I choke on a tasteless vegetable while Mitch laughs loud enough to catch the neighboring table’s attention. Ethan shakes his head, though he grins. “Her class is unparalleled.”
Rose dumps the remainder of her dinner onto Ethan’s plate, then stands with her empty plate and curtsies. “I do know how to class up a joint.”
She walks to the nearest bussing station, hair as bouncy as the rest of her. I’m not sure how I can let it go when I don’t even want her to leave the table.
43
Rose
Lights go out at ten, though everyone has a lantern or flashlight they charge through the day—the only things one can leave plugged in. The Events Center’s gigantic main space has been divided into fabric-bordered rooms like the Expo Halls. The Performance Hall, a separate room on one side of the main space, is where people eat in inclement weather and where they show movies or have other activities at night. A meeting room on the other side, what they call the rec room, is open all hours, and it’s furnished with chairs, tables, and a pool table. It’s where we hung out after dinner, the kids playing pool while we played one of the board games the soldiers found in nearby houses.
I long for an after-dinner dessert, but they were gone by the time we reached the dessert tables. I made sure to save one for every night at home, but my food is no longer mine. Or ours. Ours has grown by about five hundred people. The one saving grace is that the fairgrounds absorb this many people easily, at least until you walk into the windowless Exhibit Hall. Though they keep the doors open, it needs a case of air freshener to counteract the various smells its two hundred residents give off.
We leave the Events Center a little after ten, and I pull up my hood against the evening drizzle as we cross the dark lot. Holly walks alongside me, emanating a peace that’s been absent since the first night of zombies.
“Happy?” I ask her.
“Of course,” she says, as though there’s no other way to be. She watches her dad ahead before she flashes a wide smile. “We’re lucky.”
“We are,” I say, hoping my tone is appropriately upbeat.
“Are you okay, Mom? You seem…” Holly shrugs, and her brows meet over uneasy eyes in a way that’s all too familiar—I’ve seen it in the mirror often enough.
“I’m fine, sweets. It’s just a big change coming here so quickly. I guess I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.” I paste on a smile, glad she can’t see well in the dark, and am relieved when her expression eases into tranquil. I change the subject. “I noticed Nora was around a lot tonight.”
Nora played pool with the three kids, and she always managed to be on the same side of the table as Holly. While proficient with a cue, she failed at playing off the hopeful glances she threw Holly’s way, much to Mitch’s and my amusement.
“Mom, do not start with that.”
“Why is everyone saying that to me? I only notice these things and pass them along to the interested parties.”
“There is no interested party.” Holly purses her lips. “Nora’s a jerk, if you must know.”
“Why? What’d she do?”
“Nothing recently. That I know of. But she was a jerk in middle school before we moved.”
“Ah. Well, we all know it’s impossible to change over the course of ten years. For instance, you’re still collecting Beanie Babies and begging for a Myspace profile. Which, by the way, I now give you permission to have.”
Holly makes a noise in her throat. “How are you so annoying?” she asks, then skips to catch up with Ethan and the others.
Tom laughs from behind. “It’s a gift,” I say to him. “They’re just so much fun to annoy.”
He takes a large step to reach my side, then paces himself to me. As I said to Holly, people can change, and maybe none more so than Tom. It turns out he’s smart and funny and, now that he’s lost the constant frown, his strong features are handsome, his dark eyes expressive. I never truly entertained the thought of cheating on Ethan, even at my angriest points, but Tom might’ve made me think twice. He is making me think twice. He’s making me think thrice and then ten times more.
I keep my eyes on Ethan up ahead. His five-ten was the perfect height for me, but now he seems short. Too eager to please. He spent the entire evening dousing me with compliments. He touched me until I wanted to rip off his arm and fling it across the room. I told him I need time, but he’s jumped in with both feet. How is it annoying that he loves me so much? What kind of person is irritated by her partner’s adoration? A fucking crazy one, that’s who. But I’ve sworn to give it a chance. Holly’s happiness is no small thing, and if Ethan is sober, treats me well, then I have no good reason to leave. Not when it would cause so much strife.
