And now you’ll be stuck here forever.
Tears blurred my vision. I threw down the shovel. It bounced once before settling in a patch of overgrown grass. Turning blindly away from Travis’ unmarked grave I headed back towards the abandoned hotel. I knew it wasn’t safe. Not anymore. But I had nowhere else to go, and if I wanted to find my dad it was the only place I had to start.
The Renner Hotel had been built in the seventies by some stupid rich New Yorker. Within ten years it went bankrupt and had been sitting vacant ever since, slowly deteriorating from the inside out. As far as hideouts went it was pretty badass. We should have been safe here, and we would have been.
If not for Maximus.
I still couldn’t believe he had killed Travis. I mean, I had seen it with my own eyes. Maybe not the moment he’d plunged his knife into Travis’ chest, but I had stumbled across them right after it happened. I had seen the blood. So much blood. And the gleam of Maximus’ silver fangs when he lifted his head and stared straight at me.
This isn’t what it looks like, he’d said.
Who did he think I was, an idiot? It was exactly what it looked like and I hadn’t hesitated before raising the gun – the gun he had taught me how to shoot – and plugging a bullet straight into his heart.
Given the chance, I would do it again. If it could somehow bring Travis back I would shoot him a hundred times. A thousand times. Or at least that’s the lie I kept telling myself. Because the truth is…the truth is Travis isn’t the only boy I have been mourning.
I know. It’s so typical it’s almost nauseating. Girl falls in love with the mysterious bad boy. Mysterious bad boy actually turns out to be a bad boy. Girl is heartbroken. We’ve all seen it before. And we’ve all rolled our eyes when the girl cries over the bad boy because we all knew from the very beginning exactly how it was going to end.
When you read it on paper or see it play out on the big screen it’s so damn obvious that you want to take the girl by the shoulders and give her a hard shake. But when you experience it in real life – when you’re forced to stare down the barrel of a gun and make the decision to kill the boy you’re falling in love with – it doesn’t seem so obvious. When you have a split second to decide between your head and your heart there’s nothing black and white about it.
And you pray you made the right decision.
The lobby of the Renner Hotel was eerily silent. Once it had been filled with crystal chandeliers and beautiful paintings and lush carpets. Now, like the rest of Revere, it was a pitiful shell of what it had once been.
I traced my fingers across the claw marks on the main desk. It was the only piece of furniture still standing. Everything else – chairs, tables, even a potted plant that had long ago withered and browned with age – had been overturned. Floorboards creaked under my feet as I traced the claw marks to the end of the desk and turned left towards the stairs. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans I took them two at a time and was out of breath by the time I reached the fourth floor. Dragging Travis’ body out of the basement and digging his grave had taken its toll. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. But I wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.
With an apprehensive glance behind me – looking over my shoulder had become as second nature as breathing – I started down the dimly lit hallway. Maximus told me we would be safe all the way up on the top floor. He told me the drinkers were afraid of heights. He told me so much…and so very, very little.
“You bastard.” I marched to the room Travis and I had shared and shoved the door open with unnecessary force. It banged against the wall, filling me with a momentary surge of satisfaction.
When a boy was killed in a car accident during my sophomore year of high school everyone had to attend mandatory grief counseling. We sat around in groups of ten and twelve and listened to a rented shrink with a bad perm tell us that we would all process our grief in a similar way whether we realized it or not.
“There are five stages that everyone goes through,” she had said, looking so serious with her thick black glasses and over plucked eyebrows. “Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.”
It was easy to see which stage I was processing.
“You piece of shit bastard!” I picked up a chair and threw it across the room. Two legs splintered off when it struck the wall. With a dusty red haze clouding my vision I turned to the bed Travis and I had shared.
“We should probably get some sleep. I think the bag with the blankets you grabbed is in here. Can you get them? We’ll split the bed down the middle.”
Travis rolled off the bed so fast he landed in a heap on the floor. Picking himself up he stuttered, “S-split the bed down the m-middle?”
“Yes, Stuttering Stanley, right down the middle. You got a problem with that?”
“I can’t sleep next to you.”
“Well you can’t sleep out in the hall, so it’s either the bed or the floor. Look on the bright side,” I said when he continued to stand and stare at me as though I’d sprouted another head, “if drinkers weren’t running around killing everyone you never would have gotten me into bed with you.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. Oh don’t be such a wimp,” I said when he groaned. “We’re not going to do anything. Talk about weird.”
“And gross,” he added.
“Totally gross. Just hand me a blanket and take the right side.”
There was still a slight indent on his pillow where he’d rested his head. Leaning across the mattress I yanked the pillow up and pressed it against my chest. It was cold to the touch, but it still smelled like him.
Sorrow washed away my anger as I walked across the room and stared out the window through the dingy glass. From this high up I had a clear view of the makeshift practice field behind the elementary school where Maximus had taught Dad, Travis and I to defend ourselves.
The irony of it didn’t escape me.
Maximus had taught me how to use a gun and I had turned around and killed him with it. I had stared him down and pulled the trigger without hesitation or remorse. Only in the cold, unforgiving light of dawn had I felt regret.
