When my phones beeps, I grab it from the table, and punch the answer button. “Oh my God, Evie, you’re alive. Thank God you’re alive.”
She weeps.
“Did you . . . kill them?”
Her wailing is my answer.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No,” she says. “Sharpshooter . . . remember?”
“Yes.”
“What now, Ophelia?”
“Get some weapons together, along with anything else you want to take. We have to get out of here.”
“And go where? They’re everywhere. How will you even get to me? And with Corbin? It’s dangerous!”
“I have to risk it. I can’t leave you there alone. We have to do this together.”
SEVENTEEN
I grab a box of macaroni noodles from the cabinet, rip it open, and dump its contents into the boiling water on the stove. “You still there?”
“I’m here,” Eve says from my speakerphone.
“Packed and ready to go?”
“Yes, but I still don’t think this is a good idea. You shouldn’t get Corbin out.”
“We don’t have a lot of options. Besides, you need me. You sound like you’re barely holding it together.”
“I’m okay. But why don’t I just come to you?”
“Sissy, eat!” Corbin calls from his toy box, where he’s dumped the entire contents onto the living room floor—his favorite pastime.
“Working on it, Corb.”
“Ophelia?”
“I’m here, sorry. I don’t know, Eve. I don’t like that idea at all.”
“You coming here doesn’t sound great, either.”
Once Corbin’s lunch is ready, I set the phone down to carry the plate of food, along with a juice box, to his highchair. “Here you go, little guy. Eat up.”
I’m startled by screaming outside. I hurry to the front window and move the curtain to see who it is. Across the street, a guy hurdles some shrubs, an army of the sick running behind him, stumbling over each other in their pursuit.
He sees me at the window and switches direction, toward my house, yelling at me to open the door. When he bolts up my steps, I do, then slam and deadbolt it behind him. He scrambles up from the floor, covered in blood, as bodies pound the other side and the front window bars.
“Thank you so much,” he pants, light brown, wavy hair falling from behind his ears.
I remove Suki from her holster and I’m met by his own piece from his waistband.
“Ophelia?” Eve says from my speakerphone in the dining room. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, but some asshole just led every monster from a mile around to my house.”
“Hey, I won’t hurt you,” he says, “but I won’t let you hurt me, either. Put it away.” From the looks of his vintage tee, baggy, throwback cords, and longish hair, he may be a criminal . . . but he has kind eyes.
Corbin whines from his highchair, and I tuck Suki into her holster. I pick him up, put him on my free hip, and our guest holds out a bloody hand. “Gideon.”
“Ophelia. What happened to you?”
He wipes the blood off on his jeans. “Sorry. I was with a group and we got split up. Two of us got away, and the others, they . . . didn’t. Then, when we got to his house, about a block from here, dude’s grandparents were inside, already turned into those things. They grabbed him as soon as he went in, and they tried to get to me but I slammed the door on Granny’s arm until it shut. And then, I ran.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?” Eve asks again.
“I’m good. He’s good people—I think.” I glance at Gideon. “How’s your aim?”
“Sniper.” He ties his hair back with a rubber band, showing off thick arms adorned with much black tattoo ink. “Did security for Colbert’s Banking Systems for the last couple years.”
“Good. You shoot, I’ll drive. Eve, don’t go anywhere,” I say to my speakerphone. “We’ll come get you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Wait—what? Drive?” Gideon raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re not implying we should leave here, are you?”
“We have to. I have to get my girlfriend.”
“If you think we’re getting anywhere in that Nissan, or the Vandal out front—even if we could get to them—”
“There’s an SUV in the garage. Corbin’s car seat is in there anyway.”
Gideon shakes his head, clutches it with one hand, and sighs. “Damn.”
“Also, Eve’s parents converted a walk-in closet into an armory. We could use some more firepower.”
He looks up from the floor. “Oh, see, now you have my attention.”
“I thought that might do it.”
“How far is it?”
“About two miles.”
