“Wouldn’t it be kinda jerky to let your girlfriend go off on her own?”
A sour taste infiltrated Marek's mouth at her words - the memories they dredged up - even as he bit back a smile at her obviously prying question. “She’s not my girlfriend. Like, at all.”
“Really?” Shelly brightened. “You guys seemed to be so close all of a sudden.”
“She’s… I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But it didn’t feel right to just let her go… and then, after she did stay, well, maybe what she needs now is for us to hold on to her. I’ve seen people do some fucked up shit since the world went to hell; to themselves, to others. What if we’re the only people left alive? Do we just allow ourselves to die off one by one? Or do we try to stick it out together? It doesn’t make sense to try to form something if we turn our backs on each other at the first sign of trouble.”
In the darkness, Marek could see the glint of Shelly’s eyes as her gaze roved over him. When she didn’t respond right away, he was sure he had said something that put him further into the dog house. He wasn’t expecting it when Shelly leaned over and planted a small kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Marek.” She stood and walked quietly back up the stairs. Marek waited before lying back down to hear the soft click of her bedroom door shutting behind her.
~*~
Ambrose was collecting water when Marek found her the next morning. She turned as she heard him approach and Marek caught a glimpse of her splotchy face and red eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he ate the space between them in quick, panicked steps. “Did he hurt you? Where the hell is he!”
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t you be one of those girls that keeps quiet. I heard Fletcher go to your room last night. Did he hurt you? Why didn’t you scream? Damn it – I would have come!”
“Oh god; would you relax? He didn’t do anything to me.”
“Then why the hell have you been crying?”
“Okay, first of all; you are not my dad—”
“Don’t.” He interrupted her. “Not when all I’m doing is trying to keep you safe.”
“I didn’t ask you to keep me safe!”
“Too bad Buttercup. When you’re in a group, you look out for each other.”
“Who says I’m staying?”
“You’re hauling water.” He jerked at her bucket. “If you were really leaving, you’d have left at first light.”
“Fletcher’s giving me a ride. We’re going try to find a car for me and some extra gas for the van; that’s all. I’m not staying.”
“Bullshit.” He spat. When she said nothing he said, “Well, we better pack enough for two then.” As he spoke the words, Marek realized this was his real answer to Shelly’s midnight question.
Yes, he would leave with Ambrose, even if she did not want the company. She wouldn’t survive a day alone out there, mostly, he thought, because she would not want to. It didn’t sit right with him to just let her go; not when he had played this story out before. He couldn't let Ambrose become Pamela's sequel.
And how could Fletcher be so fickle? Marek had really believed that Fletcher genuinely liked the girl. What had happened between them last night that he would so easily let her leave the group? So much for Fletcher being a nice, smart guy. Guess Marek had been wrong about him.
“No one invited you.” Ambrose growled, but Marek could hear the defeat in her voice. She wasn’t actually going to fight him on this. Good.
“When do you head out?”
“After breakfast.”
“Fine. I'm going back inside to say say goodbye. Don’t leave before then, okay?”
“Whatever.” She grumbled.
Chapter Sixteen
Cloudy with a Chance of Pain
Shelly was helping Blake bathe when a knock sounded at the bathroom door. Handing her little brother the washcloth, she walked away to see who it was. Marek stood on the other side, hands in his pockets as he stared down at their feet. “What’s wrong?” She asked.
“Breakfast is ready.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “We’ll be down in a few.”
“I just, umm… I wanted to say goodbye, but not in front of everyone else.”
Shelly felt as if the wind had been knocked right out of her. “Goodbye? Why?”
Marek explained how Ambrose planned to leave after all. He was going with her to try and keep her safe.
“I thought you said she wanted to go it alone?”
“I’m not sure she knows what she wants. At the very least, she’s not in a right frame of mind to decide that.”
“That’s on her.” Shelly argued. “You can’t take care of someone who doesn’t want it. Stay. She doesn’t want you around!”
