In The Ruins

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Except maybe the new fellow.

  Brandon, his pack’s high prow bobbing above his head, put his hands on the truck’s tailgate, hunching as if he thought the critters were gonna start shooting. He was sweating too, but not like Thurgood. No, this boy’s eyes were white-ringed and more than a little wild. “I can help you. Take me with you. Please.”

  You can stay in the hotel, for Godsake. Lee almost twitched with the urge to put his boot in the man’s face. “Think we got it handled. Y’all can go in there and close the door, it locks inside. There’s food, water. Place still works.”

  Ginny reappeared, shouldering the door a little wider. Traveller wriggled in her arms, licking at her face, and for once, the dog was too busy getting his tongue all over something to talk about what a wonderful day he was having. His tail whapped furiously, and Ginny’s stray curls bounced. The color in her cheeks suited her, and Lee almost lost his breath again, just seeing her move.

  Lee hopped down, shouldering Brandon aside, and slammed the tailgate. The sound cracked across the slushy lot, falling dead against the mist at its edges, and Ginny reached the passenger side. He was there in a flash to open it for her, and the things had definitely heard them. A low rumbling growl drifted over waterlogged snow, and they began to splash.

  “I can help you,” Brandon repeated, desperate, high-pitched. “I’ll do anything. Just, just let me ride in the back, even!”

  “Lee, they’re movin.” Juju socked his rifle to his shoulder. “I got six-seven, all heading this way.”

  “Start it up, Juju!” Lee’s jaw ached, he was fixing to grit his teeth soon. “That’s an order.”

  “Lee?” Ginny had Traveller loaded, and the dog began to yap, excited as all get-out by the prospect of a car ride. “Lee, we’re not just going to leave him here, are we?”

  Oh, for God’s sake. “Get in the back,” he told Brandon, curtly. His right hand itched for his sidearm—the quickest way to solve the problem, but what would Ginny think of that? “You cause any goddamn trouble, I’ll knock your teeth out.”

  Ginny wasn’t satisfied, of course. Maybe she was even offended. She stared at him, wide-eyed, the flush of exertion fading. “Lee—”

  “Get in, Ginny!” Damn the woman, she was going to get herself hurt.

  “Thank you!” Brandon clambered up, awkward with the pack, and floundered into the bed. “Jesus, thanks. You won’t regret it, I promise!”

  Lee was pretty sure he’d regret it plenty, but there wasn’t any time. The critters had dropped and were lolloping sideways through the slush, throwing up chunks of dirty ice and snow. Would they try to jump in the back? He should think about a canopy, dammit. There wasn’t any time now, he slammed the driver’s side door and almost barked at Ginny to put her seatbelt on.

  She was already buckled in, though, and she paled alarmingly as she twisted to look through the back window. “Is it safe for him back there?”

  “Can’t fit him in here with the dog, and I ain’t puttin a stranger in with the kids.” The truck roused itself with a walloping, welcome purr; he dropped it into gear. Juju’s four-by was already moving, chains biting through slop and digging into ice underneath. They’d have to stop to take ’em off if the roads cleared.

  “Oh, God.” Ginny put her arm around Traveller, who noticed someone was in the back and began to bark, wiggling excitedly. “Shhh, sweetheart, shush…”

  “Let him yell.” The truck glided into a sea of slush, and Lee hoped the things weren’t smart enough to get in the back. He didn’t want Ginny seeing that, nosir.

  Although, he thought as he feathered the accelerator and saw the lolloping critters drop to all fours and speed up, it would solve the goddamn problem nicely. And wasn’t that a measure of how fucked-up things were, that Lee was considering something like that calmly?

  It damn sure was, he decided, and was almost disappointed when the critters fell behind, ghosts in the thickening fog.

  Observations

  The streets were awash, but heading north out of Lewiston the freeway wasn’t that bad. If it stayed a little warmer some pavement might even be visible tomorrow—and along with concrete, the corpses of cars left behind by owners in God knew what sort of a hurry. Once the mist burned off it was achingly bright, melting snow glittering, the truck crunching through ice and gliding around a twisted mass of steel and white froth that looked like a car accident blocking the right two lanes. Juju had dropped back, the truck in front for a while, and the walkie-talkie on the dashboard was off until the next scheduled check-in.

