“That’s good,” I say. Mitch makes her Mitch Snort. Hawk is with the other kids in the rec room, and I’m fairly certain he’s cramming his mouth with refined sugar as we speak. I’ve seen Nora sneak treats to them on more than one occasion.
“It’s the only way to eat. No grains, no sugar. Some people say dairy is bad, but I’m of the opinion that raw dairy is fine. It has beneficial bacteria and enzymes. I do the paleolithic diet. Paleo. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
I nod, keeping my eyes on the fence in the hope that lack of eye contact will make Adele stop talking. If I even look at Mitch, I’ll burst into laughter. I agree with much of what Adele says—a diet of canned food isn’t exactly healthy, grass-fed meats are better, fermented food is good for you, and so on—but the woman is insufferable. There are zombies outside, for the love of God. One has to live a little, especially when one might not be able to live a lot. Or at least shut up about it when there’s no other option. I feel bad for the people for whom allergies are a real and present danger, and whose options to find food that won’t harm them are now slim. But I don’t feel bad for Adele, who is a real and present annoyance.
“What’s your blood type, Rose?” Adele asks.
“O,” I reply.
“There’s a blood type diet. For your type, you should be eating lean meats and vegetables while avoiding wheat and dairy.”
“Give up cheese and bread?” I ask. “I’d rather die young.”
Adele blows out an impatient breath. “I’m trying to help. You two seemed like you might care about what you put into your bodies.”
“We do,” Mitch says. “We care about making sure as much cheese as possible gets in there.”
This joke is received the same way. Adele scowls and tromps closer to the fence, posture erect as though trying to be better at fence-watching than us. Mitch shrugs. “I’m staying in the shade.”
We stand under a line of trees at the northwest corner of the fairgrounds. It’s hot in the afternoon sun, a reprieve from the rain we’ve had. To our left is a gated field, to our right the entire complex. Across the parking lot, steam wafts from the food trucks. Knowing how hot it can get in there, I am not sad to be missing a shift.
Plus, the foraging trucks will enter from the west gate when they return. I’ll hear them and see them, and then I’ll relax. I’ve tried to distract myself, but my mind races with silent prayers: Please let Jess be okay. I’ll do anything, anything at all, if he’s okay.
I console myself with the thought that Tom will watch out for him. That Ethan is there. I’m still not certain if he’s using, which means his judgment could be questionable. But Tom’s judgment isn’t, I re-remind myself, and thus begins another cycle of worry.
“Now I want a cheese board,” Mitch says. We have a deep and abiding love of cheese and are on a first-name basis with every cheese board menu in town.
“I want brie brûlée.” My mouth waters at the thought of the brie with the burnt sugar crust that cracks when you cut into it. It comes on a plate with various cheeses, raw honey, jam, olives, and tiny pickles. “Somehow last night’s dinner of canned roast beef and instant mashed potatoes just wasn’t the same.”
“Speaking of last night, where were you? I couldn’t find you after dishes.”
“I went to the museum.” I pick a nonexistent piece of lint from my hoodie. “Ethan and I got into a fight.”
“You’re just telling me this now? Of course you are. What happened?”
I watch the fence. “He smelled like weed, so I asked if he was getting high.”
“And?”
“And he said he wasn’t.”
“How was that a fight?”
I wind my hair on top of my head, then let it fall. “He didn’t like the question.”
The silence is loud enough that I turn to Mitch, who watches me with the same look she gave Adele. “What did he say?”
“That I was cold and didn’t want to be with him.” I force a laugh. “He accused me of coming on to Barry. How crazy is that?”
Mitch’s expression doesn’t waver. “Pretty fucking crazy. What’d you say?”
“I tried to explain. I’m not really sure how it went after that, but not well. You know how I get during fights. It ended with him telling me he’d see me in the morning.” I focus my attention on Willa, currently sitting on my foot, rather than meet Mitch’s disapproving stare. “Anyway, it’s fine now. Can we stop talking about it?”
Mitch doesn’t answer. I peek at her with a small smile. “I should’ve said that Barry wants to make sweet, sweet love to you, not me.”
