I make my way into the bathroom. Her toothbrush is still wet. I'm not that far behind her.
She woke up and started the day without me.
I'm conflicted.
Grateful that she would consider me enough to slip out quietly and allow me the extra sleep.
Slightly bruised that she felt no need for my company.
I decorate my own toothbrush using one of the tubes of mint paste we'd picked up during our travels and run it rapidly across my teeth. I rinse and swish my mouth out with the jug of water we'd been provided. It's running low. We'd spent most of it last night washing ourselves, especially Bethany, who'd spent an exorbitant amount removing the shampoo and conditioner from her hair.
Squared away, I head for the front door, swinging a lightweight leather coat across my shoulders before departing.
The complex layout is a mentally hazy affair. I doubt I could retrace Katia's steps from yesterday with a map and a compass. The clubhouse is bound to be towards the center of the property. I turn, pick a direction, and begin walking. I figure I'm bound to run into something of interest.
I drop down a small embankment. The playground appears to my right this time. Different men stand watch, pacing slowly, their rifles in hand, the sunlight glinting off the high-powered scopes attached to the top. The same kid I'd seen yesterday is swinging beneath the monkey bars, attached by his knees, his arms hanging limply above his head as his shirt falls down and bunches around his chest, exposing his pale belly. A girl in a pair of track pants runs by and tickles him briefly before disappearing beneath the yellow slide.
I move up another grassy slope and find myself facing the pond. Across the way is the clubhouse. I hadn't noticed it last night. It takes me about a minute to circle the path around the pond. The clubhouse has its own security gate with a combination lock. It’s only waist high. Easy to scale. I suppose property management installed it for looks. People have a thing for that false sense of security. On the other side of the gate, there is a flat piece of pavement decorated with umbrella cloaked tables and lawn chairs, all situated around an ivy colored pool.
At the center of it all is Katia and Bethany.
Katia stands with her arms crossed wearing a pair of pedal pushers low across her hips and a black hooded sweatshirt. She watches intently as Bethany moves foot over foot, swinging and slashing the air with one of Katia’s katanas; the other remains sheathed on her right hip.
“That's good, but remember, left hand on the bottom, right hand on the top. Think of it like you're casting a fishing rod. You’re pulling the sword like a lever with your left hand. After it makes contact with your target, then you pull back up.”
“I've never fished before.”
“Okay, well, just...left hand on the bottom, right hand towards the top. Easy enough, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Bethany swings the sword around in a half circle, keeping it eye level as she cuts the air, her face twisted with simulated blood lust. “Huhya!” She shouts as she decapitates her imaginary opponent.
Katia laughs. “There ya go, Bethany, layin em' out.”
“Hey, someone wanna tell me the combo so I can get through?” I yell.
“Oh, sorry,” Katia says, “hold the top two buttons and then press the bottom one. It took us forever to figure that damn thing out.”
Judging by the sweat ring on Bethany's collar, they’ve been going at this for quite some time. She's shed her jacket and is now dancing around in nothing more than cut up jeans and a white tee.
“Teaching my little sister to slice and dice, I see.”
“Yep, now when you run out of bullets, she can protect your ass. It's always gonna fall on the women.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. “Haven't cut your arm off yet?”
“I want one, Tim,” Bethany says, ignoring my comment.
“Uh huh, well, we left the one we had back at the storage unit. Afraid you're out of luck.”
“I'm pretty sure I can dig one out of the armory,” Katia says.
“Woo hoo!” Bethany cheers, turning on her heels to face her next foe.
I raise an eyebrow at Katia. “She falls on it, it's on you.”
Katia pats me on the shoulder. “She has a good teacher, no worries.”
I stand beside her and we watch Bethany as she moves foot over foot beside the pool, from one end to the other, her elbows moving up and down like engine cylinders as she blocks and strikes, switching from left to right, left to right.
“Anything worth eating in there?” I toss a thumb towards the clubhouse doors.
