“Hi, Buddy,” he said. “You use a nickname when you like someone.”
I managed a weak smile and rolled over to look at the front of the store. My gooey crowbar was stuck between the two handles of the double door. Trina and Prianka were dragging a heavy desk in front of the glass. Jimmy had abandoned his chair and had already found the long, metal rod that fit into the gear system for the storefront’s mesh security gate. As he rapidly turned the bent handle the gate descended in front of the door, effectively cutting off the poxers that were already gathering for the buffet.
Once the gate completely lowered to the ground, everyone stopped. Trina sank to her knees along with Prianka. Jimmy fell back against the wall, his chest heaving up and down.
“Not to be a killjoy or anything,” I said, “But are we alone in here?” I got to my knees and slowly stood, the pain in my nether regions subsiding to a dull ache. Trina and Prianka both shot to their feet, and Jimmy was immediately on alert.
Facing us was row after row of cramped book cases. We had locked ourselves inside a used bookstore.
“Bookstores, libraries, and schools,” said Sanjay. “I repeat—this isn’t a movie. It’s imperative that you get as much material as you can get your hands on regarding survival skills. The best places to find this information is in bookstores, libraries, or schools. From what we’re hearing, it’s not pretty out there folks. Be prepared. Poopy Puppy says so.”
“I said that on the radio, didn’t I?” said Jimmy.
“Word for word,” said Trina. “Word for word.”
“Tripp’s right,” said Prianka. “We don’t know if we’re alone.” She grabbed the closest paperback book and pulled a new pack of matches out her pocket.
And I thought she was smart. “Whoa, Pyro Patel. We’re in a bookstore. A bookstore. Like paper and stuff that burns as easy as the poxers do. What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that in here? One of those things explodes, and we’re toast—literally.”
She gritted her teeth. I could almost hear them grind together.
“And I don’t care if you are a girl. Kick me like that again, and I’ll punch you in the head.” She didn’t say anything, which was just fine by me.
The bookstore was packed. The shelves went back into the shadows. Not good. Not good all.
“We have to fan out,” I said. “And we have to find something we can hit them with.”
Trina walked over and knelt down in front of Jimmy. “You have to watch Sanjay, okay? We need you to do this.” Jimmy started to open his mouth, but she put one finger to his lips, and he stopped.
“Whatever,” he muttered and shook his head. “Hey, Sanjay,” he said. “Why don’t you, Poopy Puppy, and Andrew come over here, and we can read a book?”
“Thanks,” said Trina. I saw the next thing coming from light years away. She leaned over and softly brushed her lips against his red stubble. I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth.
Sanjay went over and sat down beside Jimmy, and together they turned their backs to the horde that was massing in front of the store.
Trina stood and took the security gate handle from Jimmy. Prianka and I each grabbed a hard cover book to use as a club. The three of us each chose an aisle and slowly began walking through the stacks.
“Keep talking,” I said. “If they’re here, they’ll come to us.”
“Why don’t you keep talking for us,” said Prianka from somewhere to my right.
“Ah, I see you found the bitchy feminist books.”
With that, a hardcover sailed over the shelves and landed in front of me. “Missed. Want to go for two?”
“You’re not worth the paper.”
“Oh, I think I’m worth a ream or two.”
The bookstore got dimmer the further we wandered through the stacks. At the end of the first set of rows, the three of us met up. From here to the back of the store the rows ran horizontally. Walking down the middle aisle allowed us to look both ways. Easy. We didn’t find poxers or people.
Toward the end of the aisle was a black spiral staircase with a sign next to it that read ‘reading loft’ with an arrow pointing up.
Above us the floor gently creaked.
“Damn,” whispered Trina.
“Yeah,” I said. “Where’s Buffy when you need her?”
The three of us stared at each other. Finally I took the gate handle from Trina and grabbed the bannister.
“Hello?” I yelled up the stairs, but no one answered. The floor creaked again.
“Fat mice?” I offered hopefully. Prianka frowned at me.
I took another few steps up the spiral staircase and shouted again. Who was I kidding? Poxers don’t yell back. I looked at my sister and Prianka and shrugged, so I continued up the spiral staircase, gripping the gate handle with both hands. The reading loft was dark—like really dark. I couldn’t see anything.
“Prianka, I need a match.”
“But you said . . .”
“Not for that. I can’t see.” She came up the staircase behind me and pressed the book of matches into my hand.
“It’s creepy up here,” she said.
“It’s creepy everywhere.”
I lit the match and held it up. The reading loft wasn’t much bigger than my bedroom back home. Bookshelves lined the walls. In the center of the room were two oversized well-worn couches and an old trunk. I could see behind one of the couches. The other one was facing us.
“Light another match,” I whispered, pointing to the couch I couldn’t see behind. Whatever was up here was hiding there. I gripped the gate handle with both hands and raised it high over my head. Together, Prianka and I quietly tiptoed over to the couch.
Huddled behind the oversized love seat, we found Stella Rathbone, owner of the now defunct Wordsmith Used Book Emporium.