  They had everything about traveling figured out, except the man in the back of Lee’s truck.

  Ginny twisted in the seat, peering at the cab’s faintly misted back window. The defroster was working overtime, but the dog probably put out more condensation than both her and Lee. “I can’t see him.” She wouldn’t even be able to tell if he’d fallen out. The first real, live person not from the Crossing, and he might die of hypothermia before she could get a chance to talk to him.

  “Probably bedded down.” Lee’s jaw was set, hard, and his hazel eyes had lightened. The infected had been easily outpaced, and the truck wasn’t going too fast, but still.

  She sighed, settled in the seat, and checked the mirror on her side. “He’s going to freeze to death.”

  “Maybe.” It didn’t sound like Lee minded. He’d unzipped his shearling coat, and today his button-down flannel and leather vest were hidden under a green Army surplus sweater.

  “He’s a person, Lee.” She stroked Traveller’s back. After the morning’s excitement, the dog was dead asleep, his sides and paws twitching every once in a while as he chased scents in canine dreamland. “Can’t we stop and—”

  “He ain’t no better than a question mark, Ginny.” Lee’s knuckles were white. “Not even sure he ain’t been bit.” His tone hadn’t changed, soft but inflexible, and he’d apologized for yelling at her to get in the truck.

  Funny, she’d been in such a hurry she hadn’t even noticed the apology, or thought about the possibility of the new guy being a…carrier? Was that the right word? The…the things, the infected, only started moving quickly once they dropped to all fours. While they were upright, they wove like drunkards. That was interesting and disturbing, and she could think about it and possibly come up with an explanation if she wasn’t so busy worrying over the poor guy freezing in the back. “Okay.” Did it occur to Lee that the new guy was back there with a gun? He probably could have carjacked them.

  Or still could. You never knew. Should she mention it? Of course, Lee had probably already thought about it.

  She bit her lower lip, gently. Her purse, safely tucked near her damp, uncomfortable new boots, had a fresh journal in its back pocket. She’d made sure the pens worked, too, and neatly dated the title page, though she didn’t fill in the Return To Owner section. What would be the point?

  That was a horrible and quite possibly useless thought. Now would be an excellent time to begin making lists. Systematizing her impressions.

  Traveller didn’t move, but one of his eyelids cracked a bit when she bent down. Lee’s hands relaxed a little, and a little more. Ginny uncapped a blue pen, opened to the first blank page…and stared.

  Lined cream-colored paper, clean and innocent. Like snow before tires and feet and zombies splattered everywhere. If things were normal, she’d have driven to work on plowed and salted roads, grousing at the inconvenience. She’d be thinking of grocery shopping, alphabetizing, meetings, whether or not to pick up a pint of half-n-half for her tea.

  “Whatcha up to?” Lee’s voice jolted her.

  How long had she been just sitting here looking at a blank page? She glanced up, saw a jumble of cars pulled over to the shoulder, and looked back down. “I thought it’d be a good idea to make a list.” As soon as she said it, the whole thing sounded ridiculous. There were infected zombies. What good was a list going to do? None of her skills were even remotely applicable here.

  “
Of?” At least he sounded interested.

  Traveller’s tail twitched. Ginny loosened her jaw, forced her hand to relax. “Symptoms. Observations about those things. If we know how they behave, we might be able to figure out what kind of sickness it is. To predict their behavior and keep ourselves safer.”

  “That’s smart.” Lee squinted at the road, reached for the walkie-talkie, and thumbed it on. Must be a scheduled check-in soon. “Looks like things ease up in a bit, here.”

  That would be nice. “Good.” She touched the pen to paper, took it away. Where the fuck did you even start? “Lee?”

  “Hm?” They crept around a tangled four-car pileup. The walkie-talkie crackled, hummed.

  Ginny tried not to look at the wreck. She tried not to think about the guy in back. Well, he had a coat, at least. And a hat. She opened her mouth to ask again if they couldn’t stop and bring at least make sure he wasn’t a Popsicle. Then she took another look at Lee’s profile. “Nothing.”

