Joe’s back in the kitchen, Gabe’s nowhere to be seen. Hopefully he’s the one in the shower because Rick’s on the couch with a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. He’s dressed in blue jeans with a light-blue shirt and looks as if he’s showered too, thin hair pointing in all directions. It makes her wonder just how much hot water there can physically be unless Gabe’s taking his cold for some reason.
‘Morning.’ Rick smiles up at her and gives her a small wave as she steps off the bottom stair. She smiles back.
‘Good morning. Sleep well?’
She notices his hesitation before his nod but the aromas coming from the kitchen are very distracting so she doesn’t press him, instead following her nose. As soon as he sees her Joe’s got the kettle on to boil again and is apologising again about the fact that there’s only instant coffee, nothing fresh.
‘Whoever stocked this place forgot the really important things,’ he jokes.
She’s not bothered but it’s been a bugbear with Gabe and Matt, the distinct lack of decent coffee since the end of the world began. Once Starbucks closed all its California branches – quite late in the game to be fair – on the grounds of customer safety and there being very few staff willing to risk their lives to bring lattes to the hysterical masses, most mornings have started with the two men complaining about the drop in living standards, as if a lack of frothy coffee marks the downfall of society. There are still diners open, particularly to the north of the state, and they’ve managed to find more than enough pre-ground coffee on some days to drown internal organs and to maintain, at least in Gabe’s case, a resting heart rate of over one hundred. Both he and Matt are three-a-day men. Gabe hankers after a latte for breakfast, macchiato for lunch and an iced vanilla latte late in the afternoon, whereas Matt's happy with anything that's made with freshly ground and, if possible, freshly roasted beans. A jar of instant definitely won’t cut it. There’s going to be another tirade as soon as Matt puts in an appearance. If he puts in an appearance. For her part she doesn’t care what it is as long as there’s a hefty shot of caffeine in her first drink of the day. She’s never cared much about the actual taste. It’s what comes of being an intern, dropping into bed three hours before needing to drag herself out of it again.
‘Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,’ Joe tells her. She nods and squeezes his arm in thanks before wrapping her hands around the mug he gives her. ‘You found clean clothes too?’
‘In my room.’ It strikes her now how much of coincidence that is.
‘Me too. Just about my size, my shape. Rick was the same. We were trying to work out what the odds are of that happening.’
‘About the same as the odds of there being a warm, well stocked house on the edge of a battlefield that we didn’t see until the fight was over?’
‘I don’t think any of us think we’re still in California.’
She gazes out of the window over the sink at the dead yard and the bright, clear sky. ‘Any sign of Luke and Matt?’
Joe shakes his head. ‘Sorry.’
She doesn’t know what to do with her disappointment. She can only hope they’re still sleeping up in the turret room. ‘So what do you think is out there?’
He moves to stand next to her. ‘No idea. Desert, probably. It would explain the light you can see, the sand reflecting the sunlight. Not that I can see the sun.... We’ll take a look later, go for a walk. Gabe’s up for a bit of exploring and I don’t want to spend another night here without knowing more about where here is, not if I can help it.’
She can understand the sentiment, but every night for the last couple of months she’s known exactly where she is and it hasn’t stopped her from being afraid, often uncomfortable, usually cold and, on one occasion, actually wet. Last night was comfortable, warm and dry. She isn’t certain that knowing where they are is a necessity as long as nothing tries to kill them.
The water pipes fall silent overhead; Gabe finishing his shower.
‘Apparently Gabe has something he wants to show us after breakfast,’ Joe tells her.
‘Very mysterious.’
‘That’s what I said. He said he wanted to show us all together and he wanted a shower first.’
‘Can’t be all that interesting then.’
Joe starts cracking open fresh eggs into a second frying pan. He’s obviously not too concerned. Breakfast smells good, she’s had a great night’s sleep and she has hot, strong coffee in her hands. She’s strangely happy right now in a way she hasn’t been since leaving Malibu and despite the fragile and mysterious nature of it she’s damned if she’s going to let anything short of a full-scale attack by a keen enemy change that. So whatever Gabe is going to reveal, she's not going to let it worry her unless someone tells her it should.
