With Ginjer reluctantly staring at me and Genny pleading with me, I start the conversation that I have been fearing for so long. I tell them everything. I tell them why we were at the store that day. I explain to them my reasons for not speaking up sooner. I tell them about the graveyard and the rows of crypts just waiting for as many people as we discover. I outline the logic of it. I explain how it has kept us safe for so long. I talk as the sun rises fully into the sky behind me. I explain it all like a confessor to a priest because at the end of my speech, I ask for their forgiveness for not sharing sooner for the deaths it might have prevented if I had.
In the end, and after many answered questions, they understand. As Collin points out with his customary charm, why would I trust people that attempted to kidnap us. Genny is a ball of joy that she will not have to be separated from Kent. The teens’ reaction makes Terrence and I both smirk at each other. He jokingly calls me “Mom” under his breath as we spread the map out on the hood of my car. For some reason, he finds it all way more amusing than I do.
We plot the path back to the place I have become accustomed to calling home. It feels as if I have been on a long journey and my mind craves the comfort of my own bed. A bed that is lodged behind rows of sealed caskets. A home that belongs to the dead, but they share well enough.
“It’s really going to be alright?” Alicia’s voice is filled with wonder over the prospect as I drive behind the Jeep.
The tone makes Genny and I smile. It pulls a smirk from the still tense Ginjer, even.
“It might be nice to have some men around.” There is Ginjer, always one for a positive aspect. Make a silver lining a chance for her to be the center of male attention and she will find it. Bless her heart.
Chapter 16
It has been a few months since that night at the theater. It took some adjusting for them, at first, to be comfortable with the concept of “crypt living” as Kent dubbed it. With the men’s help, we were able to move the remaining caskets completely. Our conscience got the best of us though so we buried them in the grounds behind our row, still keeping them close to their original resting places. It seemed to help our guilt over the matter and it gave us fuel to tease the kids. Every time they hear a sound, we tell them it is the ghost of those we removed looking for their bodies. The kids are not as amused by this as we are.
Collin and Alicia moved into their own “home”. She confesses to me that sometimes she feels wrong finding her happiness only because of the death of his family. To which I always ask her if staying miserable is a better alternative. It seems to calm her soul a little, but she still flashes me a nervous smile when they hold hands around us. I want them to be happy. After everything we have endured, we all deserve to be happy.
Ginjer remains aloof. She partakes in the new camaraderie, but never really lets anyone close. Being back here undoubtedly reminds of her Mintzy and I feel sorry for her. She never said a word as Terrence buried the dog’s remains when we arrived, but Genny made a little grave marker just the same. Ginjer will ask me questions sometimes about the children at the theater before she falls silent again. I think the sight of them made all of this more real for her. The first week we were home, Ginjer often asked to stay in my crypt even if it was an “utter mess of disorganization”.
My wounds from that night were not as deep as they appeared. Ginjer was able to perform another “surgery” and they healed just fine. I have my first “battle scars” as Peyton calls the half-moons on my arms and the small lines on my neck.
Peyton and I have grown close. We are not as close as Genny hints with her lewd tones and late night giggling, but close. I think sometimes she worries for me, but with how much risk life involves now, I just don’t know if I can find the courage to open another room in my heart for someone.
He chose to room with Terrence and Kent calling their “crypt living” the frat house. With the loud male laughter that can be heard from it during the day, I find it fitting. Since at the root of most of the antics around here is them, it is very fitting.
I had forgotten what it was like to have a “family”. Our days went from hiding and sneaking around to hanging out with others in a crypt chosen for just that purpose. Inside it, we have our supplies and even slight decorations we scavenged from runs. We have lawn chairs and Kent put a box resembling a T.V. that the store used to display furniture settings. “Toss me the remote,” joke is heard often and even after all this time it can still bring a smile.
We have settled into routines and roles as life goes on. We are shadows of our past lives. We pull from that existence the strengths and knowledge that we developed adding to this world while we are discovering parts of us that we may have never known existed before. We are just remnants now of who we once were, trying to form a new whole.
We haven’t had any run-ins with the monsters in weeks, leaving some of us hopeful it may be coming to an end. We haven’t seen any people either, though. If it is coming to an end, I only wonder how many are left.
Christmas has come and gone. Nights are reaching freezing temperatures finally as winter roars with her presence. Frost often coats the ground making the place sparkle under the early morning sun. Kent discovered that a cardboard box slides well over the frozen grass and he is often out there first thing slipping around. I have a feeling that Ginjer will be putting more stitches in his leg soon.
On one supply run, Terrence came across a piece of paper left on a store counter. It read that there was a shelter set up at a high school further upstate. It has supplies and medical aid for those that need them. Once again, we found our “hope”.
As I write this, we have been driving for hours and are getting ready to take a break. The men are preparing the last of our supplies. Peyton and Collin had figured out how much food and such we would need to make this trip. We left the rest behind in case we needed to return. If it does prove to be false, it is not as if the “crypt living” is going anywhere. We can always return and settle back into this life, but if it is true, we can’t pass up the chance to explore the possibility.
