by Jones, Isla
The shed was turned away from me, its roller door facing the path that led up to the cabin. But I heard Castle’s cursing from the open doorway before I even reached the shed.
I stopped at the edge and looked inside.
Castle was hunched over the open bonnet of a sleek black car. My heart fluttered—it was a Jeep. But then my hope vanished just as quickly as it’d come; Castle swore and threw a rag at the bonnet.
“I’m not sure throwing things at it will help.”
He turned his stony face to meet my gaze, and the chill of his electric-green eyes lashed over at me. Despite the fierceness of his stare, his tone wasn’t as sharp when he asked, “How is your ankle?”
“About as good as your mood,” I told him.
Castle curled his upper lip at me before turning back to the car. His hands rested on the edge, and he stared down at the engine.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, moving closer.
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
I stopped beside him and ran my gaze over the guts of the Jeep. “Mind if I help?”
Castle didn’t bother hiding the snort he made at my expense. He looked down at me, a quirk to his lips, and his brow rose. “Go ahead.”
I shot him a false smile, then unwrapped the blanket from my shoulders. After I shoved it into his hands, I grabbed the rag from the radiator cap. “What are its symptoms?”
Castle arched his eyebrows; it seemed he couldn’t keep the patronising look off his face. “Are you a doctor?”
My hand reached out with the cloth and pulled the dip-stick. “Just tell me,” I said.
“It started the first time. Then, it sputtered and cut out. Haven’t been able to start it since,” he said.
“What sound was it making?”
“Meows and purrs.”
I glowered over my shoulder at him.
Castle wore a lopsided smirk and leaned against the utility shelf. “It sputtered, like I said, and made a strained chugging sound. It also smelled a bit like paint,” he added. “If that’s any help to your sudden acquaintance with cars.”
“Paint?” I said, straightening up.
Castle nodded. “That’s what I said.”
“Well you should’ve said that to begin with.” My tone was curt. I don’t like to be mocked, especially when I know what I’m talking about. “Check the shelves for a gas-pump. It should look like a bicycle pump, but with—”
“I know what a gas-pump is,” he said. The amused glint in his eyes had dimmed. “You think the gas has gone off?”
“Obviously,” I said. “How long has this car been sitting in here? Almost six months, maybe more? Not to mention the heat in this shed compared to outside. It would make sense that the gas has separated in these conditions.”
Castle looked at me. The way he did was as if he’d never seen me before. I lingered beside the bonnet, frowning back at him. Then, he pushed himself forward and set to looking for the pump.
I couldn’t resist it. I had to say it. “I told you so.”
“You could still be wrong,” he said, riffling through a cupboard. “We won’t know until we check the gas.”
I smirked. “And then I’ll get to say it again.”
4.
I did get to say it again.
An hour later, we’d syphoned some of the fuel out with the pump and—ha! The gas had separated.
Castle had wanted to pump out all the fuel, but I’d told him we had to remove the whole tank and empty it ourselves. The gas had been left too long; so long that it had likely congealed at the bottom of the tank. The clumps of jelly-fuel would clog the hose.
How I rejoiced in saying those four words to him; I told you so.
He shrugged it off, but I know it got under his skin. He wanted to be the one with knowledge, the one to hold all the answers—but with my trick and mechanical history, I was on top. Castle’s masculinity had taken a hit. That might be why Castle did most of the work. He said with my ankle healing, I shouldn’t push myself.
It wasn’t kindness. It was his impatience with my slow pace, and a desperate bid to gather back whatever scraps of ego he had left in him. At times, I wonder if he tries to be a cliché, or if that’s how he really is.
“Stop watching me.”
Castle’s voice shattered my thoughts. He was crouched down at the car door, the gas tank at his feet.
I shifted around on the passenger seat and looked out the windshield. “I wasn’t.”
The shed reeked of varnish and petrol; I was beginning to get a little lightheaded. I watched a dragonfly zoom around outside. It soared up, down, to the left, then right. As I watched it, I wondered if it knew what the world was now.
“I can help, you know,” I said, just as the dragonfly fluttered out of view. I said a silent good-bye and good-luck to it. “I’ve done it before,” I added, turning to face Castle again.
Castle glanced up at me. “I know you can help,” he said. “But I’d rather your ankle—”
I cut him off with a loud huff. Ankle this, and ankle that. Don’t take my word as gold, but I might’ve preferred another bullet wound than an ankle sprain. It was harder to get around than I’d ever imagined. And with it being just Castle and I, it went from a disability to a liability.
How long, I wondered, until he leaves me behind?
Castle dropped his head for a moment.
My eyes washed over him; he was feeling the fumes, too, I realised. It was all I needed to slide off the seat and join him on the oil-stained floor.
“Right,” I said. “You get that end, I’ll take this end.”
“I said no.”
“And I said yes. You’re not in charge anymore, Castle. Not until we get back to the others. In the meantime,” I said, “we’re a team. So pull your weight.”
My fingers coiled around the ribbed edge, muscles ready to lift. Castle hesitated.
