by Alyssa Cole
“Yes, but then one day you saw those cute little eyes peering up at you as he scampered across the stove top. Next thing I knew, you wanted to catch the germ-ridden thing and keep it for a pet.”
“It was a wild gerbil, okay, not some diseased city mouse,” I said petulantly, remembering the silly box-and-string trap John had rigged up for me, and how we’d been so busy laughing we hadn’t noticed the mouse run by and snag the peanut butter-laden cracker we’d used for bait.
“Hopefully, we’ll have some idea of what’s going on soon,” Gabriel said. “If we don’t, I’m pretty sure being stuck in a house with the affirmative-action version of Will & Grace will drive me crazy.”
The joke caught me by surprise. I snorted, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of my laughter.
He walked past me and squatted beside the bed. After unwrapping the bandage around John’s head, he began an examination of the wound. There was something so tender in the way he cradled his brother’s head that I had to turn away. I didn’t want to consider the kinder, gentler facets of himself that Gabriel bestowed upon John while he was treating me like something he’d stepped in and tracked home.
“I’m glad you made it to the house,” he said as he rewrapped the bandage. “We hoped you would come. It was torture not knowing how you were faring, and then finding you like that...”
“I know. I’m just happy you guys are okay and we’re all together now,” John said, sighing deeply.
I pushed down my envy. I had no idea whether my parents were okay, and the probability of being together with them was nil.
Gabriel closed his eyes and tilted his head from one side to the other, something I did when tension locked the muscles in my neck. When he wasn’t busy tending to John or making it clear that he didn’t like me, it was plain to see that he was bone-tired.
“I didn’t know what we’d find if we made it here.” John grabbed a section of blanket and absentmindedly twisted it as he talked. “The worst part about all this isn’t just losing electricity and access to clean water, or wondering if your neighbor has gone crazy and is willing to kill you for some ramen noodles. It’s going through all of that and not even knowing why.”
He stared down at the floor, and I knew he was thinking of the things that had driven us from our apartment in Rochester, besides the lack of food. Thousands of people living together without working plumbing, access to water and well-stocked food sources may have worked in the past, but modern people were accustomed to having nearly every whim accessible, every question answerable by their smartphone. When that was snatched away from us, society at large had begun to unspool pretty quickly.
“I know,” I said. “If you told me that the reason I hadn’t showered in weeks was because aliens had landed or World War III was in full effect, I could at least put my B.O. in context.”
“Yeah, the bathroom is at the end of the hall, to the right. I asked Maggie to set some stuff up in there for you,” Gabriel said. I was suddenly aware of how close he was to said B.O., and my indignation rose at there being yet another thing he could judge me for. “The house has a generator, so we have heat and electricity, but we’re trying to limit the usage since we don’t know how long this will last. If you get cold, put on another sweater—no touching the thermostat. And take a bath instead of a shower. I’m talking a birdbath, not a Calgon soak. It doesn’t take too much water to get clean.”
Even with Gabriel’s restrictions laid down, I wanted that bath more than anything in the world. When the electricity had first gone, so had the hot water—soon after, the taps had run dry. Aside from scrubbing myself with baby wipes, I hadn’t been able to really wash myself in weeks.
“Okay, boss man,” I muttered, and then turned to John. “It’ll be nice to meet your sister. Hopefully, her disposition is closer to yours.”
A memory surfaced then, a girl with a fall of black hair running from the house and into the cold before everything went dark.
“She was in here creepily staring at you when I woke up earlier,” John said. “Apparently, you’re her new hero since Gabriel told her you took on the two guys who attacked us. It’s kind of sweet. Don’t worry, I warned her not to touch your hair unless she wanted to pull back a stump.”
I put my hand up to the frizzy, matted mess on my head. Before this ordeal had begun, it had been a mass of soft, tight curls that rested on my shoulders. People’s hands had always been drawn to it, whether I wanted their caresses or not.
