Eric doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “You can answer that question after you try one of my brownies. Besides, we need to celebrate not dying. Brownies are perfect for that. If you knew how many people lined up to write term papers for me in exchange for brownies, you’d be impressed.”
He and Lila continue bickering. I watch them, refusing to take sides, although I do not intend to eat the brownies.
Carter pushes off from the wall and stalks to the door. Tension makes the tendons in his neck stand up. He clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth grind.
Jenna straightens, eyes filling with concern as she takes in Carter’s stance. “Where are you going?” she asks.
“I’m going to work on Skip,” he replies.
I follow him out the door, limping on my bad ankle. I expect Jenna to come, too. She takes a few steps, sees me, and then falls back. I don’t know if this is because she’s uncomfortable around me, or if she’s trying to give us some privacy. Whatever the case, I’m grateful. I still haven’t adjusted to this new reality where zombies walk the earth and my son has a girlfriend.
“You should stay inside and rest your ankle,” Carter tells me. “We got you first aid supplies.”
“I’m okay.”
“I’ve heard that before. Usually it means you hurt like hell.”
I shrug, not bothering to deny it.
“Aren’t you going to put shoes on?”
“No.”
We both look down at my wrecked feet. It’s obvious they’re too swollen and fucked up for shoes right now.
Carter gives me a disgusted look that says, Whatever, Mom, then stomps down the hallway to the stairs. He pauses at the front glass doors to scan the area outside. Nothing moves besides the vultures and the flies. When he determines the way is safe, he pushes out the front door.
I follow him around the building to a small clearing of redwoods, stopping to survey the beat-up blue Dodge Caravan that sits beneath the trees. The hood is faded. Paint around the doors is starting to curl up, exposing the raw fiberglass underneath. The passenger side window is missing.
Carter stops in front of the busted van, glaring at the world at large. Then he spins around, focusing that glare on me.
I set my shoulders, meeting his angry eyes. “Just say it.”
“You killed those men!” The words burst from his throat. “Mom, you killed them!”
Anger and fear war in his features. I want to hug him, to comfort him like I did when he was a little kid. But a hug won’t fix what I’ve done.
“I did what I had to do to save you,” I reply. “I wish it could have been different.”
“What if someone finds out?” he bellows.
I’m not sure how to respond to this. “It’s not exactly a secret, Carter. Your roommates all saw it.”
“I’m not talking about them!” He swallows, gathering self-control. His voice drops to a whisper. “Mom, what if you go to jail?”
His question takes me by surprise. I absorb his features, taking in the fear in his eyes. I realize belatedly that he’s not angry at me for killing Mr. Rosario’s men. He’s afraid I’ll be caught and punished for it.
The idea of a surviving police officer coming to arrest me is laughable, but I do my best to digest Carter’s concern and address it.
“Sweetie, there’s no one around to arrest me. The only way to survive is to kill people. You told me yourself you’ve killed zombies.”
“That’s not the same thing. They’re already dead. You killed real people. What if someone finds out when this mess is cleared up?”
I finally understand what has him so upset. Like Johnny and Lila, he thinks our current state is temporary. He’s in full-fledged denial.
“If police come for me,” I say at last, “I’ll deal with it.”
His mouth twists. “That’s all you have to say? You’ll deal with it?”
“What else can I say? I’m not sorry. I didn’t run two hundred miles and lose Frederico to watch some dickheads kill my son in front of me. No fucking way.” My words come out too hard and blunt. I wish I could take them back, mash them up and soften them, but that’s not in the cards today. I’m too tired and too achy to find soft words.
Carter’s shoulders sag. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he mutters, looking at the ground.
My irritation dissipates. My insides soften with love for my son. “It’s okay, baby. Thanks for caring.” I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “We haven’t had a chance to catch up since I got here. Tell me how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine, all things considered.” He cocks his head at me, all remaining tension draining away. “You wanna meet Skip?”
“Skip?” I shrug, thinking he has another roommate. “Sure. Where is he?”
To my surprise, Carter gestures to the deplorable transportation specimen behind him.
“Mom, meet Skip. Reed calls it our soccer-mom-mobile.”
I take in the battered state of the minivan. “Why Skip?” I ask.
“Because Jenna and I are going to use it to skip from town to town when this semi-apocalypse blows over.” He opens the side door, revealing an interior stripped of seats and carpet.
Semi-apocalypse. I do my best to swallow the uneasiness summoned by that word, studying the interior of the van. The bare metal floor is exposed. Up against the passenger sidewall are three beer kegs. They sit inside a plywood holder bolted to the side of Skip.
“I paid a few guys to make these keg holders in the woodshop,” Carter says. “I’m going to drill holes and mount taps in the side of the van. Jenna and I are going to travel all over the country and sell beer at ultramarathon races.”
I nod, sitting on the lip of the open sliding door. “How long have you been dating Jenna?” I prop my bad foot up inside the van. It hurts like a son of a bitch.
“Six months.”
“Six months? You didn’t say anything about her the last time I was up here to visit.”
“Jenna was down in Southern California for her sister’s birthday,” he says with a shrug. “She didn’t come up in our conversations.”
