“Come in,” Sadie answered.
Other than Granny Annie, this was the oldest person Sadie had seen since Neil used a shotgun to blow the head off the false prophet, Abraham—when she closed her eyes, she could still see the silver-haired head bouncing down the steps of the sacrificial pyramid, leaving insane Rorschach imprints on each. She could also still feel the pain of the flames eating her feet.
With a quick shake of her head, the image and the pain were gone and in front of her was a kindly looking woman of about sixty-five. Her brown hair was streaked through with grey and the wrinkles in her face were many and deep. “I’m Mrs. Blanda. I’m supposed to help you get ready for the feast.”
“There’s going to be a feast?” Sadie asked, blinking and trying to make sense of Mrs. Blanda. She wasn’t a big woman, however she had on a tent of a poncho that was streaming rainwater onto the thin carpet. Sadie’s sleep deprived mind was just registering this rather mundane fact when Mrs. Blanda took off the poncho.
Underneath it she wore a checkered pantsuit that was years out of date. A part of Sadie, the catty part that made women their own worst enemies at times, wanted to scoff until she realized that her own attire was also out of date, just as was everyone else’s. With the apocalypse, fashion had taken a hiatus.
“I like your outfit,” she lied to Mrs. Blanda. “Is this supposed to be a dressy sort of dinner because I don’t have anything to wear.”
“I had a tutu,” Jillybean said. “Or I used to. Do you guys hear that?” Sadie knew her sister; she might have slept hours longer than Sadie, but she hadn’t slept well. Her eyes were bloodshot and the circles under them were deeper. She had her head cocked and was giving the corner a nervous look.
Sadie patted her hand. “It’s just the rain,” she said quickly. “And you left that tutu back…well, I think it’s back in Idaho or Wyoming. I got you a new set of clothes, but they’re more like traveling clothes. They’re black. I know that’s not your favorite color, but we’ll need to get through the city tonight and black is better than pink.”
“Sure,” Jillybean said, her eyes darting to the corner again. “Can we use the bathroom first?” Sadie was glad for the excuse to be alone with Jillybean and hurried her down the hall.
“Is it bad?” she asked Jillybean.
The girl’s cheeks turned pink and she tried to look away, but Sadie grabbed her pointy little chin and stared her in the eye until she answered: “It’s the bad people down in the dark,” she whispered.
“Do you mean Eve?” Sadie asked, fighting to keep her face neutral.
Jillybean shook her head. “Uh-uh, no. She gets sort of drowned out by the bad people and their bad whispers. They have real bad whispers. Even worserer than Eve ever was.”
“What about Ipes? Can he help you just for a little while until we can get some more pills? It’ll be tonight, I promise.”
“No, he’s too nice. They squish him down, the poor little guy, and Chris isn’t even real. If he was real, he might be able to do something.”
Wasn’t real? None of them were real, but how did Sadie tell her that? She didn’t. There wouldn’t be an easy fix. For a moment, she felt a spasm of anger at Chris for not being real. He had been, in a way, good for her, channeling her crazy into a dream of a boy and away from anger and death. But everyone, including Sadie, had convinced her that he hadn’t been real.
Just then it felt like a mistake. “I need you to hold on, okay? We’ll get through this dinner, hop a ride across the sound and get your pills. You’ll be just like you had been. You just got to pretend the voices aren’t real. Whenever you hear one tell yourself that it can’t talk. All it…”
“They whisper,” Jillybean said in a whisper of her own. “Like snakes. Like a million snakes and sometimes they…”
Sadie grabbed her hands. “It doesn’t matter. Can you ignore them? Can you pretend they just don’t exist? Just for a little while?” Jillybean nodded. “I knew you could. Now let’s get you cleaned up. I got you a new outfit. It’s black. We’ll be twins.”
Jillybean beamed and the voices and the lack of sleep and the stress were forgotten in her eagerness. She washed in the sink, talking about being part of a girl gang that would be the scourge of the Pacific coast. “We’ll show them slavers, right, Sadie?”
“You bet! Maybe we’ll get matching motorcycles and leather jackets with…” The door popping open stopped her words. It was Mrs. Blanda wearing, not just her checkered pantsuit but also a perplexed look.
“We have showers for you,” she said. “A friend of the governor’s lives just up the block. I was supposed to take you there.” The two apocalypse sisters thought nothing of bathing in a sink, but leapt at the chance to use real showers. They threw on their old musty smelling clothes and rushed for the door.
They ran into Spot in the lobby. Like a real dog, he went nuts at the sight of them. He straight up tackled Jillybean and when Sadie went to pull him off, she found her face being slobbered on by a crazy man. She had experienced far worse in her life and that included the affections of some of her boyfriends.
“Get off silly,” she laughed pushing the exuberant man away. “You stink of saltwater. Oh, boy, you’re going to need a bath. Not it!”
Jillybean was nonplussed for a moment, and then, after a glance at Mrs. Blanda, cried: “Not it!”
The shocked look on Mrs. Blanda face had the girls rolling on the floor. Phil ended up washing Spot. He had been watching from out in the rain and they had been loud enough to be heard. Not only did he bathe Spot, he was even kind enough to wrestle him into people clothes. Of course, ten minutes later he was mostly naked again and any hope of making him presentable for the feast was dashed.
Their feast was held at the governor’s house and of the three of them, only Spot had a good time, eating in the kitchen until he was about to burst. Sadie and Jillybean also ate more than they could handle, however both were haunted by the ghosts in Jillybean’s head.