Time to move on, I told myself sternly. I had done what needed to be done. It wasn’t as if I was spilling any tears over Angelique and I had taken her life just like I had taken Maximus’. Which, all things considered, kind of made me a total badass. The drinkers wanted to screw with me? I’d screw them right back. In the bullet-through-the-head sense. Not in the…you get the idea.
Turning my back on the window I grabbed my duffel bag from under the bed and threw it on top of the mattress. Tearing open the zipper I studied the contents inside, mouth twisting into a scowl when I saw I only had two pairs of shorts, a bottle of water, and a black t-shirt with a pink flamingo on it. The flamingo grinned up at me, completely oblivious to all of the death and betrayal and destruction going on around it.
“It’s just you and me, buddy.” I tried to keep my voice light, but my damn throat wouldn’t stop convulsing. Just when I thought I had my emotions under control I was hit with the urge to cry or kick something or throw myself down on the ground and scream until my lungs burned.
It wasn’t just the loss of Travis that was getting to me. It was the knowledge that for the first time since all of this began I was completely and utterly alone.
Travis was dead. Maximus was dead. Dad was missing. Everyone else I knew had been torn to shreds. For better or for worse it was just me, myself, and I.
Welcome to the Lola Show, folks.
It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
CHAPTER THREE
Double-Stuffed Oreos
I WENT TO SLEEP BEFORE sunset and woke before sunrise. By the time I showered - the drinkers still hadn’t cut the water lines - and dressed the sky was a dreamy mix of soft yellows and pastel oranges. Another day without rain. Another day without being devoured in my sleep by a bloodthirsty monster.
&nbs
p; Yay.
Without the luxury of a hair dryer I worked my hair into a damp braid and flipped it behind my shoulders. It soaked through the back of the flamingo t-shirt as I hurried between Dad’s room and mine, gathering up everything I could find and stuffing it into my duffel bag. Whether I wanted to or not, it was time to move on. Maximus may have been dead, but there was no way to know if he had told any other drinkers about our whereabouts before he caught a bullet in the heart.
Before I left I did one more sweep of the hotel, searching in vain for something Dad might have left behind that would give me a clue as to his current whereabouts. Sometime between kicking Angelique’s ass at the high school and coming back to find Travis dead in the basement he had vanished without a trace. I didn’t know if he’d decided to go somewhere else, or been kidnapped, or worse. Part of my brain had already accepted ‘or worse’ (despite some of my poorer decisions, I wasn’t a complete idiot) but I wasn’t ready to give up on him. Not yet. Not until I knew for certain.
The lack of blood gave me some glimmer of hope. The drinkers weren’t exactly known for being discreet and if one of them had gotten to Dad inside the hotel there should have been some sign of it.
I know what you’re thinking. But Lola, what about the blood you found in the bathroom? As much as it sickened me to think about it, I was fairly certain that had been Travis’ blood smeared across the walls and his bloody handprint on the toilet seat. If the drinkers had taught me anything, it was how much a person can bleed.
Slipping the duffel bag strap over my right shoulder I waited until the sun was fully exposed above the tree line before squeezing out through the revolving doors. Gravel crunched under my sneakers as I marched across the overgrown driveway and into the cornfield that separated the hotel from the rest of town.
The glossy green stalks towered all the way over my head, making me feel as though I was walking through a jungle. For a second I almost wished I was. Facing down a tiger had to be easier than coming face to face with a drinker. At least they killed for food instead of pure malice.
Or boredom.
Ripping an ear of corn free I shucked it while I walked. It was raw and sour and hard to chew, but my growling stomach didn’t care. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten anything. Yesterday afternoon? Yesterday morning? Food kind of became irrelevant when you were fighting for your life.
A dull sheen of perspiration coated my forehead by the time I reached the end of the cornfield. Folding up the hem of my t-shirt I scrubbed my face dry and made a mental note to add sunblock to my ever-increasing list of supplies.
At least getting what I needed wouldn’t be hard. The drinkers had swept through Revere so quickly and so thoroughly no one had had time to leave their houses let alone hit up the local grocery store.
Hitching the duffel strap a little higher on my shoulder I cut directly through the middle of town. Just like the hotel, it was eerily quiet. There weren’t any cars zipping by or kids on skateboards or the weird old lady who walked her ferret on a leash. Instead the roads and the sidewalks were covered with overturned trash cans, wrecked cars, and bloodstains.
I had no doubt that if stodgy old Mayor Clemmons could see what a mess his perfect little town had become he would roll over in his grave. If he was in a grave. Come to think of it, I had no idea what the drinkers had done with the bodies of their victims. One day they were here and the next… Poof. Gone. Vanished overnight like the world’s goriest magic trick.
Had the drinkers burned them? Buried them? Eaten them? My nose wrinkled at the thought and I shoved it forcefully out of my head. The last thing I needed was more nightmare fuel. I already had enough to last me ten lifetimes. You think your nightmares are bad? Try seeing your best friend covered in blood or hear a mother begging for her child’s life. That shit doesn’t leave you. It haunts you from the moment you close your eyes to the moment you wake up, your skin slick with sweat and your heart pounding so loudly you’re convinced – just for a second – that your chest has been ripped open.