I come back to Earth from Crush-land and resolve to live in Fairgrounds-land, where you’re faithful to your husband in thought and deed. “What do you think of this place?” I ask. Tom is silent. “That good, huh?”
I glance over in time to see his shoulders lift and fall. The rain on the asphalt sparkles in the lantern light and glitters in his hair. It looks cute with the way a little wave pushes it to the side. I force my eyes straight ahead. Already failing miserably at the thought part. Earlier, I thought there was a moment when he looked at me with something like interest, but I likely imagined it. Saw what I wanted to see.
Ethan gives a wave as we near our building. I smile and don’t let the feelings I have on the subject of my husband mature into clear thought. “I wish we were back home,” I murmur.
“Me, too,” Tom says, almost too low to hear.
He stops to allow me to move to the door Ethan holds. I don’t look back, although I’d give almost anything to see his expression.
Clara and Holly have left the women’s restroom along with the other ladies getting ready for bed, and only Mitch and I remain. I spit out the last of my toothpaste and rinse with bottled water. Not sealed bottled water, but water that’s been boiled before it’s transferred into bottles. The water we drink here is untreated when it reaches the fairgrounds. I have no interest in a bout of giardia. They may have electricity, but at least at home I didn’t have to worry that the water could kill me in addition to zombies.
Mitch rinses with her own bottle, then examines me in the mirror. “You’re sure about this?”
“I told him I’d try, so I’m trying.” Mitch heaves out a sigh, and I avoid our reflections. “I know you disapprove, Mitch. Believe me, I know.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I move to a stall to both hide them and pee. The past years have been hellish, but I can’t discount the decade-plus beforehand. Even the first couple of years Ethan was using, he wasn’t suspicious and spiteful. My brain knows he’s better than that, capable of being different. Naturally, it’ll take time for my heart to catch up.
When I exit the stall, Mitch leans against a sink. Her dark eyes bore into mine. “I’m sorry. I go on what you tell me, and I hate what you tell me. I fucking hate it, Ro.”
I nod, then wash my hands and dry them on my jeans. Paper towels are hard to come by, apparently, and the stained towels that hang in the bathroom will likely do more harm than good. No one mentioned laundry, but going on the clothes hanging all over the place, it’s handwash only.
Well, it won’t be the first time I’ve washed things in the sink, even before the apocalypse. When Holly and Jesse were young, we had no money, and the sink was cheaper than the laundromat. Pop would’ve given me the cash, but I hated to ask for a loan I’d be hard-pressed to pay back. Even worse, I hated to ask for money that wasn’t a loan on top of the twenties and fifties he slipped me all the time.
Don’t fritter it away on necessities, he’d say with a wink. It made me laugh, though it was always spent on necessities. There was a time when a shared bottle of good beer was a splurge and ramen was a food group. Ethan and I weathered that storm together and came out the other side. Now I can buy whatever I want, within reason, and all I want is what money can’t buy. It’s the tritest, yet true
st, cliché in the world.
Mitch watches me in the mirror. In response to the face I make, she lifts a fist, circles her other fist beside it as though reeling in a fishing line, and slowly cranks up her middle finger. I laugh. Nothing pleases Mitch more than flipping someone the bird.
We leave the bathroom and tiptoe past silent rooms into our building, where someone snores over the drumming of rain on the roof. I stop outside my room on the corner. Mitch waves and continues to her curtain. The kids’ space is dark, though their soft voices are audible. Pop and Tom’s curtain is lit from behind, and I walk past my curtain to theirs. I truly do want to say good night. It’s not my fault it has the added benefit of postponing my entry into the room I share with Ethan.
“Knock, knock,” I whisper.
“Come in,” Pop says. He sits on his cot wearing sweats and a T-shirt, still broad and solid in his seventies. My heart brims with love at the man he is and has always been. Maybe that’s my problem—expecting too much of Ethan, for him to be too perfect.
“Love you, Daddy,” I say. “Good night.”
“Love you, Rosie girl. Get some good rest.”
