Talk about night and day.
I continued scanning the other shelves. Below the religious texts was all fiction. To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye, The Old Man and the Sea—it was pretty much a high school English curriculum.
“Grady,” George said. He stood from his chair and crossed the room, his arm outstretched to me. “Sorry about the delay.”
I shook with him. “No apology necessary, sir.”
George waved his hand. “Stop it with that ‘Sir’ crap. I’m a military man, but I haven’t been in the service in a long time. I’m all ‘Sir’d’ out. So just call me George.”
“Sounds good, George.”
He smiled. “Well, how you feeling this evening? You ready to start?”
“Yes, I think so, and I can’t complain.”
George’s smile faltered. An intensity filled his eyes. “You think so?” He clucked his tongue. “Grady, Grady, Grady, you can’t be hesitant. Hesitation gets you killed. I learned that firsthand in Afghanistan, same way my father before me learned it in Vietnam. He was eighteen when he got drafted. He left a kid and came home a man. If he was indecisive, he wouldn’t have made it back. Same goes for me when I served, and same goes for us now. Because we’re in a war, you better believe it. Only instead of fighting for greedy politicians and our country, we’re fighting for our world.”
His words didn’t offend, but actually hyped me up. I could already tell George was a great leader. “I’m ready.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” He nodded toward the shelves. “You much of a reader?”
“You have to be nowadays. Can’t veg out with Netflix anymore.”
“That’s a good point.”
“Thank you, sir—I mean, George.” I paused, not hesitating but measuring my next sentence before I said it. “I do have a question…”
“Shoot.”
“What’s with the religious stuff? Most people only have a Bible, but it seems like you’ve got them all.”
“I like to keep an open mind when it comes to religion, that’s it. I’ve seen enough stuff, horrible stuff, in my lifetime that I often question the idea of a God. Now, with the snow and the whatever-those-things-are either killing everyone or driving them insane, I’ve been in a bit of an existential crisis. I’ve read through most of these books, trying to find meaning to all this madness.” He smirked. “Yes, even the satanic and Wiccan ones. And you know what, I’ve gotten a lot of good information out of each.”
“That’s really cool,” I said, and I wasn’t trying to kiss ass here. I honestly thought it was cool. It was definitely a different approach, that was for sure, but I also found it refreshing. Most people held one religion close to their hearts. Jesus Christ or Allah or hell, even Xenu, was the end-all, be-all, and when you tried talking to them about it, they shoved it down your throat. There was no room for debate, no room for a calm, intelligent conversation. If you wanted to discuss religion without being told you had a first-class ticket to hell, someone like George Anderson was the kind of person you wanted to talk to.
“Thank you,” George said. “I do like my books. If you ever wanna borrow one, don’t hesitate. Just take good care of them.” He stopped and turned around with a big grin on his face.
“What is it?” I asked, already fearing what he was going to say.
“You know, Wendy runs a book club. You should join up.”
“Wendy?”
“Yeah, cute lady with bright red hair. You haven’t met her?”
I scanned my memory. I had met quite a few people in my time in the City, mostly just in passing, but I didn’t recall meeting a woman with bright red hair. That sounded like the type of hair you couldn’t forget.
I shook my head. “Can’t say I have.”
“Then you need to get out more, Miller,” George said. “Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you two. We’re always looking for new members.”
I chuckled. “Great. How many are in the club?”
“Right now…three.”
“You, Wendy, and…?”
“Scarlett, that young artsy gal.”
“I know her.”
“Nick sometimes drops in, but only when we’re reading something risqué. This week we’re doing a book called Frankenstein by—”
“Mary Shelley, yeah, I know that one. Been a while since I’ve read it, though.”
George was beaming. “Excellent. We try to keep a theme. Get in a festive mood. I know there’s snow on the ground and it’s cold as a witch’s tit, but Halloween is right around the corner.”
There’s monsters outside too, I almost added but didn’t.
