“We lost a good friend of ours last night,” Ricky says.
“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Tim says, stroking his chin. “What happened, if I may ask?”
“She slipped off the roof while we were trying to escape,” I say and look down at my feet.
“Well shit, I’m truly sorry.” Tim moves further into the room.
“We also found someone in a car not far from here,” I add, watching as Tim’s expression hardens.
“Where are they?” he asks, his gaze moving over to Clare.
“They were close to death already. We put them out of their misery.”
Tim nods thoughtfully. “I’m not going to lie, we don’t get many visitors around these parts. This town is often overlooked, so the thought of so many new people makes me nervous. But look, once you’ve eaten and they’ve moved on, we’ll stock you up with some provisions and you can be on your way. I even know of some vehicles that still work around here. You can take one of those.” Tim is still holding onto his hammer, but his grip is relaxed. “You keep the wife company while I cook us up some meat. I bet it’s been a long time since you had any real meat, right?” He smiles and rubs a hand down his dirty T-shirt and bloated stomach.
“That sounds great, as long as we’re not imposing,” Ricky finally replies.
Though I feel like we aren’t being given much of a choice either way, I can’t see the harm in staying for an hour or so. If Tim and Clare do everything they say they will, we’ll be set to get the hell out of here in no time, with food in our bellies, and provisions, and a vehicle to get us home. The only thing we’ll have really lost other than a day’s travel will be O’Donnell, and there will no doubt be consequences to that once we get back home. But right now this seems like the best shot we have of actually getting home.
“Yeah, that would be great, thank you,” I say to Tim, and then I turn to Clare. “You’re right, there aren’t enough good people left in the world. It’s good to know that there are some still left.”
And it is good to know. Because I can’t deny that I had begun believing that there weren’t any good people left. They seem so few and far between. The NEOs seem like a good group, but everyone has skeletons in their closets, and I have no doubt that they have theirs too. And I of course have mine. The image that we choose to show people is always very different from the image we have to see in the mirror every day. It’s distorted, and normally blurred beyond recognition. Can we change, though? Really? Can we ever make that blurred image our reality? I’m not sure, but it’s always a hopeful thing to know that some people are trying.
These people, they seem genuine. They want to help. And people wanting to help is never a bad thing. It only proves that life is still worth it. That we’re still fighting for something in this world. Whether it be one person we help, or fifty, everyone is worth a damn. And shit, if everyone did half of what these people are doing, then we’d be halfway to surviving a life worth having.
I wonder about giving them the address of Haven when we leave, in case they ever want to get away from this place. Aiken says he wants good people there, and these people seem as good as any.
After a horrific twenty-four hours of masked killers, freak deaders, and losing O’Donnell, it finally feels like we’re getting a little overdue luck.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tim brings in a plate full of meat. It’s burnt beyond normal recognition, but I figure that’s due to the fact that it’s possum, or snake, or squirrel, and none of those are exactly desirable things to eat. But food is food and meat is meat, and so we devour everything that’s given to us and I suck on the tiny bones of whatever animal it is until my stomach begs me to give it a damn break.
Phil reaches for another slice of meat. I can see from his expression that he feels the guiltiest out of us all. He is, after all, the animal lover. It must be hard for him to chow down on something that he loves so much. But we’ve been starving, and we’re the top of the food chain. We need to eat, to drink, and to rest before we set back out on the road.
Tim shows me around their home, an old candy store that they ran before the fall of mankind. I can imagine it had been quaint at one time, and the kids had come around every day after school to buy their candy before heading home. It makes me smile at the thought, and reaffirms my belief that they’re good people.
We learn that Clare has a long history of different illnesses, hence her wheelchair, the shelves stocked with meds, and the fact that they’re still here in this town instead of trying to find somewhere less overrun with the dead.
Tim directs me to one of the main rooms upstairs which he’s set up as a base of operations. He’s scavenged the entire town and has a ton of supplies. It all goes back to the whole “skeleton in the closet” thing, because some of the things Tim has found are damn scary for the everyday man to be hiding under his bed.
He’s set up a telescope at one of the windows, and I take a look through, watching the horde of deaders at the end of the road. They’ve stopped walking, as if going into some sort of stasis.
“They do that sometimes,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “Then something will alert them—something falls, or collapses, or a wanderer comes on by—and they wake up and go in search of the food again.”
“Food?” I say with distaste, pulling my face away from the eyepiece of the scope.
He shrugs. “Sorry, there’s only Clare and I here and we’re not shy of saying it how it is.” He moves around the room, checking out the guns on one of the shelves.
I think on what he just said and wonder if I’m turning into a pussy. I don’t think I’m shy about saying things how they are, but perhaps I am, because his statement bothered me.
“If you look at where they are, there’s a Humvee. It doesn’t work, but just behind that there’s an old army truck. It’s beat up pretty bad, but it still works,” Tim says, coming to stand by my side.
I look back through the scope, moving it so I can look at what he’s talking about. Sure enough, there’s a big, beautiful, beat-up Humvee haphazardly parked. (Try saying that twenty times as fast as you can!) It looks like it’s been through hell and back. Behind that there are several more vehicles, one of them being the old army truck he spoke of. It looks even worse off than the Humvee, and I can’t imagine it starting.