“I’ll try.”
Tom lies on his side, reading a book in the lantern light—the soldiers also brought in found books to help ease boredom. I definitely don’t look at his biceps or the way his shirt pulls against his taut stomach. And I most definitely do not feel a hot flash coming on when he smiles at me from under that dark hair. “Night, Red,” he says.
“Weep slell.” I only realize what I’ve said when he grins. Oh, for the love of all that’s holy. There’s no clear demarcation where hot flash ends and blush begins—every inch of me is an inferno of awkwardness. “That was sleep well. I bet you didn’t know it’s backwards day.”
Tom chuckles. “You weep slell, too.”
I salute rather than reply, since my mouth can’t be trusted. I let the curtain fall behind me and stand in the hall while I fan myself with my shirt. The heat recedes, leaving me in a cold sweat, and I shiver as I enter my room. Ethan sits in a folding camping chair beside the plastic storage bin that holds his belongings and doubles as a table. He’s been at the fairgrounds long enough that he has more personal effects than later arrivals.
“Hi,” he says with a smile.
I return his greeting and set my toiletries bag in the corner by my suitcase, willing my hands to stay steady. I’m a mess—a hot mess, as Jesse and Holly say. I lower myself onto the air mattress and pull the covers to my neck. Ethan joins me a moment later, propping his head on his hand. “Everyone all settled?”
“Yeah. It’s weird to be here with all these people. How can you stand it?”
“I couldn’t. Not until you came. But it’s safer than the house for now.”
“Maybe, but the house didn’t have five hundred random people.”
Ethan’s laugh is low, and his caramel-brown eyes smile down at me. “They’re not so bad. I’ll protect you from the people.” He’s outgoing enough to take the heat off me, but I don’t want his protection the way I once did. “Speaking of random people, how was it living with Tom?”
He’s waiting for a punchline, but he won’t get one from me. “It was fine,” I say.
“No, really,” Ethan whispers in my ear. “Did he evaluate our stock portfolio? Maybe suggest a few retirement strategies?”
He’s only saying what we might’ve said months ago, when Tom seemed ages older and sterner, but a fierce protectiveness rises in me. Tom is a man who lost almost everything and then turned his whole way of being into something more compassionate, funnier, kinder. I fist a hand under the blankets. “Tom’s actually pretty cool. You’d like him. Ask him about music sometime.”
“Should I be worried you think he’s so cool?”
His smile teases. Maybe. I’ve thought this type of comment a joke far too many times, only to have it turn around and bite me in the ass as an accusation. I try to keep my expression in the territory of semi-playful admonishment, though I want to punch him. “Really?”
“I’m just kidding. Sorry.” Ethan strokes my cheek. I close my eyes as my body fills with a crawling, agitated sensation. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” I whisper. It’s easier to say if I don’t have to look at him. Besides, I do love him. I must. Somewhere.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
I open my eyes, view his repentant face. The problem is never that he isn’t sorry, it’s that being sorry doesn’t prevent him from repeating it. “I know,” I say. “I’m tired. Ready to go to sleep?”
“Sure.” He leans to his side to switch off the lantern. I pray he’ll stay there, but he returns. Hot, irrational anger swells when he runs his fingers through my hair. He knows it’ll make it frizzy and does it anyway.
I let out my breath. It’s not my hair. It’s him. It’s every old and new hurt. Good people forgive, though. They move on. I breathe in deeply and exhale my anger, imagining it rising to the high ceilings. Then I do it again.
Ethan’s fingers slide to my neck, my collarbone, and then under the covers. His thumb brushes my breast. I freeze until his hand returns to my neck. The blankets rustle and then his lips are at my ear. “I missed you so much.”
I can’t say it in return. I just can’t. My mouth won’t allow me to speak that lie and lose any more of my self-respect. But if I don’t answer, it’ll be noticed and remarked upon. Instead, I kiss him. It’s preferable to a conversation, to an explanation, to questions I can’t answer. Ethan responds like a man dying of thirst. His hands knot in my hair, eventually heading south again. His breaths are short and eager when he presses against me.
