Red Plague Boxed Set

by Anna Abner

  “It’ll get really dark with the door closed.”

  “I don’t mind.” Since the electricity had gone off I’d had to adjust to the dark. It didn’t affect me the way it once had. “Good night.”

  He lingered another few awkward moments, but finally he answered, “Good night,” and slipped back into the dining room with the others.

  I paused on the threshold, listening.

  “Where’s Maya?” Hunny asked.

  “She’s making a bed in the kitchen. Why aren’t you asleep?” Pollard responded.

  “I’m scared. Can I sleep with Maya?”

  “No,” Pollard said. “She needs her space. Apparently.”

  “Can I sleep with you?”

  “No,” he said, sounding suddenly ten times more exhausted than he had a moment ago. “Get back to sleep. You don’t want to be tired tomorrow.”

  I waited until I was sure no one was coming to find me and then I closed the door to the freezer, locking myself into the dark. Alone.

  Chapter Twelve

  “We don’t need that much water.”

  “We’ll die if we run out. What we don’t need is more cookies.”

  Voices drifted through the walk-in freezer’s metal walls and pushed the final remnants of a lilting and sad country song from my dreams. I rubbed at my eyes. I hadn’t slept well at all, tossing and turning and suffering two separate nightmares about Ben. In one, I’d discovered him shot and bloody and dead by the gas pumps. In the other he’d attacked me with all the force and ferocity of a wild animal. Twice, I’d woken anxious and jumpy.

  It turned out the walk-in was not a close substitute for my panic room at home. I missed the comforts and security I’d taken for granted.

  By the time I found the source of the argument, Pollard, Simone, and Russell were all wrestling over a box of chocolate chip cookies, two gallons of water at their feet. No one seemed concerned that Hunny was stuffing handfuls of Tootsie Rolls into her pants pockets. The little sneak just couldn’t help herself.

  And I was seriously reconsidering letting any of them in on my plan. They looked and sounded like a whole lot of trouble.

  “Good morning,” I grumbled, swinging my backpack at my side. “Is there enough water to wash up?”

  The walk-in hadn’t only been pitch black at night, but it had held all the warm air within its insulated walls. I’d sweated out any fluids I’d managed to drink yesterday and was now in serious need of a bath.

  Simone’s expression softened and she opened her mouth to answer, but Pollard spoke first. “Of course. Come on. I’ll show you the bathrooms.” He grabbed a jug of water off the floor and led the way into the dark hallway. “Do you need soap or a toothbrush? It’s all here.”

  “Actually, anything you can find would be great.” I didn’t even have a comb.

  Pollard brought me a ladies’ toiletry kit in a zippered pouch off the shelf. It was like Christmas morning. I was that excited to see a toothbrush and toothpaste. Hygiene had gotten a lot tougher recently. I’d been able to continue brushing my teeth because it required such a small amount of water. But actual showers? Those weren’t so easy to accomplish.

  And forget about doing laundry. I’d begun wearing an outfit for a couple days in a row and then sealing it into a trash bag rather than waste buckets of water cleaning the clothes. So, getting a bath, even a modified one, was a special treat.

  He set his lantern on the sink and shadows writhed across the walls and ceiling.

  “Thanks,” I said, suddenly shy. “I’ll be out in a while.”

  I shut the door on him and unpacked my precious things and an empty canteen from my backpack. I flipped pages in my song diary, hastily scrawled lyrics flashing by in a rush. Everything from the first song I ever wrote, a love song called “A Night Out,” to the last song I wrote before the red plague.

  I cradled the iPad for a moment, remembering what life had been like the last time I turned it on and enjoyed its contents. I flipped open the cover, but it didn’t power on. It hadn’t been charged in weeks. Inside its tiny parts lay so many things I cared about. Bands and music videos I loved, photographs, texts… Not that it did me any good.

  I snapped the cover closed. It, along with its wall charger and ear buds, went back into the very bottom of my pack. Then I piled the canteen on top of it.