“Carter.” He’s bullshitting me, and we both know it.
“Look, I knew you’d have a hard time with it, okay? It was hard on you when Dad died. It was hard on me and Uncle Rico, too, but the three of us found a way through it. I knew introducing someone new into our family would throw you off.”
He watches me warily. I swallow, waging a silent, inner battle. Everything he says is true, even if I want to deny it.
“You’re right,” I say stiffly. “I’m having a hard time with it. It’s my issue, though. I promise to try and get over myself, okay? If this girl is special to you, I want to get to know her.” That sounded okay. Now I just have to work myself into believing those words. “Tell me how you guys met.”
He sits next to me in the van. “We met one night at a dorm mixer in the lounge downstairs. I wasn’t really into the party. I was reading one of my beer-making books on the couch. She came and sat next to me and started asking a bunch of questions. Turns out she had an interest in learning to make beer.” A goofy smile spreads across his face.
In that single smile, I see how head-over-heels he is for this girl. I keep quiet, wrestling with churning emotions. I should be happy for Carter. I need to be happy for him.
“Anyway, we talked for hours. I agreed to let her help me make some beer.” He gestures at the three kegs behind us. “These are our brews. We call them Ultra Brews.” He grins at my lifted eyebrows. “Named after ultramarathons, of course. This is the DNF. It’s an IPA.” He taps the first keg. DNF stands for Did Not Finish, a racing term used by ultrarunners when they fail to complete a race. “This is the Vert, for the vertical gain of ultramarathons. It’s a stout. And this is the Finisher, a pilsner. Look, Jenna already has some labels designed.”
He pulls out a binder stashed between two of the kegs. Inside are dozens of pages, each filled with different label ideas
for each of the beers.
“Jenna is an artist. She likes to draw,” he explains.
The girl has a gift. That much is evident from the first page. Her lines are strong and sure. She’s either spent a lot of time at races or a lot of time talking with Carter about them, because every one of them captures the spirit of an ultra. From steep mountain trails to a finish line ribbon, it’s all there.
“And look at these.” Carter’s voice lifts with excitement and pride. “There’s even a few ideas for our Ultra Brew logo. Once we settle on one, we’re going to have the graphics painted on the outside of Skip.”
“I love her work,” I say, flipping through the binder. It’s a relief to have something positive to say about his girlfriend.
“Jenna is double majoring in business and art. We were in the process of working up a financial plan for Ultra Brew when the outbreak happened. Maybe we’ll have time to finish everything while we wait for all this to clear up and return to normal.”
“You think everything is going to return to normal?” I ask.
“Our country has more resources than any other in the world,” he says with a shrug. “Things might be bad for six months or so, but it can’t stay this way.”
I look away, staring at the back of Creekside. The wood siding, painted to match the redwood trees of the campus, looms over us in big silence.
“Don’t you think it will clear up?” Carter frowns at me.
“I hope so, baby.” I smile at him. “I love everything you and Jenna have dreamed up together. I look forward to getting to know her.”
“She’s great. I know you guys will get along. She likes running. She used to run track.”
I hate the fact that this bit of information melts something inside me. I shouldn’t soften to someone because she likes running, but I can’t help it.
“I have some paint remover,” Carter says. “I’m going to start removing the bad paint, so Jenna and I have a clean canvas to work on.” He grabs one of the cans of turpentine from the back of the van, along with some old rags.
I join him, grateful to have something mindless to occupy my brain. I don’t have to think about Jenna, or Carter’s state of denial, or how we’re going to survive the next week, or the fact that my bullet wound hurts like a motherfucker. All I have to do is strip some paint.
It’s almost as blissful as running.
Almost.
IT’S DUSK BY THE TIME Carter and I return to the dorm apartment. The air has cleared of the earlier argument. Eric and Reed are eating brownies baked on the barbecue. Jenna and Lila are giving one another pedicures. Johnny sits at the kitchen table talking to someone over a ham radio.
The living room is a mess. Discarded pieces of clothing, mostly jackets, shoes, and socks, are scattered around the room and draped over various pieces of furniture. A mixing bowl and spoon have been added to the precarious pile in the sink.
It’s all eerily normal. Like a slice of old-world reality has been preserved in the delicate bubble of this apartment. You wouldn’t know several of the residents had been held at gunpoint. You wouldn’t know they’d all seen me kill two men a few hours ago. You certainly wouldn’t know the world had been turned upside down on its head by hordes of the undead.
“How does your ankle feel?” Lila asks. “Do you want some more athlete’s balm?”
Eric snorts. “Lila thinks she’s going to make millions on her pot lotion.”
Lila rolls her eyes. “Eric thinks he can scrape through life by trading pot brownies for term papers.”
“I’ll take some more of the balm.” I might not like smelling like a bong, but I have to admit it feels a little better than it did a few hours ago.
“What did you think of Skip?” Jenna asks, looking up from her pedicure. The smile she gives me is tentative.
“It’s the soccer-mom-mobile,” Reed quips.
