“I hate happy stories.” She smiles back.
I roll my eyes and glare at her, but she pays me no attention, merely continues to crunch through his stale cereal. I’m surprised it actually still crunches, now that I’m thinking about it.
“My wife and I were headed up here. This was our vacation home of sorts, a long time ago, anyway. When everything went to hell, this was supposed to be our hideout. It’s way off the road, hidden up in the trees. There’s a spring just behind the RV, and we have our own little allotment to grow food. It was the perfect plan, but the damn woman can’t navigate for shit.” He rolls his eyes. “We got attacked down by the road before the turnoff. Some crazy guys looking for trouble and wanting to take whatever they wanted. We took off into the woods with them chasing after us, managed to lose them and all, but at some point me and the wife got separated too. I headed up here thinking she’d be doing the same thing, but—she never showed up.” Steve shakes his head sadly and takes another long swig from his bottle. “I must have told her a thousand times how to work out north from west, but she never listened to me. Damn woman!”
Sounds like my life story, I can’t help but think.
“How long ago was that?” Britta asks.
He shrugs. “Couple of months ago now. I searched for her every day for weeks; and I’m a fucking atheist, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t pray to every type of god available for them to bring her back home to me.” He wipes at his eyes. “Never worked though. My baby’s gone, and I don’t see much reason for living without her.”
“What was her name?” I ask, though I’m not really sure why.
He takes a deep breath before answering. “Jane. My baby’s names was Jane.”
“She could still be alive somewhere.” I shrug.
He looks at me, a darkness settled in his eyes. “I think we all know that she’s more than likely one of the undead now, sweetheart.”
None of us speaks for a while. We let his sad words settle all around us; the only noise to be heard is Crunch’s incessant—well, crunching!
Steve seems like a nice enough guy. He lets us crash, even says we can use his bed to sleep on. Emily and Britta aren’t sleepy, though, since they slept pretty much all the way here. I’m okay for sleep for now too, but JD, Crunch, and Mikey all look beat, since they did most of the driving. JD doesn’t want to leave his safety up to me though—probably thinking of earlier today when he left me to fend for myself. Asshole, he’s probably right; I would quite happily let him be eaten alive. I roll my eyes at my own angry thoughts, knowing that I wouldn’t. Damn my moral compass again. I really need to smash up the stupid thing.
Crunch and JD are eventually convinced to sleep in the bed, and Mikey takes the couch. He says he can sleep through anything, but I’m almost certain he just doesn’t trust me not to get into trouble again without him nearby. He looks un-comfy sleeping upright, his arms folded across his chest. Every now and then his own snores shake him awake and his eyes flit open, scan the room until they land on me, and close again. Every time his does it, Emily laughs. The night is long, but thankfully uneventful. No groans, no moans, just nature: the wind in the trees, the calls of some birds, and the snores from our sleeping group members. Steve eventually nods off again too, his face on the table in front of him, creating a little pool of dribble underneath.
I can’t help but wonder where the heck he got his alcohol from. In the years since the deaders rose up, I’ve hardly seen a drop of the stuff—hence why I’m dragging the bottle of vodka around with me everywhere—yet Steve seems to have an endless supply. I’m nervous, but excited for the morning. Another new place, another new nightmare, yet this place feels different somehow.
Not just that, but we’re within spitting distance of the cabin. A thought has been nagging me for a while, something which I’ve thought about since I first suggested to Emily that we head to the cabin.
What if Ben’s parents are still alive?
Thirty-Five.
Mikey jumps awake for what seems the hundredth time, his deep brown eyes peering around the camper until they land on me. He gives me a little smile, and then leans his head back and closes his eyes again. Jesus, when did this happen—the protectiveness? Anyone would think that I’m a helpless woman, for goodness’ sakes, not someone who survived the apocalypse by herself. Well, maybe not completely by herself, but I only had myself to depend on; I sure as hell couldn’t rely on the other survivors.
