by R. K. Weir
Joey has finished his conversation with Stella and is walking back by the time we get off the bus. From the sour expression on his face, I can guess how things went. His cheeks are flushed when he reaches us.
"So that's it, huh, you three are just gonna take off!" The words are breathy, almost panicked. I don't know what to say to him.
"Look, as soon as we find who Stella's looking for we'll head up to Canada and meet you there," I tell him. It doesn't do much to console him, he only shakes his head.
"She's not gonna find him," he says. He sounds so sure that I think Stella might have told him something she hasn't told me.
"Did she—"
"No it's fine," Joey snaps, "go ahead and leave! It's fine! I can drive the bus."
Rocket makes a sound at this and Joey hits her with a look. He then offers me the same glare and, with that as his goodbye, begins to board the bus. It's so abrupt the way he's done it, but I think that's better than drawing it out. He hesitates on the top step.
"Good luck, I guess," he says with another shake of his head, before plopping in the driver's seat and cranking the door shut on us.
I want to knock on the door, have him open it so that I can ask him what Stella told him. But I know with how upset he is that it will be a challenge to get anything out of him, and I'll probably have better luck asking Stella, so I keep silent. The idea of asking for some food and water, or gas at least, is something I stop myself from asking for as well. I already feel guilty enough for abandoning them.
The engine starts and the bus moves forward about a foot before coming to a stuttered halt. The door cranks open and I'm surprised when Gale stumbles out of it.
"Does anyone else wanna leave?" Joey shouts. When no-one answers, he shuts the door. I just catch a glimpse of his face, redder than ever, before he pulls out onto the road and speeds off down the highway. It wasn't how I wanted things to go, but I suppose with Joey I should have known to expect only a few certain outcomes.
Watching the bus zip away for a moment longer, dust settling in its wake, my eyes soon fall upon Gale. His eyes flick between me and the ground, and he must know what I'm wondering because he begins to stutter out the beginnings of words. I fold my arms across my chest, but manage to find the patience needed while he collects himself somewhat.
"I-I didn't want to . . . um, I want to come with you."
It takes everything I have not to scowl, yet despite this effort, I can't keep the scorn from my face. Although I don't know him that well, I'm familiar with him enough to know that he won't be very resourceful. Since the bus is already gone, he's left me little choice in the matter. To ditch him would be the equivalent of a death sentence. Rocket gives me a look and I know that she is thinking the same thing.
Why he would want to come with us is a mystery to me, but I'm not willing to sit through thirty minutes of awkward stuttering to find out. His reasons won't change the fact that we're stuck with him now anyway.
"Just . . ." I sigh, "try not to get yourself killed."
Eyes widening a fraction, he nods and mutters a "Thank you" before turning towards the Jeep.
"Not that way," I say. We've been on the road for an entire day almost, and I can't think of a better rest-stop than a motel. Not to mention we need to find food and other necessities as soon as possible. The motel might have some toothpaste at least. So I tell Gale and Rocket to scout out the perimeter while I walk back to the Jeep. I'm not surprised when Gale insists on sticking with Rocket, and although it'll be less efficient, I agree because I just can't be bothered dealing with him.
Getting to the coast is going to be a long trip. . .
When I reach the Jeep, I pick out the gun and tell Stella that we're going to be staying in the motel for the night. She doesn't respond, doesn't move. A good night's sleep is the best thing I can give her right now, so I decide to leave her alone and make quick work of checking out the motel.
It's a small, one-story building with only a few rooms that span down the length of the road. Finding the reception is easy and finding the rack of keys beneath the desk is even easier. I pick two at random and rifle quickly through the desk. A pair of scissors is the most useful thing I find. Checking to see how many bullets are in the gun I frown when I find only six rounds left in the clip. I pocket the scissors as a safety measure and move to find our two rooms amidst the congregation of others.
It doesn't take me long, there are only eight rooms and ours are on the very end. The curtains are drawn on both windows, but I calm myself with the fact that I can hear no noises from inside. With the gun raised, I investigate the first room. I'm pleasantly surprised to find it clean and uninhabited. It almost looks like a picture, a snapshot from what the world was like before. Two single beds take up most of the space in the small room, but the sheets are clean and the pillows are plush. The drawers are empty and the bathroom is bare though. This room must have been cleaned right before the infection spread.
I can't say the same for the second room. The drawers are filled with clothes, and the queen-sized bed that sits in the middle of the room looks as if it was abandoned in a hurry. Its sheets lie crumpled on the bed, its pillows thrown on the floor. But for the most part they look clean, and that's good enough. I'm excited when I find the bathroom cabinet fully stocked, only to be doused when a further inspection reveals the majority is just make-up. Even though it doesn't look like the motel has much in terms of supplies, I'm still satisfied.
No blood, no infected and no people. It's the best we're going to find.
So I fix the bed, flattening the sheets and picking up the pillows in an effort to make it look half as enticing as the other room. Never very good at house-work, the bed doesn't look much different when I'm done with it, but I doubt any of us have high standards at this point.
