His gaze slid to the other bed. “Then again, I’m not sure my roommate ever slept. Usually he was over at a friend’s room playing video games.” He smiled. “He must have slept through his classes—without anyone catching him, of course. He wouldn’t need to hear the lectures, anyway. I’m sure he already knew everything, at least for the first two terms.”
“You think so?” Kneeling, she slid the history book back into its place.
“From what I’ve seen him do, yes.” Looking back at his wall, he clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Wish I could have survived like that. Maybe I would have had time to do some leisure reading instead of just assignments, you know?”
He exhaled, his bangs stirring from the breeze. “I mean, really. Of all the Dickens the teacher could have assigned, we ended up with A Tale of Two Cities. Another fellow and I… I forget his name; we didn’t have any other classes together, but we started up a conspiracy. We would hack into the teacher’s computer and replace it with a better assignment.” He snorted. “I suppose it was doomed to fail, since I don’t think we ever got James in on it. He must have been busy chasing off girls or something. I still don’t understand how someone so absurdly geeky could have that many women after him.”
Suddenly he slumped, his fists clutching enough fabric to shoot wrinkles across the bedspread. Eyes squeezed shut, he croaked, “What on earth has happened to my perfectly good life?”
“Arthur…” Stepping over, Charlotte put a hand on his shoulder.
He took in a shuddering breath and straightened himself, hastily smoothing out the covers.
“Sorry,” he muttered, settling down and dropping his gaze to his scabbed knuckles. After another breath, he put his weight back on his feet.
“No problem.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “We all feel that way sometimes.”
He exhaled, gazing out the window. “Well, it wasn’t that great. Stupid assignments and all. And you weren’t there, so, um…”
Realizing his face was heating up, he shrugged in a series of jerks and walked to the doorway. Not daring to face her, he just crossed his arms and examined his shadow.
He just registered where it blended into the dark hallway before a crashing weight brought him to the ground.
11
Charlotte hurried over to the source of the thuds, but Arthur was already pulling himself out of the two-man pile. It didn’t seem that difficult when the attacker was rolling over, guffawing.
“You idiot,” Arthur grunted, sitting up and straightening out his shirt.
The other man, still laughing, pushed himself up as well. He was of average size and build. Whitish-blond hair dangled in his brown eyes. A staff that must have fallen out of his grip rolled until it hit his scarred elbow.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he started, no longer laughing but still grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah,” Arthur conceded, looking over the other man and unable to suppress a smile himself.
“I take it he’s a friend?” Charlotte started, shouldering her rifle.
Pushing himself to his feet, Arthur nodded. “This numbskull is Dalton, my old roommate.” He turned towards Dalton, who was rolling onto his heels. “And Dalton, this is Charlotte.”
“Nice to meet you.” She held out a hand. Dalton took it, managing to shake while he helped himself up.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Casting a sideways look at Arthur, he raised an eyebrow. “So all it took for you to get a girlfriend was the zombie apocalypse.”
Arthur scowled, flushing brightly, and she laughed.
“Hey, now, no jumping to conclusions,” she said. “I’ve just been traveling with him. Me as his girlfriend…” She glanced at Arthur’s face and had to burst out laughing again. “He’s working on it.”
With crossed arms and hunched shoulders, Arthur refused to comment as Dalton snickered.
“You made an interesting entry,” she started, turning back towards Dalton.
Adjusting his latex gloves, he flashed another smile. “That’s what he gets for not checking the ceiling.”
“Why on earth would I check the ceiling?” Arthur leaned back against the wall with a thunk. “The zombies aren’t going to make it up there, and only a freak of a human would try it.” He paused, looking Dalton over. “Oh, wait.”
“Shut up, man,” Dalton laughed, elbowing Arthur in the shoulder. “How have you been, though? I haven’t seen you in what, five years now?” Looking more serious, he eyed Charlotte. “You’re at least not alone, looks like.”
“Ah. Well—” Arthur shifted his shoulders “—I’ve actually been by myself for most of the span that’s passed. I only just met her…” He looked over at her. “Um, how long has it been now?”
“A little over a month.” She shrugged, leaning an elbow on Arthur’s shoulder. He twitched beneath her before clearing his throat.
“A month,” he repeated, voice strained and breathless. “Before that, um, you know. Alone and all. Er, uh…” He picked at his collar.
At the red on his friend’s face, Dalton looked to the side laughing. “So I see.”
He glanced at Arthur again, but the archer was still shivering as Charlotte eyed him coyly.
“Are you tired?” Arthur finally got out. Though his eyes were squeezed shut, it was obvious he wasn’t referring to Dalton.
She giggled. “Just a little.” With that, she slid back off his shoulder, and he resumed breathing, more loudly than he had intended.
“So,” she started, turning to Dalton, “I guess I ought to give you two time to catch up.” She glanced at the window before spinning to look at Arthur, whose face was starting to return to a more normal coloration. “Maybe I can see about some shoes for you.”
“Oh.” He thumbed at his quiver. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to go out there alone for my sake…”
Smirking, she put her hands on her hips. “You know, I got all the way to your house by myself without getting hurt.”