I stand and stretch, working the creaks out of my bones. Morning broke a few hours ago, but everyone is still sleeping—everyone but me. I wonder why that is, why I’m the only one who can’t seem to sleep anymore. Whatever, the reason is irrelevant; I’m hungry and awake and sick of listening to everyone else snore. I creep to the door and sneak out. Once outside I take a moment to sniff the air, much like the deaders yesterday, only I’m not sniffing out prey, I’m sniffing out the dead.
The air smells clean and fresh—beautiful almost, the scent of pine and damp soil clinging to it with a sweet desperation. I can smell something else too, but can’t put my finger on it. I only know that it isn’t death. I swallow hard; It’s been a couple of days of non-stop death on our tail, and this blessed reprieve doesn’t go unnoticed.
I stray from the RV and find a secluded corner to do my business, but when I get back to camp, Steve is standing in the doorway looking bleary-eyed and tired.
In the daylight I can see that he isn’t as old as I first thought. He’s only thirty-something, and though he’s looking older than his years, his face still holds a baby-like charm to it. He smiles as I approach, and I return the gesture.
“Morning.” He nods his hello. “You want coffee?”
I look toward his little fire pit with a pot swinging over the top.
“Are you serious? Coffee? Real coffee?” I jog over to the fire and peer down at the bubbling inky liquid in the pan. “Holy crap!” I realize that my voice has gone up an octave or two. I can’t remember the last time I had real coffee. JD had some crappy sachets of the stuff back at the tree houses, but this is the real deal.
I plunk myself down by the fire and let the vapors wash over me. My gut churns in expectancy, and I lick my lips.
Steve smiles and stirs the pot. Satisfied, he pours a cup and hands it to me. For a few moments I merely hold it under my nose—not drinking, not even sniffing it, just letting the scent slowly into my lungs.
“I don’t have any milk, but I do still have a little sugar.”
He holds out a little brown wooden box to me and I pop the lid and see it a quarter full of sugar that has seen better days. I don’t even care, though, as I grab a pinch between my thumb and forefinger and sprinkle it in my coffee. I grab a spoon that’s handed to me and stir, and only then do I sniff for all my life is worth.
This has got to be the single greatest day of my life.
The door to the RV opens as I’m about to take my first swallow, and JD steps out, his eyes bulging as he strides toward us.
“Is that coffee?” he barks out, his stride never faltering.
I nod frantically, wondering how the hell he smelled it from inside the camper, and take a tentative sip, all the while with JD watching me. I let the hot liquid settle on my tongue before I swallow, basking in the glory of the bitter and the sweetness of it. My senses come alive and I all but groan out loud with the pleasure of it.
“Is it good?” JD licks his lips, still staring at me.
I nod and grin.
“Can I—” JD begins, before Steve shoves a steaming cup under his nose with a chuckle. JD takes the cup and lifts it to his face, breathing it in before turning around and trapping Steve in a great big man sandwich. “Thank you, brother. I owe you big time.”
I would choke on my coffee laughing if it weren’t for the fact that at that moment I was in pure, unadulterated, spine-tingling pleasure. I look up as Mikey comes out of the camper, closely followed by the Crunch, Britta, and Emily-Rose.
Mikey�
��s eyes go wide as he gets closer and smells the coffee.
“Is that—” he begins, before Steve hands him a cup.
Life offers such little pleasure these days, and coffee is a long-forgotten luxury of the past. How often did we used to take things like this for granted? How many times did you say to yourself, ‘I can’t even think straight in the morning before I’ve had my third cup of coffee?’ Christ, if only we knew back then to cherish every little thing.
When I think back now to all the food wasted, drinks not drunk, items bought and shoved into the back of my closet and never worn—well, it makes you realize what a wasteful life we truly led. I appreciate everything these days: food, drinks, clothes. I look down at my well-worn Doc Marten boots and smile. There is no summer wardrobe and winter wardrobe, there is only a ‘whatever you can get your hands on’ wardrobe. I appreciate my life and everything in it now—even these people. Apocalypses will do that to a girl.
