by Annie Walls
“What did he want?” Rudy inquires, lifting his leg onto the bed, and his knee pokes out of its frayed hole. The dark circles under his eyes have diminished somewhat, as if he got some much-needed rest. His face is free of bruises and cuts, so he hasn’t been in the betting ring. For some reason, he likes asking me questions when my mouth is full of food.
“He wants me to find Mac.”
Rudy takes a keen interest in his food, studying it. “What do you want to do?”
“I need to—” I start.
“I didn’t say need. What do you want to do?” he questions, knowing our definitions of what I need aren’t the same. His gaze is steady on mine.
“I was going to say I need a shower.”
“I agree, but that’s not what I meant.”
Continuing to ignore his question, I say, “You didn’t have a problem with my hygiene status when putting me in this bed.”
A laugh comes from him and wraps around me. “You said it, not me. It didn’t cross my mind.” I place my fingertips on his cheek while he is still grinning. His beard feels soft as my thumb finds the indention of his dimple. The smile never slips from his face as if he knows what I’m doing, but his eyes are serious. The fact I’m able to bring some comfort to him after being gone means a lot to me, but something is bothering him.
“What?” I inquire.
To my surprise, he picks up a strand of my hair and answers me, “Reece told me about Mago. About everything. It’s…”
My hand slips from his face, and I rub my own. “I know. Everything is so fucked up.” Letting out a puff of air, I ask, “How’s Julie?”
A short scoff erupts from him. “She’s charming as always.” The dry tone in his voice makes me smile. “And pregnant. Very fucking pregnant.”
“I’m starting to think you have a thing for crazy bitches,” I joke.
“You’re not crazy, Kan.”
I glance away from him. “I was talking about Julie.” When he starts to respond to that, I cut him off. “What if we can find her husband? I think we should at least find out if he’s d-dead or not.” My voice chokes up, and hiding the guilt is impossible, but he doesn’t respond.
Going on, I say, “I want to help everyone that can’t help themselves. I need to. There are people being taken advantage of, and they don’t even know it.” I sniff, but continue, “How many did we help from the base? More than that, how many died? I think we should do some better planning, better resourcing, and just…do it.”
“Kan, as good as that sounds, where would we take those people? We don’t have the means to take care of them.”
“We’ll come up with something.”
“It’ll take time and there’s a lot you don’t know.”
The elephant in the room gets stung and makes itself known by crashing around. The anger I’ve been trying to stuff down and get over rears its ugly head. “Exactly, Rudy. I don’t know why I’m sitting here talking to you about this. You’ve deliberately kept me in a bubble before and look how that turned out.”
“I don’t know the details because you haven’t told me.” This comes out of him quickly, as if it’s been weighing on him. I move to crawl over his lap to leave, but he immediately wraps his arm around my waist. “And I’m not asking you to. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for whatever happened to you. If I could, I’d take it away, but I’m not sorry for trying to keep you out of it, for trying to protect you. And if you keep dabbling with what you don’t know—”
The door bursts open in a light pink blob of sweater. “Suga!” Glinda cheers, but she pauses, catching sight of our predicament. Her face starts to light up even more, but when she notices the tension she blinks. “Oh. Neva mind me. I’ll catch up later.” She goes to shut the door.
“Glinda, wait!” I call.
Glinda pauses before stepping out, “I’ll just wait in the hall.”
As the door closes behind her Rudy leans close to my ear. “Kansas, don’t leave this room mad,” he warns. I mentally struggle with this for the split second it takes for my mind to flash him as a zombie. The hold he has on my waist loosens.
I hop out of the bed, grabbing my sunglasses, but freeze when I see the picture of my dad and me at Christmas. A picture Rudy asked about before, and now it sits on a little table beside the bed.
Grabbing my pack, I open it up and pull out all the cords and laptop. Rudy watches me, but doesn’t say anything. I plug it in a power outlet to charge before slipping my pack on and gripping my crossbow.
Rudy sighs, “I’ll help with Mac. I— ”
“I don’t want any part of looking for him. He can take care of himself. Although, I should hunt him down to lock him in a damn box so he can know how it feels to be left in the dark.”