“You sure it works?” I move the scope over the deaders, watching them for several moments as they sway side to side like they’re listening to some relaxing music.
“For sure,” Tim replies. “I start it once a week, let it idle for a couple of minutes to keep the battery charged, and then I turn it off. I leave it where it is, because well, I don’t like the thought of people poking around too close to my home and wife.”
I turn to look at him in confusion and he smiles.
“The Humvee is our backup plan, should things head south. I worry people will see that thing and want to take it, and if they poke around too much they may find us here. Like Clare says, not everyone left is good. But you gotta’ have a backup plan, right?”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah, man. I’ve been caught out too many times by people without backup plans. But look, if that’s your backup plan, I’ll understand you not wanting to share it. We’ll find some other way out of deader central. You gotta’ put Clare first, I get that.”
I do get that. If it were Nina, I wouldn’t be sharing my backup plan with anyone. But I hope to God that he won’t change his mind, because if that’s our only way out of here, then we’ll have to do whatever we can to take that opportunity. And even if I don’t think in that mindset, Ricky sure as hell does. No doubt.
“Cards on the table?” Tim asks, and I nod, feeling anxious. “You said you had a group, right? The NEOs?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’m a useful man, I think I could be of some service to them,” he says.
And there it is: his cards on the table. It’s lucky that I’ve already thought the same thing for him and Clar
e.
“In return for him taking you and Clare in?” I say.
He nods. “And Candy and Cane, of course.”
I smile. “Of course.” I think about Fluffy and Achillies and can’t see two more dogs being a problem for Aiken, especially two as ferocious as these. If anything, they’ll be an asset. At least that’s how I’ll sell it to him. Clare might be an issue, what with her health problems, but I have no doubt in my mind that she’s resourceful and will be plenty able to help out around Haven. Hell, we found a job for Joan, didn’t we?
We head back down the stairs and into the back room. Ricky looks up as he throws another bone onto his plate. Clare is sitting in the corner watching us all, her eyes unfocused. I frown as I watch her, her gaze cold and blank. I begin to worry that her illnesses are more serious than Tim had suggested, because she seems to be in a world of her own.
“Headphones,” Tim says from next to me. “She’s listening to music. That woman loves her music. Hates the silence more than anything else. She says that she can hear how dead the world is when there’s no noise.”
I focus in on the thin trail of wire leading to hear earbuds and I feel more at ease. Tim slaps me on the shoulder and laughs before heading over to his wife. He pulls the earbuds out and kisses her on the forehead before whispering something to her. She looks up at me and smiles.
I head farther into the room and go sit with Ricky and Phil. Candy—or Cane, I’m not sure which—has her head in Phil’s lap, her nose twitching at the scent of the bones he’s still picking at.
My stomach grumbles at the sight of more food, but it’s out of greed and not genuine hunger anymore. Ricky leans back on the sofa, his expression dark, and I figure he’s thinking about O’Donnell again. I want to apologize, but know there’s no point and in fact would make everything ten times worse, for him and for me.
He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “Mikey? You got this?” he asks, his words slurring through tiredness.
“Yeah, man, I’ve got this,” I reply quietly. I look over at Phil, who’s looking just as tired. We barely slept last night. The nightmare of the day, the exhaustion and hunger, and of course the fact that we slept out in the open on a roof wasn’t ideal.
“You men want a bed?” Tim asks, sitting down opposite us.
“Nah, we’re good here thanks,” Phil says. “Don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no bother,” Tim replies. “Plenty of room upstairs. Clare sleeps down here now, it’s too difficult getting up and down the stairs all the time.” Neither Phil nor Ricky replies, so he continues. “In fact, without being rude, that’s her bed that you’re all sitting on right now.”
I look across as Ricky cracks an eye open, his features slack with exhaustion. Sure enough, it’s a pullout bed that we’re sitting on, and we all stand up apologetically.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it, boys,” Clare says, wheeling herself over to us. “Tim will put you up in one of the spare rooms upstairs.”
Ricky and Phil follow Tim out, and I stay standing up, looking around me and feeling uncomfortable. I promised Ricky I’d keep watch, and though I’m feeling tired I don’t want to let him down. But I can’t stay down here if Clare’s going to sleep.
“My illnesses mean I always have to take an afternoon nap. Pain keeps me up most of the night,” she explains.
I’m impressed by her strength and resilience, her determination to keep positive and focused despite everything that’s against her survival.
“I’ll head upstairs and keep watch with Tim,” I say, heading back out of the room. Candy and Cane follow me to the doorway before sitting down by the door as if keeping guard.
“Oh, Tim likes to have a little afternoon siesta with me too, but you could keep guard for all of us, here,” she says, grabbing another plate of meat and rolling over to me.
I take it from her even though I’m not hungry. “Thanks, Clare.”
