"I have to apologize," she began. "I never thanked you for bringing us food last night. It was inconsiderate of me. I think I was a little tired last night. But I can't really use that as an excuse." Sarah's eyebrows were huddled in concentration. She looked contrite and ill at ease at the same time.
"It's understandable," I said, though I wasn't sure why I said it.
"So, I want to thank you for bringing us food."
We spoke softly in low tones. The hum of the air conditioner muted our conversation to the outside world.
"You're welcome," I said.
But even after the apology, her face remained tight and serious.
"I'm thankful for what you've done," she said sincerely. I could feel something coming, something I was certain I didn't want to hear. Why else would she have thanked me a second time? "I have a habit of speaking plainly," she said forthrightly. Then she paused before continuing. "Sometimes I can be blunt. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to be straightforward. The fact that you broke into my grandparents' home and broke into here last night makes me feel uncomfortable. I recognize you've helped us a great deal. But there are some things I need to know about you in order to feel … well … to feel more comfortable having you in our home. I need to ask you some questions. If that's all right with you?"
She was leaning forward now, lightly rubbing her knees with her hands.
"I'll answer your questions as best I can," I told her.
"Can you tell me why you're breaking into people's homes?"
I took a breath. "I'm working my way across the valley so I can get out of Salt Lake," I told her. "I started in Murray. I find abandoned homes so I can have a place to stay. About a week-and-a-half ago, I ran out of food at my condo. I had to do something. I didn't want to starve." I thought the mention of possibly starving might strike a chord with her.
I chose my words carefully and avoided phrases like "breaking in" or "eating their food" or "using their stuff." And I made sure not to mention the word scavenge.
She looked puzzled. "How do you know if a home is abandoned?" she asked.
"It's not really that hard. If a home is shuttered up with the shades drawn or the curtains closed, like your home, then I know someone is likely there. If a home has windows that aren't covered up and there are lights on in the house, then there's a good chance no one is home. Anyone who survived the first week wouldn't have lights on in their home or uncovered windows."
She seemed satisfied. Then she asked a tougher question. "How do you know how to break into people's homes?"
I felt strangely wired as if I were back in college taking an exam. I took a breath to calm my nerves. I didn't know why I was so nervous. I wanted to make a good impression, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. Sarah had hardly been friendly. Yet I couldn't stop myself from trying to sway her opinion of me. I answered her break-in question as carefully as I could.
"I knew I couldn't break down a door or break through a window because the infected would hear me. So, I decided picking locks would be the safest way. It was the only idea I could come up with that made sense."
Then I explained to her how I learned how to pick a lock. "I went online and watched videos on how to pick a lock. There were a lot of them. I kept watching the videos till I was certain I could pick a lock."
"But where did you get the tools to pick a lock?"
Sarah's face had softened and she seemed more relaxed. It was going well. I told her I'd picked one up from a deserted locksmith shop the night I left my condo. And I left it at that.
She pondered my answer, then asked another question—of the softball variety. "And what do you do for a living?"
"I teach fifth graders at Beacon Heights Elementary," I told her.
She looked surprised in a good way. "You teach fifth graders?" she asked.
"Yes. For five years now."
Sarah relaxed noticeably. The small wavy worry line vanished. Telling her what I did for a living seemed to melt the tension between us.
Then she asked another question. "The bat you carry with you. Have you had to use it?"
And just like that I was sunk. I could have lied, but I've always been a terrible liar. And I knew it would have been far worse if she caught me in a lie. Leaving details out and choosing my words carefully had been easy. But it was easy because I wasn't lying. When it came to lying, I had no savvy. None whatsoever.
I decided to be perfectly open with her. What did I have to lose? "Yes, I've had to use my bat. I've been attacked a few times," I explained. "I had to defend myself." I left it at that and hoped my explanation would suffice.
But the worry line was back and she was all tensed up again. "Did you kill any of them?" she asked, her eyes wide.
