“Move it,” Robyn orders, as she remounts her rifle on her back. “We don't have time for a pity party.”
Oh, for Pete's sake. Are you fucking kidding me? She just had to be the one to save me? Fuck. I won't hear the end of this for years. But she did just save my ass, so gritting my teeth I mumble a, “Thanks.”
She ignores me like I knew she would. I sigh quietly to myself and pick up my bike, dripping goo and hop on before more of those things catch up to us. I don't need to owe her anymore.
CHAPTER SIX
The view of the town in the dwindling evening light is a welcoming sight. Not only does it mean a spot to camp and walls around us to keep us safe, but most importantly, it means we can get off these damn bikes. I swear I will have the print of that bike seat in my ass cheeks for months to come. But I shouldn't complain. I guess it's better than having leech teeth in my neck.
The town's outer limits sign is surprisingly still standing and in one piece; however, it has sustained some injuries over the years. Peppered bullet holes suggest it's been used for target practice a few times and kind of reminds me of a big slice of blue Swiss cheese. It simply states, “Welcome to Maple Haven. Population 1800. Enjoy your visit.”
Enjoy your visit. Well, I guess that may have a lot to do with how many of those 1800 are still here and looking to feast on our blood right now. Maybe, if we're lucky, those demons we passed in the field back there are the last remaining few. Maybe the town is completely empty. Yeah. Right. Who am I trying to kid? The odds of the town being leech free is just as likely as winning a fucking jackpot every night in Vegas for a month. You may get the occasional win, but eventually the house beats you...and then some. No, there will be leeches somewhere in this town. Question is where's the safest place for us to camp at the moment?
Highway Seven seems to run straight through the main business district of Maple Haven. And by business district, I mean a grocery store, a hardware store, a couple of converted office buildings, a diner that looks like it got stuck in a fifties time warp, and a two bay garage/gas station with a metal sign above the door stating it belongs to Nat. Not a lot to choose from.
We pull to a stop in front of the garage and dismount. Kicking down the stand I stretch my stiff muscles, take off my hat, and run my fingers through my hair. My hat is disgusting and covered with the remnants of the exploding leech from earlier. My neck and shirt too. Man, what I wouldn't give for a shower right now. Soon as we settle down for the night, I'm going to have to take some of my drinking water and try to wash up. The last thing I want to do is sleep with alien gore stuck to me.
We stand in the middle of the deserted street weighing our options. We had outrun the horde about forty miles back and knew from past experience they wouldn't follow us. Out of sight, out of mind was their motto. No, we don't have to worry about the field leeches. Now what's hiding here in this sleepy little town, well that's another story.
I stand, hands on my hips and gaze up and down the main strip. The once well-tended trees and flower beds that had made this town a charming little tourist stop-over, no doubt, has grown into a jungle with no one to take care of it. Weeping willows and oak trees grow unchecked into the street; their branches reach like claws searching for their next victim. Weeds and ivy crawl across the overgrown lawns and up the sides of buildings, giving the town a spooky, movie-lot look. The desolate echo of a wind chime hanging above the diner's front door adds to the ominous vibe of the deserted town.
I study the chime through narrow eyes. Had that one lonely, little chime really survived hanging there over the past eight years? Or had it been recently placed? An overwhelming feeling that we're not alone shivers along my spine and deflects my gaze from the diner to the other outwardly empty buildings. One by one I explore the broken windows, expecting to catch some furtive movement behind the empty frames. But I see nothing. Doesn't ease my discomfort any.
“Looks like the gas station is the best option. Kelly, you agree?” Luke's deep voice breaks the silence, making me jump and I give up on my exploration.
Kelly nods his head. “Yeah, that garage will give us plenty of room to camp, plus keep our bikes and supplies hidden.”
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” I mumble to myself as I eye the decrepit building.
I can understand the reasoning behind their decision and it makes total sense, but I still can't shake the feeling that this town is not as deserted as it appears. Then again, knowing what we now know about the hybrids, no place seems deserted anymore. They could be hiding anywhere.