With arms crossed, he leans against the wall, drifting into contemplation.
“We couldn’t stay here anyway,” I add. “Too many memories. And my parents . . .”
When I trail off, he glances at me. “I get it. Where are they?”
“Bathroom.” I point to the closed door to his right.
“I’m sorry.”
“What about yours?”
“My parents are divorced. Mom lives in New Mexico and Dad lived here in Selam. I stopped by to check on him this morning and he tried to kill me so I . . . did what you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
We hang by that shared grief for a moment before Eve speaks. “Ophelia, I hear something outside. I think one’s in my yard.”
“Get some food and water, and lock yourself in the armory closet until we get there. We’ve got enough battery power to stay on the phone until then.”
I take Corbin into the living room and set him down on the couch.
“No!” He clings to me, clawing my shoulder.
“Ouch, Corb. Shh . . . We have to get ready to go get Eve.”
“I’ll sit with him.” Gideon swipes a children’s book off of the shelf and sits down next to Corbin. “Want me to read”—he peeks at the cover—“Goodnight Moon?”
Corbin’s crying dies down to a sniffle, and he plugs his mouth with a finger. When Gideon begins to read, I take my phone from the table and slip off to my room to pack. My space seems new, unfamiliar. Now that I’m leaving it forever, maybe I’m really seeing it for what it is for the first time: my refuge, my place of belonging. My home.
I grab my duffel bag, still packed from my night with Eve—when this nightmare began—and there’s noise from Eve’s house. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m in my parent’s closet. But I’m worried about you. It’s dangerous out there.”
“Worrying won’t do any good.” I toss a few more clothing items on top of Aislynn’s spirit board and collect what’s left of my stash from the ass of a dingy white teddy bear Eileen gave me the day she and Henry adopted me. Too many emotions spin around there. I toss the bear into the bag, tuck my weed and a few Xanax into the side pocket, then carry the bag over to my dresser.
“Time to practice those protection spells, baby,” I tell Eve.
“I will right now. I love you, Ophelia.”
“I love you, too, Evie.”
When I open my dresser drawer, my birth mother’s words are filled with laughter, because my life has been a joke, a mistake. One fucked up bad dream after another.
I gather the rest of my Zalaan stuff, my Modern Zalaan book, two magazines of ammo, and a pentacle with worn, leather strap that belonged to Aislynn. One last look around my room for anything else I can’t live without . . . But what I really want, I realize now, is to say goodbye to the people I took for granted for so long. The people who loved me despite my flaws and mistreatment. Before the dam breaks, I leave my room and shut the door.
With a pile of books beside him, Gideon reads another one to Corbin, whose eyes are starting to droop.
“Naptime,” I whisper, setting my bag down by the table. “Keep reading.”
&nb
sp; He gives me a nod and a half-smile, continuing to read to Corbin, who is entranced by him. And in that moment, I also see Gideon for what he is. I touch my pentacle, thanking the Goddess for sending help in the form of a kindhearted person. If ever there was a time I needed one, that time is now.
EIGHTEEN
I gather some clothing items and a few toys from Corbin’s room, then move to the kitchen, filling a few reusable shopping bags with all of the non-perishable food items, seven bottles of water, medicine, and first-aid. In the cabinet above the stove, I spy the bottle of scotch that’s been in the same spot, closed, since my first day in this house. I grab it and read the label. A hundred years old.
At the bathroom door, blood has started to pool under the crack. I peel the metal covering off the liquor cap, twist off the lid, and add a splash of Henry’s scotch to their blood. He’d been saving this bottle for a special occasion. And it came.
I gulp from the bottle for a couple seconds, then lean against the door. “I’m so sorry.” I sob against the cream painted wood, startled by a hand on my shoulder. “Hey.”
When I turn, Gideon’s own grief is worn on his chiseled face, where his brow dips in the center from the weight of it. “We don’t know each other, but . . .”