“It’s great,” I say to Jenna, ignoring Reed. Now is as good a time as any to support my son in his relationship. “I think you guys have a great idea with your Ultra Brew concept.” I don’t mention there won’t be any more ultras.
“Here.” Carter hands me a first aid kit. “We got this from a guy studying to be a medic. You should go take care of yourself.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” My throat tightens as I consider the danger he placed himself in to get these things for me. “Next time, I’ll make do with whatever you have on hand, okay? You don’t need to put yourself at risk for me.”
He looks pointedly at my feet. “You have blisters the size of turnips. Were you planning to lance those with a kitchen knife?”
Johnny pauses in his conversation on the ham radio. “You lance your own blisters?”
I don’t bother trying to explain how painful and uncomfortable it is to walk on feet covered in blisters. “I’ll just go clean up in the bathroom.”
As I head down the hall, I swallow against a growing knot of anxiety in my gut. These kids, with their pot brownies and pedicures and beer, haven’t fully made the transition into the new world. It doesn’t take a genius to see they’re all sitting around waiting for things to get flipped right side up. If they can’t accept the new reality, they won’t survive.
7
Darkness
JENNA
That night I go to bed without dinner.
I tried to pretend everything was normal, that we hadn’t been held at gunpoint. I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me when Carter stalked out of the apartment without so much as a backward glance at me. I tried to pretend his mom hadn’t cut me off when I tried to go after him.
Giving myself a pedicure hadn’t fixed anything. Neither had the useless banter I tossed about with Reed and Eric while they made brownies on the barbecue.
All in all, the day left me feeling like I’d been fed to a wood chipper. Tired of pretending, I went to bed after Carter and his mom got back from working on Skip. Kate kept sneaking glances at me, but looked away anytime I caught her looking.
I always marveled at the way Carter talked about his mom. It was evident they got along and had a good relationship, even if she had gone over the deep end when his dad died. I can’t fathom getting along with my mom, even though I secretly miss her and my sisters. I hope they’re safe.
I lie in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. With the streetlights outside having gone out when we lost electricity, there’s little ambient light in the room. The blackness suits my mood.
When the door opens, I spot the tall, unmistakable silhouette of Carter. He’s a lean smudge against the surrounding gloom of the tiny room.
“Hey, babe,” he says quietly.
I don’t answer right away, trying to decide if I want to pretend to be asleep.
“Hey,” I say at last.
The side of the bed dips as he sits down next to me. “Sorry I stormed out earlier.”
His apology chips away at the resentment that’s built in me all evening. “You okay?” I ask. “What your mom did ... I know it upset you.”
His laugh is toneless. “It’s not every day you see your mom kill two men in front of you.”
“It’s not every day you’re held at gunpoint by drug dealers during a zombie apocalypse.”
His hand, warm and strong, finds mine. “We’ve all been through a lot today. I shouldn’t have stormed off and left you. I’m sorry.”
And just like that, all my resentment slides away. I lace my fingers through his. “It’s okay.”
When he leans down to press a kiss to my lips, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down. He sinks onto the bed beside me, pulling me tight against him. I burrow my head against his chest, feeling better than I’ve felt all day.
“How did things go with your mom?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “She’s different,” he says at last. “She was so ... fragile after Dad died. She isn’t fragile anymore.”
The woman I saw outside today is definitely not fragile. Scary, yes. Tough, yes. Crazy, most definitely. But
not fragile.
“I told her I was worried about her getting arrested when the dust settles,” Carter continues. “She shrugged it off and said she’d deal with it when the time came.”
Once again, I find myself at a crossroads with Carter. He thinks the world is going to fix itself. Even with evidence to the contrary all around us—not the least being our experience today—he keeps burying his head in the sand.
A knot of frustration forms in my chest. I do my best to ignore it, not wanting to fight. Instead, I concentrate on the comforting feel of his arms around me.
“Sounds like a reasonable plan to me,” I say. “There’s plenty of other things to worry about right now.” Like clearing all the other rooms in Creekside and organizing the food, but I don’t say this to Carter.
He sighs. “You’re right. We can worry about it if it happens.”
I don’t want to think about tomorrow or the future. I don’t want to think about today. All I want is Carter.
Instead of answering, I twist my head, find his mouth, and kiss him. His warm hand slips beneath the hem of my shirt and grips my waist. I don’t resist when he pulls off my shirt and unclips my bra.
There’s barely any light, but even so, I feel his eyes rove over me. I know all too well what he sees. Large breasts. A trim waist, flat stomach, and round hips. They’re the parts most boys see when they look at me. Combined with my long legs, I’ve been compared to a Victoria’s Secret model since I was fourteen years old.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs against my skin.
When he touches me, I feel cherished. Carter’s the only boy who doesn’t treat me like an object or a trophy. Even so, the compliment makes me stiffen. A lifetime of programming can’t be wiped away, not even in six blissful months of dating the sweetest guy on the planet.
He absorbs my silence like he always does. I sense the conflict it stirs within him and wish I could get my ass in line and act like a normal girl. I should say thanks. I should tell him how much I love his blue eyes and his smile. Returning a compliment is normal couple stuff.
Dorm Life Page 6