“Anyway, I’m through with my copy,” George continued and then he spun around, heading toward the shelves. He pulled a very tattered book from the shelf. “You wanna borrow it?”
I didn’t hesitate at all. I’ve already told you, I believe—and if I haven’t, please forgive me; my memory isn’t what it used to be—but over the course of this apocalypse, I had grown to love reading. I was pretty much always looking for new material. Nothing kills time like getting lost in a great story, and we always had time to kill.
“If I do, does this officially make me a member of the book club?” I asked.
“Eh, not quite. You will be once Wendy stumps you with some scholarly question about the book.” He leaned forward and whispered, “She was an English teacher, and if you ask me, they’re all a little…bananas when it comes to deciphering what an author meant with a particular description and whatnot. Me, I think sometimes they made something blue because they couldn’t think of anything else. Not because the character’s supposed to be sad.”
I nodded. “Entirely possible.” But what did I know about writing and literature? Nothing. All I knew was I enjoyed a good book.
“Here ya go.” George passed me Frankenstein, and I took it. He clamped a meaty hand on my shoulder. It made me feel like a kid.
“Well, you ready to get to work?” he asked.
“I am.”
“All right, let me show you the ropes.”
That was just what he did. He took me on a tour of the west end towers. Two of them stood right above the City’s main entrance. The tunnel system didn’t extend out this far, so getting from point A to point B meant being exposed to the elements. That was just one of the many downsides of the job.
I don’t think I’m putting it lightly when I say that guard duty sucked. I mean, really sucked. Don’t get me wrong, it was an easy job, but it was mind-numbingly dull, and every few hours I had to head out of my little box of a room atop the tower and make sure the cameras were working, because the cold sometimes froze them up.
Since George was head of security, it meant he was too busy to deal with training a small fry like me. That was where Lee, George’s assistant manager, came in. Lee was my “supervisor” and “trainer,” but he didn’t supervise or train much during my first two weeks on the job.
Still, I liked Lee ever since he showed us around our barracks. He spoke funny, was vulgar, and loved to smoke Camels, but the best thing of all was how he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.
The room on top of the tower wasn’t much bigger than the jail cell I’d spent a few nights in upon arriving here. If I had to guess, I’d say it was eight by eight, maybe a bit smaller. There were no windows. There was, however, two chairs, a small card table, and a bank of monitors on the far wall. You get to know someone in such tight quarters whether you want to or not.
That first night, Lee offered me a smoke. I declined. Other than the occasional joint in high school, I wasn’t much of a smoker.
“Your loss, brother,” he said. “Pretty soon all the tobacco’s gonna be gone. ‘Cept maybe if they can get that garden they been talkin’ ‘bout in the far side of the gym. You sure you don’t want one?”
I raised a hand. “Nah. More for you that way.”
Lee smiled and showed a set of yellowed teeth. “Damn skippy.” He leaned back, took a drag on
his cigarette, and closed his eyes. “But I haven’t forgot my manners.”
“I see that.” When Lee didn’t make a stab at conversation over the next minute or two, I cleared my throat and said, “Is it nap time?”
“Yup, had me a rough day.”
He didn’t see me, but I shrugged and let him sleep. This job wasn’t the kind where you needed direction. You watched the monitors. You waited. If one of the screens went black, you fixed it. If you saw something, you radioed it in to the other watchers, but if you saw something really bad, you rang the head honchos and hoped reinforcements would come.
Lee snorted himself awake an hour or so later. His eyes widened as he looked around our sardine can, unsure of where he was for a moment. I arched an eyebrow at him.
“Damn it,” he whispered.
“What’s up?”
“I was dreamin’ about boinkin’ this beautiful blonde.” He cupped his hands and held them in front of his chest. “Biggest dang knockers I ever saw.”
As ridiculous and inappropriate as this was, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“That ever happen to you?” he asked.
