Eve chugs on the bottle of vodka from her kitchen, swallowing with a straight face.
“Damn, that doesn’t burn?” Gideon asks.
“It’s watered down.” She hands me the bottle. “Want some?”
I take the opened bottle from her and welcome the slight warmth in my belly. “Got anything stronger?”
“In the cabinet.”
When I get up, Gideon does, too. “I’ll go with you. If there’s any meat in the fridge, we better cook it now. You have a grill, yes?” he asks Eve.
“Outside.”
“Charcoal and lighter fluid?”
“In the . . . shed. All of it’s in the shed.”
“No worries, I’ll get it.”
“There’s a couple steaks and some chicken.” Eve takes the bottle from me and swigs again. “My dad was planning a big cookout next weekend for their anniversary.”
And with that, she polishes off the last of the watery vodka with a cringe. Not from the liquor, but from the open wound inside of her.
“They would want you to survive,” I finally say. “They’d want you to . . . be safe, Lucy.”
She folds into a ball, and I kneel in front of her, letting her cry into me. “It hurts so much.”
“I know. Hurts me, too.” But my strength returns. I don’t want to cry anymore. At least not today. “So let’s have a celebratory feast, shall we?”
“Celebratory? For what?”
“For the lives of those we love who were lost today. And for our lives. They would want that for us. The Goddess wants that for us.”
The words are mostly true; more so for them. I’m not sure the Goddess favors me at all, and I’m not positive Henry and Eileen would be too distraught over my death. Their life would’ve been easier, for sure.
“Okay,” Eve mumbles, “I’ll show you two where everything is.”
Together we head to the dark kitchen. Behind the sheer, maroon curtain, shadows move on the other side of the shutters.
“Let’s try not to make too much noise.” Gideon holds a finger to his lips, and I admire a tattooed knuckle. There doesn’t appear to be much of Gideon that isn’t tattooed.
Eve opens the liquor cabinet and removes a bottle of Jim Beam. She cracks the lid and swigs it before handing it to me.
“Thanks.” I set the bottle on the counter and meet Gideon at the fridge. He leans forward to scan the shelves, and I size up his broad shoulders, and lean, muscular back. He must work out. Good to know we’ve got some grip on our team, at least.
“Meat’s in the bottom drawer,” Eve says.
“Oh, thanks.” He dives down for the meat and I swipe the two liter bottle of Coke from the top shelf above his head. When I get to the counter by the sink, a memory blindsides me as I grab a glass. The same glass I’d handed Eve’s mom for water when they’d come home drunk. It seems like another life, though it was only two days ago.
I spent a lot of time hating them, but they were good people, same as Henry and Eileen.
I swig on the bottle of Jim Beam, and chase it with Coke, then repeat.
Repeat again.
One more chug and I’m starting to get there, to that place where sadness drowns for a while, and we forget about that things that happen afterwards, when the sadness wakes again..
“Tons of good shit here.” Gideon sets two slabs of plastic-wrapped meat on the counter, followed by a package of chicken breasts, corn on the cob, and three potatoes. “We’re gonna eat good today, if nothing else.” He closes the fridge, gathers the items. “You two gonna make it to dinnertime? Don’t pass out on me.”
“We’ll be fine,” I say. “We’ve been known to drink.”
“Okay then, I’ll take your word for it.” And with a wink, he heads out into the dining area. Eve and I follow at a leisurely pace, trading sips of our beverages. Gideon stops at the sliding glass door, signals for us to follow, so we speed up. “Grab a firearm for me, will ya?” he asks when we get there. “You’ve got a high fence, but better safe than sorry.”
“No problem,” Eve hands me the glass in her hand and hurries to the garage door. And though the garage is safe, her being anywhere other than this house, and in my sight, makes me nervous.
She returns a few seconds later with the three weapons that were leaning against the wall in the garage. She hands me an AR, and Gideon an AK, which he takes with his free hand. “Grill’s in the shed?” He opens the door with his foot.