“I can’t believe you brought those.” Genny leans against the car, staring at me with a mildly amused face.
“If we stay, I wanted to be sure to have them. They hold more than just my ramblings.” I smile at her, pulling out a small Ziploc bag from between the back pages.
“I stand corrected. Now I can’t believe you.” Her voice is a combination of shock and happiness staring at the clear bag in my hand and her grinning first grade face that stares up at her.
“I couldn’t not grab some. Obviously, I couldn’t fit all of the scrap books in the bags but I wanted to have something.” I spread out the pictures of years slipped past on the back seat of the car. I watch as Genny goes from joyful innocence to awkward middle school to the young woman she is now in a collection of small portraits.
“Is that Dad?” Genny picks the photo up of her and her father fishing from the pier of a local beach. The fish she had hooked was bigger than her, bending the pole with its weight. She cried when he told her that it would die if she tried to keep it as a pet. She just couldn’t understand why it would not like to live with her in the bathtub. So began her year long mermaid obsession she developed.
Genny takes her own journey down her memory lane, touching the photos as if they are ancient holy relics. To me, they are. It’s all I have left of what she was.
“Oh jeez, Mom,” She holds up a “Happy Mother’s Day” she made in kindergarten.
“Really?” She asks me and I playfully snatch it from her.
“Don’t tease me. This was my very first Mother’s Day card. This thing lived at the bottom of my purse for a long time.” I stare at the construction paper card with a yearning for a time long gone.
The pastel purple paper has a crudely cut out heart of pink felt glued to the center of it. White lace was glued around the heart framing it with misguided precision. In some spots, the gold glitter that stuck to everything the car
d touched still remains. Scrawled around the heart are the words “Happy Mofers Day”. What Genny groans over today in shame still touches my heart with the adoration only a parent can understand.
Staring back at me from inside the card is a wide-grinning Genny, with her front tooth missing, from a miniature photo her teacher had taken in class just for this project. The same segmented scrawl fills the space under the photo. “I Luv U! Genny” All around it are glue stains showing where glitter once clung to the paper. Two days after receiving this card, Charlie had asked for a divorce. I carried the card with me everywhere to help me through the dark days of depression. It seemed only right to grab it as I was throwing things in the bags when we left our home.
“What do you think happened here?” she asks me, while we place the tender relics back into their bag. All except the card. With an eye roll from my daughter, I place that one in the pocket of my blue jeans over-come with the need to have it close to me.
I stare out into the lot of the Welcome Center where we have stopped. Plywood has been removed from the door sections, allowing the entrance to be exposed. Bones are scattered through a section in front of what was once the gift shop/diner combination parking lot. With the passage of seasons, it is still easy to tell that the streaks on the broken glass doors are not just dirt, but something more sinister. Peyton reported that the building itself had been ransacked long ago with the elements of nature spread wide within. Whatever happened here, happened long ago. We are just looking at the residual haunting of it.
“Dunno,” I tell her. “But whatever it was, it was long ago. There is nothing here now. That is the few good things about snow. No footprints. No baddies.”
I earn another eye roll but it comes with a smile as well. I’ll take it.
“Hey,” Alicia is waving her arms, slipping her way towards us on the frozen ground.
“Five dollars says she busts her ass.” Genny arches an eyebrow with her dare.
“Really?” I mockingly smack her arm. “You should know better than to talk like that. Besides, we know she is going to bust her ass.”
Karma picks just that moment to bring my older sister down, flat on her ass.
“Don’t let her see you laugh.” I warn Genny with her giggle-snickering coughs. We make our treacherous way to Alicia with none of us accustomed to the “black ice” as Peyton calls it.
“Did you just want to be sure we saw you fall or did you have a reason for calling to us?” It is not often I get the chance to tease my sister. I’m not missing the chance now.
“Totally give you a 7.8 for the dismount from walking. I would have given you a nine, but the arm work as you came down looked a little sloppy.” Genny claps with her jest, growing brave from my remark.
Real funny. Now help me up.” Alicia extends her hands out to us, cranky and sore. Her eyes are still the normal shades of her green-teal so we are safe from her wrath, for now.
Once she is on her feet again, shaky at best, she tells us about the showers they have found inside the store. The back of the place served as a truck stop. The water no longer runs, but there is enough in our supplies to be at least able to rinse off. Peyton has begun bottling the snow to boil for later uses if we run low. We won’t be shaving our legs anytime soon, but at least we will have clean hair. It’s the small things in life that can really make a girl smile.
The diner exits into a long windowless hallway. Normally rows of rectangular, fluorescent lights would guide the way from the ceiling, but we have to use flashlights. The beams dance across the dirty, greying floor and the walls with the circular light chasing away the fears of the dark. It is not that we fear the dark. We fear what lives in the dark. Monsters come in many forms and they are often never standing under the sun waving with ample warning that they are near.