Rick’s following in Gabe’s wake when he strolls into the kitchen a short time later. Gabe’s short blond hair is still damp and sticking out at points where he hasn’t quite managed to get it to stay plastered to his head. Emilie didn’t find a comb either. He’s shaved, and he’s wearing a fresh white shirt and clean black jeans. She can’t help but stare for a second or two because while he’s a good looking guy, she hasn’t seen him in anything other than that blue Italian tailored suit since she joined their little Scooby gang and he looks better without it. ‘You changed your clothes….’
Gabe smiles at her with more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘It has been known.’
‘Not for the last six weeks,’ Joe drops in.
‘I was attached to that suit.’
‘Surgically.’ It earns Joe a swift slap to the upper arm.
‘The last vestiges of civilised society,’ Gabe points out. ‘But it was time to let them go or to at least change out of them until I can find a washing machine. I don’t suppose anyone noticed if we passed a Laundromat on the way here?’
There isn’t a washer in the kitchen, which seems a little odd, and there doesn’t appear to be any sort of utility room. Back at the diner they took advantage of the industrial washer, although after it tore holes in Emilie's grey cardigan, Gabe had refused to put his suit anywhere near it.
‘You look good,’ she compliments him honestly and he smiles, pleased. She's pleased he's pleased.
‘Thank you. I smell coffee....’
Joe dishes up the bacon, eggs and toast and they pull out stools from under the table, the kitchen descending into silence for a few minutes except for quiet slurping and chewing. It’s some of the best food Emilie’s had in a long time, helped by the lack of threat and fear they’ve been living with for so long, and she eats it all, mopping up the last of the egg yolk with her toast before pushing her plate away and retrieving her coffee.
‘Joe mentioned there’s something you want to show us?’
Gabe nods, cleaning his own plate in much the same way she did. ‘We are not alone,’ he asserts with a final mouthful of toast.
‘What?’ It’s a question spoken in unison.
He gets up, refills the kettle and puts it on to boil, fetching a mug from the cupboard along with a box of Sencha Green teabags, dropping one in.
‘You drink tea?’ She’s surprised after all the fuss he’s made about coffee.
He shakes his head slowly. ‘It’s not for me.’
She looks around the table, they all have drinks.
Joe half-stands. ‘Gabe, who’s it for? Who else is here?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Don’t you think this is something you should have told us like, immediately?’
‘No.’
It’s obviously piques the interest of Rick too, because Joe’s right, if there’s someone else in the house with them, Gabe should have told them already. But he holds up a hand to stave off any more questions or accusations, finishes making the tea while Rick finishes his breakfast, then he lifts the mug and beckons them all to follow him. They pick up quickly on where he’s heading – there aren't that many places for someone to hide – and Rick's excited simply because Gabe has apparent
ly managed to find the key that opens the locked door.
‘Who’s in there?’
Gabe wiggles a finger back at them. ‘Patience.’
He reaches for the knob and Emilie realises that she’s holding her breath, not in the bad, frightened way she’s used to doing but because she’s excited. Gabe isn’t carrying a poker so whoever it is, it isn’t someone to be wary of. For a second she thinks it could be Matt and Luke, even though neither of them drink tea, and her heart starts to hammer. But as Gabe opens the door and lets it swing inwards, she sees that it isn’t. It's an old woman in a rocking chair, knitting in front of a dying fire. It’s such an unexpected sight that it takes a couple of seconds for her brain to process it.
‘What the Hell....?’
It's not a great introduction and Gabe ignores her anyway, bidding the old woman good morning, addressing her as ‘Nancy’ and placing the mug of tea on the small round table next to her chair. The woman puts down her knitting and smiles up at him.
