Chest of Bone (The Afterworld Chronicles Book 1)

by Vicki Stiefel

  He winked, put the truck in gear, and drove off.

  I hightailed it to the Feed and Seed.

  en minutes later, which felt like fifty, I peeled into the parking lot.

  In the daylight, grasses and brown cattails poked from the frozen marsh. A lone Canada goose honked overheard. The lot was empty, the “Closed” sign still in place, but today, two noses pressed against the glass.

  Dave’s twin mutts, part Brittany, part mystery, observed me. I relaxed a fraction and drove around to the rear of the store. Dave’s old Dodge pickup sat to the right of the back bay doors. I parked beside it, wishing Dave hadn’t put off installing a smaller entry door.

  Back out front, both mutts stared back at me, ears flat, wary, where they normally barked with exuberance.

  I peered inside, saw no one, tried the door. Locked. I withdrew my gun, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Deja vu.

  I pulled a handful of treats from my pocket, and when the pups inhaled them, their normalcy reassured me. A calico kitten wove between my legs. A shimmer. A ping of memory. Gone.

  Rows of pet food and toys and collars filled the barn-sized room. I sampled the air. Strong bites of fear, with hints of anger and anticipation. I let the quiet settle, then, “Hello! Lulu?”

  She didn’t answer. But some human was watching me. I crouched behind a row of Eukanuba bags. It didn’t help that Mutt and Jeff were nuzzling me, tails wagging and tongues lolling.

  “Anybody here?” I listened.

  “I’ve got a gun,” screeched the high-pitched voice. “So don’t move. I’m gonna shoot you and… well, shoot.”

  I dove behind an aisle of chew toys. Craptastic. Lulu’d been scared enough to wave a gun around. At least, she sounded okay.

  She was somewhere behind the counter, so I stayed low and listened. Nothing.

  Here goes.

  “Lulu, it’s Clea,” I shouted. “Put down the gun.”

  “Really?” squeaked the voice. “How do I know it’s really you?”

  Groan. “I’m going to stand up, where you can see me. I’d rather you didn’t shoot my head off.”

  No answer. I slowly straightened, hands raised, Glock in my left. “See? I’ve got the safety on.” Glocks don’t have an external safety, but she didn’t know that.

  “You’re not going to kill me?” came the disembodied voice.

  “I wasn’t planning on it. And I fervently hope you won’t kill me.”

  “Oh… okay. I’m not in trouble, am I?”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Not yet. But you’re working your way there. C’mon, Lulu, it’s me.”

  Lulu bobbed up from behind the counter, eyes bright as amethysts, hair a blaze of copper, wearing a baggy black NYU sweatshirt. An immense gun quivered in her outstretched hands.

  “Lulu,” I said.

  She dropped the gun on the counter, and I was thrilled the damned thing didn’t fire.

  “It is you!” she said. “Daddy’s gun’s heavy.”

  I squeezed my eyes tight, opened them, tried to smile. I holstered the Glock, walked to Lulu, pups faithfully trailing after me.

  “Don’t be afraid.” I walked over to the counter and picked up the giant .357 Magnum revolver. “This thing is dangerous.” Once I emptied it of bullets, I finally relaxed.

  I took her hand. “I’ve been worried sick, sweetie. We had an appointment, and you weren’t at Ronan’s. I saw the house. What happened?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s been really bad. I’m really sorry. Really. I…” A spike of fear. Lulu rested her head in her hands.

  The calico kitten jumped on the counter and began cleaning itself.

  “Sshhh.” I ran my fingers across the back of her hand. “It’s okay now.”

  The girl raised her face. No tears, just moist eyes. “No, it’s not.”

  In the store’s back office, I took in the cranked wood stove, the rumpled bed and pile of clothes, the end table’s box of tampons and blush case.

  She’d moved here. Damn.

  I started to speak, but her eyes pinballed with terror. “Be right back.” When I returned with my knitting from the truck, she was seated in a threadbare wing chair. I took its twin and began to knit. She smiled and out came her own knitting, a green-and-red object.

  “It was for Christmas,” she said. “For Daddy. A scarf. Except I didn’t finish. I’m not very good.”

  “Looks great to me.” I smiled. “It’s the process.”