“Okay then. Kelly, Mike and Robyn, you guys check out Nat's. Make sure it’s clear and set up camp. The rest of us will take a little mosey around the neighborhood. I'll feel a lot better sleeping tonight knowing we don't have any blood sucking neighbors.”
I couldn't agree with Luke more. Maybe a quick check will put my mind and gut at ease.
We make good time on the diner, hardware store, and grocery store. Nothing hiding there besides a few rats that scurry away at our intrusion. All three buildings had been picked over long ago, nothing of use remaining. I expected as much.
The office buildings take a little longer to dissect. The two floors of each building offer up half a dozen leeches roused out of their stupor by the smell of our blood. We dispatch of them with speedy efficiency, but it adds to my growing anxiety. Half a dozen? Where the hell are the remainder of the townsfolk? Surely if they haven't already become leeches or dinner, then there must be some sort of survivors left behind. Maybe they've holed up in some fortified bunker away from the town’s main business area, which suits me just fine if that's the case. After the day we've had, last thing we need is to have a run in with Nat and the gang. We don't need to be dealing with any good ol’ boys.
By the time we get back to the garage, the sun has retired for the day and the moon is starting to come on duty for its night shift. The three guys we'd left behind have things totally under control. Our bikes and supplies are hidden in the garage bay, and someone even had the idea to tie the wind chime from the diner to the side door. If anyone tries to mess with the door during the night, we will definitely hear them.
Just like the rest of the buildings in town, the garage has also been scavenged. Any tool, any bottle of oil, or grease, or additive, long gone. All that remains is a rotted workbench underneath the small, busted rectangle window and the husk of a rusted Ford truck. Even the truck has been picked over, battery and anything else under the hood, all gone. The floor is a combination of dust and cobwebs, dotted with numerous old stains of what I hope is grease. Not exactly a room at the Hilton, but it'll do.
Since we can't very well have a fire inside, our meager supper consists of jerky and dried tomatoes eaten by the flickering light of a single, small candle. Mike isn't taken chances of anyone seeing even that tiny flame; however, and he covers the broken window with his jacket. If there are survivors in this town, friendly or not, we don't need to be stupid enough to give our position away.
Torn between washing up or eating, my decision is made as my stomach growls and tells me the whore's bath can probably wait. I've worn the leech innards for the past few hours. One more hour won't kill me. I sit down to eat with Luke at my side. Since my narrow escape earlier, he’s been overly attentive. It’s kind of nice.
By the time I finish eating and washing up to the best of my ability, I settle down into my sleeping bag with utter fatigue. I'm grateful Kelly and Dom have agreed to take first watch. Me and Luke will be up next, but at least I can get a couple of hours of z's before then.
The sleeping bag underneath me offers little cushion on the concrete floor, but after sitting on that bike all day it feels like lying on a cloud. I can feel the day’s tension and physical activity catching up to me, and I grimace in the gloom. I know I'm going to be stiff as hell in two hours. Not looking forward to it.
After the moving and rustling dies down, a weary silence settles over us. Only sound I can hear is the light creaking of
the floor as the lookouts outside in the other room do their rounds. It's a comforting sound and puts me at ease knowing they have our backs. My eyes feel gritty like I have sand in them, and I rub them vigorously, stifling a yawn at the same time.
Someone's stomach grumbles loud in the silence and results in a ripple of laughter that floats around the room.
“Man, I'd give my right arm for a damn juicy Quarter Pounder right now.”
I figured the belly rumbles had come from Badger's bottomless pit. I grin in the dark.
“What’s the matter, Badger? Cookie's jerky not enough to satisfy you?”
“You know me and my hollow leg, Bix.”
“True enough.”
“But I was just lying here thinking of all the things I miss. You know, things from before the world fucking went nuts. And all of a sudden I swear I could almost smell McDonald’s. Fast food. I was a junkie to that shit. I miss it.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my voice quiet. “A nice burger would taste mighty good right about now. Oh, how about a hot and cheesy, ooey-gooey pizza? Yeah, I definitely think I miss pizza more.”