We sit around jovially chatting for the first time in a long time, feeling somewhat safe, relaxed, and sated from the coffee. It’s like a blast from the past was all that we needed to give us the energy to carry on. Britta seems to be getting better; she can hold her weapon now, and the gash on her arm is healing nicely—no leaks or infections, and hardly any pain. Everyone seems to be better for the rest.
Steve stands and stretches. “Anyone want some breakfast?”
The camp, so full of chatter and laughing, falls silent as we look at this god among men. What magic card will he pull out this time? Alcohol, coffee…what next—a pack of bacon, a newspaper, and some slippers?
“Um, yeah,” I speak hesitantly. “Need any help?” I stand before he replies and follow him as he heads to the RV. My heart sinks when I think he may go inside and get out the box of stale cereal that Crunch had been munching on the previous night. Instead, he goes around the back of the camper, and I follow like a little lost puppy.
The image behind the camper makes my jaw drop and my stomach growl so loudly that Mikey comes running from the fire to see what’s wrong. He slams into my back as he sees what I see.
Fruits and vegetables: strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, tomatoes, peppers, carrots. You name it, it’s growing—well, that’s what it seems like anyway. A wooden fence with a net sits over the top of it all, protecting it from animals. My mouth is dry and I can’t seem to form any words at the moment. Lucky for me, Mikey steps in.
“What—is this—where—” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck and swallows.
My eyes have gone dry from my lack of blinking.
“The wife and I used to grow all sorts up here. We used to keep animals too. Nothing too spectacular, couple of chickens and a pig, mostly. Had to put the pig out of her misery a few months back; zombie got her. Poor girl, she never stood a chance. Came out one morning to find it chewing on her hind legs. Guess everyone loves bacon.” He gives a little chuckle and shakes his head sadly. “Still got a couple of chickens though.”
He strolls off to the back of the RV and pulls open a little hatch along the bottom. A gangly looking chicken hops out, blinks rapidly, clucks at us, and wanders off.
“Shouldn’t you catch her?” Mikey asks, licking his lips.
“Naaa, Livvie there’s a quick one and she always comes back. She knows a good thing when she has it.” Steve chuckles again and reaches into the little compartment. He struggles for a moment and I’m almost tempted to go help him until he comes back out with another chicken in his hands. “Now, Martha here, she’s the shy one. Hates being out here, almost like she knows something ain’t quite right.” He drops her and shoos her away.
Little Martha gives Steve a dirty look with her little beady eyes—or what I would class as a dirty look, anyway—and pecks at the ground. She looks set to run back inside her hidey-hole at any moment, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Go on, girl, get!” Steve shoos her further away before he reaches back in and pulls out a drowsy-looking chicken, the sort of chicken that I would think was terminally ill if I saw it at a farm. The sort of chicken that looks like it needs to be put out of its misery, sooner rather than later.
“Is that one okay?” I ask with a grimace.
Steve laughs. “Yeah, this here is Tami. She’s as dumb as a bunch of rocks. Ate some of me and the wife’s special plants a couple of years back and never quite recovered.” He cuddles Tami to his chest, stroking her like a kitten. She clucks softly and nuzzles into him.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Tami?” He kisses the top of her feathery head gently. “Yes you are.”
I glance at Mikey, whose expression I can only imagine mirrors mine. It’s sort of a What the fuck? kind of look.
“Can we eat them?” Mikey asks.
“Hell no, you can’t eat my girls!” Steve snaps, and pulls little Tami closer to him. “Can I eat your little girlfriend there?”
Mikey and I exchange glances, and I try my best to hide my smirk. I dig him in his side.
“Dude, you should say sorry,” I smirk. “You can’t go around threatening to eat a man’s chickens and expect to get breakfast afterwards. At least not without apologizing first; that’s just plain rude.” I raise an eyebrow and suppress a chuckle. I look across at Steve, who nods in agreement. Shit, I think even poor old dopey Tami agrees with me.
“Uh, sorry, man.” Mikey looks confused.