He opens his arms and I fall into them, sobbing for the people I took for granted. The only parents I’ve ever had. They loved me so much, and I always knew that. So, why am I only now realizing how much I loved them, too?
“Is Corbin asleep?” I release Gideon’s strong embrace, though a part of me wants to stay safe in it.
“Yeah.”
“You’re good with him. Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Yeah, but they’re in New Mexico with my mom.” He glances down. “Trevor is sixteen and Elise is twelve. I plan to go to them, eventually. But it’ll take some planning and preparation. I spoke to Trevor this morning, briefly, before my phone died.”
“They had the injections there, too?”
“Yeah. They were nationwide. All of New America is like this now.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s military, so she was exempt.”
“Oh, that’s great news.”
“Yeah . . . but she’s not well. I’m worried about them. She’s on antibiotics for a heart condition.”
“Oh no . . .”
When I see the worry and helplessness, I feel for him. Even knowing part of his family might still be alive isn’t enough. I take another swig from the bottle in my hand and cringe. There’s no way I’ll say the very thing I know he fears the most.
“Hey . . .” He cups my hand around the bottle. “Like I said, I get it. And we can celebrate our arrival once we get where we’re going, but . . . if you’re driving—out there—” He throws his thumb over a muscular shoulder. “Probably best you keep a clear head, right?”
“You’re right.” I screw the cap back onto the bottle and set it in the hallway. “Come help me with the guns.”
I lead him through the door to our right, Eileen and Henry’s room. In their closet is an antique hutch, locked with a padlock. I fish around Eileen’s stack of sweaters on the top shelf until I find the hidden key to it, the one I discovered a couple of years ago when I was searching for shit to pawn. With one click the lock pops open, and I lift the lid. Three AR-15s, a shotgun, two pistols, and a few assorted boxes and magazines of ammo. It’ll have to work.
“That should help, yeah. Fuck yeah.” Gideon palms a pistol, checks to make sure it’s loaded and safe before tucking it into his waistband. He straps two AR-15s to his back and picks up the shotgun, then hands me the last AR, the other pistol, and the ammo.
On the way out of the room, a picture catches my eye. Christmas, two years ago, when Corbin was just a tiny thing. One of the few family photos I voluntarily participated in, but only because I spiked my own eggnog with ecstasy that day. What they saw as genuine joy to be a part of the family’s festivities were actually my insides fucking themselves in a perpetual loop of self-induced, artificial bliss.
“Hey.” Gideon nudges me. “Take it.”
After a moment’s thought, I swipe the picture from the wall, crack the glass over the dresser, and remove the photo. “Let’s get out of here.”
After we pile everything up by the door, I search the living room for Henry’s keys. He usually sets them on the table, but they aren’t there. After twenty minutes of hunting for them, it hits me. “They’re in his pocket,” I tell Gideon. “They have to be.”
The thought of opening that bathroom door makes me feel faint.
“I’ll do it,” he says. “No worries.” He jogs off and I tense, waiting for whatever happens next. But Gideon returns, solemn, with Henry’s keys dangling from his finger. “I grabbed this, too.” He holds out Henry’s wallet. “In case there might be anything in it that you want.”
“Thank you.” I take the keys and tuck the wallet into my duffel bag.
“How tall’s your fence?”
“Ten feet. As long as we’re quiet, we should be fine.”
“Okay, I’ll load, and you stay in here with him.”
“I’ll cover you at the door. Can they climb?”
“I haven’t seen them climb, no. But it doesn’t mean they can’t.” He takes my belongings, along with Corbin’s, a couple of bags of food, clicks off the safety of the AR-15, and peeks out. “All clear.”
I open the door for him, and he jogs down the walkway to the garage. Within a minute, he returns with only the rifle, face flushed with worry.
“What?”
“Sounds like hundreds of them out there. You might want to tell her to be ready to cover us when we arrive. Is her house protected?”
