Lilly returned an hour later to the room. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, pistol in hand.
“I thought you might like to have dinner at the table,” she said, the hardness in her face softening just a bit. “You could get out of this room for a while.”
Dan sat silently, arms folded, staring at the window.
“Dan?”
Dan kept his eyes trained on the window. By now the last of the smoke had dissipated as the sun touched the horizon. “What did you do, Lilly?”
“What do you mean?”
Dan turned toward her. “You know damn good and well what I mean.”
Lilly remained silent.
Dan gritted his teeth. “You had no right.”
“I did what had to be done,” Lilly replied. “What you should have done a long time ago.”
Dan’s face flushed hot as his pulse quickened. “It’s not your place to decide what should have been done.”
Lilly frowned. “And it’s yours?”
“It’s up to God to decide their time.”
Lilly rolled her eyes. “That bullshit again? Spare me, preacher.”
Dan turned to face her. “They’re not animals, Lilly. You can’t just put them down like sick dogs.”
“You’re the one who was treating them like animals, keeping them locked up in that pen.”
“I was doing my best to make them comfortable.”
“Comfortable? Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how crazy that sounds? Those were people out there. Sick people with no chance of getting better. Sick and getting sicker. What I did was an act of mercy.”
Dan’s eyes narrowed. “I should have expected something like this from you.”
The hardness returned to Lilly’s face. She looked like a statue. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
“Fuck you, you self-righteous prick. You can rot in here for all I care.” Lilly slammed the door behind her, locking it before storming down the hallway.
Dan went back to staring out the window, watching the burnt-orange sun until it disappeared completely behind the horizon.
* * *
Dan slept in fits that night. Eventually, sleep took him, and he caught a few solid hours of rest before the sun peeked out from behind the hills, casting the first rays of light from the new day in through dirty windows. By the time the sun had risen enough to light the room, his lower back and bladder began to nag him, so he got up and relieved himself in the bucket before taking a seat at one of the desks.
He replayed the argument with Lilly over in his mind. He’d taken her in when she was sick, he’d given her medicine and a place to stay, and she repaid him by locking him up and killing the poor souls he’d quarantined. As much as he told himself he shouldn’t blame Lilly for her behavior, that she simply didn’t understand, it didn’t do much to soothe the anger he felt.
As the hours passed, Dan watched the sun climb higher in the sky, still thinking. The silence hung heavy in the air; he’d grown so accustomed to the sounds of the carriers’ screams that he hardly noticed them until they were gone. The morning breeze had come along and swept away the odor of the burning carriers, along with most of the rot and filth that had permeated the air around the school for so long. He breathed deeply, noticing for the first time in a long while what fresh air smelled like.
It began to occur to him as he sat locked in his makeshift jail cell that maybe he’d become a little too accustomed to the company of the walking dead.
A knock sounded at the door, yanking Dan out of his thoughts. The jangling of keys sounded as Lilly unlocked the door and entered the room. Dan kept his eyes on the window as Lilly entered, refusing to look at her. She placed another bowl on the table, along with a new pitcher of water. He could feel her eyes on him as she paused there, waiting.
Then the sound of footsteps echoed through the room as she headed toward the door.
“Did they suffer?” Dan asked, his eyes still on the window.
Lilly paused. “No.”
“Good.”
“I’m not a monster, you know.”
“I know that.”
Another pause, this one longer.
“I’m sorry if it upset you,” Lilly said. “I did what was right. It was the humane thing to do.”
He turned to face Lilly. She stood by the door, looking at him without his gun in her hand. “You saw those cocoons,” she said. “Did you know that’s what those things were?”
Dan nodded. “I figured as much.”
“Have you seen what comes out of them? What those things out there turn into?”
Dan shook his head.
“Well, I have, and it’s horrific. What you had out penned up out there would have turned on you and killed you. Once those things hatched, they would have killed us both. And they would have gone on to kill anything else they found. More innocent people.”
“How did you do it?”
Lilly paused. “I shot anything walking, and then I burned the cocoons.”
Dan nodded. He’d been so convinced yesterday that he was right, but now his confidence had begun to evaporate with the morning dew. Maybe Lilly was right; maybe she had done the humane thing.
Maybe God had sent Lilly to show him that.
The sunlight filtering in through the window cast a warm glow across the room. For the first time since they met, Dan noticed that Lilly’s face had softened to match her eyes.
Dan looked her in the eye. “It gets lonely, you know?”
“I know.”
“You did what you thought was right. That’s all anybody can do.”
Lilly nodded. “Bring your bowl,” she said, giving him a slight smile. “I’ll meet you at the table.”
Chapter Thirty
“The soup is good,” Dan said. “Cold, but good.”
Back in the teacher’s lounge, Lilly sat across from him at the table, sipping from her bowl.
“Thanks,” she replied. “It’s my own recipe. I call it apocalypse surprise.”