Mitch’s stern veneer cracks a bit. “Please. Not interested. But you know who I do like?”
“You like someone?” I clap my hands, happy for this bit of news and a topic that doesn’t involve my shortcomings. “Who?”
“Tom. I thought he was an ass at first, but he grows on you, you know?”
My heart plunges to my stomach, which has dropped somewhere near my feet. Tom seemed interested last night, but he laughs with Mitch, too. Smiles at her. I’m an idiot to think he’d want someone who cries every time he turns around, who’s frizzy and gutless and married.
I press my lips into a feeble smile, then bend to pet Willa. “You—” My voice is too soft, and I start again. “That’s great. You guys would be good together.”
It’s what I thought a month ago. My eyes try to fill, but I send the tears packing. It isn’t Tom, it’s everything. Jesse is outside being eaten alive, my husband is an asshole, and living at the fairgrounds sucks, in no small part because of the second thing. Mitch is my best friend, and she deserves someone reliable and decent and tall. I’ll adjust, forget these feelings eventually.
Mitch wheezes a few times. It’s followed by the unmistakable sound of her full-blown laughter. I raise my head to find her holding her stomach, cheeks red and eyes wet with tears. “You should see your face,” she says between gulping breaths. “Your fucking face!”
I straighten, knowing I’m the butt of her joke, though I’m not quite clear on the joke. “What?”
Mitch hiccups, her laughter barely under wraps. “I don’t like Tom. I mean, I do, but not like that. I was checking to see if you did, and you do. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Heat blooms in my chest, my cheeks, the backs of my knees, and other places I didn’t know I could blush. Instead of denying, I watch the fence while beads of sweat work their way down my back. But even under the hefty dose of mortification, there’s relief. After last night, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to forget these feelings. Not easily, anyway.
Mitch’s arm comes around my shoulders, and I shove it away. “For real?” she asks.
“No. Not for real. But you’re still a jerk.”
“I really am.” Mitch’s arm returns, hand dangling over my shoulder. “Sorry, but not sorry at all. What are you going to do about it?”
“Love you despite your jerkiness.”
“Not me, idiot. You don’t have a choice in that. What are you going to do about Tom?”
“Nothing,” I say. Mitch’s dour sigh reveals what she thinks of that answer. I mimic it so that she laughs. “I’m married, remember? And he was, too, not that long ago. Happily married. Besides, who knows how he feels?”
“I do. You’re his brie brûlée. He’d spread you on a cracker if he could.”
I groan. “Please never mix creamy cheese with sexual innuendo. Now I don’t want brie or sex—I want Monistat.”
Mitch howls. “I admit it was not one of my better analogies. But, again, what are you going to do about Tom?”
Though her analogy was gross, the declaration behind it has me as giddy as a seventh grader who’s just learned her crush likes her, too. But if I let Mitch see that, she’ll never stop pestering me. And, besides, there’s nothing to do. “My answer is still nothing. Because I’m still married.”
“Time for that to end, if you want my opinion.”
“I’ll just pop rig
ht on down to the courthouse,” I say, snapping my fingers. “And I know your opinion, believe me. But I wouldn’t leave Ethan because of anyone else. I’d leave Ethan because of Ethan.”
“I don’t care why you do it. Just do it.”
“Stop trying to boss me and go jump Barry’s bones. How about when you do that, I’ll do this?”
“It’d almost be worth it,” Mitch says. “But not quite. He looks like he listens to Phish, and I can’t get down with that.”
I crack up. “And you say I have issues.”
We pass the next half hour shooting the shit while Adele casts us evil glances. She’s melting in the sun, and any time I try to motion her into the shade, she pretends not to see.
“Give it up already,” Mitch says. “She hates you now. You’re just going to have to deal with the fact that someone doesn’t like you.”
“I don’t care if she doesn’t like me,” I say, which we both know is a total lie.