I feel nothing, as if the cage surrounding my heart has grown to encompass my nerve endings. My mouth goes to Ethan’s to keep him quiet. Tom sleeps only feet away, closest to our side curtain, and though the rain is now a staccato drumbeat on the roof, I don’t want him to hear. He’ll likely assume, of course—in the unlikely event he gives it any thought at all. But I don’t want him to know, and I don’t want him to feel more alone than he must in his single cot.
A subtle warmth comes to life in my abdomen at the thought of Tom. In his cot, in my bed. The darkness allows me to imagine it’s him instead of Ethan. His mouth on my breast, his fingers inside me. The warmth turns to heat. I raise my hips, and Ethan’s—Tom’s—breath explodes on my neck. By the time we connect, I’m panting, and I press my lips to his shoulder to keep silent while I shudder. Ethan follows, lies gasping on me, then kisses me deeply.
“I love you.” His voice is hoarse, full of happiness.
I’m a horrible person. Truly, a horrible person. “Love you,” I whisper into the dark, and I hope it’ll soon be true.
44
Craig
Now that there’s a plan, everyone is antsy. Daisy has stolen the generator for the workshop, and it’s Lana’s and my job to watch the surroundings while she gets up to something she’s kept a secret so far. The generator is remarkably quiet. The sander or grinder or whatever she’s using is not, and it isn’t long before I catch sight of something plodding up the hill.
The Lexer is tall and thin, its loose clothing blowing in the wind and arms hanging by its sides. Lana cocks her head at me in a directive to take care of it, and I say, “Fine. But I’m starting to think you’re not trying to teach me shit. You’re just lazy.”
Her laugh echoes as I walk to the edge of the dirt, where grass grows before the ground begins to slope. This isn’t the first Lexer we’ve seen in the past days. All came from the direction of the closest city, Winters, that sits nestled in the hills to our east. It isn’t huge, maybe eight thousand people, but every populated place is a hazard.
The Lexer spots me and puts on some speed. I ready myself, bracing my legs and raising my left hand to grab hold of hair or an arm or shoulder. As it staggers nearer, I stifle my compulsion to take off. All four of my traveling companions have copped to their urge to run as well, and the fact that I’m not the
only one helps me stand my ground.
It’s over quickly: grab its outstretched wrist, bring Francis’ knife into its eyeball, let it drop. The worst part—aside from the killing of a once-human who wants to devour you—is the stench its liquids produce, which has a way of sticking with only a few drops. The cologne of the apocalypse is truly disgusting.
I walk toward Lana, who raises a thumb. “You didn’t hesitate at all. What number was that?”
“Twenty-three,” I say. “I hesitated in my head, though.”
“You’d be dumb if you didn’t.”
Daisy sticks her head out the shop’s door. “Done. Come inside.”
The shop is huge, with worktables and machinery in every available space. I don’t know how half of it works, but Daisy is right at home. She walks over to a bench grinder and returns holding two shiny silver spikes. Each is over twelves inches long, one thicker than the other at just under half an inch, and their tips gradually narrow to an evil-looking point.
The thinner one has a wooden handle, and she presents it to me. “This is yours. It’s solid steel. A long drill bit. I epoxied it into the wood dowel. It’s not going anywhere.”
I now understand what I’m looking at. She drilled the bit part into the handle, leaving the smooth end—which usually goes into the drill—exposed for sharpening. And sharpen it she has. The silver gleams in the dim light, and she flattened the edges slightly to resemble a razor dart.
“The handle’s kind of rough,” Daisy says with a note of defensiveness. “We’ll sand it down and shape—”
“This is amazing.” I shake my head in wonder. “How’d you think of this? What’s the other one made of?”
“Just a piece of an old crowbar. I’m not sure what I’ll use for a handle, though.” Daisy usually does her best to look nonchalant, I’ve noticed, but she can’t hide the smile at the corners of her mouth. “You like it?”
The Cascadia Series (Book 1): World Departed Page 41