  We fell into a rhythm. Back and forth. Click-click, click-click, click-click. Her neck muscles relaxed, and she eased deeper into the chair. “Why the gun, Lulu?” When she finally made eye contact, her gaze crackled with fear and anger. I held it, and she quieted.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I said. “You’ll stay with me.”

  She shrugged, a lock of red hair sliding across her face. Big breath, then, “I went home. Well, see, Ronan’s dad said he had to go to school today. He’s a senior. And I didn’t want to stay there alone… with him.”

  “Good call,” I said.

  “I took Mutt and Jeff and… It felt so weird, being at home knowing Daddy…” She shrugged. “I expected home to look different. But it didn’t. I did some stuff. I don’t know. Then I went into the living room and sat on the couch.” She smiled.

  Gods, it was a sad smile.

  “I tried to read, The Fault in Our Stars, but I fell asleep.”

  “You must be exhausted.” I rested a hand on her knee.

  “Yeah. I don’t know when, but Mutt and Jeff crawled around me on the couch. They always do that.” An idle hand reached down to pet the closest mutt.

  I smiled, and knit. Here it comes.

  “I woke up when they moved. Someone was in the house. Mutt and Jeff’s fur, right on the backs of their necks, stood up straight. That’s how I knew it was bad. We have a secret place.”

  “Okay.”

  She fingered her star necklace. “I wanted to see who was there, but Daddy said not to do that, even if I wanted to really bad. So I opened the window nice and quiet. I took the wand, too.”

  “The wand?”

  She grinned. “That’s what he called it. It’s got a button. Mutt and Jeff knew the drill. They leapt out first, and just as I was almost out, two men in long black coats came into the living room. They had guns. And they shot at me!”

  “What! Are you hurt? Were you hit?”

  “Nope. The bullets just stopped. It was awesome.”

  O-kay. She was fine. That’s all that mattered.

  “I jumped out the window and pushed the button! The window exploded, just like Daddy had shown me on our practice runs. All red and blue and yellow sparks! Way cool. Daddy called it our secret spell.”

  A spell. My reality was warping like wood in water.

  “I ran to the barn. We scrambled down the hatch in the floor, and I clicked the lock. Daddy promised no one could break that lock. I was to stay there until I was sure I was safe.” She nodded. “And I did.”

  “You did so good,” I said. “Wonderful.”

  She straightened, shoulders back, proud. “I heard them. Well, one of them, anyway. He came into the barn. It sounded like he was limping. I liked that, that he’d been hurt. He was looking around. I could hear him! But he didn’t find the hatch. And I waited a long time after I couldn’t hear him anymore.”

  “Good for you. Patience pays off.”

  She bobbed a nod. “Yeah. But it’s hard. We have food and water down there, and food for Mutt and Jeff and books, too. So I read and read. And then, I came here.”

  I took her hand in mine, sent waves of love and care to her, hoping she’d feel them.

  “I wanted to go to Ronan’s,” she said. “But he’s there. He’s creepy. And mean.”

  Ronan’s father. But she hadn’t come to me, either. I banished the sting. She was a kid. She hardly knew me. I’d have to earn her trust, not expect it as a gift.

  “I’m here now,” I said. “And I know how to use my
gun.”

  Her lips burst with a grin. “You’re a badass.”

  Laughter bubbled out. I might not be a badass, but I’d be good enough.

  “Tell me, Lulu, did your dad ever talk about things of power or guardians or magic?”

  Eyes wide, she dipped her chin, bit her lip. “No.”

  A lick, a touch. I stood. I squeezed her hand and released it. Someone was here, outside. A “someone” with a nasty psychic scent.

  “Get in the bathroom,” I said, wishing there was an exploding window here for Lulu’s escape. I gripped my gun in my left hand. “Take the mutts and call 9-1-1.”

  “But—”

  “Do it.” A command.

  Lulu and the dogs scuttled into the bathroom, and I closed the office door behind them. I swept Lulu’s Magnum and bullets under the counter and waited. No time to load the revolver.

  A man limped toward me across the central aisle. He wore a ballcap, but as he neared, it failed to hide the cuts on his face and hands, one of which was wrapped in white gauze. Whatever Dave had rigged had done a damned fine job.