“I’m sure we can find you something,” she says. “Hey Bethany, you keep practicing what I showed you. I’m gonna go make sure your brother gets fed.”
Bethany is in a different world. Right now, Rabid, the General, and his men surround her. She can’t hear us.
We both shrug and leave her to battle her demons.
I beat Katia to the door and hold it open, tipping my hat as she passes me by.
“Quite the gentleman. And here I thought the end of the world had wiped your kind out.”
“We were in short supply before all this happened.”
The clubhouse is plush. A couple of leather sofas backed up by an extinguished flat screen television and a fireplace. There’s a crystal chandelier and a couple large paintings spread across the walls; abstract, signed in the bottom right hand corner, the expensive sort. The wet bar is topped with marble tile. On the other side are a refrigerator, a microwave, and an assortment of cupboards and shelves.
Katia hops up onto a barstool and slaps the one next to her. “Grab a seat.”
Don’t mind if I do. “So what’s good here?”
“Not a damn thing.” Katia pounds the countertop. “Francisco, apúrate, get your lazy ass in here.”
There’s a clatter of pots and pans and some frustrated stomping. “What, what, what?” A dark brown man with a dirty apron and a thick moustache comes hobbling around the corner. He moves behind the counter and slaps his hands down in front of us, breathing heavy through his nose. His charcoal eyes slide between us. “You already ate, Katia, and lunch isn’t for two more hours.”
“Not for me, stupid, for him. He hasn’t eaten.”
“Well, I’ve already turned off the generators, washed the pans, and put the stuff up. You snooze you lose, kiddo. See ya in a few hours.”
I slide the stool back. “It’s fine, I can wait.”
Katia grabs my wrist. “No, you cannot.” She stands up on the stool, props her elbows on the counter, and leans over, getting nose to nose with Francisco. “Go fire it back up and make him a plate or I’ll make sure you play point man on the next supply run.”
Francisco studies Katia for a moment, trying to decide if she’d be willing to make good on such a threat. He pulls at his moustache, hard. It’s almost painful to watch. Finally, he throws his hands up and stomps back towards the kitchen, muttering in Spanish.
“Jódete, just make the fucking plate,” Katia yells, situating herself back on the barstool.
“You didn’t ask what I wanted.”
“We all eat the same shit.”
“I’m just joking.” I twirl my hat from my head and set it on the counter, pushing my hair back from my eyes and scratching at my scalp. “He’s going to spit in my food.”
“He spits in everyone’s food.” She turns sideways, considering me. “I like your hair. You should lose the hat.”
“My hair looks awful right now. I just woke up. I’ve got hat hair for days, I’m sure.”
She shakes her head. “Nah, doesn’t look bad at all. You’ve got natural waves, good body. Plus, I like blonds.”
I choke a little and nod like an idiot. “Cool, that’s...cool.” I drum the counter and bob my head, acting as if I’m jiving to the tune of some inaudible beat rather than looking for an outlet for the nervous adrenaline pulsing through my veins.
“So, why’d you want to kn
ow how old I am yesterday?”
I shrug. “Turnabout is fair play, and all that jazz. I told you my age, so, why not?”
“Uh huh.”
“What?”
“Turnabout is fair play, I’d forgotten that one. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Well, it is.”
“You know you’re not supposed to ask a girl her age, I thought you were a gentleman?”
“I don’t think you’re quite old enough for that to apply, yet.”
She laughs. “Touché.” She twirls back and forth on the stool, doing half revolutions, stopping herself with her hands before her knees crash into mine. “I’m seventeen. I turned seventeen two months ago.”
I’m caught off guard. “Oh, okay. Never would have guessed.”
“Older, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“You would have guessed I’m older. It’s okay, I’ve always looked older. Gotten Ruiz in a couple of good dust ups over it.”
“Yeah, Ruiz, he seems wound pretty tight.”