Surprise crosses Rudy’s features, but he quickly covers it.
“I get it, Kan. You’re mad. You have every right to be, but you shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for what happened because it’s not your fault,” Rudy snaps at me.
My breath is ragged, but I try to control it. “Damn right, I’m mad.” I lean down so I’m face-to-face with him. “About so much, I can’t think straight! And yes, it is my fault. I should have stayed underground!”
His eyes flash but he says nothing. “Besides, I can’t do this,” I blurt, getting it out there.
“Do what?” he asks with reluctance. My tongue feels thick in my mouth, so I gesture between us. A humorless sound comes out of him as he crosses his arms. Rudy tenses much like I feel, his jaw working overtime. “I’m not asking you for anything. To be anything.” He stands up to loom over me and continues, “I’m not saying I don’t want it, but the last thing I want to do is drag you down with my problems when you obviously have your own. Especially with Mac still in the equation.”
I hold up a finger, stepping back. “Mac isn’t the problem. I’m sick of being lied to and sick of being sought for atrocious, chauvinistic purposes!” The cracks in my voice make my words harsher. This isn’t how I wanted this to go, and when I chance a peek at him, his eyes are wide. His mouth opens to speak, but I cut him off. “You’re right. You should focus on your own problems.” With that, I take myself out into the hallway.
When I shut the door behind me, Glinda lets out a gust of air. “Woo! I need a drank!” She snakes her arm through mine. A familiar gesture that brings me solace.
I shoot her a smile. I’ve missed her sassiness. “Me too.”
Before we make it halfway down the hall, something smashes inside Rudy’s room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Between everything going on, my emotions spiral to new depths without my permission. The trauma lurking within the barriers of my mind isn’t going away on its own. I need to pull myself together, but that can wait until tomorrow. Right now, I’ll drink it down and play cards.
Cheers rise from Guido’s recently acquired mechanical bull, drawing our table’s attention. There is a famished buckled to it, and the bull throws it around in a monstrous form. People stand around watching as its head bounces back and forth. Drool slings every which way. Its limbs flail in time with the bull that goes faster and faster by the second. I look away in disgust.
Everyone at the poker table watches the bull as it tosses around the zombie. “Banjo Bo is going to make it for another round,” a guy a few seats to my left muses as he takes a peek at his neighbors cards with a look of disappointment.
“Banjo Bo?” I ask.
The guy nods and another one chimes in, “Yeah, the whole community will be sad when he finally kicks the bucket. He’s been the only dead ‘em to take that thing without losing any limbs.”
Enlightened at this development, I steal a glance at Reece, but he’s giving the zombie his rapt attention with a joint hanging out of his mouth.
Banjo Bo is a hearty zombie with a thick, white bird’s nest for a beard. His body jerks back and forth, coming loose from his bindings. Onlooker heads bob in sync with his motions. “Why do you call him Banjo Bo?”
>
The cheater sits up straighter and laughs. “He showed up here with a banjo still strapped to him, beating against the fence and wearing a work shirt with the name Bo on the pocket.”
I shoot him a smirk and take a long pull on the dusty bottle of Everclear Reece and I share before walking over to get a better look. The community uses zombies as a commodity and it never ceases to repulse and amuse me at the same time.
The crowd around the mechanical bull tenses in anticipation. Banjo Bo makes a final yank as he slings from the restraints. A leg catches on a strap, ripping from Banjo Bo’s body. A juicy thud lands on the surrounding mat and jeers go up from the crowd. An argument immediately commences between a few men. Banjo Bo still wiggles on the mat trying to get to someone. The disgruntled men pay him no mind as he slithers around like the flesh-eating maggot food he is.
I grip my crossbow and take aim as Banjo Bo’s hand wraps around an ankle. The arrow goes into his skull and he goes limp. Upon jerking the arrow out, I notice the shirt really does say Bo above the pocket in stitched letters. Gore splatters the mat when I shake the arrow off. As I stride to the poker table, I feel icy glares in my back the whole way.