Dan chuckled. “Appropriately named.”
Lilly sipped more of her soup. “It’s a talent.”
“Everybody needs a talent these days.”
Silence passed between them, interrupted only by the sound of metal spoons against ceramic bowls.
“I never thanked you,” Lilly said.
“For what?”
“For taking me in.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do, and you’re going to take it, understand?”
Dan looked at her, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile. “You’re welcome then.”
“Why’d you do it? Most people would have just left me there to die.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Anecdotal experience.”
“People are better than that,” Dan said. “You can’t lose your faith in humanity or else you become an animal.”
“Don’t give people too much credit. They’re good when it’s convenient. When it’s not, they go back to being animals.”
“I’ll grant you that to a degree. I call that conditional morality. Overall, I think most folks do the right thing.”
“You’re living in a fantasy world, preacher. You can’t count on people to do the right thing anymore. You have to assume the worst.”
“The fact that you’re sitting across from me would argue otherwise.”
“Maybe you’re the world’s only exception.”
“I might be an exception, but I’m not the only exception. I have to believe that, otherwise what’s the point of any of this?”
Lilly took a drink from the cup, blotting her mouth with her sleeve. “That kind of attitude will only get you killed.”
“Or locked up in my own home for two weeks?”
Lilly’s mouth formed a thin line.
“Joking,” Dan said.
“I want to trust you,” Lilly said. Her face had taken
on a little more of that hardness. “I really do.”
“Then just do it.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“But it is,” Dan said. “I have this knack for reading people. Right off the bat, I get a feeling from them. I can somehow tell what kind of person they are.”
“Be careful putting too much faith in that ability.”
“I’m still breathing, so I must be doing something right. I got it right with you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I saw it in your eyes,” Dan said. “You wear the tragedies of the world on your face, but your eyes are pure. They gave you away.”
“Don’t get weird on me.”
Dan shrugged. “Truth is truth.”
Lilly sipped more of her tepid soup. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. A couple of days at most and then I’ll be moving on. Then things can go back to normal for you.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I’m not your girlfriend, Dan. I’m not going to live here with you.”
Dan shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Just give yourself some time to get better before you go. There’s no rush.”
“You really want to go on sleeping on the floor?”
“You can let me out of that room, you know.”
“No offense, but I’m not ready to trust you just yet.”
“What’s it going to take?”
“Time.”
“That goes both ways, you know.”
Lilly looked at him but remained silent.
“I’ve been patient,” Dan continued, “but patience can only go so far, even for me. I’m not going back in that room.”
Lilly’s eyes flashed toward the pistol.
“You won’t shoot me,” Dan said.
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Then do it. Let’s just get it over with.” Dan stood, pointing at his chest. “Put one right there, and then you can have my place all to yourself.”
Lilly stared at him, the hardness returning to her face. “Don’t do this.”
“I took a chance on you. Now it’s time for you to take a chance on me.”
The two of them remained this way, locked in a stalemate as the seconds slowly passed. Lilly eyed the pistol again, but her hands remained motionless.
“How does dessert sound?” Dan asked, stepping away from the table. “I think I have some candy bars left.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Moke!” Moose cried, pointing toward the sky. “Moke!”
Boyd rolled his eyes. For fuck’s sake. What now?
“I see it too,” Patel said, shielding his eyes from the sun as he studied the sky. “Over there. Smoke.”
Boyd chewed on a warm dog-leg as he sat beside a small fire. With so many strays running around, hunting man’s best friend proved easy enough. Dog meat wasn’t too bad either, once you got used to the taste. And Dogpile had turned out to be a decent cook.
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Dogpile said. “We should check it out.”
“No shit,” Tony said, his voice curt.
Boyd glanced at Dogpile. He saw murder in the man’s eyes. Patel might be a little soft in the middle, but inside, Boyd knew that Dogpile was made of stone. He’d have no problem putting a bullet in Tony’s skull when the time was right.
“Moke!” Moose repeated, still pointing. “Moke.”
“How far away, do you think?” Boyd asked Tony. The kid liked to believe he knew shit, so Boyd tossed him some easy questions now and then. And the dumber Tony thought Boyd was, the less he’d expect it when he jammed a knife in that little prick’s back.
“Ten miles or so, by the looks of it,” Tony said. “Too dark to go tonight, though. We’ll head out at first light.”
Boyd nodded. “Sounds like a plan, boss.”
Tony went back to chewing on his meat while Moose kept staring at the dissipating clouds of dark smoke in the evening sky. The smoke could mean nothing; shit still caught on fire spontaneously these days. A drop of water focused the sun’s rays onto a flammable surface, and before you knew it, an entire city block of defunct houses went up in flames. Sometimes it was just crazy fucks running around with a match in one hand and their dick in the other, getting their jollies off before moving on to the next blaze.