  “Be stoppin for lunch soon.” Quiet, evenly spaced, like they were on a country drive. Or a road trip. Well, it was kind of a road trip. “Tomorrow we’ll make good time if the roads ain’t freezin overnight.”

  What a time for the National Weather Service to go on strike. “Yeah. Do you think they will?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “How long…” She ran up against the question, had to stop and take a deep breath, try again. “How long do you think it’ll take? To get there.” Once they got closer, she could navigate on her own. There were the backroads around Alton Falls. If she could just get close enough, she could…steal a car? Go on her own?

  Was that her plan?

  “Depends.”

  For God’s sake. Help me out here. “On what?” Now she was wishing she’d spent more time in the shower this morning. Who could tell when the next chance for hot water would come along?

  “How bad the roads are.” Lee stretched the fingers on his right hand, put them back on the wheel. Stretched his left. “Weather. If those critters stick to towns or run through the woods. How much fuel we find.”

  “Well, there’s gas everywhere.” No shortage, if there were only a few…survivors.

  “Ayuh.” Something in his tone said he’d thought about that, too. “One mile at a time, Miss Ginny. Don’t you worry none.”

  Well, wasn’t that nice of him. “I can’t help it.”

  “I know. You been on your own for a while, ain’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  She’d always been painfully aware she wasn’t quite what her parents wanted. All the love in the world didn’t change that constant seashell song, but they’d done their best. She knew she was lucky, and the faint nagging guilt at her own dissatisfaction was another familiar tune. “Long enough.” She drew a line across the page, another. It didn’t help. “What about you?”

  “All my life, feels like.” Slushy sleet smacked the windshield. The wipers stacked it up on either side, strata of melt and freeze. “Don’t mind it.”

  “What do you mind?”

  “Not much.”

  Except, apparently, the guy in the truck bed. Still, something inside Ginny had eased a little, and a little more.

  He was good at that.

  Okay. She bent her head, looking at the wavering blue lines, and took a deep breath. Fever, she began. Sniffling, sneezing. Convulsions. Frothing at the mouth.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  Put Your Manners On

  He was about frozen stiff when they stopped, but Brandon French didn’t care. He was alive, and he’d found other people, that was enough for the moment. He huddled among tarp-covered boxes and shivered in the lashing sleet, cussing every time the hick driving the goddamn truck hit a bump. After a while he decided to cuss in Spanish for a change. Mama would have preferred French, but Brandon liked knowing what the staff was saying about him. Like the janitors at the high school, laughing at the gringos ricos behind their backs.

  The engine cut off while Brandon was describing just how much he’d like to shoot the stupid hick who didn't even want to take a survivor along. Doors slammed, and he stretched, trying to get some feeling back into his arms and legs.

  “We could have given him blanket, at least,” a soft, educated voice said. The woman with the long hair, the only one out of all these fucks who didn’t look inbred. “It’s raining.”

  “Stay in the truck, Ginny.” That was the hick. “Ain’t cold enough to do him no real harm.”

  Says you. Motherfucker. Brandon rocked back and forth. He was numb all over. Fortunately, the gloves were okay, and so were his boots. His ass was wet, though. Jesus Christ.

  “We gonna check that buildin, Lee?” Another goddamn backwoods drawl, maybe the black man.

  What a collection to fall in with. Beggars couldn’t be choosers when the world turned into a bad horror movie, though. He was just glad to have found people who weren’t growling and trying to chew his goddamn throat out. Brandon stretched again, working his fingers, telling his legs they were supposed to move now.

  “Might as well. Ginny, for God’s sake—”

  The tailgate popped and dropped. “It’s all right. Maybe get some blankets?” She hopped up, lithe and light, and crouched. “Hi. How are you doing?”

  She was older than he liked, but still in shape under layers and a big coat. Just on the edge of cougardom, though her hair was fantastic. You could get a handful of that curling mass and really pull. Big dark eyes, a nice mouth, and a patrician nose. She was definitely a higher class than the rest of them. Brandon tried a smile, his cheeks cracking. “Cold,” he managed, his teeth chattering. His hat wasn’t doing its job, his ears were probably frostbitten. “We stopping?”