After a while, the fuzziness of alcohol narrows my world to the guy in front of me. Nick, known to the community as the guy with the nightstick, tries bluffing his way out of a paper bag. Nick keeps raising me, and I keep calling. With the cards on the table he could have a flush, but he’s bluffing. Uncontrolled, dark stubble covers his face. Shaggy blond hair does nothing to cover his anticipation as he flips his cards over, showing pocket twos. Underneath the light his flyaway hairs float around.
“Thanks for your money.” Nick stands up to leave. “Bye,” I sing and watch the dealer shuffle the cards.
“Bitch,” he spits.
“Dumb ass,” I retort. He should know by now I don’t play unless I have something, or if I’m a blind. He wants to catch me bluffing.
“Go back to your hole in the ground.” Nick leans over the table in my face. His breath could make a car putt a couple of miles. Who am I to judge?
I blink at his statement. Reece puts his hand on my arm in a conciliatory manner. I jerk it away and sweep it across my space, tossing money into my pack.
“Wait, Kan. He’s leaving,” Reece says so Nick can hear him. Sure enough, Nick stomps away, taking his flyaway hairs with him. Reece leans over, “You could have just given it to him at the beginning. You won’t have anyone to play with, if you keep taking their hard earned money.”
I shrug, “What did he mean by my hole in the ground?” I know what he means—I don’t know how he found out. “Who?”
Reece visibly swallows and glances behind him. I follow his gaze. The Clap Trap is the same as always. Full of the community’s partygoers, this happens to be almost everyone. The dance floor overflows with sweaty bodies while music pumps through the place. The DJ spins a once popular techno song. The frantic beats don’t cover the occasional gunshots from outside the community—the telltale sign zombies lurk nearby.
Several different bars, looted from various places, make up the Clap Trap bar that is just as crowded as the dance floor. The “art” is a main feature here in the Trap—consisting of famished tied up in assorted ways. It’s grotesque, but I’ve gotten used to it. Mostly, I ignore it.
Sometimes the zombies are even people from the community that have been bitten and decide to turn. For the sole purpose of giving back, of course. I shot the last person who decided on that awful fate.
I don’t see anyone who stands out. Candy, a working girl, and Glinda’s arch nemesis, but she doesn’t know my story. Several survivors from the base catch my eye. They are gathered in a cluster at the bar, having a good ol’ time, but right in the middle of them stands Kale. Anger surges through me like a lit fuse. The bastard.
I stand up abruptly, and the chair I sat in to spills over, almost taking me with it. Reece grabs my arm to hold me up, but he’s almost as unsteady as I am. We are able to catch our balance. Reece is one of those people you can’t tell are drunk, except for his coordination.
“You’re drunk.” I poke at him, giggling.
Shrewdness narrows his eyes, “So are you.” Then in my drunken haze, I remember I’m angry.
“That asshole told everyone!” I whisper yell to Reece who has moved to stop me. Luckily, he’s slow and I’m quick like a ninja. I probably look like a belligerent fly. “Kale!” I catch Kale’s attention along with everyone else’s.
A dainty arm swoops through mine. “Suga, lets git yew to bed now.” Glinda. I don’t fight her.
I close in on him with Glinda in tow, but she stops me.
“Don’t be such a child, Suga. He ain’t worth yer trouble.” She’s right. I’m being juvenile. A sobering thought. Blinking my dry eyes, I take in everyone witnessing my behavior.
Glinda pulls me toward the courtyard door, but not before I see Rudy sitting with Bunyan, Ty, and Sam. We lock eyes as much as my sunglasses will let us. I don’t know what’s on my face, but he looks away. I scoff, kicking the door open.
*
Glinda takes me to her room. She lies me down and tugs at my hair. I smack her hand away. “No. I want them back.”
“Yew remember how long it took the first time, Suga? No way I’m goin’ let those rats back!”
“No. Please. Just let it go. I liked the dreads. Neat and pretty isn’t my thing.” The PGA numbs the thoughts of what neat and pretty entails.
She sighs, but quits trying to comb my hair. “No talkin’ ta yew like this. Reece told me yew in a bad way.”