“Well—of course!” Arthur crossed his arms and shifted them, inspecting the bookshelf. “I know you’re capable, I just, um, don’t… you know. It should be the man putting his life on the line for the woman’s sake, not vice versa.”
“Sure. What’s the man’s shoe size?”
Arthur sighed. “Eleven. No, wait. Um, twelve.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow, but Dalton cleared his throat.
“Twelve, in U.S. men’s.” He crossed his arms. “You’ve been here years, man. Still haven’t figured out you’re not in England?”
Arthur pressed his lips together. “Your brash American conduct helps drive it home, thanks.”
“So, size twelve.” Charlotte took another step into the hallway before pausing and glancing at Dalton. “You know his shoe size?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “He liked to throw his sneakers on my side of the room, so I couldn’t help but notice.” He raised an eyebrow at his roommate, smirking.
Arthur crossed his arms tighter. “At least I’d put mine away sometimes. You’d just set up your reeking shoes to contaminate my half of the room instead of yours.”
“All right, then,” she interrupted, checking her rifle bolt. “You kids have fun, and don’t burn the house down. I’ll be back either after I find some shoes or when evening comes.”
“Okay,” Arthur replied, although he still frowned.
Dalton paused. “I think there’s an athletic shoe store to the north. On Guadalupe Street,” he said, making her stop again. “I haven’t been there in forever, though, so I don’t know if it has anything left.”
“It’s a better starting point than nowhere in particular,” she replied with a smile. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can find it.”
“No problem.” He put his weight back on his feet. “We’ll meet you out on the front steps.”
“All right. See you!” She gave a little wave before a grin flashed across her face. She blew a kiss to Arthur before spinning and strutting away.
“Well, then!” He clapped his hands together before Dalton could comment. Turning towards his long-lost roommate with a smile, he said, “Shall we converse?”
~*~
It took a bit of walking and a bullet to get to the street Dalton had mentioned. Although the day had begun to cool, Charlotte paused in the shadow of the northernmost university building. She didn’t need rest at this point, but she wanted to figure out where that music was coming from.
Sweet and high, the hum of strings glided along a tune before giving way to a section of plucking. Then the strings were again beneath a bow, the song just as cheerful but lower and louder. No static buzzed behind the sound, and there probably wasn’t enough power left to blast recorded music, anyway.
Without much thought, she drifted towards the music. She wouldn’t have called herself a big lover of classical works, but, after some time of only natural sounds and pure vocals, it was lovely to hear. The happiness of the tune was an added bonus.
This could have been some sort of trap, but the violinist seemed to have his hands occupied. If he had a friend, Charlotte still had a gun.
She had already been close when she had first noticed the music; soon the player was evident. He sat in front of a multicolored apartment building, an open case at his feet. His faded, tattered clothing made his brown skin seem all the darker. After closing a bit more distance, she could make out the sign, propped up between the empty case and the folding chair, asking for food. The man’s face had a hollowed-out look to it, and his eyes were closed as he continued to slide the bow over the strings.
As such, he didn’t notice her until he jerked out three final notes. First he jumped at the sight of the rifle, but, after ducking away from the barrel’s path, he smiled.
“Good afternoon,” he started, setting his instrument in its case to stretch his arms.
“Afternoon.” She surveyed the area again before shouldering her rifle. “That was some wonderful playing.”
“Thanks.” He bowed with an ironic smile. “Usually now is when I ask for food, but I’m happy enough to have ended up with a pretty girl in front of me.”
Charlotte laughed. “Aw, shucks.” Glancing at the sign behind his case, she added, “Do you get much, doing this?”
Exhaling, he scratched his head. “Not really. But I’m no good at anything else.”
“Oh, you can’t mean that.” She smiled. “Anything?”
With a weak laugh, he shook his head. “No, my trick ankle… It’s been better recently, but I’m just not suited to any real work. Stupid gymnastics accident, you know?”
He sighed, looking up. “The only reason I’ve made it this far is my—” his voice broke, and he cleared his throat “—brother.”
Her expression faded as he looked off to the side.
“His name was Silas. My older brother, twenty at the time. Man, I could write a book about how great he was… But he still got bitten. Took himself out before he could turn on me. You know how it goes these days.”
She nodded, unable to meet his gaze. He watched her for a second before chuckling.
“Sorry. Lure you over here with cheerful music and then say depressing things. If I pulled that every time, I’d be out of business. The world’s sad enough already—that’s why anyone ever comes over to me, to hear something that’s not so hopeless.”
Scooping up his violin, he looked over the wood. “Is there anything you’d like me to play? I don’t know every song in the world, but…” He balanced the instrument against his neck and smiled at her.
She glanced at the sun’s position before sighing. “No, I don’t have enough time for a whole song. Your playing is lovely, though.” She looked down at the empty case and the sign, bobbing in the wind behind it.
She then wondered if he had willed his stomach to growl just that second.
Taking a step away, she gazed at his face. “There don’t seem to be many passersby in these parts. How many people stop by here?”