After repeating that breakfast was ready, Marek walked off having nothing more to say. Shelly was furious. How dare Ambrose put him in danger by being so selfish? And Fletcher was just letting them go? She had a few words for her cousin, but first she needed to help Blake out of the tub.
~*~
“What the hell do you mean she’s a murderer!” Shelly whisper-shouted.
“I didn’t say she’s a ‘murderer’.” Fletcher replied exasperated. “I said, she said, she killed the people she used to travel with.”
“Umm, hello? I’m pretty sure that equals to her being a murderer!”
“It’s not all that different from what some others tried to do to us.”
“So what? We’re going to repeat our past mistakes? No thank-you! I am not putting Blake in that kind of danger. Don’t let your little crush cloud you, Fletch!”
“Shell—”
“No, Fletch.” She shook her head. “I don’t want her here if she’s capable of those things. But please, help me convince Marek to stay. She’ll only get him killed out there.” By the hurt look he gave her, Fletcher obviously didn’t know that Marek would be joining Ambrose. “They're not together. He feels protective of her for some reason – but he doesn’t need to feel that way. He has no ties to her!”
“He has no ties to us either, Shell. He can go where ever he wants.”
“But—”
“Who’s letting their crush cloud their judgment, now? We know him as well as we know her. If their roles were reversed, would you just let him leave?”
“Not fair.”
“Maybe when she sees how bad it is out there, she’ll decide to come back with us. Maybe between Marek and I, we can convince her to stay.”
Shelly stood and walked away from Fletcher. “I’m pretty sure she already knows what’s out there. She’s a time bomb, Fletch. Don’t get caught in her blast.”
Shelly left before he could respond. She didn’t want to hear another word about Ambrose staying with the group. And Fletcher was right. They didn’t know Marek, and Shelly’s priority was to keep Blake safe. She couldn’t lose her head over some guy she didn’t really know.
Chapter Seventeen
Run, Baby, Run
Ambrose was dreaming. She knew she was. It was one of those dreams in which no matter how much you shouted to yourself, you just couldn’t wake. And so, after a night of very little sleep, with Fletcher driving down the dirt road and Marek sitting beside him, Ambrose had succumbed to weary subconscious, forced to follow her personal dark roads.
Ambrose’s mother held her tight as they hid in the closet. Mom tried to sooth Ambrose’s sobs. They needed to stay quiet. Eaters were in the house and dad had been separated from them. Mom had been right; they should have left their home last week when the alarms had sounded to let people in their zone know it was safe to move out. Dad had been wary; what if Runners came through as people migrated? It would be a smorgasbord as the cars piled up. Better to stay put, he had said.
The dream continued; Mom opened the closet door – as she always did despite Ambrose trying to alter the course – thinking it was safe to run. No sooner had the door’s hinges creaked, when a mini horde rushed into the room and pulled mom into their midst. Dad, who had be
en hiding in the master bathroom the whole time, finally ran out at his wife’s screams.
As chunks of flesh were ripped out of Mom’s body and red pooled around her, Dad gave Ambrose a quick look and told her to run. He didn’t even stay long enough to see if Ambrose had listened as he dashed out the bedroom door without another glance to his wife. Frozen on the closet floor, it was only when her mother screamed, ‘Run, baby! Run!’, that Ambrose did as she was told.
The dream shifted. She and dad barricaded themselves in a warehouse as people outside pounded on the door, begging to be let inside. Father shouted at them to go away. They were going to get his daughter killed. Rocking on the floor, hands over her ears to block the screams, Ambrose knew her father’s words as a lie. He did not care if she died. He would have locked her out with everyone else had she not made it into the warehouse before he had. Dad only cared for his own safety. She knew that by the trail of victims they had left behind over the past two weeks.
Another shift: They were surrounded. They had been sleeping on the living floor of an abandoned house when the Eaters came pounding on the haphazardly boarded windows. The backyard was slightly clearer than the front, but escape through there would still be slim.
