“You look positively nefarious,” she said with a forced smile. A joke was better than what she longed to say.
Stay here!
Don’t go!
There’s danger out there!
I need you!
I can’t lose you!
And so she told a joke to keep the fear at bay.
“I feel positively nefarious,” he said as he gathered her up in a hug that she could’ve sunk into forever. His embrace made the world feel safe again, if only until it ended.
He tilted her chin up and stared quietly into her eyes. Her heart thumped against his firm chest. “We’re going to be fine, honey.” He dipped down and kissed her softly. He pulled back and captured her eyes. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m a mother. It’s my job to worry.”
“And it’s my job to keep people safe. Our daughter more than anyone else.”
“Not just Theresa. You,” she said as she tapped his chest. “ You keep you safe too.”
“I will. I promise.”
Theresa bounded out of the back door with a backpack slung over her shoulder. As requested, she was dressed in generally dark colors. She saw them and rolled her eyes. “Is there anything I could do to see less of this?”
Beth shrugged. “Sure, close your eyes.”
“Very funny.”
Mason looked up at the darkening sky. “We need to get going.” He reached up to the driver’s seat and pulled down three walkie-talkies, the Motorola Talkabouts that they used for camping. He handed one to Beth and one to Theresa.
“I solar charged them up to capacity this afternoon. Keep it on your hip at all times. You’ll probably lose us when we get enough buildings and houses in between, but it’s the best we’ve got. Theresa, we shouldn’t need one each, but it’s backup if we somehow get separated.”
He looked at Beth. “Which we won’t.”
Each of them clicked on their walkie-talkie and took turns verifying they were sending and receiving correctly. They got the volumes right and then stowed the devices.
Mason lifted his sweatshirt and unclipped a holstered pistol from his belt. “This is for you, Theresa.”
Theresa’s eyes opened wide.
Beth stepped back to give them room. This wasn’t something they’d discussed, but she trusted Mason implicitly. This was his expertise, from a career as a Marine to a career as a bodyguard… or close protection officer as he preferred to call it.
“You should carry for tonight. Again, redundancy. This isn’t the call I’d make in a sane world, but we no longer live in one.”
They’d all gone to indoor and outdoor shooting ranges over the years. They didn’t do it every month and they weren’t what your average person would call gun nuts, but Mason had made certain that Theresa was both comfortable with a handgun and also respectful of the damage it could do. He pulled the Glock 26 out of the holster, making sure to keep it pointed down in a safe direction.
Beth knew it was identical to the one he carried on his ankle. Yet another redundancy thing. She also knew he used cartridges for Theresa that didn’t kick as hard. Whatever they were, their daughter had never expressed any serious discomfort at firing the gun.
Mason reversed the grip and wrapped Theresa’s hand around it, making sure to keep the barrel pointed at the ground. He held her hand in place. “What are the four rules of gun safety?”
Theresa rolled her eyes.
“I’m waiting,” Mason said, not releasing the pistol.
“One, treat all guns as if they are always loaded. Two, never point a gun at something you aren’t willing to destroy. Three, keep your finger off the trigger until your aim is on the target and you have decided to fire. Four, be aware of what is around and behind the target.”
Mason glanced at Beth. “She’s good.”
“She is.”
“Holster your weapon and attach it to your belt,” Mason said as he released the firearm. He watched closely as Theresa did as instructed. “Last reminder. I’ll handle security tonight. You are backup. Backup like I’m in big trouble and you’re our last hope. Otherwise, keep it holstered.”
He was expecting big trouble?
Mason turned to Beth. “And no, I’m not expecting big trouble.”
Theresa gave a theatrical salute. “Yes, sir, Sergeant West!”
Mason rolled his eyes at her. “One, you don’t call an enlisted man ‘Sir’ and a Sergeant is an enlisted man. And two, I haven’t been an active duty soldier in more years than I’d like to count. Dad is fine.”
Theresa struck her sneaker heels together with a dull click. “Yes, sir, Sergeant Dad!”
“Get in the Bronco, Private.”
Elio appeared at the back door. “You guys about to leave?”
Theresa bounded over and wrapped an arm around him. “Yep. Someone’s got to do the manly work.”
“Hey, I’m on the injured reserve.”
Theresa pinched his cheek. “Don’t make excuses! It only makes it sound worse.”
Elio pulled her close. Their arms created a bubble that sucked the air out of the rest of the world. “I’m serious. Be safe.”
The space between them shrank and Beth waited to see what might happen. She was genuinely curious and saw no harm in it.
“We’ll be fine,” Mason replied in a flat tone. “Private Theresa, Bronco.”
Elio seemed to snap back into confused reality. “Yeah, uhh, you should get going.”
“Wait up for me?” Theresa asked.
“How could I not?”
Theresa smiled and pecked his cheek.
He was a good kid. His affection was both earnest and endearing. Beth hadn’t said it explicitly yet, but he had her seal of approval. Mason was another matter altogether. He couldn’t be blamed though. He was a father, and he’d eventually come around.
He would if he knew what was good for him.
Theresa tilted her head and kissed Elio before dashing to the Bronco’s passenger door.