“Only a few.” He stared out at the street. “Some do come, though. Sometimes people are traveling, sometimes they’re coming back to look for others. And then sometimes people go by without saying a word, so I have no idea what they’re doing.”
He watched his toes wriggle in their sandals. “There are a couple of people that live here and visit.” Smiling at her, he added, “Like Dalton. He does more talking than listening, but he usually brings me a little food.”
“Dalton, really?” She thumbed behind her, towards the university. “I just met him. He’s chatting with an old friend I’m going to snatch back from him later.”
“Small world!” he responded. “Tell him I said hi.”
She grinned. “Will do. Hey—I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Oh, whoops.” He set the bottom of his violin on his foot and extended his free hand. “I’m Jordan.”
“Charlotte,” she told him, shaking. “Nice to meet you, Jordan.”
“You, too.”
Exhaling, she pulled her gun back out and took another step forward. “Maybe I can come back to visit later. If not—” she smiled “—keep it up, okay? It’s great what you’re doing out here, even if it doesn’t touch that many people. I’m sorry about what happened to Silas, but know that you must have guts if you’re still here. Stay strong.”
Jordan laughed, front teeth barely showing. “I’m probably not supposed to tell a pretty girl she’s wrong, but I don’t have guts.” He trailed off, just smiling. “If there’s any courage in me, it comes only from God.”
With that, he repositioned his violin, bow hovering over the strings. Charlotte’s backpack hit the ground as she squatted next to it. The slightest chirp escaped the instrument before she tore an energy bar in half, wrapper and all, and dropped it in the case.
With a sound of delight, Jordan set the violin down and snapped up the food. He lifted it to his nose before he tried to pull away enough wrapper to take a bite.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
She smiled wider, putting away her half. “Just keep it up.”
“Will do, Charlotte.”
She waved goodbye, walking back on-course. A chipper ditty accompanied her exit.
12
“So, how long have you been staying here?” Arthur pressed his shoulders against the wall and let his legs dangle off the edge of his mattress. “Enough to have cleaned the place up, it seems.” Now that he thought about it, the lack of dust on those books he had handled was rather suspicious.
“I’ve been hanging out here about two years.” Dalton drummed his fingers on his knees. “My house was safe enough, but, since you obviously can’t live without me, I thought it was worth trying to stay here. Bunch of free textbooks to check out, too.”
He just watched Arthur for a moment before leaning back against the wall laughing. “I almost gave up on you, but good thing I didn’t.” Playfulness flashed in his eyes. “Same with you, being—gasp—optimistic for once.”
Arthur scoffed. “You watch what you say about me. I’m a realist, through and through.” With a grin, he hopped off his bed and poked through one of his drawers. “Please tell me you didn’t fold all my clothes.”
Dalton shrugged. “When you’re bored, you do weird things.”
Arthur pulled out a faded T-shirt and, furrowing his brow, sniffed it. “Did you clean these, too?”
“Really bored.”
Tossing the shirt over his shoulder, he snorted. After picking out the sole pair of shorts, he glanced at the door. Every lock but the deadbolt was absent. He must have not been looking for signs of life at all when he had entered.
“Watch the door, all right?” he started, slipping his shoes off. “I might as well change into something not so sweat-stained, and Charlotte could be back any minute.”
At that, he looked at the late afternoon light and hesitated.
Flashing his teeth, Dalton shut and locked the door. “Can’t go without her for an hour without starting to panic, Artie?”
“I’m not panicking!” Arthur exclaimed, flushing. “Wh-why would I be worried about her? I—” He cut himself off, scrabbling at his shirt to take it off.
Dalton laughed enough to turn Arthur’s face redder. The towhead only just managed to close his mouth before a sweaty shirt slapped across his face. He peeled it off, but not in time to dodge Arthur’s shoe.
“Come on, man, take a joke.” Dalton gagged and kicked the duct-taped shreds of canvas away.
“Only if you take this!” Arthur flung his other shoe at Dalton’s stomach, but the latter snatched it in midair.
“I don’t want this—” he squinted at his catch “—total crap shoe… Frick, how long have you been wearing these?”
Arthur shrugged, tugging the end of his Pink Floyd shirt over his waist. “Some time. Let’s go ahead to the front steps.” Slinging on his bow carrier, he recovered his footwear as Dalton unlocked the door.
“About time you got some new ones.” Dalton led the way to the stairwell and then to the front door. “Girlfriend labor or otherwise.”
Arthur crossed his arms. “Hrm.”
The two stepped outside, and a figure came into view at their left. Attempting to balance three shoe boxes on one arm, she waved with her other before wrapping it around the wobbling stack.
Arthur readied an arrow in case something snuck up on her, but she made it to the front steps without incident.
“Looks like everyone survived while I was gone,” she started, setting the boxes on the thick banister. “I wasn’t the first to find the store since five-finger discounts became legal, but they still had a couple in your size.”
“All right.” With a sigh, he put a hand on the first cardboard lid. “Sorry to put you through the trouble…”
Along the Winding Road Page 8