Circling the yard was a chain link fence. Dad motioned Ambrose towards the back door. “On three, I’ll run out there and distract them. You run for the fence, and don’t look back. Do you understand sweetie?”
Ambrose begged dad not to do it. She didn’t want to lose him. He told her not to worry, to be strong. When he counted to two, Ambrose had not expected him to open the door and shove her outside.
As one, the Eaters turned and shuffled her way. Scooting on the ground, Ambrose moved away from the first two to reach her, then stood and ran as she tried to dodge the rest. They lashed out for her, grabbing handfuls of clothing and hair. She was about to be dragged down when she heard her father’s screams. As the Eaters were distracted by the commotion, Ambrose managed to slip away from them. She ran to the fence, following her father’s instructions, and did not look back.
Shift.
Ambrose sat with her arms around her legs as she sat on the rooftop of yet another home. The person on the ground still twitched, still sobbed for help as three Eaters munched away his legs, arms, and abdomen.
She stared unfeeling at the scene before her. There was nothing she could do for him. All she could do was wait until the Eaters left. Wait until the man became a Runner and dashed away from the area, searching for his own meal before she could have a chance to climb down from her spot and move on.
Ambrose woke as the tires squealed to a stop. Fletcher put the car in park as he and Marek stared straight ahead. Wiping tears from her face, Ambrose leaned forward to stare at whatever had caught their attention.
It was a pile up. They were on a highway, only a handful of feet back from the first line of cars. Ambrose jumped in her seat as Fletcher laid in on the horn. “What are you doing?” Ambrose demanded.
“Checking.” Came his clipped answer. He honked the horn three more times, each blare spaced out. When nothing came out of the maze, the three of them exited the car to search for a useful vehicle.
“Stay inside.” Fletcher told her. “You’ll be the getaway driver in case we run into trouble.” Equipped with two empty milk jugs each, both he and Marek moved away before she could argue.
They were mad at her, she knew that. Ambrose tried not to care. It was better this way. Fletcher would stop trying to persuade her to stay and maybe Marek would change his mind about heading off with her. But it was difficult not to care when she had finally found a group that wasn’t rotted at its core.
A part of her, maybe too big a part of her, wanted to stay. If only they had found each other sooner, but they hadn’t, and she had become something vile. So she couldn’t stay. She didn’t want to be more attached to them than she already was and ever cared to admit. Not when she knew how easily she could turn her back on them when it mattered most.
Fletcher and Marek slowly stepped into the throng of cars, staying near enough to one another as they each checked different vehicles. About five rows in, Fletcher knelt beside car, opened the gas tank, and began to siphon what he could.
Ambrose was impressed. Of all of them, Fletcher seemed to be the most equipped for this world. She wanted to know how he knew so much, how he always seemed ready with a plan. She wanted to ask him many things. She would not have a chance to ask anything if she left. Fletcher called Marek over and showed him how to extract the gas. Ambrose would later have to ask Marek how it was done.
When all four jugs were filled, they returned to the car and had Ambrose open the trunk to store their collectings. Fletcher took a moment to fill the car’s tank, making sure they would have enough fuel to return home. Finished, he sauntered to the driver’s side and knocked on her window, signaling for her to roll it down.
“Make a U-turn and pull in as close as you can to the cars. I’m going to hot wire that hatchback over there. Those are good with gas and it’s spacious enough for you to carry enough supplies. When the alarm sounds, I’ll have to shut if off quickly. Should we get rowdy company, we’ll have to leave and search elsewhere for a car.”
Again he walked away without waiting for a reply. Better this way, better this way, better this way. No; it was not better this way. Ambrose ground her teeth as she made the U-turn and watched Fletcher working through the rearview mirror. He pulled out a few wires from his waistband and began jiggling them in through the car’s window. No sooner had he done that when the car began to blare, its headlights blinking in outrage.