There was no way for her to understand what it was like out there without having been out there herself. How could she? "Not with the bat," I answered cryptically.
She looked at me, not quite comprehending. Then she grasped the essence of what I was saying. She would never trust me now. "Not with the bat." she said, incredulously. "What did you use?"
There was no reason to hold back now. "A gun," I told her. "I used it last night at your grandparents' house."
She looked pale and her body stiffened noticeably.
And then I wondered why I'd been trying so hard to please her. She'd nearly gotten me killed with her phone call. Of course, she didn't know that. I hadn't said anything because I didn't want her to feel bad. But if she hadn't called me, I never would have had to use the gun. And then I thought it ironic that she would be upset with me for using a gun. Hadn't she threatened to shoot me just last night?
Then I did something out of character. I got angry. Really angry. Anger was an emotion I'd never felt comfortable with, and I didn't feel comfortable with it now. It welled up inside of me and needed an outlet. I gave it one. When I spoke to her, I tried to remain calm, but my voice had a caustic edge to it. "If I hadn't used the gun," I said pointedly. "I wouldn't be here. And if I weren't here, you and Becky and Raj wouldn't have any food."
When I thought about it, I couldn't recall having ever said anything as bitingly nasty to anyone in my entire life. I immediately regretted every word. But it was too late.
She didn't seem to know how to respond. It was almost as if she were in a state of shock. But she recovered and her face underwent a dramatic change. The tight face with its crimped, fretful features was gone, replaced by a smoothness as cold and remote as an arctic berg. She hadn't been sure about me, but now she was. And there was nothing I could do or say to change it.
I could have left, and I'm sure she would have been pleased to see me go, even thrilled. But I couldn't leave. I'd made a commitment to help them. I knew they would never do what was necessary to survive. They'd never break into homes to find food if they needed to, and they'd never leave this place. They would sit here and starve in the storage room. And in the end, I knew I'd feel responsible for them, the same way I felt responsible for Alex.
I was going to help them whether she wanted me to or not. And while I knew I'd likely never get back into Sarah's good graces, if I were clever enough, I might be able to convince her to accept my help.
"I'm sorry," I began. "I shouldn't have said that. I'll understand if you want me to leave. But please hear me out. I came here with the idea of helping you and Becky. And now Raj too. I'd still like to do that if you'd let me. It would only take me a couple days to get enough food to last the three of you maybe six weeks. And there's always the possibility of finding a home with food storage like your grandparents had. If I could find a home like that, I could help you get settled in. Either way, once I've found food for you and Becky and Raj, I'll be on my way."
Sarah didn't say anything, but I could tell she was contemplating what I'd said, at least considering it. It wasn't as if she had a lot of options, and I didn't believe her distaste for me would keep her from making sure they were all fed.
The best thing I could do f
or them would be to teach them how to find homes with food and teach them how to break into them. I had extra lock picks and tension wrenches in the tri-fold. That would at least give them a chance. But I knew Sarah would never hear of it.
"Where's your gun?" she suddenly asked me.
I pointed down at the backpack. "It's in my backpack," I told her.
"I don't want a gun in my house. If you want to stay and help us, then I'll need you to leave the gun outside."
Sarah's face remained as smooth as the surface of a still pond, not a ripple anywhere. Her proposal was as much of an olive branch as I was likely to get. And while I wasn't crazy about the trade off, I'd live with it. I wanted to stay and help them.
Removing the gun from my backpack was foolhardy, especially after what had happened at her grandparents' home. But I didn't see an alternative. I knew there would be no negotiation. I could hide the Glock outside under the deck and wrap it up to protect it, then grab it whenever I needed it.
"I'll take the gun out of the house," I told her. "I'll do it now." And then I asked her if she would warm up some soup for me. She nodded and I grabbed my backpack and headed upstairs.