  I’d learned a long time ago how to do an okay job of bathing with very little water. I stripped to my socks and scrubbed the small, soapy scrap of cloth over my body. Old skin and dried sweat sloughed off, and I felt a thousand percent better immediately. Then I washed the soap off with a clean, wet washcloth.

  My hair, though, required more finesse. I bent over the sink, flipped my dark, glossy hair up over my face, and wet it with water from the jug. I lathered up with the shampoo and then rinsed it clean. The same with the conditioner.

  During the first few days after my dad didn’t come home I’d wasted a lot of water bathing my entire body. Another rookie mistake.

  I’d learned to wash up with no more than a couple quarts and a washcloth.

  I emerged twenty minutes later from the truck stop bathroom fresh and clear-headed.

  While Russell continued to argue over supplies, I pulled Hunny onto my lap.

  “I’m going to brush your hair,” I pronounced with confidence, producing a small brush I’d gotten out of the convenience store.

  She squirmed like a wet eel. “No.”

  I held on tight. “You have to. It’s a bird’s nest.”

  “No!” She kicked me in the left shin. Hard. “It hurts!”

  “Okay, okay.” I squeezed her around the middle to get her attention and felt every one of her ribs like piano keys through her shirt. “Let’s make a deal.”

  She ceased squirming. “What kind of deal?”

  “You let me brush your hair and I’ll let you do something you want.” Bribery had always worked with my brother.

  “Like what?” She shifted around until she sat comfortably on my lap, but I kept my arms around her in case she bolted.

  “What do you want? Let’s negotiate.”

  “I want to go to a toy store.”

  The only one I knew of was near my house, but in the opposite direction we were traveling. We’d have to find another one along the way. But that wasn’t too big a problem. After Hunny’s thieving incident I wanted to get her something she could call her own. Something she didn’t have to steal and hide under her shirt.

  “Does this mean you’re coming with us?” I asked.

  “If Pollard’s going, I’m going, too.”

  I sighed. “Okay, I agree to your terms. But, out of curiosity, what do you want at the toy store?”

  “A Saddle Club Molly doll,” she said very fast. “She’s my favorite.”

  That sounded fancy. And fancy toys were often big. “You know you can only pick out what you can carry, right?” Our backpacks were already stuffed with essentials. No one would be able to lug a bunch of dolls, too.

  “She’s this big.” Hunny spread her hands about eighteen inches wide. “And I’ll carry her in one of those,” she patted her chest, “baby carriers.”

  “Oh.” That might work. “Okay. It’s a deal.” It would mean time wasted picking around a probably already looted toy store, but if it would make Hunny happy and get her to brush her hair, then it would be worth it.

  “But,” I added, while we were still negotiating, “you have to brush your hair every day. And your teeth, too. We’re not animals.”

  “Ugh. Fine.” She heaved a sigh and went limp in my arms. “Go slow.”

  Willa may have been caring for Hunny, but she obviously hadn’t made grooming a priority. It must have been weeks since Hunny’s blonde curls had seen a brush. Several dreadlocks had formed in the back and I was forced to cut them out. The rest I sectioned and tediously brushed from the bottom up until, finally, I could run the brush all the way through her soft, blonde curls without hitting any snags.

  Po
llard’s question about us being sisters came back to me. I’d never had a sister. Just my brother. But I could tell right away having a little sister was a lot different than having a twin brother. This girl needed tons of supervision and attention, two things Mason had avoided. She was affectionate and, though I was out of practice being around kids, it felt nicer than my brother’s standoffish behavior.

  I moved my right hand in front of her face and finger-spelled, “D-o-n-e,” just to keep her practicing.

  She must have been reviewing her alphabet signs because she immediately signed back, “A-t l-a-s-t.”

  Pollard popped his head through the kitchen door. “You two ready for breakfast?”

  Hunny stood and faced me, looking even younger and more fragile than she had before. She messed with her hair a little bit, fluffing it up in the back, and tucking the front behind her ears.

  “Yeah, we’re ready.” I zipped the brush into my backpack as Hunny ambled through the dining room where Russell and Simone were setting the table for breakfast. I swung right and slipped into the kitchen with Pollard.