“Hell no. Burgers beat pizza every time. Who doesn't love a thick juicy burger slathered with ketchup and mustard and topped with mounds of melted cheese and pickles? And some salty hot fries on the side. Yum!” Badger's elaborate description makes my mouth water. If the world hadn't crapped out on us long ago, he probably could have made his living in advertising, for sure.
“Jesus, stop it. You guys are making me hungry,” Luke whines from the other side of me. “But I gotta agree with Badger on this one. Burgers and fries and a thick chocolate shake. Stuff wet dreams are made of nowadays.”
My soft laugh echoes in the dark. “Seriously? You had to go there, perv?”
“Admit it, woman. A cold, thick chocolate shake. Who wouldn't miss that?”
“Yeah, a fucking milkshake. Oh, and onion rings. Oh Lordy, what I wouldn't give for a deep fried, golden onion ring.” Badger sighs.
“Steak on the barbecue,” Mike joins in on the conversation. “Nothing beats a nice, thick sizzling T-bone. Or chicken. Hell, even a hotdog. Don't you guys miss barbecues?”
“Not me,” Robyn pipes up from across the room. “My family were all vegetarians. I don't miss what I never had.”
Of course you don't, Miss Perfect with the perfect family. I roll my eyes in the dark.
“Tell you what I do miss though. Bubble baths. A tub full of steamy, hot bubbles. Ugh. I'd do a fucking ravager sideways if he had a tub back at his place that I could soak in for an hour.”
“Sick woman,” Mike teases, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Know what else I miss? TV. I was a couch potato before all this happened. Weekends were the best, man, looking forward to TV marathons and pigging out on chips and dip.”
“Ohhhhh potato chips,” Badger groans. “Forgot about those. A little slice of heaven in a bag.”
As tired as I am, the conversation amuses me. We don't often open up like this to each other. No one usually liked to talk about life before the invasion. The memories were too overwhelming, so this is kind of nice. I sit up, dig my little metal tin of matches out of my pocket and re-light the candle, causing a few groans to reach my ears. I ignore the complainers.
“My mom and I were TV junkies too, Mike. She made me watch endless marathons and re-runs of everything. What kind of shows did you like?”
Mike follows my example and sits up too. “Anything really. But the oldies were the best. Let’s see, Friends was one of my favorites. Lost. Star Trek. X-Files. You name it, I watched it.”
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” I throw in as it pops into my head, making everyone laugh.
“Yeah, I loved that show. Hey, don't you think it's kind of ironic that we're pretty much slayers ourselves now?” Badger adds, jumping in on the conversation, sleep all but forgotten. “Who would have thunk it.”
“Star Trek was good, but Firefly was my go to show. I fucking loved anything to do with space,” Luke decides to join in, pushing himself up on one elbow and running a hand through his hair. I cock my head and stare at him sideways.
“Firefly? I don't remember that one.”
“What? You don't remember Captain Mal and Serenity? River? Zoe?” I shake my head no. He stares at me, expression incredulous. “Jayne? C'mon you must have heard of the 'hero of Canton, the man they call Jayne.' The show had a cult following, for crying out loud.”
Luke sounds so disappointed in me that I can't help but snort at his disbelief. “Sorry, no. Help me out here, Sparky, since I don't speak space geek. Star Trek I know, but that one draws a blank.”
“Blasphemy,” Luke mutters at me in disgust. “We can't be friends anymore.”
This draws another chorus of laughter.
“Firefly was a good one, too. Have to admit,” Mike concedes. “But if push came to shove, I think Kirk would have kicked Reynold's ass any day. Kirk was the man.”
I can almost feel Luke's indignation. “What? You gotta be kidding me. Malcolm Reynolds was a total badass. There's no way Kirk would have beaten him in anything. Other. Than. Talking. In. Total. Dramatic. Pauses.”
“Kirk never talked like that at all,” Mike protests, laughing at Luke's spot on impression.
“Yeah, he so did.”
“Well at least Kirk never wore a bonnet.”
A bonnet? What the hell? Was this Captain Mal a cross-dresser? A cross-dressing space captain. How did I miss that?