Thankfully, she was very much alive.
29
“DON’T HURT ME,” she screamed and threw her hands up over her face. “I don’t want to die.” Prianka and I stood over a heavyset woman probably about the age of death’s mother. I had the gate handle raised over my head like I was going to plunge it into her skull, right down through her body, and into the floor.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” I screamed back, mostly because she was screaming at me.
“Stop screaming,” screamed Prianka as she lit another match.
“I’m not screaming,” I screamed back at her then realized that I was, so I notched it down a few decibels. “I’m not screaming.”
“Put the rod down you idiot,” Prianka said. She pushed me aside and offered her hand to the old woman. Stella shook her head fiercely. “We’re friends,” Prianka said calmly. “Really—we’re okay.”
I lowered the gate handle just in time to hear Trina run up the stairs.
“What’s happening?”
“Survivor,” I said. “We’ll be down in a minute.”
I sighed and tossed her the metal rod, making sure I was very obvious about removing it from the situation. Trina took it with her and slowly went back down the staircase. On the old trunk was a jar candle. Prianka quickly lit the wick.
The candlelight illuminated the face of terror that was Stella Rathbone. I guess calling her older than death’s mother was a little harsh. Maybe death’s wife or spinster sister would have been more appropriate. She was wearing a man’s plaid shirt, heavy pants, and work boots. Her gray hair was knotted into long braids that fell halfway down her back, and her thick glasses made her eyes look a little too big for her head.
“We’re friends,” Prianka said again and knelt down beside her. Stella adjusted her glasses on her round face and studied Prianka. All of a sudden, she engulfed her in a bear hug and began sobbing hysterically.
Not my area of expertise. Not by a longshot
.
“I’ll be downstairs with everyone else.” Prianka nodded and waved her hand dismissively while continuing to let Stella cry herself a river roughly the size of the Ganges.
When I got to the front of the store, Jimmy was already back in his chair. Trina was sitting on his lap.
“Um, that’s my sister,” I said.
“Yeah, I know. Cool, huh?”
For the second time in not so many minutes, I felt the bile climbing up my throat. Sanjay was sitting on the floor next to the two of them, leafing through a picture book. Andrew sat on his shoulder and watched the colorful drawings pass by.
“So who is she?” Jimmy asked.
“I don’t know. She looks like someone who hangs out in used bookstores.”
“And?”
“And she’s old,” I said. “I don’t think she’s grandmother old. I just think she’s sort of old, old.”
“Happens to the best of us,” said Jimmy.
”Unless we get eaten by zombies because our crew rolls off to safety without so much as turning around.” I glared at him. “At least you saved the bird—and my sister.”
Jimmy gulped. “Hey, Dude. I thought you were bitten.”
“What if I were?” I snapped.
“Then you wouldn’t have been you anymore, and we’d do what we have to do.”
He was right. I wouldn’t be me anymore.
“Whoa—the two of you—stand down,” Trina begged as she balanced on his lap.
“He can’t stand,” I snapped and folded my arms.
I suppose we could have volleyed insults back and forth for a few more rounds, but instead, Jimmy snorted and started giggling. “Good one,” he chuckled. “That was a good one.”
I just rolled my eyes and let the tension dissolve in the air. Arguing wasn’t going to change anything. Besides, I was clean out of one-liners.
We heard movement from behind us and turned to see Prianka leading Stella through the stacks. I have to say I was a little at a loss for words. Our little band of under twenty-somethings had been doing just fine. Adding a real live adult into the mix seemed to suck the mojo out of us, like I was expecting her to hit my hand with a ruler if I said something bad.
“My word,” Stella gasped when she saw us all. “How did you ever manage to get here?”
“We had a Hummer,” I said. “Now they have it.” I pointed my thumb over my shoulder at the teeming horde of poxers massing at the window.
Stella stared at them for a long time, shaking her head back and forth. “I know some of these people,” she said. “You live in a place all your life thinking you’re safe. Look where it gets you.”
“Well you’re alive,” said Prianka. “That’s got to count for something.”
The ancient one turned and faced us. “I’m Stella Rathbone,” she said. “This is my shop.”
Jimmy gasped and almost fell out of his chair. “The Stella Rathbone,” he said. You’re really the real Stella Rathbone?” Stella pursed her lips just a little, which I guess meant it was true. “I don’t believe it. Guys do you know who this is?”
“Stella Rathbone?” I guessed.
“No, really—I mean—oh my gosh. Can I shake your hand?” Jimmy cast Trina off his lap like she was a raggedy cat. He rolled over to Stella with his palm outstretched and pumped her hand enthusiastically.
“I’ve read your book so many times that the binding is going.”
“You’re too kind,” said Stella and put her hand over his to calm his exuberance.
Jimmy wheeled around to face us. “Stella, I mean Ms. Rathbone . . .”
“Stella’s fine,” she said.
“Wow. I have goose pimples. Stella’s the author of Urban Green.”