Mitch laughs loud enough that Adele glares. “Yes, you do. You can’t stand it. Take it from me, the world won’t end if you piss someone off. You should try it sometime. In fact, I know someone you could give it a shot with. His name starts with an E and ends with—”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.” I spin toward the ice rink at the distant drone of trucks. So far, one group has returned, but it wasn’t Jesse’s. “This might be them.”
Three tractor-trailers pull in, followed by one of the trucks from this morning, then the two trucks of another group. I can’t leave my post, but I squint across the lot. One truck is missing, but maybe it broke down somewhere. The three extra trucks have to be a good sign.
The doors open and people jump to the asphalt unhurriedly—another good sign. Barry is easy to pick out. Tom will be, too, and I know Jesse’s and Ethan’s forms like I know my own. Better than I know my own. The tall, thin guy is Jared, whom Ethan seems to like. Nora and Deb, and three other guys. I wait for more people to come around the trucks, my heart skipping when they don’t.
“Do you see—” Mitch begins.
I take off across the lot at a fast walk, trying not to panic. Barry breaks off talking to a soldier when I arrive. “Hey, Rose. I was just about to come to you. Ethan went to a pharmacy farther out in West Eugene for meds. He took Tom, Jesse, and Eva.”
I hear his words, know they’re true, and still ask, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Barry blinks. His hand yanks at his chin, and he wears an expression of relief when Mitch reaches my side, until she sees my face and turns on him with a growl. “Where are they?”
Barry has five inches on her, but he steps back. “Ethan went to a pharmacy,” he repeats. “He took Jesse with him. Tom and Eva, too. We need meds in case anyone else gets sick, and some of the elderly are out of their medicines.”
“He took Jess,” I say, almost in wonder. I trusted Ethan to go and come back, as we agreed. I didn’t specifically tell him not to go anywhere else, but he’s a fucking imbecile if he thinks I’d be fine with it.
“They would’ve turned around if they couldn’t make it.” Barry watches me intently, his eyes screaming an apology. “It was smooth sailing all the way back for us. They shouldn’t be more than three hours, at most. We’ll go looking if they aren’t back. We always do.”
“You always do?” I think of the soldiers who went north with Carver. They haven’t returned, either. “And how many times do you find them?”
Barry’s eye twitches. Mine is ramping up, and I press the muscle flat with a finger. “We find their empty trucks, usually,” he says.
I can’t think about that, not if I want to stay sane. “Thank you for not lying to me.”
I head for the fence before I can cry. I should’ve forbidden Jesse to go. Fuck being reasonable. The world is unreasonable, why shouldn’t I be?
Adele stares as I return to the tree. What was a major annoyance now seems insignificant, and I ignore her. Mitch touches my arm. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Are you okay?”
I nod, jaw clenched so hard my teeth hurt. I unhinge it long enough to say, “I’ll kill him. If anything happens to my baby, I will kill Ethan.”
“I’ll help you.”
I breathe deep. Anger is better than fear. It’s sharp, dangerous. Three hours. They have three hours, and then I’m going after them.
Pop and the girls came to finish out our watch shift, and now we all sit in front of the ice rink building watching the gate. Clara chews a finger while Holly spins a lock of hair until it’s frizzy. Her fingertips are pink, two of her nails surrounded by blood, but I don’t have the heart to point it out. Mitch brought food that sat uneaten, and the edges of the chili have dried and stuck to the sides of the bowls.
When the girls leave for the bathroom, Pop exhales. “I’m sure they’re fine, baby doll. I know that doesn’t help at all, but I have to say it.”
“What was he thinking?” I ask. “He wasn’t thinking. Or he wanted to die by my hand.”
Pop’s laugh is short. “Maybe he knows Jesse can handle himself. He can, you know.”
“So could the soldiers who went to Portland. So could the billions who didn’t make it before that.”
Pop nods a few times, then wipes his face with his handkerchief. His worry is evident in the tightness around his eyes and in the ball of muscle behind his jaw that flexes and bulges while he searches for something comforting to say.