“Plus, don't forget Kirk was a master strategist,” Mike continues in his defense of the only Captain I'm familiar with. “He was the only cadet in Starfleet to beat the...um...the simulation. Can't remember what it's called now.”
“The Kobayashi Maru,” I supply, without thinking of the consequences.
Luke's mouth falls open at my words. “What the...? You know about the Kobayashi Maru? Thought you said you don't speak space geek? You're a fucking trekkie. I never knew that about you, you little geekazoid.”
I shoot him a condescending glare, self-conscious at my own knowledge. “Geekazoid? Really, Dude? Pot. Kettle. Black. Need I say more?”
He throws back his head, the laughter rumbling in his chest. “Whatever. You just admitted to being just as big of a geek as the rest of us. And yeah, he may have beat it...but he cheated. So did he beat it? Really?”
“Beat it. Cheated it. Same difference.” Mike shrugs. “All I'm saying is Mal didn't have the finesse of Kirk.”
“Okay people, enough with the pissin' contest on who's 'captain' was the best,” Robyn comments, irritation coloring her voice. “Why don't you agree to disagree on that one and try to get some sleep, please?”
As much as I know she's right, Robyn's comment ticks me off. Who died and made her boss?
“No, I'm enjoying this conversation,” I say. “I like talking about old TV shows. Anyone else have a show they loved back in the day?”
“I liked Doctor Who,” Doc Roger’s voice is hesitant, and I startle a little in surprise. I almost forgot they were in here with us.
“Oh, forgot about that one.” Mike again. “I was a huge Doctor Who fan. David Tennant was by far my favorite Doctor.”
“I disagree.” Rogers says, warming up to the conversation. “I'm quite partial to Tom Baker. To me he is and always will be, the Doctor.”
“Noooo, that silly scarf of his distracted from his persona,” Mike counters. “Jon Pertwee played a decent Doctor as well.”
“Jesus, how many people played that one role?” I ask.
Big mistake. It opens up the nerd boys’ floodgates, and everyone suddenly has something to say. The animated discussion on who played the best doctor a deterrent to anymore thought of sleep. Everyone is totally engaged in the conversation, even Robyn is laughing at something Mike just said. All but one. Doc Howarth sits slightly away from the group, back against the rusting truck with his hands hanging between his knobby knees. I realize he hasn’t spoken this entire time.
“How ab
out you, Doc H. What do you miss most from life before?” Don't know why I ask. Just something about the way he's sitting there, staring off into space. It bothers me. At first I don't think he's going to answer me, but then he turns his sad eyes my way.
“What do I miss most about my life before? Easy. My wife and son. That's what I miss the most.”
All conversation screeches to a halt at those few simple words. The honesty and pain in Howarth's comment hits us all hard. He's right. All the burgers and pizzas and TV shows in the world pale in comparison to what we've truly lost. Those we loved the most. His wife and son. My mom. The rest of humanity. That is by far the most horrific tragedy of this whole fucking fiasco.
The sound of a gunshot snaps us out of our morose reflection.
“What the hell?” Mike mutters in surprise.
Scrambling to my feet, I accidentally knock the candle over, plunging us into complete darkness. Fumbling in the dark for my gun, I finally come in contact with its cold touch just as someone else opens the side door, letting a sliver of moonlight through. We file quickly through the garage door to the adjoining gas station. Kelly and Dom are already standing at the broken windows staring out over the darkened town.
“Kelly?” Luke questions as soon as we reach them.
Kelly shakes his head. “Shot came from the west of us, but we haven't seen any movement.”
Another shot rings out and all eyes swing west. Kelly's right. Even in the moonlight, there's no definition to the shapes and shadows. We can't see a fucking thing. What the hell is happening?
“Guys! Help us!”
The voice is high pitched with fear and sounds a fair distance away. But the words are unmistakeable. A slight twinge of recognition duels with the disbelief in my brain.
Another shot followed by more screaming. “Mike! Luke! Bix! We need help!”
As much as I don't want to believe it, the voice registers with utter terror in my pounding heart.
Gordon.
Strain of Defiance (Bixby Series Book 2) Page 7