When I leave the room to gather everyone it's as if I've walked into a brick wall. My chest tightens at the sight of an empty street, the spot where I parked the Jeep now just a vacant space. Fingers begin digging into my pocket, and when they find no keys, the realization that I left them in the ignition hits me. And the realization that Stella has stolen the Jeep and left comes not too long after that.
I've gone into shock, I think, because I can't even manage a curse. My body has gone numb, and where I should feel heat from the battering rays of sunlight, I only feel a growing coldness. Besides shock, no emotion has crossed me yet, and I find that strange. Maybe I just haven't registered it yet.
My eyes remain locked on the spot where the Jeep used to be, not even deviating when someone approaches from my right.
"She left . . ." I tell them.
"Who left?" they ask.
I'm so lost in my state of shock that I almost don't recognize the voice. When I do, my attention snaps towards it, and I find Stella standing by my side.
"You . . . I thought . . . where's the Jeep?" I ask.
"I drove it round the side and parked it behind the motel so the bandits won't see it on the street if they come hunting for us." She's looking at me strangely, and while I feel foolish for automatically assuming the worst, I'm not going to blame myself.
"Right," I breathe.
"What's wrong?" she asks. The voice is flat, uncaring, not even curious. I frown at the sound of it.
"Nothing," I say with a shake of my head, still trembling a little from the shock of finding an empty street. She stares at me a moment longer before holding out the keys to the Jeep.
The gesture instills relief and washes away the numb feeling from before. I can't help but feel like this is her unspoken way of acceptance – and maybe even an apology. The opportunity was there for her. There's no doubt in my mind that if she was still adamant on going alone, leaving me behind again, she would have done so.
But even still, I take the keys with a grain of salt, because she's unpredictable and this isn't the first time that she's surprised me. I don't plan on leaving her with the keys again.
"I found two rooms that are pretty cl
ean," I tell her.
She only nods and I find myself unsure of what else to say to her. Exhaustion has built a formidable presence under her eyes, so I figure a rest is probably what she wants most right now. Holding out the keys to both rooms, I point them out to her and begin to explain how one has two singles and the other only a queen-sized bed. Before I've even finished she snatches one of the keys from me.
"Thanks," she says quickly, disappearing into the room with the queen-sized bed and slamming the door shut behind her. A little surprised, I'm left standing outside the room like an ass.
She wants to be alone and I suppose that's fair. I'm almost glad that she's shut me out, I don't know what I would say to her if she didn't. Whatever happened in that hotel has left her broken and I desperately hope that she knows how to put the pieces back together, because I sure as hell don't.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stella
Sleep is one of the few things I look forward to now. A fleeting escape from reality where I'm transported someplace else, someplace nicer. Dreams are careless, but they never last long. By the time your head hits the pillow it's all over in the blink of an eye and you're forced back into a world you wish never existed.
I can't remember what I was dreaming about last night. I think I was at the coast again, walking along the beach. Yellow sand, soft and warm beneath my feet is what stays with me. Whether that's from the dream or from a memory I'm not sure. Whichever one it is, I decide to hold on to it for a while longer.
This feat quickly proves impossible however. My feet are cold, and the chill has sapped away any memory or dream of warm sand. Despite the sun rising over an hour ago, the motel room is freezing. I fell asleep above the blankets, and only now do I roll myself into them. By the time I've managed to leech warmth from the sheets the dream of a distant beach is already long gone.
I begin to doze off, to try and chase the dream when there's a knock at the door. The sound is soft, but for some reason it manages to frighten me. I'm still jumpy from what happened at the hotel, that much is clear. For that very reason I've avoided all thoughts of the experience, because repressing problems is easier than confronting them. So I roll over and bury myself deeper in the sheets, making no move to answer the door because I know whoever it is will undoubtedly want to talk about what happened.
They knock again, wait several moments, and then I hear the patter of footsteps leading away from my room. I'm being selfish, but the idea of talking to any of them right now is something I don't think I can stand. Not to mention I'm still uncertain of how I feel about having them along at all. The whole reason I left them was because I didn't want them risking their lives for me. Now, with the bus gone, there's no other option.
Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't somewhat relieved to have them. Selfish, again, because I know that there's nothing for them to gain by coming with me. But there's no point in agonizing over the same moral dilemma that resulted in my leaving them. They've made the decision now, and if that decision results in something bad, then I can at least rest easy knowing that I tried to do the right thing.
Ugh, I sound like Logan, I think. Disentangling myself from the sheets and moving to sit on the edge of the bed, a thought strikes me. Is that a bad thing? I don't have to think long before concluding that it will be if I'm not careful.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a while longer, pulling my boots on and thinking everything over until my stomach begins to turn with hunger. Searching the room doesn't take long and I'm not surprised when I don't find anything edible. So I move to investigate the bathroom instead. There's a tube of toothpaste that I find in the cabinet. Squeezing some of it out on my finger, I proceed to rub it over my teeth. I don't know how effective it will be, but I've been having toothaches for a while now and I figure this will be better than nothing.