“Yeah.” Eve caresses the worn wood of her dad’s hunting rifle, a glimmer of grief in her. “But . . . you might have to do some maneuvering to get it out. My . . . parents—”
“That’s okay. You two cover me.” And with that, he dips through the opened doorway. He stops to set the food down before clicking off the safety and holding his weapon at ready. With a sweep of the area, he moves toward the shed at the far corner of the yard. Eve looks away when he opens the door.
Two minutes later, Gideon exits the shed with the small grill in his hands, a half bag of charcoal under one arm, lighter fluid under the other, firearm strapped to his shoulder.
“How does it sound out there?” I ask when he gets to us.
“The same. If not worse.”
“What about the smoke?” Eve asks. “Won’t it attract them?”
“No clue. Your security fence seems fairly new, yeah?”
“My parents had it installed last year after we had a break-in.” She points. “You can’t see it, but there are motion sensors every three feet, and if they detect movement, it activates the four-inch electromagnetic razor spikes. That damn fence cost almost as much as our house.” She shakes her head. “They just . . . wanted me to be safe.”
“And look. You are.” He gives her a half-grin, showing off a dimple on his right cheek. “That was money well spent,” he goes on. “If the smoke attracted them, it wouldn’t matter much. If they were fully functioning humans, they wouldn’t be able to climb over. So, try not to worry too much about it.”
“Easier said than done.” I click the safety on my rifle, lean it against the brick wall, and take a step outside, though Eve stands tense, gripping the doorframe. “Need any help?” I take another swig from the glass of whiskey in my hand. “Or a drink?”
“A drink would be nice.” He takes the glass from me when I offer it and swigs before continuing. “I think I’ve got the cooking covered, but you two are welcome to hang out and keep me company.”
“We can do that.”
“I’ll grab some chairs.” Eve heads inside and through the living room, to a storage closet near the front door.
“So, you’ve got a few tattoos, do ya?” I ask Gideon.
He chuckles. “A few. Been collecting those for a while now.”
“I see that.”
“I see you have a few.” He motions to the roses and butterflies on my arm, and the pentacle beneath my collarbone. “Nice work. Does it have a meaning? I know what the pentacle symbol means, but what about the other one?”
“Well . . . yeah, I guess it does. It reminds me that even roses have thorns, and that every butterfly was once a caterpillar.”
“Oh nice. I like that. I love ink with meaning.”
He has a nice smile, like ice on warm pavement.
Eve brings over three fold-out chairs and sets one beside Gideon, who pours charcoal into the grill. She sets up the other two inside the open doorway for us.
“Damn.” Gideon picks up the lighter fluid and squirts it over the pyramid of charcoal. “Too bad this isn’t your normal Sunday family cookout. I could go for a cold beer and some football. And I’m not even a football guy.” He laughs to himself.
“I can help you out with the beer,” Eve says after a long silence. “But that’s about it.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t see any in the fridge—”
“There’s a case in the one in the garage. God knows how long it’s been there. My dad rarely drank. He kept it around for when we had company—which was not often.” She
rises from her chair again. “Want one?” she asks me.
“Yes, thank you.”
When she heads toward the garage door, Gideon lights the charcoal. “We’re lucky that rain cleared up, too.” He blows softly into the erupting flame, and I gaze into it, feeling the numbing warmth flow through my eyes and down inside of me. Or . . . maybe it’s the liquor. For a moment, though, I find peace in that place, there, in the midst of that flame core where all is peaceful. But it might just be indifference.
In the distance, screaming, followed by rapid gunfire, rocks that peace and indifference out again, and I shake a tremble from my body.
Eve returns with arms full of six beers. She hands Gideon and me two each, and snaps the cap off hers first with a bottle opener before passing it to me. I crack mine and hold the cold glass bottle in my hands, bubbles dripping like sweet ejaculation from the bottle’s mouth. I place it to my lips and take a slow sip. I’m not usually a beer girl, but something tells me to cherish this moment anyway.
“What do we do when it’s all gone?” Eve slumps in her chair.
My gaze meets hers. “What?”