  “Her hair looks nice,” Pollard greeted from the makeshift stove, giving me a secret smile and a nod.

  My insides warmed. “Thanks. What are you making?”

  Pollard gestured for me to come closer to the pan of raccoon drippings, sugar, flour, diced peanuts, and herbs.

  “That smells awesome,” I gushed. Better than anything I’d eaten for breakfast in a long time. Then, seeing a moleskin notebook open on the sink beside him, I zeroed in on that. “You have a diary too?”

  “Oh, uh—”

  I picked it up before he snatched it away. “What do you write?” I flipped through a few pages covered in scribbly handwriting. Random words caught my eye. Cumin. Sauté. Slice. “They’re recipes.”

  “Yeah.” He stirred his sauce with unwarranted attention. “I do all the cooking.”

  “That’s cool.” I used to hang out with other creative kids at my high school, poets and singers mostly, but never any wannabe chefs. “I’m impressed.”

  He frowned as if I’d said something shocking. “Really?”

  “Definitely.” I handed him his recipe book.

  “I like taking the ingredients we can still find and making something that tastes good.”

  “I can’t wait to try what you’re making now,” I admitted, cracking a wistful smile.

  His blue eyes twinkled, making him look even more handsome. “You’re so beautiful. You should smile more.” Without warning, he pulled me off balance and planted a quick, soft kiss on my lips.

  Before I could think what to do, he backed away.

  I stumbled into the counter and an open sack of flour tumbled to the floor, dusting my sneakers white.

  He’d kissed me. As if he owned me. As if I had no say in it at all.

  He couldn’t just go around kissing me without even asking.

  “Do you always do whatever you want?” I said, hopping toward the door. “You shoot whoever you want. You kiss whoever you want.”

  His smile faded. “But I thought…”

  I limped out of the kitchen as quickly as I was able.

  When I next kissed a boy it would be with my participation, not some stolen, drive-by kiss. If Pollard didn’t stop with this five-star-general routine I’d leave him and his whole group behind. Screw my sprained knee.

  I flounced into a chair at the table beside Simone.

  “Bad morning?” she guessed.

  I grunted a noncommittal response.

  Pollard took longer bringing our breakfast than it probably required, but when he did come in he carried a pan of stir-fried raccoon chunks in a sweet peanut sauce. I avoided eye contact as I helped myself to meat and a spoonful of canned peaches.

  Though he was irritating me right then, Pollard was a talented chef. Breakfast tasted exactly like good Chinese food. He cared about cooking. That was obvious. I never could’ve made the same meal with only found ingredients and no electricity.

  “We’ll pack up and get out of here as soon as we clean the breakfast dishes,” Pollard said, his head bowed. “The bikes are full of gas. I made sure this morning.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said around a mouthful of fruit, keeping my eyes on my plate. “I’m ready.” I’d carry supplies in my backpack, whatever they asked. I just wanted to go.

  “Are you okay?” Simone laid her palm on Pollard’s bare forearm. “You look upset. We don’t have to do this, you know. You could stay here.”

  My gaze snapped up. Would he? Had my temper ruined my chance to drive into downtown?

  “No.” He kept his eyes lowered. “This could be our only chance to bring the old world back.”

  “Well, I’m staying here,” Simone announced. “This place is too perfect to lose. I’ll keep it safe for us. And if a military helicopter shows up to evacuate us I’ll make them wait for you.”

  “You can’t stay behind,” Russell said, his voice echoing through the dining room. “Pollard, tell her. We have to stay together. Right?”

  A little unfocused, Pollard said, “Maybe it would be safer for her to stay here where she can protect herself.” He gave Simone a long look. “Are you sure about this? You don’t have to.”

  “I’m sure.” She nodded. “I feel safer here than out there.” She gestured toward the boarded up windows.

  That was fine with me. If I had to travel with a group I was glad it was a small one.

  Everyone helped clear the table and Simone washed the dishes with a bucket of recycled water. While she was busy in the kitchen, Pollard supervised packing supplies. In my backpack he assigned more water and a small first-aid kit. Hunny had to transport food and utensils. Pollard carried more water, guns, and ammo. Russell would lug toiletries and a tarp for sleeping under.