‘You remembered! Thank you, dear, that’s so kind. And you’ve brought your friends in to say hello. That’s nice.’
She looks and sounds like any normal old woman; nothing like that witch who chased them through Selma with two broken legs.
Gabe waves them forward. Emilie’s the first in line, stepping forward and holding out her hand, staring at the wrinkled visage.
‘Nancy, this is Emilie.’
Nancy takes her hand in a strong shake. Given the mysterious nature of their current predicament, an old woman in a rocking chair has an air of normality to it that just shouldn’t feel so right.
‘Hello, dear. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Did you sleep well?’ Emilie nods, dumbstruck. ‘I’m glad to hear it. You deserve a rest, don’t you think?’
Nancy lets go of her hand and finally Emilie manages to form words into a coherent question. ‘You know who we are?’ There’s something open and friendly about the old woman’s face, something that invites trust, and that alone is something she’s wary of based on past experience.
‘Yes, dear. I know who you are. I know what you’ve done and I know you’re safe here. As I said to the lovely Gabe last night, all I ask is that you bring me a cup of tea whenever you have the kettle on and a small sherry in the evening and I'll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.’
‘This is Joe,’ Gabe introduces him as Joe steps forward. Emilie’s not entirely sure that Nancy answered her question.
‘Tea and sherry?’ she parrots over Joe’s shoulder. ‘Is that all? Don’t you want anything to eat?’
‘Oh, no thank you, dear. I’m not hungry. I don’t think I need to eat. I’ve eaten enough over the years. Don’t you worry, I’m not going to starve. Just Sencha tea and a nice sherry and I’ll be a happy girl.’
Emilie doesn’t want to think too hard about why Nancy doesn’t need to eat. Instead her eyes fall on the knitting in her lap; a red semi-circle with stubby legs and two knitting needles sticking out at the top like long eyebrows. Nancy’s talking to Joe, complimenting him on something or other, quite possibly his youthful looks. Unlike Gabe, Joe hasn't shaved but then again his stubble doesn’t actually seem to ever grow out into a beard. The last time she knows he picked up a razor was in Stevinson to slice the throat of a woman trying to bash Luke’s head in with a meat mallet. He did the same in Harbor City with a pizza cutter.
‘What is she knitting?’
Gabe murmurs, ‘Toys, for orphaned kids.’
‘Which orphaned kids?’
He shrugs, clueless. ‘I have no idea. Last night she was knitting a blue square one. She must have finished it.’
‘Really?’ Emilie looks around. ‘Where is it?’
‘Don’t ask me.’ Considering they probably have more important things to think about than vanishing toys, she follows him out of the room, leaving Joe and Rick in the disarmingly charming clutches of their new housemate.
‘Why doesn’t she eat?’
Gabe scratches the back of his neck. ‘Because she’s... dead?’
‘But clearly she isn’t. And not a single other un-dead person we’ve crossed paths with has shown the slightest interest in knitting or tea!’
‘Honestly, I’m as bewildered as you. But like I said, I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to mean us any harm. I think she just appeared in that room last night, the same way we appeared in the yard.’
Taking cigarettes and a lighter from his coat he opens the front door, casting a glance back over his shoulder in invitation. Fresh air might be nice, assuming it is fresh, but she leaves the front door slightly ajar just in case in turns out Nancy isn’t the only surprise still awaiting them.
Outside the light is unusual, eerie; like the daylight during an eclipse of the sun. There are no shadows, presumably because there's no sun, no single light source that they can see. There’s just an odd tinge to the sky, a slightly pinkish hue. And the air is wrong, stilted, dry and stale as if it's been left out too long, unused, with no breeze to stir it. Turning to look at the outside of the house she sees that the windows aren't broken and it is conceivable that it just looked as if they were last night, a trick of the lightning perhaps, yet the whole place looks in a much better state than it did when they first saw it. It’s anyone’s guess where they’ve ended up. She wouldn't be at all surprised to see a yellow brick road winding its way into the distance.