“Not in a long time.” My dreams weren’t as pleasant as that. My dreams were nightmares. Wanting to change the subject, I said, “What’s up with John Berretti? You like him?”
Lee cocked an eyebrow at me like I was crazy. “Like him? That’s like askin’ if I like gettin’ my nuts flicked. Hell naw, I don’t like that son of a bitch. And I’ve only ever talked to him a few times. But that’s all it took to figure that out. He’s always kinda…you know, kept to himself. Hides away in his little laboratory, workin’ on a ‘cure’ or some crap like that.” Lee lowered his voice. “You ask me, he don’t know nothin’. He probably worked that out at the onset, but he keeps hammerin’ away so people don’t get on his case about havin’ monkey turds for brains. Or for fuckin’ everything up.”
I nodded. “The incident?”
“So you’ve heard.” Lee seemed surprised. “Doubted Rider or any of the big wigs woulda let newbies in on that piece of dark history.”
“Rider’s a good guy.”
“If he was such a good guy, he’d kick Berretti outta here.” Lee reached for another cigarette—struck a match, inhaled, exhaled, and a jet of smoke blew out of his nostrils. “Because of that whole shitshow, I had to move rooms. I went from livin’ like a king to livin’ like a peasant. Berretti must have some major dirt on Rider, that’s my guess.” He grinned. “Pictures of him dressed like a lady or something. Maybe Rider’s dumb too, I dunno.”
I doubted that. I also doubted Berretti had any dirt on Nick. What I really thought was that Nick’s principles were what kept him from throwing Berretti out into the cold. Could I blame him for that? No. If it was me in his shoes, I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. Berretti might’ve not wanted to save me, he might’ve thrown me in a jail cell and had me beaten by his sorry excuse for henchmen, but I wouldn’t leave him to the monsters. I wasn’t that twisted. I also thought Nick kept him around because he thought Berretti might stumble upon a solution. Hope makes us do crazy, sometimes irrational things, I guess.
“That how you got that shiner, huh?” Lee asked, pointing to my face. “I remember seeing it when I gave y’all the tour. Everyone was talkin’ about it.”
I'd had a slight black eye, courtesy of Gas Mask or Visor’s fist, but it had faded, along with most of the frostbite.
“It wasn’t from Berretti—not directly, at least.”
“No, it was Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”
“Bingo.”
“Larry and Ray Smithersman. Couple of imbecile brothers who follow Berretti around like puppies. He says jump, they say how high. Unlucky that Berretti was in charge when y’all got here.”
“I haven’t seen them again since being here.”
“No, and you probably won’t. They’re rats. They only crawl out of their holes when they can grab some crumbs without anyone seeing. Rider, mostly.” He chuckled. “They’re scared of him. Berretti ain’t, but they are.”
I hadn’t realized it, but I was grinding my teeth.
“Judging by how you look right now, compadre,” Lee continued, “they should be scared of you too.”
I stopped, took a deep breath, and said nothing. But I was thinking, Yeah, they should be.
I got off about an hour before breakfast started in the cafeteria. I was more hungry than tired, so I figured a quick snack before I hit the hay would do me good. When I walked into the kitchenette, I was startled by a misshapen figure sitting at the table, backlit by a small, flickering television. On the screen was some old black-and-white sitcom I recognized but didn’t know the name of.
For a brief second, I pictured the Thumbprint People—their twisted, gray bodies, their ripped-open mouths—and I froze.
The figure turned. It wasn’t a monster. It was just Mia, with Monica in the sling.
“Ay yo,” she said. “How was work?”
Relaxing, I said, “Not bad. Boring, but not bad. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Oh, I could definitely sleep.” She nodded toward Monica. “This one couldn’t, though. I figured some background noise might do the trick, but I didn’t wanna wake Stone or Ell up.”
“Believe me, when they’re out, they’re out.”
“Figured as much when Monny was wailing, but you can never be too sure.”