I went into the kitchen and laid my backpack on the counter. The salmon fillets were thawing in the sink. I put the Glock in a large freezer bag and wrapped it tightly in a towel.
Outside, I found a window under the outside edge of the deck. It was three feet in. I hid the Glock by the window. The gun would be out of sight unless someone happened to look underneath the deck. No chance of that. The hiding place would work great on two other fronts. I'd be able to reach the Glock easily whenever I left the house, and if I had to, in case of emergency, I could remove the cover to the basement window, open the window, and grab the gun quickly. I wouldn't mention to Sarah where I'd hid the gun.
*****
After I'd hidden the gun, I headed for the storage room. Raj's face was glued to his iPad. When he became aware of my presence, he looked up and smiled brightly and nodded. Raj's hair was as meticulously groomed as it was last night. I nodded back at him. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn last night—a roomy, apricot-colored short-sleeve Henley in tandem with white sweatpants. The colors accentuated his smooth mocha skin and black hair. His blanket was folded neatly and his pillow sat on top of the blanket. A pair of expensive-looking hand-tooled leather sandals sat on the floor next to his mattress.
Sarah had the soup ready for me. When she saw me walk in, she poured the soup into a bowl. I could smell the chicken noodle from across the room. It smelled wonderful. Sarah stood and waited for me. When I got there, she handed me the bowl of soup with a spoon in it along with a glass of water.
I made my way out to the couch. By the time I sat down to eat, I was famished, and the brothy chicken noodle hit the spot. While I'd never been much of a soup fan, today it tasted like ambrosia.
I ate my soup, savoring each spoonful while I studied the room. The walls were a light ecru with white moldings at the top and bottom. The furniture was expensive, hardwood all around. The entertainment center and coffee table were beautiful, warm maple pieces with smooth edges on the corners. The floor had a Berber carpet with beige shadings. Next to the entertainment center was a small oak bookcase with glass doors. The shelves were filled with books and assorted knickknacks, plenty of angels amongst them. Two framed pictures of Becky stood on top of the bookcase, one with Sarah in it. They stood next to each other smiling. Becky's hair looked to be quite long, Sarah's was shoulder length.
The window above the entertainment center concealed the Glock. I'd have to step on the entertainment center to access the gun if the need arose. Not ideal. But when the time came, if it came, I would do what was necessary.
I checked out the window coverings—large black outdoor garbage bags stuffed with pillows, blankets, and clothes. They were taped to the windows with masking tape and did an excellent job of keeping the light out or trapping it inside.
Having food in my stomach energized me. I was more than ready to go out and scavenge for food. I wanted to get the food gathering done as quickly as possible. It would be blistering hot out this late in the day, but I didn't care. I couldn't wait to get them food and get out of their house for good. I'd had my fill of Sarah Josephson's moodiness.
Just below the hum of the air conditioning, I could hear an erratic murmuring coming from the storage room, subtle but distinct. An excited whispering. Raj and Sarah.
My curiosity got the better of me. I grabbed the empty bowl and glass and headed to the storage room.
They were whispering heatedly. The conversation came to an abrupt end the moment I stepped into the room. I held the empty bowl and glass and waited for them to resolve whatever it was they needed to resolve. They were sitting on Raj's mattress, staring intensely at each other. Raj held a resolute expression and Sarah looked fit to be tied. You could see the intensity in Sarah's eyes. Raj shrugged his shoulders and gave Sarah one of those it's-up-to-you looks.
Sarah sighed heavily. She looked flustered. "Okay," she said. "… to the first part, not the second."
Raj nodded silently. Then he turned to me, smiling radiantly. "Jake," he said. "Can we talk?"
I was about to find out what the fuss was about. I assumed it had to do with me, and I assumed I wasn't going to like it.
"Okay," I told him.
Sarah got up and retrieved the dishes from me without so much as a glance. She looked troubled and introspective.
I followed Raj out to the family room.