She shrugs. “He’s passionate, no doubt. I remember, I was fifteen, and we were leaving a movie and this dude, must have been in his thirties, straight up grabbed my ass. Ruiz hit him so hard I thought the guy’s head was going to pop off his shoulders. He’s always been that way; acting first and thinking second.”
“You should have called the cops, him grabbing your ass and everything.”
She shakes her head. “Nah, didn’t want to risk Ruiz going to jail too for exploding on the guy. Besides, sometimes a punch in the face trumps handcuffs.”
“You’ve got a point there,” I say, thinking of the General.
“All that stuff you saw in the truck, him blowing his fuse, well, that’s just Ruiz. But he’s got a heart for people, for helping, this whole thing, this community, it’s his baby. He’s just protective, you know?”
“My sister is the same way. I think we all are when it comes to family, especially now, when they’re all we’ve got left.”
“Oh, your sister, she’s crazy about you. I can tell.”
A paper plate is plopped down in front of me.
“Thank you, Francisco,” Katia croons. The clatter of pots and pans and a few muffled bouts of profanity is the only response she receives.
Roasted potatoes. An egg. Two pancakes.
No obvious signs of saliva.
“Not half bad for post-apocalyptic grub, right?”
“I’m not complaining.” I start cutting away with the edge of a plastic fork.
“We’ve gotten pretty lucky on the eggs these last two runs. We’ve got flour coming out of our ears, so, if nothing else, we can survive off pancakes.”
“Better than canned veggies,” I say through a mouthful of potato. “Some water would be great.”
She yells for Francisco. He reluctantly appears and fetches a bottle of water. I thank him. He doesn’t respond, just glares at Katia before returning to the next room.
“So, what was life like for the urban cowboy before the shit hit the fan?”
“Quieter, much quieter. Less bullets. Less death.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, ha, ha. Where’d you live? Where’d you go to school? What’d you do for fun?”
“Well,” I swallow a piece of egg and tap my fork against the edge of the plate, “I’m from a backwoods town and went to a backwoods school that you’ve probably never heard of.”
“Try me.”
“Watkinsville.”
She laughs. “Okay, you’re right, never heard of it.”
“It’s okay, we like it that way. Keeps the degenerates away.” I wink. She laughs. The pancakes are dry and tasteless. “Dance was my thing. I did talent competitions and recitals. Wasn’t that popular because of it, a lot of sideway glares, more jeers than cheers, but, it was my passion. Gotta follow the passion, you know?”
She’s smiling.
Kindness? Surprise? Restrained laughter?
“Dance? I’d never have guessed.” She props a cheek on two fingers. She’s sitting sideways, facing me, legs crossed.
“I’ve heard that a lot. It’s usually followed by open mockery.”
She frowns and shakes her head. “Well, they’re assholes. You get one life, live it doing what makes you happy.”
“If all this blows over, I might have you come spread that gospel in Watkinsville.”
“What? Are there no girls there that can appreciate a guy that knows how to move?”
“None that I’ve found,” I squeak out as I quickly focus in on the next bite of pancake.
“I make you nervous, don’t I, Tim?”
It’s clear now.
She’s enjoying this. She’s having a go at me.
I thought that perhaps she’d taken a genuine interest.
Stupid Timmy, real dreamer you are.
I set my fork down. “I’m okay,” I answer flatly. I meet her eyes and force a smile before turning my attention back to my food.
She clicks her tongue. “Well, glad to hear your nerves are steady, that means you should be able to start work when you’re finished eating. Got a place all carved out for you with the other grease monkeys.”
“What?”
“Mechanical.”
“Like...working on cars and shit?”
“Yessir.”
“But, I’ve never worked on a car in my life,” I object. Her back is already to me, her hips carrying her towards the door.
“You’ll manage. You can be their wrench bitch or something.”
***
And so it is.
Wrench bitch.
Katia introduces me around. The guys all shake my hand with little interest, some visibly annoyed. They obviously have their routine. Their circle. And here I am, this fresh faced know-nothing, fucking it all up.