“Food, water, medicine . . . booze, weed, pills . . . the life we once knew.”
Gideon lines up the two steaks, four chicken breasts, and veggies on the grill over the flame, then drops the lid back over them. “We’ll have to adapt. Adapt or die.”
TWENTY-TWO
As the sun sets, Gideon removes the meat from the grill, and we head inside. Corbin stirs awake on the couch, and I hurry to him when he starts to cry. “Shh buddy, it’s okay.” I finish the last of my second beer, set the bottle down to pick him up. “Sissy’s here.”
“Mama! Dada!” He reaches toward the doorway. “Go home!”
“We can’t, Corb. But we’ll see them . . . later . . . okay?” The words fall broken from my lips, hardly audible. “I promise.”
Someday, he’ll see the lies for what they are, and then what will I do? I’ll have nothing left but the truth, and that’s as good a death as any. Why me, Goddess? I can’t do this . . .
“I’ll get some candles and set the table,” Eve says from across the room. “It’ll be dark soon.”
“Okay.” I snap to and pick Corbin up, propping him on my hip. “You hungry for dinner, bub?”
But he doesn’t answer. He whimpers, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar schedule, in the absence of his usual caretakers. He reaches a hand toward Eve’s front door, closes tiny fingers and opens them up again. “Bye-bye, Sissy? Go home?”
“No, Corbin. We’re staying here tonight, okay?” I try to sound positive, but I’m annihilated inside. I don’t want to face the truth, though it forces me into submission. I never realized how lucky I was. I was never grateful for the parents, the family that chose me, and now, I’d do anything to get them back. I’d give anything to undo what’s been done.
I stuff myself with chicken and steak, because it may be my last, good meal. But Corbin doesn’t eat. Instead of fighting him, I dump the toys from his bag onto the dining room floor, between two battery-powered lanterns. To my surprise, he begins to play, chatter to himself, and laugh at the shadows of his toys on the wall beside him.
Gideon sets down his fork and knife, having devoured everything on his plate. “That was damn good. What’s for dessert?” He gives Eve a playful wink, which she returns with a half-grin, holding up the bottle of Jim Beam. He holds out his glass with a chuckle. “That’ll do.”
“I’ll take some of that,” I say. “I could go for a bowl, too.”
Eve fills Gideon’s glass halfway with liquor. “Load it up.”
And I do.
Life as we know it has flipped on its side. But the changes aren’t over yet. My hands tremble as I pack the bowl with a fragrant chunk of bud. It smells even better, now that I know the supply is coming to an end. Jules—my weed guy—was thirty-seven, so he’s most likely out running the streets with the rest of them. Even more so than he was before.
With that thought, a light bulb goes off in my mind and I sit up straight, drifting off into thought.
“You okay?” Eve asks me.
“Yeah, I just . . . had an idea. A stupid idea, though, so never mind.”
“What is it?”
Gideon takes a swig of his glass. “Spill it.”
“My weed guy, Jules. He would’ve gotten the vaccine—he’d do whatever it took to stay out of jail.”
“And?” Eve props her elbows up onto the table and leans in closer.
“His shop is a few miles from here, though, so . . . not that it would be even possible. But I was just thinking how . . . I know where to get more weed, if we wanted some that bad.”
Though places like Jules’ High Shack and its neighbor, Lucky’s Lick Her liquor store next door were probably first to be looted.
“You know, that’s true for everything now.” Gideon crosses his arms over his chest, a seriousness hardening his expression. His furrowed brow highlights a small scar above his right eye. “Everyone twenty-one and up is most likely infected now. All that’s left is . . . kids. Young people. I mean, other than armed forces, police, etcetera, the only things we’ve got to really worry about defending ourselves from is the infected—”
“Don’t forget pop stars,” Eve mumbles. “I heard they were exempt.”
“Okay, yes. Those, too.” Gideon chuckles. “And once we run out of supplies here, our only option is to move on; scavenge and take what we need. And watch out for killer pop stars.”
“All those poor, scared kids.” Eve cringes, staring at her clasped hands on the table. “They’ll all die.”