Twenty-five minutes until three hours. No radio call has come. Nothing but silence in a silent world. I want to scream loud enough to pierce it, but I sit with my cold hands between my knees. It will seem insane if I hold this vigil and then they breeze through the gate unharmed, but even the knowledge that I’m outing my crazy to the world can’t make me stop. If I sit long enough, worry hard enough, they’ll be okay.
The clock ticks down to twenty minutes. I stand and ready myself for a fight. “I’m going to find out how you get out of this place.”
Pop and Mitch get to their feet. “Rosie…” Pop begins. At my expression, he changes his objection to a nod. “How do you want to do it?”
“We’ll use our truck. They only have to let us through the gate. Which they’ll do if they don’t want a truck-shaped hole in it.”
Mitch’s attention is caught by something behind us. She widens her stance and puts her fists on her hips. “What?”
Barry stands there, decked out in an Army jacket with a long gun slung over his shoulder in addition to the pistol on his hip. “We’re going out for them.”
“I’m coming,” I say.
“We don’t want to have to worry about you, too.”
“You don’t have to worry about—”
Pop grips my arm. “Let them go. I promise we’ll break down the gate in two hours if we need to.” He counters my glare with a stern expression. “You out there is like Jess out there. Barry knows what he’s doing.”
“I do,” Barry says. “We do. We’re taking two trucks and six people.” He closes the few steps between us and looks me square in the eye. “I will find them. Give me a chance to do that before you go running into the zombies?”
I take a deep breath, insides warring. Five soldiers file past, Marquez and Nora among them, as two trucks pull to a stop—one a police SUV and the other a green transport truck with canvas stretched over the back. If I refuse and tag along, I might throw off their plan. They must have a better one than I do, which is to drive to West Eugene in a panic, scream my head off until I spot them, and likely get eaten in the process.
“You have two hours,” I finally say.
Barry nods once. Holly and Clara return, taking in the soldiers and trucks with wide eyes. “Did they hear something?” Clara whispers, her voice thin. I want to punch Ethan for putting this fear on her face and in her heart. She’s lost enough for a lifetime.
“No, they’re going to find them.” Mitch wraps her arm around Clara and stares Barry down. “They’d better.”
“I’ll find them,” he repeat
s, then motions his people to the vehicles.
It’s only after he leaves that I realize he didn’t say he’d find them alive.
61
Tom
Zombies at the fence mean our truck is out of reach. More closing in on our left and rear mean the loading dock is our only option. I motion to it, and Ethan shouts for Jesse and Eva. When the two don’t hear over the hisses and groans, we run for them through grass slippery from earlier rain. Jesse turns from the fence and looks past us with round eyes. He glances to his left, where bodies travel the space between building and fence, then yanks Eva toward the loading dock.
A hand seizes my shoulder. I throw my elbow back and knock a man with one eye to the ground. A woman takes his place, another clutches my left side, and the one-eyed man grabs my boot, tilting me off-balance before I stomp him in the face.
I will not die in a field for no goddamn good reason. I roar as I spin, knocking them to the ground, then drop the bulky bag of pills from my shoulder. Beside me, Ethan grapples with a woman, her grayed face mottled with dark veins and her mouth heading for his neck. I raise my pistol to her temple and pull the trigger. The shot echoes over fields and trees, over the dozens and dozens of zombies staggering toward us through wet grass.
Ethan and I race for the loading dock, where Jesse and Eva already climb the chain-link fence that cordons off the side and rear. The gate at the front is open, and the space already full of bodies, but the dock is still our safest bet. Our only bet.
I throw a bloody teenager from my path. Kick out the knee of a three-hundred-pound man who could take me down through sheer mass. He crashes to the ground, tripping the next four in our way. I hear a growl to my left and then one face-plants into my shoulder, but I’m gone before she can get purchase.
Ten feet across asphalt, and we’re at the fence. Ethan shoves a growling woman aside and climbs while I do. Jesse’s thrown his jacket over the barbed wire at the top so we won’t get snagged, and I let Ethan go first, then lift it carefully before I drop to the concrete surface of the loading dock.
The Cascadia Series (Book 1): World Departed Page 60