Steve huffs and starts to show us his vegetable patch. It’s not big, certainly not as big as I first thought. I guess my eyes saw it as a Garden of Eden type; instead it’s more of a patch overflowing with food.
“You can have what you want. I hardly eat a thing these days, but it was the wife’s garden and I feel responsible for keeping it going, you know?”
I nod and smile at all the right times, but really my thoughts are on eating. Eating a lot. I want to indulge, splurge, and gorge myself on everything I can see. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling. Damn ration packs and dry cereal bars are finally taking their toll.
Steve sets Tami down and reaches back inside the chickens’ little home. “What do you know, the girls have laid us a couple of eggs. Must have known I had company. How about I cook us up some scrambled eggs, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes?”
I want to cry. Not figuratively, but literally.
Steve strokes his chin, looking thoughtfully at his fruits. “Bet I could throw together a nice fruit salad or something with the rest of this stuff too.” He grabs a little basket and hands it to me. “You two pick the fruit and I’ll go grab some mushrooms.”
He wanders off before either of us can say anything. As he strides away I don’t see a man, I see a magical being, a king among kings, a sorcerer—okay, well, I’m pretty damn impressed anyway. Coffee and eggs?
If I’m dreaming, you better be damn sure not to wake me up.
If I thought that things were jovial before, it’s bordering on hysterics for the rest of the day. It’s funny how things can change so suddenly. One minute you think you’re going to die, and the next you’re playing charades around a campfire while eating a fruit salad and drinking home-brewed wine. I would have loved to have met Steve’s wife. He talks about her a lot as we all get to know one another. They had met just out of high school and had been together ever since. I felt sad that they weren’t together anymore, and I hoped that whatever had happened to her had been quick.
The day passes in a blur, and as the sun begins to set, most of us make our way back inside the camper. I stay behind to help tidy up and put the chickens to bed. I seem strangely attached to Livvie, Martha, and Tami now. They fed me and gave me some much-needed protein, and as I pick up Tami and she nestles in to the crook of my arm, I feel a weird rush of affection for them all.
“It’s hard not to care about something so innocent isn’t it?” Steve speaks without looking at me.
“Yeah, especially this little gangly one,” I chuckle as I tickle her under the neck, much like you would a puppy.
This has got to be the we
irdest thing I have encountered in a long time, I muse.
Steve stumbles and falls onto his ass, and I laugh lightheartedly at him. He grumbles but smiles back.
“You should quit drinking, you know?” I put Tami into her little home, and she toddles over to a little bed of leaves and dried grass. “That stuff will kill you,” I say, only half joking.
“I know.” Steve wipes at his eyes. “Just doesn’t seem much point in surviving without her. She was my everything.”
“She would want you to live, she would want you to at least try and find some kind of happiness in this world. It’s what you would want for her if the situation was reversed.” I pat his arm to offer the big brute some kind of comfort.
I think of Ben and how I had felt when—well, I think of Ben. Sadness creeps in the edges, but I refuse to let my bad memories spoil what is the first truly happy day I’ve had in years.
“I know. I can see that now. It’s been hard being on my own all this time, but you’re right, she would want me to survive this.” He smiles and finishes covering the vegetable patch, and then closes the hatch on the chickens.
“Night girls,” he whispers in to them.
I smirk. “Night, ladies.”
As we go back inside the camper, I feel a strange kind of melancholy settle over me. I feel like I’m finally letting go of all the pain, guilt, and loss that I’ve been carrying around with me for years now. It all seems to be drifting away. And while I’m glad about that, I’m also sad. I didn’t know when or if I would ever be ready to say goodbye to Ben, to the things that happened to me behind the walls, but I think this is it. I’m ready to forgive all of the others—maybe even Lee. I shake my head. No, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him and his fucking goons, but I can forgive the other people. They were scared and trying to protect their families; I get that now.
Life is about moving forward, and whether I want it to or not, that’s exactly what is happening right now. And maybe it’s time for that—to let go.
Odium (The Dead Saga.) Page 26