We all sat there with bored expressions on our faces. I scratched my head. “Urban Green—isn’t that what they make into people?”
“That would be Soylent Green,” said Stella with a hint of humor in her eyes. “Urban Green is about how one can be self-sustaining in an urban environment.”
“It’s iconic,” said Jimmy. “It’s amazing.”
“It’s a serendipitous coincidence, is what it is,” said Stella as we all stood there in the gloom of The Wordsmith Used Book Emporium.
“Urban Green,” said Andrew and readjusted himself on Sanjay’s shoulder.
“That’s right,” said Stella. “Come. I’ll show you.”
30
“WOW,” SAID TRINA when we finally reached the top floor of the building. I carried Jimmy’s chair, and Jimmy pulled himself along at a pretty impressive clip—up the spiral staircase to the reading loft and up another set of stairs to this.
Wow was right. Stella’s home was amazing. She lived on the third floor of the building—the enitre building. Not only did she occupy the space above her bookstore, her home spanned the whole block of stores. Her place was gigantic.
What’s more, Stella had electricity. Hanging from high ceilings were dozens of fans slowly churning the air. Along one wall was an entire bank of potted plants under grow lights. Running along the back of the building was a series of sliding glass doors that opened on to a deck. The deck was planted with vegetables—enough for an army.
There were several stationery bicycles strategically positioned throughout the space. Each one was attached to different contraption.
“How do you have lights?” asked Prianka. “The electricity went out along with everything else.”
Stella smiled from ear to ear. “I have solar energy,” she said. “And a lot of things that I use run on people power.”
“What’s people power?” I asked.
She walked over to one of the bikes that sat next to a big comfy chair and a lamp. She got on and pedaled for a moment, and the lamp slowly began to glow. “Now I’d have to do this for a good half hour or so to give me enough power for a night of reading, but it’s free, and it’s on my terms. Besides, I make my own candles.”
“This is the essence of your book,” cried Jimmy. “Sustainable living in an urban setting. You’re living a self-sufficient, low impact, green life right in the middle of downtown Greenfield. What do you do for heat?”
“Wood burning stoves,” she said. “Thank heavens I’ve already stored my wood for the year, and my water is from rain water that I collect with rain barrels.” Stella pointed to the far end of the deck. There were several large barrels out there. “I’ve never had a problem getting enough water for me and the plants.”
Jimmy was like a kid in a candy store. “Mind if I look around?” he asked as he reached for his wheelchair. I popped his ride open and watched him effortlessly climb aboard.
Andrew jumped off of Sanjay’s shoulder and glided across the room. Stella’s place was truly huge, and he seemed more than happy to stretch his wings and get a little exercise. Jimmy set off in the same general direction. I couldn’t help but think of Willy Wonka’s chocolate room. All she needed was a bunch of orange Oompa Loompas and some marshmallow mushrooms, and she’d be all set.
Sanjay saw a bookshelf full of books. He went over and pulled one out at random and began leafing through the pages in an orderly fashion.
Prianka, her arms crossed over her chest, began to inspect the stationery bikes and the things that were attached to them like she was a judge at a grade school science fair.
Trina just had to pee.
“Out on the deck,” said Stella. “I have a composting toilet. That’s how I get such great plants.”
I made a mental note not to eat any of her vegetables, because the thought of what she just said almost made me dry heave. I just stood there with Stella Rathbone in the middle of her enormous carbon footprint with my hands shoved in my pockets.
After an uncomfortably long time she put her hand on my shoulder and guided me over
to her reading chair. I sunk into the cushion but was too tense to let it envelop me. She disappeared for a moment and came back with a napkin and a couple of cookies.
“They’re carob,” she said. I didn’t know what carob was, but I took one anyway. Carob, or at least Stella’s carob, tasted a little like dirty chocolate prunes, but I managed to chew and swallow a bite. That was the polite thing to do.
“So . . .” I said.
“Yes?”
“Can those things get in here?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. The door is blocked, the gate is down, and we’re locked inside.
Fair enough, I thought. She was probably right. I bet the crowd of poxers stopped milling around the front of the bookstore the minute we disappeared from sight.
“So . . .” I began again.
“Yes?”
“You live alone?” I guess that was rude to ask, but this was the part in most horror films where you find out the nice, little, old lady is keeping a pet poxer or five for company, and they’re getting hungrier by the minute.
“From time to time,” she said. Frankly I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t want to ask. “Enough about me. Tell me how the five of you managed to find yourself in my store.”
That was easy. I spilled my guts. I told her everything from the beginning
“The highways are really that bad?” she asked when I was finished. She shook her head. “I always knew something was going to happen. Frankly, the way human beings mistreat the Earth, it’s amazing that something hasn’t happened sooner.”
She took one of her carob cookies and nibbled on a corner. “I just always assumed the earth would fight back with a super storm or a famine—but zombies? Zombies seem to fall into the realm of fiction.” She glanced over at Sanjay and sighed. “They always say the meek will inherit the earth.”
Dead (A Lot) Page 11