A caustic laugh tumbles out of me. “Not as much as I am now. I need to kill some fuckin’ zombies.” She purses her lip and shoots me a dry look. “Banjo Bo doesn’t count,” I mumble.
“Whuteva yew say, Suga.” She pauses and the next comes out reluctantly. “Yew want ta talk ‘bout anything?”
I move from the bed to a bottle of PGA. She firmly puts it out of reach. “No needs ta drown yew sorrows. Especially with this nasty stuff. Yew could make yer bombs with this, yew could.”
“Look Glinda, I appreciate all you do for me. I need sleep. We’ll talk when I’m ready.”
“I know.” She gets up and moves towards the door, thinks twice, and takes the bottle with her. I groan my disapproval as she smiles her red glossy lips at me. She winks as she saunters out of the room, leaving a trail of her vanilla perfume.
The alcohol sinks me into the pillows as it courses through me, rushing through my veins and taking me to numbness, helping me fall asleep.
*
Upon waking, I wonder what I can do to keep Guido off my back. Plus get what I want in return. I have a few ideas and need to discuss them with Guido. A shower is also on my list of to-dos. I don’t want to attract attention, of any kind, including dog dick gnats.
I jump up, not caring about my rumpled state, and arm myself by strapping on my crossbow and pack.
Pulling up the hood and sliding my sunglasses into place, I stand at Guido’s door before I know it. He opens up and smiles pleasantly, like someone who is about to get what they want. In his dreams, I’m probably some sort of working gal.
Amusement lights up his features at my clothing. “Chickie, if yew want ta shower first, yer more than welcome.”
“Like you care about hygiene. Listen, I’m not going after Mac. I wouldn’t have a clue of where to start, but if the team gets any leads, I’ll help.”
He nods, looking thoughtful. “I’ll also get the survivors to the Coalition for you, without Mac.” I’m going to have more survivors to handle when all is said and done, but Guido doesn’t need to know that. The need to tread carefully overtakes me. I don’t want to take on more than I can handle. Rudy’s outlook about not knowing everything has the impact he wanted.
His eyebrows go up, liking my idea. “And hows yew goin’ do that?”
“Well, you said you knew where the cult was?” Now he looks skeptical. I shake my head. “You know what Mac do
es, keeps an eye on things for the US Coalition? They have someone on post there, too. I met him, and we’ve been good acquaintances. He might help. I need to know where.”
“This is good, good news Chicka. Maybe I don’t need Mac boy anymore. Waste of resource lookin’ fo ‘im.”
“Dalton isn’t like Mac. I’m not sure he’d do what Mac does for you. If you get someone to get a lead, then I’ll help find him.” I’ve hooked him, now I have to reel him. “I’ll also pick up slack on rounds and if I need to, I’ll go on loots to get what we need until we find him.”
His eyes narrow into slits. “Whut yew want?” He’s not stupid.
“My own place. Away from everyone. It can be outside of the community. In a barn, a box in the greenhouse, I don’t care.”
“Yew know we over capacitated, right?”
“Yes, do you know of a place or not?”
“Ahh, my own special Chickie, Chickie, Chicka.” He paces around, thinking. I tap my foot, stopping when I realize I’m fidgeting. “Yeah, I got somethin’. Not really safe. Wonky stairs, see? Don’t need anybody fuckin’ up the resources I have left.” He stops to look at me. “If I needs yew to make ‘rounds, maybe even bring a dead ‘em fo me, yew do it. No fight.”
“Fine, as long as I don’t deal with anyone else except you, and shower when I want to. Now, where is the cult?”
Guido lifts his shoulders. “I dunno. Rudy boy know, yeah? Yew tawk to ‘im. He might even go with yew.”
Damn. That’s what happens when you make a deal with the devil.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The place turns out to be a spacious loft in the top of the family building. The best part—I don’t have to go inside the building. A fire escape outside leads to the top door, and it’s hidden between buildings on a side no one ever travels. A big, dirty window looks out over the unattractive greenhouse. The trees inside need pruning before they bust out of the top. I smile, remembering Linnie and Bruno.