The baby was asleep now; it seemed that was all she did. I studied her for a few moments with a smile on my face. Her skin was almost as pink as her blanket. The dark hair, a full head of it already, stuck out from beneath her cap. The fact that she was here, alive and healthy, amazed me.
She was born in the cramped cab of a snowmobile. The temperature had been so cold, your bones basically turned to glass as soon as the wind hit you. Not to mention one of the monsters had been just a few feet away from us only minutes before. If there was ever someone who had defied all odds to get here, it was Monica.
A day after Stone and Ell made it to the City, Ell put together a little newborn care package to give Mia. It wasn’t much, since there wasn’t exactly a gift shop in the hospital, but I thought it was a kind gesture nonetheless. Stone and I wouldn’t have thought to do it. Blame our gender, I guess. The care package consisted of diapers, a teddy bear, fake flowers, and a card we all signed. Most of these items were procured by Nina Hart, the wonderful nurse who’d been helping take care of Mia while she was laid up.
I signed the card “To Mia and Monica, two of the strongest people I know. If there was ever someone who’ll never let anything or anyone stand in their way, it’s you, Monica. Some call it stubbornness, or being hardheaded, blah-blah-blah, but those of us who are smart know it’s pure perseverance and tenacity. Love, your Uncle Grady.”
I was on the verge of getting sappy when writing this little note. I had to stop myself before I started crying. Monica’s birth flooded me with an amalgam of emotions. Sadness, worry, surprise, joy, happiness, and many more.
I was sad because Monica would never know the world as it once was. She’d most likely never get to live a normal life in the way we knew as normal. There would be no first day of kindergarten, no playing outdoors on that first warm afternoon of spring, or catching lightning bugs on a hot summer’s night. She would never see the beach or go swimming at a local pool. She would never learn how to ride a bike. She would never have a prom or a high school graduation or go to college. The future was so uncertain. Hell, we didn’t know if there even would be a future. Still, I was full of joy and happiness because Monica did have a chance. She made it. Against all odds, she made it. And sometimes all you needed was a chance.
Inevitably, this line of thought brought me back to Jonas, how he’d been robbed of his life. He, too, was a parent. He had twin girls; Stone and I were there at the hospital when they were born. Not in the delivery room, but right outside in the waiting area with no plans of leaving until we knew they were okay. Both of us were giddy, nervous wrecks the whole
time, let me tell you.
With how close Jonas was to us, you know, being the Three Musketeers and all, his daughters also felt like my own, and now they were most likely gone too.
The snow knew nothing of mercy.
I worked four, sometimes five days a week. On the days I didn’t work, Ell was working in the hospital, which sucked, but we still got to sleep a few hours together. The time we spent awake consisted of us complaining to each other about our jobs. Ell’s, like mine, was pretty boring.
“No action besides a few people with headaches coming in for some ibuprofen,” she said as we lay in bed.
She was cuddled up next to me with one hand resting on my chest. I ran my fingers over the bare flesh of her arm, feeling the ridges of her goosebumps. It was probably sixty degrees inside the barracks, but we had a space heater going right next to our bed. Its buzzing always helped put me to sleep.
“I crack open the bottle, shake out a couple of pills into the little paper cups, and hand it over with a glass of water.”
“I’m sorry.”
She laughed. “Don’t be sorry. It’s great…but I just don’t think I’m cut out for that job. I’m afraid of messing up when things actually get bad.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“What? I’m serious.” Her eyes bore into me, beautiful eyes that could cut you with their intensity. “When Mia was in labor and bleeding all over the theater floor, I froze up. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Anyone would’ve, given our unique circumstances. And she wasn’t really bleeding. It was the wraiths messing with our heads.”
She harped on that for a while but never replied. Pretty soon, her breathing grew deep and steady. She was asleep.
I turned to my left and blew out the small candle on our nightstand, and then I prayed to whomever was listening for things not to get bad ever again.
If there was someone listening, they were ignoring me.
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Whiteout (Book 5): The Feeding Page 3