  He approached the counter. Florid complexion, beefy hands, and I’d bet a shotgun caused that bulk under his coat. A boil of anger and belligerence. I could use that. Nice.

  I coated my fear with a smile of welcome, my left arm at my side, gun aimed right at the bastard’s thighs. The counter was thin enough for the bullet to pierce his flesh. I hoped.

  I forced my face to keep the smile, too aware of never having fired a gun in live combat. Lulu called me a badass. Time to prove it.

  He reached the counter. “Greetings.”

  “Can I help you?”

  He smiled. Bad teeth. “Nice place.”

  “It is.”

  He reached into his breast pocket, and I tensed. He drew out a photo. Lulu.

  “I’m looking for a girl. This girl. Her pop died couple days ago. I was a friend of his.”

  I tilted my head. “It’s kind of you to call, but she’s not here.” A trickle of sweat down my spine.

  “You know where she’s at?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t. Sorry. She’s pretty broken up about her dad.”

  He gave a jerky nod. “Bet she is. I’ll try again. Hey, thanks, ma’am.”

  “Sure. Maybe I can help you with some pet supplies?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Don’t have any.” He turned to walk away.

  Nothing was that smooth. A ping of violence. I flattened to the concrete, just as he whirled on me, shotgun glinting.

  “Fuck,” he said. “Can’t we do this easy?”

  I held my silence and listened, nerves sizzling, slowed my stuttering breath. I centered my mind, and the world sharpened. I began to carve out a knot in the wood with my Bowie.

  “I just want the girl. I don’t even want to hurt her. Just talk. I won’t hurt you, either.”

  And Christmas came in July.

  I pried and poked at the knot. “I told you, she’s not here.”

  “Saw the truck, ma’am.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Look, lady, you got two days before the shit hits. Two fucking days before—”

  “What happens then?” I’d added some whine to my voice.

  Silence. Guess he wasn’t going to tell me.

  He was out there. A killer in a swirly coat.

  He would kill me, Lulu, the animals, too.

  I wished I knew why.

  My knife broke through, and I pried out the knot, peered out the hole. A squeak of leather. There. A foot. Maybe two yards away. Could I hit it? I visualized all the targets I’d bullseyed in practice. Hell, yeah. Sure. Maybe.

  Then the blast of the shotgun, a pump, another blast. The counter held.

  I moved into a crouch, peered out the hole, aimed for the foot, squeezed off a shot. I hurtled from the counter just before another spray of shot splintered the boards.

  I rolled toward the metal shelves. One, two… I bounced up, blasted five rounds. A bark of pain. Yes!

  His shotgun splintered the silence as I jumped. Pain bit my arm. I hissed, slid around another row of shelves.

  Shit, shit, shit. My arm was on fire.

  Adrenaline mixed with fear into one hell of a cocktail.

  Silence. Then a moist wheezing. A curse.

  He might not be down, but he was hurt worse than me.

  Now was when I’d get him. I pulled shreds of courage close, positioned my feet beneath my thighs, and pushed hard up and out, gun pointing, spraying the store in a 180° motion.

  The front door flew open. I’d missed. Hell.

  I raced after him, he swiveled back, and I flattened in time to avoid his shotgun blast. I rolled, sprang up again, fired as he hopped toward a BMW parked out front.

  I ran forward. The kitten! At my feet, in the line of fire. I scooped her up as I dove to my left.

  A blast of his gun barrel, glass shattering.

  Gods!

  I landed hard. A display of dog biscuits collapsed around me. I rolled off the pile onto my belly, shooting again and again and again.

  Pebbles peppered what was left of the window as the guy peeled out of the lot. The car wove, straightened, then was gone.

  The kitten. Where was the calico? Gone, no blood, safe.

  Ohboy, ohboy. Chest heaving, like I’d gone ten rounds with Ali. I sat up, hand against my wound, frustration melting my bones. With great care, I lay down my gun. Held onto it, though. I gasped. Just a reaction. Everything’s fine. Yup. Just peachy. I laughed. I hadn’t even gotten his license plate.

  ulu!” I shouted, my voice bubbling with panic. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so!” the girl hollered back. “Wow, that was awesome!”