“We’re still alive.” I pat her hand, and she passes the bowl to Gideon.
“Yep.” He takes it, holds out a hand for the lighter. “See, there are other survivors, too.”
I hand him my Bic. “Like those kids on the roof, the ones who helped us in the alley.”
“How many of them were there?” Eve asks.
“I counted five.” Gideon blows a cloud, this time, without coughing his lungs out. “But there may have been more inside, who knows? Hopefully the older ones grouped together with the younger ones everywhere once things started going awry.”
“That’s a nice thought.” I take the bowl from him, hit it, then pass it to Eve.
Gideon chuckles to himself. “I’m usually a realist, but I’m trying to take the high road on this one.”
There’s a thud against the front door, and we all hop quietly from our chairs to snatch a firearm from the bar. Gideon leads the way, followed by me and Eve, and then Corbin, screaming at me for leaving him. I do an about-face, set my weapon down and scoop him up, covering his mouth with my hand. “I’m sorry, Corb,” I whisper, “but you have to be quiet.”
His face turns beet-red as a scream builds up behind my hand. Gideon motions for me to take him to the other room, so I do, into Eve’s parents’ room, and shut the door to the darkness. I remove my hand from Corbin’s mouth and he wails, but I shush and rock him to calm him.
Once his screams subside to a whimper, I crack the door and poke my head out. Gideon moves away from the peephole to give Eve a chance to look. After a few seconds on her tiptoes, squinting through the small circle of glass, she moves away with a nod toward Gideon, and waves me out with Corbin.
“What was it?” I ask when I get to them.
Gideon scratches his scalp, crosses his arms over his chest. “One of them ran into the door, I think. They appear to be night blind.”
“What?”
“Take a look.”
I approach the doorway, switching Corbin to my other hip to peer out the peephole. The streetlights are still on, and in the shadows between them, they wander, aimlessly, bumping into, and tripping over things. When two of them run into each other, a fight breaks out, until the bigger of the two has the other one on the ground, tearing into his face. Apparently, they don’t discriminate.
“When I first looked out,” Gideon says, �
��the one who ran into the door fell off your porch. He got up and then proceeded to run into the tree over there. Funny, but . . . not?”
We head back toward the table, and I try putting Corbin on the floor with his toys, but he clings to me. I sigh, sitting at the table with him in my lap.
How are we going to do this? How do we live like this?
Gideon and Eve eye me, their worry matching mine, as if they’d read my thoughts.
“What are we gonna do?” I ask. “I can’t raise a kid. Especially not in the world like it is now.”
“Well . . .” Eve chooses her words carefully. “You don’t have a choice, Phelia.”
I glance away.
“But we’ll help you,” she adds. “You aren’t doing it alone.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Gideon grins at me. “We’re a family now, remember? And families help each other.”
Like how I was so “helpful” to my family as they only tried to love me.
“He’s right,” Eve says. “We’re gonna get through this together. We have to.”
We smoke another bowl, then spend the next two hours on the dining room floor, playing with Corbin and sharing the rest of the ice cream from the carton before it melts. I’ve never been a huge fan of ice cream, but knowing that this mocha fudge chip may be the last ice cream I ever eat gives it a heartbreakingly sweet flavor. Like kissing someone you love before they leave you forever.
Corbin yawns, and I can tell he’s getting sleepy. I take out my phone, now at forty-three percent with no network, but the clock still shows what I assume to be the correct time. Eight-thirty, Corbin’s usual bedtime.
“I need to put him to bed.” I stretch my legs and set aside Mr. Potato Head. “Need to go potty, little guy?”
“No potty,” he says, and his bottom lip quivers.
“Oh wow, he’s potty-trained already?” Gideon asks.
“Yeah, Eileen taught him young.”
“I haven’t even thought about that,” says Eve. “He hasn’t been since you got here.”
“He’s probably a little dehydrated.” Gideon puts the last block on his Lego wall, and claps once. “The castle wall is finished.”
Dysphoria and Grace Page 10