“She has barred windows and a privacy fence like mine, but her garage is attached. Once we’re in the garage, we’re good.” I grab my phone from the table. “Evie, you there?”
“I’m here.”
“I know I told you to stay in the closet, but this guy thinks you might need to cover us when we get to your garage door.”
“I’ll wait in the garage. And when you get close, I’ll open it, ready to shoot. We can do this.”
“We can. I’m putting my phone in my bra while I pick up Corbin and we get to the garage, so you may get some muffled feedback.”
“Okay, got it. And I’m taking two of my dad’s assault rifles and a hunting rifle with me. That should be plenty to cover you, right?”
“Let’s hope so. And Eve, don’t forget about recoil when you fire, especially with that old hunting rifle.”
“I’m prepared.”
“You’ve got this, baby. Tucking my phone away now. I’ll let you know when we’re safe in the car.”
“Okay.”
I hand over the last rifle to Gideon, who gathers the rest of the bags of food, water, and medicine. He loads everything else into Henry’s SUV, and I tuck my phone into my bra and head to the couch where Corbin sleeps. I cover him with a blanket, and he stirs when I pick him up but stays asleep.
Gideon opens the door and steps outside, weapon at ready, and I follow close behind.
Sirens blare in the distance, alongside the echo of gunfire, the sounds of the infected, and screaming all around us. My hairs stand on end as we rush to the garage. Gideon shuts the door behind us and locks it, and we hurry past my car’s empty parking space to Henry’s freshly-washed black SUV.
Corbin wakes up as I buckle him into his car seat. “Bye-bye?” he says with a yawn.
“Yeah, little guy. We’re going bye-bye.”
NINETEEN
Gideon loads the artillery into the SUV, some toward the front and some at the rear, before he climbs into the seat next to Corbin. “Poor dude. He’ll be traumatized after this; too bad we can’t cover his eyes and ears with something . . .”
I flip the switch on the dash, which plays Corbin’s favorite movie on the screen hanging from the roof. “There’s a headset beside you.” I point to the slot in the seat. “Press t
hat button.”
“Wanna watch a movie, little guy?” He punches the gray button and Corbin’s headphones eject from their cubbyhole.
Corbin nods, yawns again, then asks me for juice.
“There’s a bottle for him in the bag right there,” I tell Gideon. “The blue one.”
He slips the headphones over Corbin’s ears before digging around in the bag at his feet. “Here ya go, buddy.” He extracts Corbin’s sippy cup and hands it to him.
Corbin sips on his juice, eyeing the screen in front of him. I wish there was more I could do to protect him . . .
“How are we going to do this?” I ask Gideon.
He hands me a rifle. “Only if absolutely necessary.” And he bundles Corbin’s legs up in a blanket, out of the way. “Roll all of the windows down a couple inches now so you don’t have to worry about that later.” He sets a rifle in the seat on the other side of Corbin. “I’ll move around, depending on where they’re coming at us from.”
I roll the windows down two inches. “Is that good?”
Gideon holds a barrel up to the window. “Couple more centimeters.”
I press the four buttons again for a second and let up when he gets the barrel to slip through the crack.
“Perfect.” He moves to the other side to check that one, then to the passenger side, where he takes a seat. “You ready?”
“Not quite yet.” After checking Suki and the rifle barrel in the window crack, I grip my pentacle and reach into my bag by Gideon’s feet. “Give me a minute.”
I grab my smudge stick and a lighter, step out into the garage and light it, blowing softly on the embers until it smokes. I trace the air in the shape of Polaris, the star of protection, moving counter-clockwise around the Harvis Ranger, reliving the day Henry bought it, and all the days between then and now.
“Protect us, Goddess, from the evil all around us,” I chant with a lump in my throat. “Guard our path, and guide our weapons, so we may protect the innocent child you’ve bestowed upon us.”
These new emotions, I can’t name. Corbin deserves better than me, than this. He deserves his parents; they should be here with their son. It should be me in their place.
Dysphoria and Grace Page 8