Tim comes back down the stairs and Candy and Cane trot over to him. He strokes their heads and they snuffle against his hand. “Your men are asleep in the back room,” he says, eyeing the plate of food in my hand. “You should stock up,” he says, gesturing to the meat. “Never know when you could be starving again.”
“True,” I reply. “I’ll keep watch upstairs.” I head out of the room.
“Thanks, Mikey, it’s appreciated,” Tim calls after me.
“No problem,” I reply, and head back up the stairs.
I take my time, feeling my own exhaustion leeching into my muscles. I roll my shoulders, and drag my free hand through my rough beard and yawn. On my way up the stairs I look at the photographs hanging up on the walls. They’re mainly of Clare, Tim, and their dogs—wedding photos, holidays, barbecues with friends. They depict a happy and full life, and for the first time ever it makes me feel jealous.
I never had that. My life, from the day I was pushed into this world kicking and screaming, has been bloody and turbulent. And at thirty-odd years old, nothing much has changed. I’m still alone, lonely, broken, and still fighting for my survival. Fighting for the scraps of life I can get.
I reach the top of the stairs and go check on Phil and Ricky. They’re already flat out, their snores loud before I even open the door. I chuckle to myself, knowing that I’m going to give them both shit when they wake up later, because they’re almost spooning. I shut the door and head to the lookout room, first checking through the scope on where the deaders are and seeing that they haven’t moved yet. A couple are still crowded outside the front of the candy store, preventing us from leaving that way, and I already know from the back exit that we can get out that way, but it only leads to the front of the store, thus putting us back to square one.
I sigh and move away from the scope, sitting in one of the chairs in the corner. I check my weapons—my blades, my hatchet, and my handgun—and feel confident that they’re okay, and then I set them aside. I pick up the plate of meat and grab one of the burnt offerings on it, giving it a sniff as I pick away at the crispy burnt skin on it. It tastes like chicken, but of course it can’t be. Tim cooked a mixture of squirrel, possum, and snake, since there were so many of us, and I helped him season the meat with the small amount of things he had.
I take a bite of the meat, my stomach grumbling in resistance, but then I think about what Tim said about needing to stock up while I can and I force the meat down. Because he was right, and who knows what’ll happen after we leave here? I don’t want to be trapped on another roof, starving to death and wishing I had eaten just one more squirrel leg.
I eat through the entire contents of the plate, throwing the bones into a small pile, and then I check out the window once more before sitting back in the chair. I feel sleepy now that I’ve eaten so much—sluggish and weary from the past couple of days traveling.
I close my eyes, the image of O’Donnell’s face and her tortured expression as she fell backwards off the fire exit flashing behind my closed lids.
And then I’m sinking.
Drowning in exhaustion and sadness and grief.
And feeling relief that at least in my dreams I can still be with Nina.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Wha…what?” I swallow, my throat feeling on fire as it scratches against my groggy words.
I blink into the darkness, my muscles aching and heavy. I’m on the floor, the scent of wood and dust and something indescribable reaching into my body and making me gag.
My head feels too heavy on my shoulders, like my neck muscles aren’t strong enough, and I lean my head back as I look around the room and try to work out what the hell is going on.
I’m no longer in the lookout room, but a room I didn’t see before. It’s barren of furniture, barring a mattress on the floor and a single wooden chair in the corner. Yet I’m sitting on neither, favoring the hard floor instead.
My hands and feet tingle, and I stretch my fingers out and try to grip something, anything, but realize that my wrists are tied
together and so are my and ankles. I lick my dry tongue across my even drier lips and press the heels of my hands against my eyes to try and wake myself up. My heart is thumping slowly in my chest, but panic is coiling through me like a serpent.
“Hello?” I call out, the single word painful as it wrenches out of my throat. “Ricky?” Phil?” I force out more words but my voice is quiet, even to my own ears. I roll onto my front so I’m on my hands and knees, and then I take a couple of slow, ragged breaths as nausea rolls through me. When I feel it’s under control, I crawl toward the only door in the room.
I pull myself up to kneeling, the action incredibly difficult because of my wrists being tied. I lean my forehead against the wood of the door. “Ricky? Phil?” I say again, my voice and body growing stronger with each passing minute.
I put my ear to the door, at first hearing nothing, but slowly sounds come to me: grunts and groans, the slap of hands on flesh, and the thumping of something. I recoil, at first thinking I’m listening to the sound of Tim and Clare fucking, but then I put my ear back to the wood and listen again.
The same noises are there, and I frown as I try to work out what they are. Grunting and groaning, whispers, and something else I can’t make out.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” I fumble for the door handle, but there’s an empty space where it should be. I press my eye to the small hole where the handle normally is. At first there’s just blackness, but then my eyes grow accustomed to the dark beyond and I see the small amount of light coming from somewhere beyond this room.
I bang on the door with my fist, my movements still sluggish and my beatings weak. The noises stop, and then as I stare through the doorknob hole I see a door opened across the hallway. I flinch against the brightness, eventually taking in the shape of Tim standing in the doorway. I can’t make out his expression, but he’s watching my door, and I thump on it again.
Odium IV: The Dead Saga Page 24