He made himself comfortable sitting on the same end of the couch Sarah had sat on earlier. Raj crossed his lengthy legs underneath him and smiled brightly.
"How are you doing, Jake?" he asked me.
"I'm all right," I said, feeling wary.
"That's good," he said, nodding his head in approval. "Very good."
He stopped nodding and smiling and his face suddenly took on a serious countenance. "Sarah tells me you've come all the way from Murray."
He leaned forward in anticipation as if he were waiting for me to answer a question, though he'd never really asked me one. I gave him the answer I suspected he was looking for. "Yes," I told him. "I came from Murray."
Raj paused, then said, "It must have been very dangerous, Jake. Did you run into the grays?" He canted his head in anticipation of my answer.
"I had some difficult moments," I told him. "And, yes, I ran into some grays." And I left it at that. I didn't feel like sharing details. Raj was giving me several empathetic nods as if he understood perfectly well what I'd been through. Then I asked him a simple, direct question. "Raj, what's going on?"
"Oh," he said, suddenly all smiles again. "Yes." A moment later his face morphed back into seriousness. "We very much appreciate what you've done for us, Jake. The food you brought us was wonderful. Thank you. Truly a wonderful thing you have done. Very much appreciated."
I had never met anyone quite like Raj. Even though I'd known him less than a day, Raj was easy to read. He was irrepressibly cheerful, always smiling, and utterly sincere. I had no doubt his gratitude was genuine. Raj didn't have the capacity for deceit. He was guileless. And whenever he said anything, his emotions were etched on his face as if they had been tooled there by a craftsman. He couldn't hide a thing.
I waited for him to continue.
"We were hoping you might help us in a different way, Jake," he began. And he tried to smile, but it was a strained effort. Raj was out of sorts. "We appreciate the food you have brought us. Yes. Very thankful. And … we were hoping you might be willing to help us to go somewhere." Once he finished, Raj seemed relieved. He took a deep breath and smiled, pleased with himself.
I was stumped. I'd convinced myself they'd never want to leave the comfy confines of Sarah's home. And now they not only wanted to leave, but they wanted me to take them to wherever it was they wanted to go. "You want to go somewhere?" I asked him, to make sure I'd heard him correctly.
"Yes, Jake. We do." Raj
nodded. He seemed to be his normal self again.
"And … where was it you wanted to go?" I asked him.
"We would like to go to 4500 South and Wasatch Boulevard."
The area he mentioned was about seven blocks south on the other side of the underpass.
"Why? What's there?"
"Oh," he said, "Well." And he hesitated. A disconcerting shadow darkened his face. There was something he wasn't supposed to share. "There's someone there who can help us," he finally said. "We'll be safe there and have plenty of food. Everything will be very good there, Jake. Very good."
I assumed this was the part of the conversation Sarah wasn't on board with. Raj had left something out and it was bothering him. But I wasn't going to press him about it, not yet.
I wasn't sure how to respond. I'd been dead set on finding them food. Finding them food would have been simple, easy. And there was a part of me that didn't want to let go of that. Dragging them through neighborhood backyards was hardly an enticing prospect, and it would be infinitely more dangerous. I changed the subject to give myself time to think.
"How did you meet Sarah?"
Raj smiled. He looked surprised and pleased by my question. "I met Sarah over a year ago," he told me. "She came to my yoga class."
He paused for a moment, reminiscing. "Yes," he said, smiling. "I liked Sarah right away. She is a wonderful person, Jake. Very wonderful. We've been friends ever since that night."
He was beaming now.
"So, you teach yoga for a living?" I asked.
"Yes, Jake. Mostly, I teach Hatha Yoga. But I also teach meditation too. It is very good."
"That's great, Raj."
There was something else I'd been wondering about. I lowered my voice. "Raj, did Sarah hear me last night? Is that why she was upstairs?"
Apocalypse Journeys (Book 1): Jacob's Odyssey Page 13