I'm so focused on my cleaning that I almost miss the returning knocks on the door. At first the sound grates me, but then I realize how long I've ignored them already and how much time I've wasted. The sooner we get back on the road the sooner I can put everything behind me. When I open the door I'm surprised to find Rocket. I expected Logan. She attempts a smile, but the mere sight of her has me drowning in guilt and I'm unable to smile back. It's her hair, although faded and flat, its orange color drags me back to the memories I've been avoiding. Before I even have a chance to look away Jacob's face is flashing in my mind and I begin to feel sick.
Rocket must notice this because her smile is quick to fall away. "C'mon, let's sit on the bed," she says, stepping inside and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. I don't respond, I don't think I can, I just let her guide me.
She's left the door open and sunlight pours inside, igniting the stuffy room. My mind is reeling with everything that happened at the hotel. I don't even realize I'm sitting on the bed until it shifts when Rocket perches herself beside me. She asks me a question but I choose to ignore it because I'm too focused on my own.
Why am I so bothered by what happened?
After everything I've been through, all the bloodshed and close-calls, lost friends and mistakes – why has this left me so shaken? The memory of my father, perhaps? Killing Jacob? The hallucinations? When I list everything out and couple it all together, I'm not surprised it's left me feeling like it has. Vulnerable and evil.
"It's not your fault." The voice comes as a surprise to me, I almost forgot that she was there. I look over and I'm surprised again to find that she's not as intense as she normally is. Her gaze is soft like her voice, settling on me with the gentle grace of a falling petal.
"Whatever happened," Rocket says, "was not your fault."
Words have always failed me in the past but there's something about the way she speaks that manages to comfort me. I fall into a lull, but I catch myself before I begin to believe her. What happened to Jacob was my fault, to an extent at least. Out of everything that has happened, his death is what I regret most. Because even though I've killed people before – and I've had no trouble doing it – I've never killed someone who didn't deserve it.
Jacob didn't deserve it.
Rocket clears her throat and my attention returns to her again. "I don't know what happened, and I don't know what I can say to make it any better, but I want you to know that I'm here if you wanna talk or anything," she says.
"Thanks," I mumble back. While I'm grateful that she cares, talking about it won't change anything. Time might, but I'm too impatient to sit around waiting until I don't care anymore. The only other option I can think of is focusing on something else, like getting to the coast.
Rocket is about to say more when the light in the room dims. We both look towards the door to find Logan, his arms full with little packets and other things. Unsure of whether to enter, he stands just outside, his gaze flickering between Rocket and I.
He's hoping Rocket has fixed me, I think. Our little car ride here unnerved him, that much is obvious. So I try to think of something to say that will make him feel more at ease, to assure him that I'm alright.
"Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna come in?" I ask. The corner of his lip twitches into a smile and I know that I've said the right thing. He enters the room and drops what he's found on the bed.
Packets of dried fruit, energy bars and a few bottles of water roll out across the mattress. "This is about all the food I could find," Logan says.
Only now does the direness of our situation register with me, seeing that this is all the food we have. Yet this doesn't stop me from grabbing one of the energy bars and washing it down with some of the water. My stomach demands more but I refrain from taking anything else. Rocket picks out a packet of dried fruit while Logan takes a bottle of water before walking back towards the door and calling Gale in.
I almost forgot that Gale is with us. I can't begin to imagine why he would choose us over Canada. I'm about to ask Rocket when he enters the room and Logan tells him to get some food. He walks to the bed with his head bowed and sits on the
other side. The sight of him actually manages to annoy me, because I can only remember how useless he was when we had to light the fireworks to lure the horde away from the school. But I decide to ignore him for now and instead focus on relishing this moment, eating stale food in a motel room that isn't stained with blood. It seems so normal.
"So, I was thinking we should get a move on pretty soon," Logan says, choosing his words carefully and trying to gauge my reaction to them.
"The sooner the better," I say. Rocket agrees and we turn to see what Gale thinks but he only sips on his water and makes no sign that he's going to offer his opinion.
The next five minutes we spend snacking on what little food we have. We keep some aside for later, but at Logan's insistence that we'll find more once we're deeper in the city, we eat the majority of what's in front of us. Once we're done we pocket what little is left and stand up to leave.
Logan stands an arms-length away and gestures for Rocket and I to go first. There's something about the way he's looking at me – more relaxed but still cautionary – and suddenly I realize how Joey felt after he blew up the bus. Everyone looking at you as if you're a bomb, ready to explode at any moment. Strangely, this doesn't make me mad, it makes me miss Joey.
I'm certain I'll see him again though. After the coast, Canada will be our next stop. We'll meet him there, I'm sure of it, because that's what I told him. Until then I'm going to have to deal with Logan looking at me like I'm a mental patient, or I'll have to do something to prove that I'm alright now. Because, really, I think I am alright. There's nothing I can do to change what I did to Jacob. Accepting that has helped.
We walk round to the motel parking lot where I moved the Jeep and I jump in the back-seat. I don't know what Logan's relationship with Rocket is, but something tells me that he might like to sit with her in the front. My suspicions are confirmed when Rocket stands in front of the driver side door, blocking Logan from getting in and trying to convince him that she should drive.