“Anyone who wants to touch this rat’s nest right now would have to be really crazy. It’ll be nice to meet her though. And your parents.”
Gabriel grimaced, but then smoothed out his expression before John noticed.
“Mom and Dad aren’t here right now,” Gabriel said. I barely knew him, but even I could sense something off in his clipped tone. “Rest a bit more while Arden gets herself together, and I’ll fill you in over lunch. Just relax for now.”
He rushed out of the room on the pretext of heating up the food, and John shot me a worried glance, signaling that something didn’t seem right to him either.
“I’ll be quick,” I said. “I’d put it off until after lunch, but I’m kind of a mess.”
I remembered Blue Hat getting blown off me, and the fine sheen of blood and gore that had misted over me, and clutched my arms around myself to hide my shudder. The memory made me feel hollow—not hollow exactly, but like all the good things inside me had been scraped away, replaced with dark shadows where awful things hid from the light. I had never known anyone who died. That my first encounter was so traumatizing, and that the dead were men who’d been trying to hurt me, was seriously fucking with my head. The more I tried to push the images away, the more they sprang to the forefront of my mind. John’s blood, Blue Hat’s blood, his weight on top of me...
My heart was racing and my palms felt sweaty, even though I logically knew I was safe now. My breathing was out of sync and out of my control. My distress must have been apparent because John grabbed my hand, anchoring me to the present.
“Maggie told me what happened to us. Well, what Gabriel saw when he got there, and how...how he saved us. How you tried to. I don’t remember any of it, but I know you do,” he said. His eyes shone with concern. “Don’t think you have to keep it to yourself just because everything else is going to hell.”
I thought of John sprawled in the snow. Of the incredible loudness of the gunshot in the still woods, and the fact that Gabriel had killed two men without even blinking and he would hate me forever because of it.
“Thanks, but I think I’d rather try to forget at the moment. Some good old repression sounds right up my alley right about now.” I stepped into the dim, unfamiliar hallway and headed to the bathroom.
“Try getting hit in the head with a giant rock,” John called after me. “It’s much more effective than booze ever was.”
Chapter Three
I walked into the bathroom and nearly turned to leave when I saw someone inside.
“Wait! I was just running your bath for you,” Maggie said. She turned off the water and stood to her full height—much taller than me—wiping her hands off on her jeans before extending one in my direction. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Arden. I mean, I wish it was under different circumstances, but what are you gonna do?”
I took her hand, and we shared a shrug and a smile. After a misguided attempt at substitute teaching in high schools, I found teenagers repellent in general, but Maggie seemed okay so far.
“Thanks for the bath,” I said. “I’ll try to be quick.”
“No prob. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t shy about using the hot water. Gabriel can be such a dictator about it. We don’t have ‘hard-ass Asian parents,’” she said, curling her index and middle fingers into air quotes, “but Gabriel somehow developed the first-born-male-must-be-stoic-and-honor-family trait. He can be such a stereotype sometimes.”
I wanted to join in on the brother-bashing, but the guy ha
d just saved my life, so I couldn’t be too hard on him. “Well, he’s a lot older than you. Maybe he had it a little tougher than you did.” When she looked hurt at my defense of him, I added, “Or maybe he just has a stick up his ass. That stick doesn’t discriminate by race, gender or class, kid.”
She giggled, her large brown eyes shining at me. She was pretty nice for a sixteen-year-old.
“Anyway, there’s soap, shampoo, a razor...but I put some Epsom salt in the water, so you might want to avoid shaving just yet,” she said, holding up a blue cardboard carton and shaking it. “It’s supposed to help when you’re sore, but I don’t think it would feel too awesome if you cut yourself.”
Okay, she was more than nice; she was an angel.