As soon as Katia is gone, they go back to their engines and start running me around like a pack animal.
“Hey, kid, gimme that breaker bar.”
“What’s a...”
“Long ass silver thing...the fuckin’ bar...c’mon kid, you’re slowin’ the works here.”
As soon as I hand off the giant hunk of silver nonsense to the smelly guy in the blue onesie, someone else is growling for me.
“Throw me the combo wrench and a couple zip ties.”
“Combo...”
“It’s that one...Jesus.” He stabs an aggravated finger towards the mass of tools lying on the ground. “You know what zip ties look like?” He licks his rotten teeth, glaring at me beneath bushy eyebrows.
“...yeah.” I drop my head, my face flush, as I walk over to a cardboard box filled with multicolored zip ties.
“So, why zip ties?” I ask as he yanks the items from my hands.
“We don’t really fix shit here, kid. We plug it. We tie it. We pray over it.”
“Ah, well, better than nothing.”
The man laughs and spits near the front bumper. “Ya’ll hear this fucking kid? Better than nothing. Where the hell did they pick you up at, anyway?”
***
I find Katia behind building 11 on a small stretch of grass.
I hear her long before I see her.
Grunts. Rawrs. Grrrs.
She’s hacking, slashing, and kicking a thick log. She backs up after each series of strikes and charges again, changing up her attack, ducking and kicking, over handed and under handed.
It’s all very theatrical.
Sweat drips down and around her eyes and turns her paper thin undershirt translucent against her toned caramel colored torso. She turns her head towards me and nods before charging in for another attack.
Three quick blows and a crescent kick.
Chunks of wood spiral onto the grass.
“How were things in the grease pit?” She walks back towards me, hands on her head, swords pointed towards the sky, breathing heavy.
“How the hell do you think they went? Those guys and me, we don’t mix. I have a feeling you knew that would be the cas
e.”
She shrugs. “Don’t know till you try.”
“Uh huh, well, I tried. You can find me something else.”
“Not sure there is anything else. I’ll have to dig.”
“Well, dig, really hard, because I’m not going back there.”
“And, what do I get for helping you out?”
I hold my arms out sarcastically. “My eternal gratitude will have to do.”
She taps a finger against her chin as if actually giving thought to my offer. “Oh, alright, I suppose that’ll do.” She swings her swords around once and sheaths them away smoothly. “You’re softer than I thought you’d be, especially for a Georgia boy.”
“What, because I can’t swing a wrench?”
“Isn’t that what ya’ll do out there? Change your own oil and blow the stuffing out of woodland creatures?”
“It’s not what I did. Wasn’t really my thing.”
She hops down off the small patch of earth and stands toe-to-toe with me on the pavement, her shoulders still rising and falling rapidly. “You can handle a gun at least, right?”
“I haven’t gotten this far based solely off my charm.”
She laughs, bringing a hand down on my shoulder. “That’s the goddamn truth.”
“Wait...what’s that supposed to...”
“Oh, Tim, you’re hopeless. You stare at my ass like it’s the last meal on the planet, but, for some reason, you’ve yet to try to get yourself a bite.” She brushes the tips of her fingers across my cheek, scratching me gently with her nails.
My heart pops against my ribs. I cough and fall away from her, trying to get my bearings back. “Wow, you’re not exactly subtle are you?”
“Tim, look around you. There isn’t exactly time for subtlety.”
“Maybe I just prefer to be a gentleman.”
“Or, maybe you’re just scared.”
“Scared? Of you? No, dream on.”
“Prove it then.”
“How?”
“Put your hands on me.”
I glance around, nervous. “What the hell...no! Put my hands on you? What does that even mean? Like, grab your boobs?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, moron, put your hands on my hips. Pull me towards you. You’re not even comfortable being close to me, are you? Are you gay?”
“Uh no, I like girls. I’m not gay.”
The Rabid: Rise Page 5