Far behind them, Ambrose saw the first of the shufflers heading their way. Beeping the horn, she stuck her head out the window. “Hey!” She pointed behind them. Fletcher and Marek turned to see the newcomers. “They’re slow and pretty far away.” Fletcher hollered back. “I’ll be done quick.”
Ambrose huffed as he continued to work, Marek moving a few paces closer toward the horde, his crowbar in hand. Sweat built across her brow. The Eaters were getting too close. Her focus utterly absorbed by the scene behind her, Ambrose didn’t notice the Runners coming from the opposite end, not until one of them slammed onto the hood of the car, eyes crazed as he stared at her.
Ambrose screamed as the Eater pounded on the hood. She blasted the horn again, trying to warn Fletcher and Marek and praying it wasn’t too late. Tires squealed out behind her as Fletcher and Marek pulled up in the hatchback. Fletcher signaled her to drive on. Ambrose was ready to do just that when the Eater raced to the passenger door and began to pull the handle. Too late, Ambrose realized she had left the doors unlocked.
Shocked, Ambrose froze as the Eater climbed into the seat and closed the door behind him. “Drive!” He yelled. Beyond him, Ambrose saw the panicked expressions Fletcher and Marek threw her way. “Drive, damn it!” The man yelled again.
Snapping out of her daze, Ambrose nodded her head, signaling to the others that she was okay. No sooner did her foot come down on the gas pedal when an Eater – a real Eater this time – slammed into her side of the car. With another scream, Ambrose peeled away, dodging the Runners ahead and hoping Fletcher and Marek stayed close behind her.
Chapter Eighteen
Different Route
“Where is she? Do you see her?”
“I lost her!” Fletcher yelled. “Damn it I lost her!”
The horde of Runners was never ending. They’d had to take more than a few turns, and somewhere along the way, they had lost sight of Ambrose. And maybe worse; she might not be alone, but they didn’t know who the hell the man was who had jumped into the vehicle either, and that had them both on edge. “We have to turn back!” Marek yelled.
“We can’t! There were too many back that way!”
“We can’t just abandon her!”
“We’re not. We just have to find a different route back.” Fletcher dodged another group of Runners as he continued down the road. “And we have to get back to the far
m. Shelly and Blake might be in danger too. Maybe Ambrose found her way back.”
Marek scoffed his anger. “How could she? She fucking slept the whole ride out to the highway! How the hell is she supposed to find her way back?!”
Marek grew angrier as he saw the usually collected Fletcher begin to break.
“She has to.” Fletcher cried. “She has to.”
Chapter Nineteen
Gunshot
Ambrose drove on, crying as the barrel of a gun was pointed at her head. “Keep driving,” the man warned. He was bleeding profusely from a wound along his ribs. Oh God, was he bit? She did as instructed, driving through the dark night, dodging Shufflers who appeared in her way. The man had a destination in mind. He must, because he knew when to tell Ambrose to make a turn. “Up this way.” He said, pointing down a dirt road not unlike the one that led to the farm where Shelly and Blake had stayed.
Ambrose hoped Fletcher and Marek had escaped the horde and made it back home. They would think she had taken off on them, just as she had originally planned. It made sense; she was well stocked with all the provisions they had loaded into the van and now they had another vehicle at their disposal.
But she had not willingly left. Only now did she realize the extent of her stupidity in ever wanting to leave their group. Her group.
The headlights of the van illuminated an old building ahead. Ambrose couldn’t tell what it was, but it definitely wasn’t a farm. It definitely wasn’t her farm.
“Park!” The man barked at her. Trembling she did as she was told. With the barrel digging into her temple, Ambrose didn’t so much as flinch when the man leaned over and unbuckled her seat belt.
Roughly, the man opened his door, grabbed Ambrose by the hair, and pulled her out through his side. “Walk!” He moved a few steps behind her and motioned towards the big building. As the clouds parted away from the moon, Ambrose saw the building was an old warehouse of sorts. The man shoved her from behind, causing her bad leg to give out under her and send her crashing onto the ground. “Move!”
Red Paint: Proceed with Caution Page 7