My body hurt like hell, especially my jaw. Despite being a grade-A asshole at times, I’d never been hit before and I was shocked at how much my face hurt in the aftermath. It was a dull, throbbing pain that flashed into brilliance when I pressed at the point of impact, which I couldn’t seem to stop doing due to some previously unknown masochistic streak. Blue Hat had possessed a mean right hook, but he wouldn’t get another chance to use it.
“I scrounged up an outfit for you,” Maggie said, pointing to a shirt and pants draped on the sink. “They’re a bit big since you’re the size of, like, a munchkin, but we donated most of the clothes from before my growth spurt.”
“Thanks,” I said, my voice quavering. I’d been so busy worrying about John and sparring with Gabriel that I hadn’t allowed myself to truly understand I was someplace safe, where baths and fresh clothes were an option. When we’d set out on our journey, driven from our home by hunger and uncertainty, we’d convinced ourselves it would be easy. We had been wrong. At various points during the trek, I’d wanted to collapse in the snow and give up. Sleepless nights, mindless fear, being attacked—after all that, a simple act of kindness from a teenager threatened to reduce me to tears.
“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.” She made a quick retreat from the bathroom, closing the door to give me privacy.
I grunted another thanks at the closed door before peeling my smelly clothes off. Now that I was in a setting that was clean and comfortable, the level of filth that had somehow become normal reverted back to what it really was—horrific. The enormity of what John and I had experienced set in when I looked at the pile of filthy clothing on the bathroom floor. Weeks ago, I would have considered wearing the same blouse twice as something reserved for extreme measures; the white T-shirt I’d just shucked off had been sweated through so many times that it’d turned yellow.
My, how things changed when the world stopped spinning.
I glanced at the full-length mirror and was shocked to see how much my body had altered. My skin, which usually had a healthy mocha glow, was ashy and gray. My body, which had once brought all the boys to the yard, was unhealthily thin, and my hair was more like a brittle rat’s nest than I’d realized when I’d joked with John. Dark smudges under my eyes segued into the bruise blossoming across my cheek.
“Jesus,” I whispered, closing my eyes against my reflection. It was painful enough that I didn’t look like myself, but worse that I wasn’t entirely unrecognizable. For a second, I’d seen my mom when she was at her sickest, staring back at me.
For the briefest moment, the desire to leave and go to my parents by any means blotted out all other thought, but it was quickly crushed by the hopeless reality of logistics. My parents lived in Northern California, which may as well have been another planet, given our current situation. If I was this beat-up after traveling a hundred miles, trying to travel thousands would be enacting a death wish.
It was impossible for me to think of their advanced age and health problems—and the fact that I wasn’t there to protect them—without imagining the worst. A crushing helplessness pressed down on me, clouding my brain and sending tendrils of panic down my spine. I took a deep, shuddering breath. I couldn’t think of my parents and their well-being right now without risking my sanity. If I was going to have a mental breakdown, it would be slightly less mortifying if I weren’t naked to boot. I turned away from the mirror on shaky legs and sought the heated refuge of the bathtub.
Instead of worrying myself into an anxiety attack, I tried to focus on the positive aspects of walking nearly one hundred miles in a few days. My leg muscles are more defined. I got to commune with nature and sleep under the stars. I discovered that maple leaves are softer than that cheap toilet paper John always buys.
The hot water slipped over my body and my muscles began to unclench. I hadn’t even realized they were so tight. I could feel the weeks of tension and fear, and days of hiking and hiding and constant vigilance, seeping from my body while the heat soaked into me. I used the rose-scented bodywash next to the tub, scrubbing at my skin as if I could wash away the memories of the past weeks too.
I tried to take advantage of the opportunity to condition and detangle my hair, but my shoulders and neck screamed with pain as I tried to work out the knots. I was injured worse than I’d realized.
It may be time for that big chop, I thought viciously. I managed to comb through the tangled mess, contorting myself into strange positions to get at my hair without wrenching my shoulders, but I eventually had to give up, unable to deal with the pain.