“Fine.” His voice was curt, and he grabbed the other side. Together, we lifted the tank and tilted it, pouring out the fuel from the tube. It slapped into the metal drum we’d prepared; it sploshed and splashed. Some of the fuel came out in globs, like I’d suspected. When that happened, I shot a smarmy look at Castle. He pretended not to notice.
After we’d emptied and cleaned the tank, Castle and I left the shed. There was still work to be done, but the fumes were too much to endure any longer. We went back to the cabin.
I didn’t like the cabin as much as I should have. It was quiet. Too quiet. Whenever the wood groaned, I heard it as a shout. When a bird chirped, I jolted in my chair.
Castle’s soft footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. I glance up at him; he leaned against the archway to the living room, where I was curled up on the armchair, facing the flames that danced in the fireplace.
He just gazed at me with those damned green eyes. Sometimes I wonder if they are little, tiny crystal balls that pierce through skin and bone to rummage around in souls—that’s how he reads people.
Finally, he said, “You were right about the car.”
I made a face at him.
“Isn’t that why you’re sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself? Waiting for an apology?”
Castle might have super-sharp eyes that can read people, but whatever he just read on me was a passage from a different book. I hadn’t been thinking of the car—my thoughts had been on much darker things than that.
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself,” I said.
“Then get up.” Castle made a gesture. “We both need a wash and a change of clothes before the sun goes down.”
A heavy sigh came from me as I pushed myself from the armchair. It creaked with the loss of my weight. Castle was right. I looked horrendous. My top was shredded, my jeans were covered in mud, and even one of my boots had scuffed so badly that a hole was forming at the inner-edge.
As I limped over, Castle pushed the shelf out of the way—we’d used it to block the doorway during the night. The door opened to a long corridor,
where the bedrooms and bathrooms were. We hadn’t looked around too much when we’d first arrived at the cabin. I think, looking back, we were just too exhausted to care about anything other than the food, and barricading ourselves away from threats. But as I followed Castle down that corridor, a light bounce crept into my steps.
A tickle of excitement fluttered in my stomach. There was just something about looting in the after-world that enticed me. To steal and take whatever it is you might need without consequences was dreadfully fun.
Castle led the way into the bathroom.
The water didn’t work, but we’d known that already. Still, it’s an instinct to test a sink or a toilet, because you just never know when it might work. Back at the department store, where Leo had saved me from sure death, the plumbing still worked. I don’t know why—maybe there was residual water left in the pipes? It’s not like anyone would’ve used it after the outbreak. And rotters don’t use water. Is it strange that I wondered, however briefly, if rotters poop? They eat … surely they must relive their waste, too? After all, they’re not dead; they’re infected.
Castle rummaged around in the cupboard under the sink. When he emerged and kicked the door shut, he was holding a plastic, purple object. I eyed it with a frown. It was a purple shower-caddy. He seemed to like it; he filled it with shaving creams and razors. Just as he was about to put coconut body-wash in it, I couldn’t hold it in anymore—I threw my head back and laughed.
Castle spared me an unamused glance. He didn’t stop filling it up with toiletries.
“Personal hygiene isn’t a joke,” he said.
I barely heard him over my snorts and sniggers. “I hope that’s for me,” I choked out.
Castle threw a scathing look my way. “It’s for the both of us.” He threw open the mirror-cupboard. “What colour toothbrush do you want?”
My laughter evaporated. It was sucked out of me in an instant.
A toothbrush!
“Any,” I said and limped over to him. There were two of them, one pink, one blue. And just like that, I found myself thinking of the owner of the cabin, Michael Roberts. Was the other toothbrush a spare? Was it for his wife or boyfriend? For his mistress?
“I want the blue,” I said. “I changed my mind.”
He dropped the toothbrushes and pastes into the caddy.
“Let’s check out the other rooms,” I said.
I suddenly lost interest in the bathroom. As I turned and hobbled back to the corridor, Castle trailed right behind me.
“Where will we get fuel?” I asked. “We need to replace what was lost in the gas tank.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” Castle pushed open a door and looked inside. It was a study, unfinished—rolls of wallpaper were scattered across the floor; carpets stood in rolls against the walls; grey sheets covered the furniture.
Castle released the door and walked further down the corridor. “There’s a generator in the shed. I’ll check the gas in that, though it’s likely gone off, too.”
“Worth a try,” I said as he opened another door. It led to a guest bedroom, where I’d already pinched pillows and blankets on the first night. We kept moving down the rooms. “There might be some in the basement or attic. It’s a cooler place to store fuel than the shed, so the gas might not be bad yet.”
“I’ll have a look after dinner.”
Just as I was about to ask when dinner was—and what we were eating for it—he opened a creaky door to the master suite. I poked my head inside; the mattress was gone, we’d moved it to the living room the night we’d arrived, but I didn’t remember the room looking so…used.
Someone had lived here. Or they’d planned on it, at least.
Shoes were tucked against the far wall, a collection of Blu-rays filled a shelf, and wedding pictures were nailed to the wall, mixed in a collage with vacation photos. I didn’t want to look at the pictures; they made me too sad. I had enough to mourn, my own grief to suffer.