The house might look different but the yard remains in the same decaying state it was last night. There’s nothing living out here: dead trees, leaves turning to sludge, twigs and sticks that were once plants. They walk around to the back following a path of lifted and broken flagstones to find a similar story. There are skeletal branches of trees tangled over what might once have been a lawn. There’s the faint smell of decaying vegetation and a rotting fence that marks the perimeter. Beyond that there’s scrubland all the way out to the same bright horizon. Close to the back of the house there’s the rusting wreck of an old Chevy, tyres long gone, seats no more than metal and brown springs. It looks as if it’s been there for decades. Towards the back fence, facing the building, there’s a faded garden bench with its light-green paint peeling and a wooden slat missing from the back but otherwise looking intact. Emilie sits first, hesitant and cautious in case it’s been eaten through. When it doesn’t collapse under her Gabe sits down too, pulling a cigarette from its packet with his lips and lighting it.
She’s lost count of the number of places they’ve looted for cigarettes for Gabe and it’s always a risk. Being inside supermarkets and stores, anywhere with shelves, tends to be more dangerous than open plan diners and bars. There are too many opportunities for being surprised, for being cornered. But Gabe's insisted that until there are no more cigarettes, he isn't about to quit. What his brand was when all this kicked off she has no idea. But in the short time she’s known him he’s smoked anything he can get his hands on as long as it contains nicotine. He isn't all that particular about whatever else is in it.
She watches him for a few seconds. She actually likes a guy who smokes. It’s old-fashioned and she used to have a thing for old-fashioned men. She isn’t sure why she’s only now noticing how attractive he is. Maybe it’s because in the short time she’s known him this is the first chance she’s had to really look at him. Before now they’ve been mostly running towards or away from something with barely time to catch their breath. When they were on the road, Gabe would usually ride shotgun with Joe or drive himself. She noticed Luke because he’s difficult to miss, he’s exactly her type. Gabe isn’t. But he’s easy on the eyes now he’s out of that damned suit. She shifts on the bench, tensing when it creaks and moves under them but it doesn’t give way.
‘Do you think we’re dead?’
Instead of laughing, instead of denying it outright, he tips his head back and takes a long drag on his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for what feels like a painfully long time before blowing it out slowly. It hangs in the air for a second or two like it has nowhere el
se to go before dissipating slowly. He looks at her and smiles. ‘If I was dead, I don’t think that would be so good.’
He has a point, because Joe’s breakfast this morning was the best she’s tasted in ages, and that includes Matt’s pancakes. If she’s dead, she doubts that sensations would be so vivid. The bed and the shower, the wine and the food, have been awesome relative to how they’ve been living since leaving their respective homes. But something odd is definitely going on, they’re somewhere out of the ordinary.
‘If we're alive, where are we?’
He shrugs. He must practise them in front of a mirror because he has a large repertoire of shrugs and each one means something slightly different. This one means he doesn't know and nor does he care. It surprises her.
‘Some kind of refuge?’ He suggests. ‘Clothes, food, warmth. The essentials we need to stay alive.’
‘I’d say we have more than the essentials, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes. I’ll give you that.’ Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he takes another lungful of smoke and lets it out in small rings. ‘But you know what? I think we should just concentrate on being here for now. Because it beats everywhere else we've found in the last few weeks. Like you say, we have everything we need and nothing’s tried to attack us yet. Ask too many questions and we might start getting answers we'd rather not have.’
That goes against her nature. She’s always been one for asking questions. It’s what got her into this mess in the first place. Last night she was happy to accept a roof over her head, hot water and a comfy bed. Last night she was happy not to question their apparent luck, the same when she woke up this morning and at breakfast with hot food and strong coffee. But since Nancy’s appearance she’s becoming increasingly nervous, she’s starting to worry about what comes next, if anything comes next. Gabe’s right in that for now they’re comfortable and seemingly safe, she just can’t help thinking about what happens when that changes.
The House at the End of the World Page 7