  “It’s a gas station.” She duck-walked forward, offered her hand. “Can you stand up? We’ll get you dried off, warmed up. And something to eat. When was the last time you ate?”

  “I…I don’t remember.” It was weird, he actually didn't. Just the front door of his parents’ house in Lourd Bend, breaking glass, then the sports store in Hadisonville, and the things. Shuffling around, or running with that weird sideways boom-boom-quick. “Yesterday? Maybe?”

  “Well, we’ll fix that.” She was a lot lighter, but she managed to get Brandon upright. His feet wouldn’t work quite right. If he got fucking frostbite riding in the bed, he’d have to beat the shit out of that hick. Get him good, somehow or another. Brandon knew how to wait. “There you go. It’s all right.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Ginny.” The black man appeared at the tailgate, his broad stupid face glowing with oil. “Bad apples, remember?”

  “I think he’s too frozen to be a mass murderer, Juju. And he’s not feverish.” She slipped, and he almost went over too. It was goddamn icy back here; only the boxes and tubs under bungee-lashed tarps had a chance of staying dry. “Ouch. Okay, come on, Brandon. It’s Brandon, right?”

  “Yes…ma’am.” Goddammit, stop talking. Now that she said food he was starving. They probably had nothing nutritious, but he’d eat fucking cardboard if he had to. The gun against his chest flapped, and he put up a numb hand, blindly.

  “Be careful!” the black man barked, and Brandon almost toppled out of the truck. “Damnfool sonofabitch!”

  “What the hell?” The hick was there—tall, rangy, a real asshole, his hazel-turning-yellow stare just as ignorant and cunning as every other cousinfucking jackass whose ambitions stopped at polishing windshield wipers in a service station. “Jesus Christ!”

  The next thing Brandon knew, he was flat on his stomach on icy, slippery pavement, the carbine somehow stripped from his chest on the way down, and both of them were yelling.

  “He could have shot you, Ginny!” The black man was mouthy, that was for damn sure. Brandon tried to to rise, was shoved unceremoniously back down. His forehead hit pavement, and he let out a short bark of pain.

  “Not likely,” the white hick said, disdain thick in every drawled-out syllable. “Ain’t even load
ed.”

  “He’s just a kid.” The woman was trying to calm them both down. “Guys, come on, he’s just a kid!”

  No I’m not. I’m Number 23, and you motherfuckers don’t know who you’re dealing with. “Fuck off!” he yelled, and tried to surge upright.

  And subsided, because the hick had a pistol, pressed right against the back of Brandon’s skull. “Easy there, fella. The grownups are talkin.”

  “What is it?” A teenage girl, peering over the black man’s shoulder, a blur in Brandon’s peripheral vision. Pasty, thin-haired, and mouthbreathing. Right next to her was a boy, probably her brother—he had the same chinless-wonder look. “Oh, man.” The girl shook her head, clicking her tongue like a much-older woman.

  “Juju, take Ginny and the kids inside.” The hick’s hand was on the back of Brandon’s neck, mashing his face into dirty snow. His knee was in Brandon's kidney, for fucksake. “Imma have a little chat with this fella.”

  “Lee—” The almost-cougar grabbed the hick’s shoulder, but he shook her off, which might have given Brandon an opening except he was too numb to use it. “Lee, come on!”

  “Ginny.” The black man had her arm, and pulled her away. That was disturbing, but Brandon didn’t have time for it right now.

  It was a Circle M parking lot awash with slush, of all places, the ancient blue gas pumps leering at the spectacle of Number 23, best tight end on the Milville Dodgers team in high school and the newest addition to the Lourd Bend High School teaching team, getting his face rubbed in the dirt by some wiry-ass hick bastard. “Calm down,” the hick drawled. “I don’t want to shoot you, buddy.”

  God damn you. “Motherfucker! What the fuck?” He couldn’t wriggle out of his jacket, but he gave it a try. The hick just sank his knee further into Brandon's back, and he was a lot stronger than he looked. Finally, Brandon sagged into the melting snow. Swear to God, gonna make you pay for this.