Castle slid open a mirrored door at the back of the room. I walked over to him, my hand on the wall for support. It was a wardrobe, built into the wall.
Castle stepped back and turned to look at me. There was a smirk—a real smirk, not cruel or patronising—on his face. And once I looked past him to the wardrobe, I realised why.
Rows of clothes, dangling from hangers, were packed into the wardrobe. The carpeted floor beneath the clothes was sparsely visible through the shoes—boots, slippers, sneakers—and above the railings were scarves and hats and gloves.
I grinned.
Castle stared at me with patience in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to say it?”
The grin faded from my face, replaced by a blank expression. “Say what?”
“What you always say when we find things.”
I frowned at him, the kind that made my nose crinkle. “What do I always say?”
He turned back to the wardrobe and plucked a flannel hat from the shelf above. Then, with that stupid spark of derisiveness in his eyes, he threw the hat at me.
“Score.”
5
Castle had picked out his clothes. A grey t-shirt, black sweater, stone-washed jeans and boots. They were no different to the ones he wore, other than the stains and tears. He packed a few other pieces away for when we would leave the cabin.
After I’d packed and picked out clothes, we carried them to the lake. Castle’s collection of toiletries came in handy there, and I suddenly didn’t think it so funny anymore.
As we dumped our loot on the shore of dry tufts of brown grass, I looked at the sky. Dusk was coming. And with it, the rotters would come.
“You should go in first,” I said. “I’ll take watch.”
I averted my eyes as Castle stripped bare. He gave me his gun—it was the last handgun we had. The van we’d taken from the farmhouse had been stacked with guns and ammo. We took what we could carry; two AKs and two handguns. But at the cliff side, Castle lost one of them.
As went into the water, I tried not to look at his body. My gaze kept swerving to his beige skin, lingering over the white scars that marked his back. At his side, I could see part of the faint bruise he’d gotten at the cliff side.
He looked over his shoulder.
I wrenched my gaze away, cheeks like dry roses. I’d be furious if he looked at me while I bathed. It wasn’t as though I was checking him out. His scars and bruises caught my attention, not the sun touched shade of his skin, or the defined lines of his muscles, or the dip of his spine that travelled down to his—
I shook the thoughts from my head.
“What are you thinking?”
My gaze slipped back to his. He faced me, the rim of the water burying his lower half. His hands slipped up and down his body, using the body wash to lather away smears of dirt and dried blood.
“You were shaking your head,” he said at my confused expression. “Having an argument with yourself?”
“It’s not important.” My cheeks burned so hotly that I wondered if he could garner my thoughts just by looking at me. A low breath of relief pushed through my lips when he changed the subject.
“So you’re not a doctor,” he said. His hands massaged shampoo into his sawdust hair. He needed a trim, I noticed; the tips of his hair curled at his temples, like Leo’s had done.
As I waited for him to elaborate, I remembered the guessing game. “Was that a question?”
He shook soapsuds from his face. “Are you a mechanic?”
I smirked and shook my head.
“You fooled me,” he said.
“I’ve had experience with bad gas before.”
Suddenly, I heard my words and choked on a gasp of humiliation.
Castle smirked—a genuine one, one that I’d never seen on his face before. It told of restrained laughter, matching the glow of his eyes. It looked strange, as if painted on the wrong canvas. Just as I thought that, grief punched my gut. Leo’s grins fitted his face, they suited him. They were natural. Castle’s were
n’t natural.
“You know what I mean,” I grumbled. “And you’ve used up one guess.”
Castle sank into the water. He was submerged for a few seconds; I gazed around the thin spread of trees. Daylight was creeping away from me.
Castle came back up, all soap washed away from his body. He pushed through the lake to the shore. I looked away. As he towel-dried himself, I left the gun on his pile of things and peeled off my own clothes. He didn’t look.
His head turned away from me as he handed me the shower caddy. I took it into the lake and kept my back to the shore.
Castle’s voice carried over to me; “Where are you from?”
I rubbed shampoo into my peachy hair. The suds lathered into brown bubbles. “I lived in LA—the valley.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I flipped my hair forward and rinsed out the shampoo. “Atlantic City.”
Castle gave a derisive snort. “The city of the boardwalk empire.”
I didn’t condition my hair. It would only make it greasier faster, and I didn’t know when I’d have the chance to wash it again.
“Of all the places you could move to, why LA? Why the valley?”
“It’s where the bus took me.”
It’s all I said. He didn’t pry any further.
After a little time had drifted away from us, he stood up on the shore.
“Time’s up,” he said. “It’s getting dark.”
As I looked up at the sky, I saw that he was right. The blue was gone, replaced by swirls of purple and pink. Soon, stars and darkness would come. They would come.
I made dinner that night as Castle searched the basement for petrol canisters. It would be easier to use the tinned food when we got on the road again, so I stuck to macaroni and cheese with brown rice. It took a bit more preparation than we could afford on the road; it was best to use it up at the cabin. By the look on Castle’s face when he walked in, he wasn’t too excited about the strange mix of rice and pasta.