But sometimes it meant more. As a group, the five of them had taken their fair share of spoils. Maybe, if they were lucky, there’d be a girl in the mix. They needed a new one since their last one had given up the ghost so quickly. Most women looked a little haggard these days, but at least there were no fatties left after the apocalypse. Boyd liked them nice and skinny. Everything had its upside, even the apocalypse.
Maybe tomorrow they could finally put the screws to Tony, that crazy little fuck.
Tomorrow sounded like a good day.
And if they did find something good at the source of that smoke, without Tony and his trained ape, they’d only have to share it three ways. That included any chick-a-dees they found.
Boyd tore off another chunk of meat and chewed.
Maybe tomorrow would be a good day after all.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dan awoke to the sound of birds singing outside the window of the teachers’ lounge. He hadn’t noticed that sound in months, not with the carriers in his pen whooping up a storm all day and night. He’d grown so accustomed to the racket of the walking dead that it just became routine. Only after they were gone did the full gravity of his version of ordinary seem so skewed.
He glanced at the couch across from him. Lilly slept there; a blanket pulled up to her chin. Her usually pensive face had relaxed, giving in to the blissful ignorance of sleep. She looked peaceful, serene; possibly even happy this way. The more he watched her, the more he realized how beautiful she was.
He had a good feeling about today.
He tossed back the blanket and got to his feet, his back thanking him for sleeping on a couch instead of the floor. He stretched, his joints popping loudly in the quiet room. Lilly stirred, but remained asleep.
He went to the window and peered outside. The rising sun had begun to spill its light across the ruined landscape, reminders of a time long since passed and never to return. A wildflower growing amidst the tall weeds covering the school grounds caught his attention, the sunlight striking it in such a way that it seemed as if doused in a spotlight’s glow. He studied its colors carefully; dark green and light blue, clearly visible even from the second floor.
He’d told Lilly that God never spoke directly to him, but he wondered now how true that was. This flower, this thing of beauty growing amidst the angry crabgrass and greedy weeds, maybe this was how God spoke to man. Dan had always thought the voice of God would be like the crashing of thunder or the rumbling of the Earth, but maybe God spoke in whispers. Maybe He’d been speaking to mankind this way for millennia; by way of vibrant sunsets, subtle earth tones, and windy breathing. Speaking in a voice so quiet that only the few who were actually listening could hear.
Dan unlocked the window—the only windows in the school that hadn’t been sealed shut—and shoved the pane outward. It gave way with a hearty and satisfying crack, closed up for too long. The morning breeze blew in, the rancid smell of decomposing carriers all but gone now. He took a deep breath, tasting the clean air as the sunlight warmed his face. Leaves rustled on tree branches in the distance, the wind tickling them as a pianist would the keys on a Baby Grand.
“Don’t jump,” Lilly said from behind him. “You have so much to live for.”
Dan turned to find Lilly standing behind him, smiling, her eyes puffy with sleep. It made her no less beautiful.
She joined him at the window, gazing outward. “What are you looking at?”
“The morning,” Dan said.
“You do this often?”
“Not often enough.”
They stood this way for some time, watching the wind caress the tall grass and weeds covering the school grounds. Dan c
losed his eyes, again breathing in the freshest air he’d tasted in a very long while.
Eventually, Lilly broke the silence. “Sorry about your carriers. I know you said it was your calling and all that. Trust me; you wouldn’t have survived what they were about to become.”
“I believe you,” he said.
“Are we good then?”
Dan smiled. “We’re good.”
Lilly returned the smile, her expression soft.
Dan watched the wildflower swaying in the light breeze, its blue flowers blazing in the glorious morning sun. What had begun as a whisper now grew into a booming affirmation. They said God spoke in mysterious ways and Dan believed that. He now felt that God spoke in whispers.
But today, God shouted.
Quarantining the carriers might have once been his calling, but not anymore. Everything happened for a reason. Lilly happened for a reason. And what she did to the carriers, even if she didn’t know it or believe it, also happened for a reason.
Lilly had come along and relieved him of his old mission. And now she was his new mission.
“What’s a girl gotta do to get a bath around here?” Lilly asked.
Dan turned to her and grinned. “As you wish,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dan had the fire going within an hour and the first buckets of hot creek water in the tub a half-hour after that. Drawing a full bath of hot water was damn near impossible when you had to fetch each bucket and wait for it to heat up, but he was able to get a third of the tub filled and keep the water warm.
He returned with two more buckets of hot water to add to the bath. The tub was really just a kiddie pool Dan had collected during one of his supply runs. But it held enough water for the occasional bath and, by placing it in the bathroom, it was easy enough to dump down the drain set within the floor.
Balancing the two buckets of near-boiling water on his shoulders, Dan arrived at the door of the large bathroom.
“I’m back,” he said, knocking on the door. “Make yourself decent.”
“Come on in,” Lilly replied.
Badlands Trilogy (Novella): Redemption In the Badlands Page 8