Knowing what the drinkers are capable of, I really wouldn’t put it past them.
I went to the grocery store first. Leaving my bag by the door I grabbed a shopping cart and got up enough speed to jump up on the bottom rung and coast through the aisles. Not the most efficient way to shop, but it was definitely fun. And I needed a little fun in my life now more than ever.
The electricity had been out for almost two weeks and all the food in the freezer section smelled like rotten eggs, but there was still plenty to choose from in the rest of the store. In typical teenage fashion I started with the cookies. Ping-ponging off a display of paper towels I made a wide turn down Aisle 6. If the world really was coming to an end I was going to make the most of it with double-stuffed Oreos.
Chips were next. I couldn’t decide which kind I wanted, so I grabbed all of them. It was kind of liberating, to be honest. For the past year I’d been getting by on fast food and microwave dinners. Not because I wanted to die early of heart failure, but because frozen meatloaf in a box was way cheaper than fresh ground beef wrapped up in tiny white Styrofoam.
Now everyone was dead and money was irrelevant and I could just take whatever I wanted.
Silver linings, am I right?
I was heaving bottled water into my cart by the gallon when I heard it. The creak of the sliding door being pushed open. The quiet shuffle of footsteps. The short exhalation of breath.
And I knew I wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Hayley
YOU WOULD THINK AFTER BEING attacked by one drinker and hunted by another I would be smart enough to carry my gun with me at all times.
Well, you would be wrong.
I cursed silently when my hand went to my hip and came back empty. The gun that should have been there was sitting on top of my duffle bag, which was sitting right outside the sliding glass doors.
Right about now you’re probably rolling your eyes at my stupidity, but let me tell you something. Despite all the movies and the books that say otherwise, you don’t magically turn into an expert-level warrior the moment the world around you goes to shit. You can’t run faster or kick higher or start a fire using two pencils and a magnifying glass. And can we talk about the flawless makeup and perfect hair? Give me a break. When you’re running for your life you don’t exactly have time to slap on eyeliner.
Living through a tragedy doesn’t make you into something you’re not. You just become a more terrified version of the person you were before.
Abandoning my cart I crouched low and made a beeline for the next aisle over. I may not have had a weapon handy, but I knew where to find one.
All of the knives in the baking section were covered in little plastic sheaths. Selecting the biggest one, I ripped the plastic off and adjusted my grip on the handle in a way that hopefully made it look like I knew what I was doing. The truth was that while I had gotten used to handling a gun, I wasn’t a big fan of knives. With a gun you could shoot someone from fifteen feet away. But a knife…a knife made you get up close and personal. You had to be deliberate with a knife. Cold. Cunning. Ruthless. And even though I had shot a boy I cared about right in the heart I wasn’t any of those things.
Not really.
Not where it counted.
Killing Maximus had been a crime of passion, not premeditated murder. If I had given myself time to think – to really think about what I was doing – I don’t know if I would have been able to still pull the trigger. And that thought haunted me almost as much as his death did.
A thick chunk of hair fell into my eyes as I edged my way past the sprinkles and confectionary sugar. With an annoyed shake of my head I tossed it back behind my ear. I really needed to cut my hair. It had grown like a weed over the past few weeks and was becoming more trouble than it was worth. Yet I still hadn’t picked up the scissors. My long hair was the one thing my mom had always loved about me.
When I was little she used to comb it out
every single night before bed. I used to live for those moments when it was just the two of us. Sometimes she would sing. Sometimes she would ask me about my day. Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything at all. As I got older she came into my room less and less until one day she stopped coming all together. By then I was well into my snarky teenage phase so I can’t say I really blamed her, but I never cut my hair more than a few inches. I guess there was a part of me that hoped if I left it long she would find a reason to start paying attention to me again.
But she never did.
From a few aisles over to the left I suddenly heard the sharp pop and hiss of a soda being opened. That made me pause. I had seen the drinkers do some pretty weird shit, but I had never seen one drinking a soda. Did that mean… No. It couldn’t be. No one else was alive. I would have seen them by now. But someone was in the store with me. And unless a drinker had suddenly developed a thirst for sunlight and coke, that someone was human.
“Hey!” I called out. Not the most original greeting, but it got my point across. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my palms sweat and my pulse race. If it really was another human I should have been jumping with joy, but if there was one lesson I had learned it was to always expect the unexpected.
“I know you’re there,” I said when my only response was silence. “I heard you.”
For a second there was nothing but the sound of my own breathing and then the pounding of footsteps echoed through the store.
Sonofabitch.
“Stop!” Clutching the knife in my right hand I pushed off a bag of flour with my left. White powder dusted the air as the flour toppled off the shelf and fell to the floor with a hard thud. Bursting out of the baking aisle I made a sharp turn for the sliding glass doors, nearly wiping out into a bin of marked down cereal as my sneakers skidded on the slick tile. Righting myself, I sprinted for the exit and just managed to catch a glimpse of long blond hair before the person I was chasing slipped through the doors and out of sight.
The Lola Chronicles (Book 2): A Day Without Dawn Page 2