Elio’s mouth gaped open.
Beth’s heart warmed to see the two in their first faltering steps toward romance. It was sweet. It was natural. She glanced at Mason. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
He didn’t share her opinion. He needed time. A lot of it by the look of the bulging veins in his neck.
“Easy, tiger,” she said as she patted his chest. “Don’t push her away just because you’re afraid to let her go. She’s growing up.”
His eyes settle back into his head. “You’re right.”
“I know,” Beth replied with a smirk. “I thought you knew that by now.”
Mason kissed her lips and then hopped up into the Bronco. “You’re right about half as much as you think you are, and twice as much as I’d like you to be.” He slammed the door shut.
Be safe.
The words choked in her throat.
Mason nodded. “We’ll be safe.”
Beth didn’t doubt Mason’s intention. She doubted what could happen when that intention encountered the chaos in the wider world.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As much as she might not like to admit it, watching Iridia clean the toilet gave her a certain smug pleasure. The model’s gloved hand squeaked as she scrubbed at the stain ringing the bowl. A lock of hair fell out of her ponytail and dipped into the water. She jerked it out and flung droplets on her cheek.
“Disgusting! I need scissors! Where are some scissors?”
“Calm down,” Beth said. “It’ll wash clean.”
Iridia looked up at her in horror. “Clean? It just took a deep dive in toilet water! It’s contaminated!” She held it at arm’s length like it might try to bite her.
Beth laughed. As annoying as Iridia was, she also brought much-needed humor into the household. She was a real look on the bright side kind of deal.
The impossibly skinny and aggravatingly immodest supermodel wore a pair of Beth’s shorts and a tank top. She’d taken to wearing her clothes after Beth put a stop to h
er wearing Theresa’s undersized garments. Unfortunately, Iridia had almost no clothes of her own. On second thought, maybe it was a good thing she didn’t have more of her own clothes on hand.
She’d worn one of Mason’s old UCLA sweatshirts one time and one time only. After enduring the gorgeous bimbo blabbering on and on about how yummy and manly it smelled, Beth forbade her wearing any more of his clothing.
It wasn’t that she felt threatened.
It wasn’t that.
Okay, it was a little of that.
Not that she thought Mason would ever do anything in a million years. It was just that Iridia was a freaking-for-real-in-life supermodel. It was hard as hell not feeling a scooch inadequate in her objectively stunning presence.
It would’ve been impossible not to be intimidated were it not for Iridia’s knack for sounding like a selfish idiot. That tended to put her whole package into perspective.
“Ack,” Iridia said as her body spasmed. “I’m going to vomit. I’m not kidding.” She convulsed again. “It’s in my throat. It’s literally in my throat.”
“If you puke, you’ll have to clean that up, too.”
Iridia held up a soapy sponge with a grimace on her face. A curly, black hair was stuck to the frothy white bubbles. “A pube.” She gagged again. “I mean, seriously. This is why I have weekly visits with my esthetician.”
“You used to have weekly visits,” Beth corrected her.
Iridia glanced down between her legs. “Don’t remind me. The horror.”
“Wash your sponge off in the bucket,” Beth said.
Iridia grimaced. “But then it’ll be in there… somewhere… waiting to stick to my fingers the next time I rinse the sponge.”
Beth rolled her eyes and continued wiping down the sink. “Occupational hazard, sister. Get to it because we’ve got three loads of clean laundry that aren’t going to hang themselves.”
Much to Beth’s surprise, Iridia finished helping her clean the bathroom with no more than the occasional muttered comment and the infrequent theatrical gagging. “Please put everything away while I get the laundry together.”
“Joy,” Iridia said as Beth headed to the living room, which had also become their makeshift laundry room because it was the biggest place to hang a cord to dry clothes. Beth made sure to dim the battery LED lantern to the minimum as she entered the living room. The heavy curtains blocked any light from escaping, but it was easy to miss a tiny open fold or crevice.
One oversight and a beacon of light would pour out advertising to the world that they were a juicy target. That there was more than a looted house of decomposing bodies to be had by those bold enough to enter.
Elio brought out a tub stacked high with wet, clean clothes from the kitchen. “I squeezed them out the best I could.”
Beth finished securing the cord across the room and joined Elio in draping sheets and clothing over the taut line. A few minutes into the task and Iridia joined them on the other side of the line. She knew the drill. Beth had walked her through it a couple of times already.
Five people in a house that all worked hard and didn’t take showers like they used to. Clothes got stinky fast. But Beth was determined not to live in a sty, even if the world was collapsing around their ears. Perhaps even more so then.
“I hate doing laundry,” Iridia said as she hung a sock that looked like it needed another soak. “Does it really happen, like, every few days?”
“Do you wear clothes everyday?” Beth asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, then you make dirty clothes everyday. Times that by five people and that turns out to be a lot to do by hand.”
“Fine, then,” Iridia said. “I’ll fix that.”
Beth laughed. “Yeah, that would be great. Fix the electricity so I can have my washer and dryer back. Do that and I’ll take bathrooms for a month.”
“In my dreams,” she replied.
“Mine too,” Beth agreed.
