smell great, of course, but it was pretty ingenious.
“We opened the windows down there, so there’s no gas buildup. Don’t want to blow ourselves to hell,” Chuck said. “Well, I’ll be outside.”
When Peter came out Chuck was standing at the windows. “Sorry about your little girl. But I’m glad she’s okay,” he said, without turning.
Peter cleared his throat. “She’s not really my daughter. I wish she was, but she’s not.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to explain; it’s not like Chuck was demanding a birth certificate.
Chuck turned and smiled. Peter had been right—those blue eyes were friendly when they weren’t entertaining the idea of your demise. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Once they got hold of your heart, they got you. C’mon, let’s head up.”
Natalie had been grilling Peter for two hours by the time Uncle Rich’s truck pulled up outside. Chuck had listened, asking the occasional question and nodding along when Peter described Cassie’s cabin and the past few months.
The door opened, and a younger version of Chuck appeared, only with blond hair instead of brown. He skated his eyes to Peter and then back to his brother. “We good?”
Chuck nodded, and Rich walked over with a hand out, saying only, “Rich.” To which Peter replied, “Peter.”
Rich sat on the couch and drank from a bottle of water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dinner?”
Peter got the feeling Rich was a less-is-more kind of guy when it came to speaking. He glanced at his watch; it wasn’t time for dinner. The day felt like it had been a century long, but it was only about noon.
“Dinner means lunch,” Nat informed him. “We live in 1860 over here. We’re going to go for a ride in the horseless carriage later, too.”
Chuck shook his head, but his eyes twinkled. “Such a smart-ass.”
Peter thought of Nel and grinned. “You need one in every group—comic relief.”
“She’s just like her mom.”
Nat kept her smile on, but her fingers twisted in her lap. Chuck looked away and inspected the shelving unit. “Well, how about soup?”
“Just what I want on a hot summer afternoon,” Nat said.
“I didn’t say I was going to heat it up.”
“Ugh.”
Peter walked to the shelves and took stock. In amongst the packages and cans of food were some tomatoes, a sad-looking cucumber and zucchini. “You have a garden at the place you’re fixing up?”
Chuck nodded. “Small one. Not enough to keep us going, but we’ve been going house to house. We’ll have enough for the winter.”
“Why not go to one of the Safe Zones?”
There was a grumble from the couch. “That’s what I say,” Rich said.
Chuck glanced at Nat and said, “It’s not a good idea for now. Maybe in the spring.”
Peter didn’t ask any more. He held up a couple of packages of ramen noodles and grabbed the soy sauce and sesame oil that were in among the condiments. “I’m happy to make dinner, if you want.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Chuck said. “We’re not the greatest chefs. Not that we have much to work with. You know how to cook?”
Peter nodded. Natalie helped light the stove, which sat by the open window. Grandma had never taken him camping, but he knew from the past months that using a camping stove indoors without adequate ventilation could kill them.
Ramen noodles were fast, and before long Peter had them cooled and tossed with the chopped vegetables, soy sauce and oil. It was too much to ask for some rice vinegar. Cassie’s parents might have been a little over the top in their storage plans, but anything he’d needed had been in that basement. But, he reminded himself, they weren’t really over the top; they’d kept him alive.
Peter set the bowl on the table. “Go ahead.”
The three of them sat down and, judging by the silence and chewing, they liked it. He’d made cold ramen salad a few times this summer. His turn to cook had come up more and more frequently at the cabin, but he didn’t mind. Watching everyone shovel in the food he’d made and fight good-naturedly over second helpings was more satisfying than eating it.
He’d always loved to cook. One of his earliest memories was standing on a kitchen chair in his parents’ house in Westchester, his mom handing him a measuring cup loaded with flour to dump in the mixing bowl. As an adult, he’d eaten out more often than not, but he’d still cooked occasionally, mainly for girls he’d dated. Cassie had been no exception. Except that, unlike many others, she’d eat every morsel and sigh in delight.
Peter pulled one of the MREs out of his backpack, sat on the couch and placed it on the coffee table. The ramen salad was a much tastier option, but he wasn’t going to eat their food. He was already taking up their space.
He imagined Bits and the others in the pickup, rolling along dirt roads. They might even be at Kingdom Come already, if they hadn’t hit any trouble. But you didn’t have to go looking for trouble anymore. All you had to do was get a flat tire or take a wrong turn, and you were dead. This was better than dead on a dumpster, for sure, but he would give anything to be in that truck. And not for his own safety; he wanted to be there in case anything else went wrong.
He wasn’t very hungry anymore, but he opened the MRE to see what was inside. What to eat first—the big packet of slop, a smaller packet of something tasteless or jalapeno cheese spread with crackers? Decisions, decisions. The dessert didn’t look bad. It was hard to mess up sugar.
“This is so totally yummy,” Natalie called. She saw what he was doing and her eyebrows lowered. “Aren’t you going to eat with us?”
Peter looked down at his food. “No, I’m fine.”
“You can’t cook and not eat,” Chuck said. His gruff voice was friendly. “C’mon, Pete. You’re making me look bad here.”
He’d always hated bein
g called Pete, but now he didn’t mind. It meant someone liked you enough to give you a nickname, like how Cassie called him Petey sometimes. He walked to the table and pulled out the fourth chair, wondering why they had it. They might have brought it up to complete the set from the bathroom apartment. Maybe it was for Natalie’s mother. He served himself a bit of ramen. Not as good as with the rice vinegar, but still tasty.
“We’ll check out the street and get you going after dinner,” Chuck said. “Where’s that Safe Zone again?”
“Northeast Kingdom. Somewhere north of Lowell.”
“I guess you need a vehicle. We have a few at the cabin all gassed up and working. We can take a ride there, see what we can spare. There are plenty of cars for the taking these days. Won’t take us long to get another.”
“I’d really appreciate that.” Peter was almost giddy at the thought. He wouldn’t be that far behind if he left this afternoon.
“Can I come?” Nat asked. Chuck shook his head. “Oh my God, Dad! Please? I’m dying of boredom. And it’s so hot! I need a bath!”
She threw down her fork, crossed her arms and glared at her dad. He stared back, thick arms folded across his chest and eyes calm. He reminded Peter of John, the most implacable person he’d ever met. “What’s the first rule?” Chuck asked.
“Safety,” Nat said quietly, but her glare remained in place.
“And this is where you’re safest.”
“You said we were moving in by now, Daddy. It’s safer there—after today you know it is! If you didn’t come back, I’d be here with no fresh water and no truck. Then what would happen to me?”
Rich mumbled something that sounded like, “She has a point.”
“You’re right,” Chuck said after a moment. “We could use some help at the cabin anyway. But you’re working, not farting around.”
Nat’s eyes flicked to Peter. “Dad, you’re so disgusting. We have company!”
2
The road to the cabin was rutted like a washboard. It made Peter’s neck, already a bit sore from a sleepless night and a whole lot of machete hacking, ache even more. After a few miles, when they hadn’t passed anything but trees, he asked, “Was this your hunting camp or something?”
Until the End of the World Box Set Page 39