I soaped up one more time, although the water was already murky; who knew when I’d have another hot bath? We had the generator, but I’d learned that creature comforts could be snatched away from you in an instant. I tried to massage my calves and thighs as I soaped them, but even my hands were sore, scraped and abraded from clawing at the iced-over snow while trying to break free from Blue Hat.
What I really need is a masseuse with big, strong hands. A vision of Gabriel’s hands popped into my head, large and long-fingered as they wound John’s bandages.
Nope, not going there. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Despite my internal protests, I already knew what his fingers felt like against my skin. My traitorous mind supplied the sensation of his hands against my face, and then my imagination took it further. I could almost feel his fingertips trailing along the sensitive skin of my neck, moving across my shoulders to my chest and down farther than any appropriate massage should go...
Although the water had cooled, I was suddenly warm and my shoulders were no longer the only part of my body that was throbbing.
“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled, standing so abruptly that I sloshed filthy bathwater onto the floor.
I dried off and put on the thick black leggings and soft gray sweatshirt, indeed too big but comfortable nonetheless, that Maggie had laid out for me. I pulled my hair back into a bun—I’d deal with that mess later, when it didn’t feel as if someone was cleaving at my shoulder blades every time I raised my arms.
I was finally feeling halfway human again. A clean bra would’ve been nice, of course, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I washed mine out by hand.
After cleaning the bathtub to the best of my ability, I headed back to the bedroom to drop my stuff off.
Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed I’d been sleeping on. His elbows were on his knees and his face rested in his steepled fingers as he gazed at John, who was dozing. His brow was furrowed and half his face was hidden by his hands, but I had to admit that he was far from gross despite what I wanted to believe. Like many a jerk I had known, he was quite handsome.
I must’ve made a sound because his head turned in my direction. His eyes were large and expressive, and the despair I saw in them shook me. It was the same desolate look that stared out from the TV screen in those Save the Children commercials I hated for messing with my emotions. Before I could blink, his expression shuttered and he was back to being the self-assured older brother with an attitude.
“I cleaned the bathtub,” I said to deflect from the fact that I’d been caught staring.
“Good. You’re going to be expected to contribute however you can while you’re here.”
He
was much more attractive when he wasn’t speaking.
“No shit, Sherlock. Hence, the cleaning of the bathtub,” I said. “I’m fully capable of pulling my weight.”
He gave a curt nod in reply and got up to leave the room. “Wake up John when you’re done. We’ll be ready to eat pretty soon.”
When he walked past me he was so close that I could feel the heat coming off his body in the cool air. He smelled of sweat, but not in a bad way—rather, in a way that was virile and pleasing. I’d always scoffed at women who insisted the scent of a man’s sweat was attractive, but the spiral of desire that uncurled in my belly undercut my disdain.
“Okay,” I said testily. I crossed my arms over my chest, annoyed both at him and myself. And then I remembered my manners. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For saving my life. For...stopping those guys.”
He looked down quickly, angrily. “I heard you yell,” he said. “I saw John lying there and I didn’t even think. After that it’s just a blur. But I killed two men.”
His gaze locked to mine, and what I saw there made me wish he’d kept his head down. The inappropriate sexual tension I’d been experiencing fizzled immediately at the sight of the desolation in his eyes, and rightly so. I didn’t know if the world was ending or even if my family was still alive, and here I was getting the warm fuzzies about John’s jerky brother.
“You did it to save John. And his dumb roommate. I can’t imagine how you must feel,” I said, my hand instinctively reaching for his arm. My fingertips only grazed him before he pulled away from me.
“No, you can’t. Hopefully, you’ll never be able to. But let’s get one thing straight. I wouldn’t have had to kill those men if you hadn’t led John off course. If you do anything even remotely as stupid as that again, you’re out of here and I don’t care what John has to say about it. My priority is to protect my family until this mess is over, got that?”
He whirled and stalked away, not bothering to wait for an answer.