Tall lockers with mesh, metal doors provide clues that we are nearing the shower area. They alternate in colors of red, white, and blue with the strategic hopes of adding more proof of how Americanly wholesome this place once was for customers. The same theme continues with the shower room doors across the hall from each other. Their red paint stands bold against the white walls of the hallway. Matching the blue paint from the lockers are words explaining which side is to be used by which sex.
“Let’s use the “Men’s”.” Genny smiles at me. The simple rules of life no longer matter, but it is still fun to break them with mischievous innocence.
“Do we know where the guys are?” I look to Alicia for my answer before giving Genny hers. That would be “parent of the year” to agree only to walk right into a bunch of showering nude males.
“Ginjer is showing them how to break into the trucks that are parked in the back. Kent seems to think he can wire the CB radios with the solar panels we found so that we can have “phone service” in the crypts. I think the guys just wanted to see what supplies they could find. I swear though, if they think we are going to ride around in one of those things, they are crazy. Gas is hard enough to find as it is for our cars.” Alicia tells us, pressing her palms against the swinging door to open it.
“He’s such a geek.” Genny mutters, following her aunt into the bathroom, but her smile shows a smidge of pride. Then again, she is a teen. She may just be happy about the thought of having a “phone”.
The interior of the shower room is the same Americana pride style of décor. The once white tiles and walls stand barren with more bright red lockers attached to them. In front of the lockers are benches painted in a proud blue. Words upon the wall match the color, declaring freedom from grime in a coy play on words. The simple paint job must have not cut much into the overhead of this place.
Long, sideways, narrow windows along the outside wall allows light into the room making the flashlights finally unnecessary. There is little to no destruction to this room. It is a stark comparison to the rest of the building with the amount of debris scattered throughout the diner and store from past mayhem that has occurred.
Only the lockers show signs of abuse. Their doors stand at various degrees of being opened, with pieces of the broken locks on the floor. Damaged gym bags sit empty among the metal fragments with their cavities searched and their contents spilled around them. Compared to the other places we have explored, this place feels homey.
Towels from our stash are waiting for us along the rim of the metal sinks. Genny is disappointed that her plans for breaking the rules were side-stepped by the plans already put into place. She gives me a mock frown before snatching a waiting towel and heading to a stall.
“We thought it would be safer to use the same room. They guys already have made sure the door to the other is secured so we don’t have any more surprises like the theater.” Alicia offers the logic of the plan with hopes to appease the pouting teen. Unfortunately, when a teen starts to pout, there is no appeasing the beast that they become. Well executed ignorance of the mood swing is always best.
“Whatever,” Genny mutters. She is more overcome with disappointment for feeling silly over her excitement to be in the “Men’s” room than she is with her aunt.
I shake my head letting Alicia know to drop it.
The men have already placed the large gallon jugs that hold our water in each stall. Soap stains streak down the tiled wall from the dispensers of shampoo and conditioner further proving that this is a male locker room. I am willing to bet the female’s room is empty of all spare soap. Just another example of how differently our minds work.
Living in close circumstances removes some social phobias but not all. We each enter into our own stalls and pull the vinyl curtains closed with a metallic ringing sound. Our clothes neatly fold and slide into the far corner of the stall with the towel. Because of the shyness over our nudity, conversation isn’t started again until after the first shrieks from pouring the cold water over our heads. I turn a deaf ear to the words Genny screams, but laugh just the same over hearing her degree of expletives.
The water is biting cold on my scalp. Its iciness
feels to reach my brain and leave a dull headache with its exit. The shampoo is a boring male scent of basic soap. I am thankful there are no clouds of steam to carry the fragrance through the room with its sharp soap smell. The conditioner is void of any perfumes or undertones but I am happy to have clean hair just the same. Still heavy from the water, but I can already feel a difference to the feel of it.
We dress much as we undressed. The only difference is the shyness is gone. After hearing your daughter drop more words than you personally know, a little thing like nudity behind a shower curtain seems unimportant.
“Does Kent know you talk like that?” Alicia teases her as we stand at the rows of mirrors on the little divider wall separating the locker area and shower area.
Now that we are fully dressed, we enjoy the bonding time this presents with just the three of us. Amid our laughter, we brush our hair and try to remove as much excess water as we can with the limp towels before having to go back into the winter wind.
“Who do you think taught me them?” Genny strikes an exaggerated sultry pose in the mirror.
We laugh watching her, knowing fully well the saint that she is.
“What else has he taught you?” Alicia snaps the wet towel at Genny, causing her to shriek with the impact.
“Alicia Helen Clark,” I call to my sister with a look of teasing disagreement. “Virgins live to the end. You just keep remembering that, Genny!”
“Guess that means you two are screwed.” Once again, my daughter shocks me with her wit. My mouth hangs open with surprise and amusement.
“Nah, it’s been so long for your mom she may count as a virgin again.” They both laugh staring at me, waiting for some kind of verbal defense. Unfortunately, I have none.
“Cute. Real cute.” My response only brings more laughter from them.
The walls echo with the sounds from it and even if the target of their teasing is me, my laughter soon echoes as well.
The Risen Series | Book 3 | Remnants Page 13