  It was frigging scary. “I told you to keep the door closed!”

  To hide my shakes, I leaned casually against the counter. My arm throbbed. A flesh wound. I’d deal. But the rip in the leather. Dammit it, I loved that jacket.

  She stood framed by the office door. “I did… mostly. How did you do that?”

  “Practice.” I pumped my voice with strength. I honestly had no idea. Scariest thing ever.

  “Are you all right?”

  No, no I wasn’t. As I’d reached for the kitten, I’d seen instead a huge golden bird, like the one I’d imagined in the kitchen.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  The hurly-burly of cops and forensics hadn’t been as bad as when I’d found Dave. The police assured me they’d keep an eye on the store and Lulu’s home.

  When we arrived at Sparrow Farm, Bernadette fussed over Lulu and tended my wound with her usual efficiency. She wasn’t gentle, but the former nurse was sure thorough.

  Mr. Fish and Wildlife hadn’t returned, and I was thankful for small favors.

  After I settled a somber Lulu, the two dogs, and the kitten, which was just a kitten, in the spare room beside Bernadette’s, the three of us sat down for one of my foster mother’s overabundant meals. Cornbread, steak, veggie burgers, green beans, acorn squash, garlic potatoes, and three kinds of desserts. Enough calories to kill a rhino.

  “I don’t like green beans.” Lulu’s lips quivered with nerves, while violet eyes sparked with petulance.

  “Eat half, please,” I said and softened it with a smile.

  “No.”

  I didn’t have the energy for that battle, given the larger battle to come, when I told Lulu I was her legal guardian.

  After dinner, she plucked at a sofa cushion, not making eye contact, while Mutt and Jeff curled at her feet. Grace crawled onto the sofa, and Lulu giggled, a watery sound.

  I sat across from her. My twenty-eight years felt like dandelion fluff, wispy and inadequate.

  “What?” she asked, voice breathy.

  “Um…” Wasn’t I full of witticisms? My stomach churned. What if she refused to live here? Or ran off and married Ronan? What if she said I sucked, or that she hated me?

  “What’s wrong,” she said, face so ti
ght, her freckles stood out like constellations.

  “Nothing, sweetie.” I squeezed her hand. “You’re wonderful. Perfect.”

  “No, I’m not.” She bowed her back and crossed her arms over her chest, as if embarrassed by her small breasts.

  Well, that told me volumes. “I just need to tell you something, and I’m scared.”

  Her head jerked up. “Scared? You’re a badass.”

  I shook my head. “Here goes. Your dad made me your legal guardian.”

  She wrinkled her forehead, as if processing lousy news.

  “I’m, um, sorry it wasn’t someone else, but—”

  “No. No, I think it’s cool.”

  “Cool?”

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “Well, I’m almost sixteen, and I really don’t need a guardian or anything. But I guess, if I have to have one, you won’t be so bad. You’ll let me do lots more than Daddy!”

  “No way I—”

  “Psych!” She kissed my cheek and bounded upstairs. I wiggled my fingers a goodnight and released the breath I’d been holding for hours.

  Since Larrimer was still out, I typed up today’s events, complete with expletives, onto my office computer. Exhausted, I forced myself to do it now, or they’d be confetti on the wind. I sent a copy to Bob, like the good little adjunct I was.

  After I bathed and cleaned the tub—Bernadette was killer about that stuff—my arm was on fire. I went hunting and found Larrimer bent over the fridge, trolling.

  What a gorgeous ass. “Geesh, you’re snoopy,” I said.

  He closed the fridge and pivoted. Even with jeans slung low on his hips and a rumpled white tee, he looked ready for battle. Then his lips softened, and I caught the exhaustion bracketing them.

  “Long day?”

  He nodded. “By the time I finished up, everything was closed. I need food.”

  I waved a hand at the fridge. “Plenty of leftovers. Feel free.”

  “Veggie burgers? Green beans? Tofu? I need meat.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry, steak’s all gone.”

  “Steak,” he said with longing. “Heard you had an interesting day.”

  “News sure travels fast.”

  “That it does.” He spread his hands. “And…?”

  I was dying to tell him, except at the same time I was getting “Danger, Will Robinson!” warnings. Geesh. I was turning into Sybil.