  Russell bent over his pack, and as I neared I caught a whiff of stale cigarette smoke.

  “Hi,” I greeted, handing him a can of peas from the pile he was packing into his bag.

  “Oh.” He nodded uncertainly. “Hey.”

  “Have you ever been to Camp Carson?”

  “No.” He finished packing his bag and slipped it on. “Have you?”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t really been out of North Carolina except for a couple field trips and one family vacation to New York City. “What if there’s no one there?” And we went all that way, wasted a lot of time and resources, for nothing?

  “They’ll be there,” he assured, as if he was certain, when I knew he wasn’t.

  “Did you actually see a helicopter drop the flyer?” I asked.

  “Uh.” He fiddled with his belt buckle, jiggling the metal clasp. “I heard it. And when I ran outside there were flyers swirling all around the place. So…”

  “Right.” In other words, he’d exaggerated the story. As far as I was concerned, the leaflet could just as easily have been a joke as an authentic public service announcement.

  Russell turned dark, suspicious eyes on me. “Where did you come from?” he asked. “We’ve driven by that McDonald’s a hundred times and never seen you before.”

  “I’ve been locked in my house all this time,” I explained. “But I ran out of water.” I studied him from the board shorts he was so concerned about to the shirt hanging loose on his narrow shoulders. “What’s your story?”

  He looked away, emotion clouding his eyes, and I remembered he’d lost his sister. “Our house got attacked. Mom didn’t make it. But Shelly and I hid in the apartment above our garage for a long time.” He adjusted the straps of his pack, loosening them until the bag rested on his hips. “It wasn’t that bad. But we ran out of water, too.” He nodded at me. “We were walking around, searching houses, and we hooked up with Pollard and his friends.”

  “There were more of you,” I said, having already guessed as much.

  “There was a guy and a girl.” Russell scratched at his skull. “Alec and Desi.”

  “What is Pollard like?” I blurted out. I tasted him
on my lips, still. Was I safe around him? Was Hunny?

  “He’s cool.” Russell shrugged noncommittally. “He takes care of everybody. And he’s a really good cook.”

  “He’s not violent?” I pressed. “He doesn’t bully you guys?”

  Speak of the devil. Pollard strolled out of the kitchen, spotted me talking to Russell, and silently passed us on his way into the dining room.

  “No,” Russell snapped. “Why would you say that? Because of yesterday?”

  “He shot a little boy.” It was kind of a big stumbling block for me. I didn’t know if I could ever be friends with, let alone trust, a murderer.

  Russell palmed his chest. “I shot that thing. Not Pollard.” His face twisted into a mask of derision. “Pollard tried, but he can’t hit anything he shoots at.” He reached around to the small of his back and retrieved a snub-nosed handgun.

  I instinctively put space between the weapon and myself.

  “Don’t feel bad for it,” Russell said, replacing the gun in his waistband. “That thing would’ve killed you and Hunny and Pollard and me, too. It was a monster, not a little kid.”

  “You don’t feel bad at all?” I couldn’t help it. I did feel bad.

  “No.” He gave me a look like I was crazy. “I’m happy I killed it and saved all our lives.” He turned away. “Jeez,” he grumbled as he left. “So ungrateful.”

  I didn’t understand our new world where every survivor was an unrepentant murderer. Were we all killers under our polished, mannerly exteriors? Even fifteen-year-old kids?

  Before we left the truck stop, maybe for good, I wandered the snack food aisles one last time. I hesitated to leave so much tempting food behind. No one would miss one bag of candy or a single juice drink.

  Dad would tell me to make a healthy choice, dried fruit or something with whole grains. But I didn’t want health food.

  With so many yummy options in the convenience store, I chose an energy drink, teriyaki beef jerky, and a bag of butterscotch candies to suck on along the way. As I snuck a sugary disk into my mouth, Pollard appeared in my periphery. He was finished ordering everyone around and stood staring hazy-eyed at a display of postcards. He wore his holster and pistol on his hip.