Elio continued to hang up things in a daze. His mind was clearly elsewhere… with her daughter.
They finished hanging everything and they all paused to admire their effort. Looking over a hanging sheet, Beth saw Iridia cradling her hand and peering closely at it like it was injured.
“Something wrong with your hand?” Beth asked as her doctor instincts kicked into gear. What medicines did she have on hand? Not much. What gear? Did she have a splint?
“Yes,” Iridia said, “my cuticles are growing in!”
Beth’s doctor mind dropped into annoyed pseudo-parent mode. “Did you know your cuticles are there to prevent fungus and bacteria from getting in?”
Iridia stared blankly. She looked back at her hand. “They’re hideous!”
Elio slipped under the sheet with the empty tub and then froze in his tracks. His eyes went wide as dinner plates. They were locked to Iridia, to somewhere below her eyes.
Beth dipped under the laundry line and came out face to crotch with Iridia’s naked body. Not believing her eyes, she did a double take. Yes, naked. And she did have hair growing in. “Why are you naked?”
“Laundry is too much trouble. I’d rather go naked.”
Elio didn’t move.
“That wasn’t the solution I asked for!” Beth said.
“I know,” Iridia replied. “But I’m creative like that.”
Beth grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. She marched her out of the living room and noticed Elio frozen like a statue the whole way. They arrived at her room and she guided Iridia inside.
“You are not to leave this room without clothes covering your body. Do you understand me?”
Oh.
Em.
Gee.
She was such a parent! She was being forced to parent a twenty-five-year-old supermodel! How screwed up was that? One daughter was hard enough to handle.
“So, you’re saying I can hang out in here naked, right?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THERESA WEST peered out the passenger window of the Bronco as they slowly wound through a maze of abandoned vehicles, discarded furniture, decomposing bodies, and random junk that littered the street. Her dad drove with the Bronco lights off, but the last tendrils of twilight still revealed more than she wanted to see.
Her heart pounded in her eyes. At first, it was from the burning touch of Elio’s lips on hers. But over the last few blocks, it had shifted much darker. Lost was the warmth in her belly after their brief kiss. Lost was the giddy glow of his reflected desire.
She felt cold now. Deathly cold.
It was the evidence of suffering that surrounded them. How odd that some blocks could seem almost normal where others were like this one.
The faint scent of smoke reminded her of weekends at Tito and Mamaw’s house. Of how Tito would work up a roaring fire in the stone pit he’d built decades ago. Of how the flames would spit out little glowing fireflies that would shoot up and twirl away into the black sky. She always wondered if any of them made it to wherever it was they were going.
Or if every last one was sooner or later snuffed out and forgotten.
She looked down and noticed a bloated body lying face down next to the curb. A woman. More than that was hard to tell. Maybe it was a trick of the gathering darkness or maybe it was a simple defense mechanism, but none of it seemed real.
It felt fake.
Like it was a huge set in a Hollywood movie, maybe Death Before Life. She could almost see Ryan in his leading role step out of the shadows after defeating the enemy once and for all. His shirt torn off. Carved chest and abs throwing off sex appeal like nothing else in the world mattered.
But Ryan didn’t appear.
And this reality didn’t have an upbeat, sexy ending. One where she and Holly could clap and hoot like crazy, finish off the last kernels of popcorn, and then head home going over every second of a totally kickass two hours.
Because Holly was gone. Her best friend since third grade.
Buried in the ground in th
e Crayfords’ backyard.
Gone.
It couldn’t be real.
Her dad said something from the driver’s seat.
“Hmmm?” she said.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t think so.”
He squeezed her knee and didn’t say a word. He saw exactly what she saw. What could he say? If this wasn’t a movie, what could he do to change what had already happened?
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to visit Holly’s house. See if her parents are alive. It’s on the way to Rite-Aid.”
He didn’t answer and so Theresa prepared herself to battle over it.
“Okay.”
That was a surprise.
“Thanks.”
She really did want to check on them. Maybe they’d survived. But she also wanted to be in Holly’s room. Just be for a minute. She longed to feel connected to her best friend again, if only through the things she’d left behind.
They cut over a block and headed up Holly’s street. It wasn’t as chaotic as the last one was. That one looked like a war zone. This one looked like the morning after a block party. They stopped in front and Theresa saw a large red triangle sloppily painted on the front door, the sign that the house had been touched by the Delta Virus.
In the first days of the outbreak, an attempt at a coordinated response had been made. The national guard had rolled through Los Angeles marking and cordoning off infected zones, trying to impose order where none would take root.
She wondered if the Pearson’s door was painted by a soldier as a warning to others to stay away, or, like their house, someone had painted it as a deterrent to looters. Like a sign in your yard of an alarm company that didn’t exist. She looked at all the nearby houses and saw the same spray-painted, red triangle on each of the doors.
It didn’t look like a trick.
Mason cut the engine and she grabbed the door handle to exit.
“Wait,” he said. “Put on your respirator mask and latex gloves. A virus isn’t supposed to be able to live for more than twenty four hours outside the body. Then again, the world has never seen a virus like this so we’re going to play it safe. Got it?”
The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse Page 5