It was a well-attended feast. Thirty of the island’s most influential citizens sat on folding chairs around white-draped tables. That they were collapsible poker tables went unmentioned. On each were plates of potatoes and salmon and haddock in mounds. There was braised duck in a cherry sauce and for dessert the governor served steaming apple pie.
Speeches were given and Jillybean was praised for all her exploits. The governor spoke in glowing terms and any wrong that Jillybean had done went unspoken or excused. When Sadie was mentioned it was usually in a vague manner. She was called “brave” but without evidence given. Sadie didn’t really care. For her it only mattered that Jillybean was being, not just accepted, but gratefully welcomed.
Jillybean barely listened to the governor. Once she had wolfed down everything on her plate, she spent much of the remaining time with a frightened smile on her face. For the two hours the feast went on, the voices in her head hissed like the snakes she had described. Sadie could read it in her eyes. Sometimes Jillybean would hush them, and sometimes she would look alarmed, and sometimes she would turn suddenly and ask Sadie: “Did you hear that?”
Eventually, even the governor began to worry about Jillybean. “Is she okay?” she whispered.
“She’s just stressed over all the attention,” was the answer, Sadie gave. It was obvious that Governor Rowe wanted to extend the celebration but she was smart enough to feel the situation as it began to unravel, even if she didn’t know the cause.
She gave a quick signal to Mrs Blanda who slid over. “Your kayaks are ready. Make sure to thank the governor, dears, and stand up straight when you do. And make sure to be careful out there among the zombies. I would hate to see something happen to you two.”
Sadie stood up. She was brave in the face of death, however public speaking was a nightmare for her. Holding Jillybean’s hand in a tight, sweaty grip, she waited until Governor Rowe acknowledged her. “I, uh just want to thank the governor for welcoming us, and for her hospitality, and for this fine meal. Everythin
g was very good and all you were very nice but I, uh am sorry to say, we have to get going. We have to get back to Colorado. Our father is probably very worried for us. And so, uh, thanks again.”
Jillybean had been nudged back behind Sadie; now she stepped forward a few inches. She couldn’t look at the guests spread out all over the great room without a tremor running through her and up into Sadie’s hand. She swallowed hard and said: “Yes, thank you Miss Amy, Governor Rowe, ma’am. The island is very nice and pretty, and I liked the sal-mond. I don’t normally like fish all that much, but it was good.”
This short speech was, to Jillybean’s surprise, applauded. She actually jumped at the sound. “Just smile and wave,” Governor Rowe said, coming down to give the little girl a hug. It was the perfect photo-op moment and yet, no one had cameras. Still, Rowe knew what she was doing. The crowd let out a collective: “Awww,” which, Sadie guessed was exactly what Rowe was looking for. She knew people and she knew how to play them.
When Rowe stood up, she was suddenly holding a wrapped box out to Sadie. It was small but heavy. “Open it,” she suggested. The ribbon came off in a single tug and the lid came off to reveal the .38 that Sadie had given up that morning. It had been cleaned and oiled. Next to it was a full box of shells. Jillybean was offered a smaller box and in it was a dainty .25 caliber handgun.
“It’s just like my old one,” she gushed. “How’d you know?”
For just a blink, Sadie saw that Rowe had not known about the small, child-sized gun that Jillybean had picked up ages ago in a Philadelphian suburb. In the next blink, she recovered. “I have my ways. Use it well and come back to us safe and sound, okay?”
“Sure,” Jillybean said, reaching into the box for the magazine. Sadie put her hand over the box and gave her a shake of her head.
“Not inside,” Sadie murmured. Louder, she announced, “Thank you again.” The people applauded and Sadie didn’t know what to do. Did she stay and say thank you, once more? Did she wave? Governor Rowe gave her a nudge towards the door. They were supposed to leave and that was a relief.
The two waved as they left, heading out through the kitchen door where Phil was waiting with Spot. The dog-man bounded up to them and once more almost tackled Jillybean and, once more she had her face covered in slobber. Sadie tried to hide a look of disgust, but Jillybean only laughed—it was a good, wholesome sound and so Sadie let the odd display go on until Jillybean had enough.
“Sit, Spot!” she ordered, snapping her little fingers. He instantly plopped down, kneeling instead of actually sitting. Jillybean touched her cheek. “Ah gross. Look at what he did to my face. I’m all sticky. Too bad it’s not raining for once.” It was too bad. The rain would have helped to mask their crossing of the sound and it might have kept the bad guys indoors.
“Did you have fun?” Phil asked. Still looking up at the stars and worrying about the lack of cloud cover, Sadie nodded. “She always throws the best parties. And you know what’s nice? She’s not snobby about it. She’ll invite anyone.”
Jillybean had her shirt up, wiping her face; when she spoke, her words were something of a mumble: “And she gave us gifts, too. Do you think she knew it was my birthday? She probably did. She’s awful smart, though why she isn’t using thermal imaging on your fences, I don’t know. They use like way less ‘lectricity than spotlights and they don’t attract the monsters. But maybe it’s a trick or something she’s playing on the bad guys who almost gotted us.”
To this, Phil said, “Uh, I don’t really know. I just know we have your kayaks ready. They’re two person kayaks. Each of you will have someone with you in the crossing. You’ll be safe and sound.”
“Yeah, unless them spotlights giveaway the fact we’re leaving,” Jillybean said, “Which is another kinda big downfall with them, if you ask me. Is there any chance you guys could turn them off for a while so we can get across without being seen?”
Phil scratched the underside of his chin for a moment as he considered this. “I don’t think so. It’s some sort of production turning the lights on and off. I don’t think they’re on, like a switch or anything simple. But I wouldn’t worry too much. We can drop you off way up by Everett or south of Tacoma. Either way it’s about twelve miles. The slavers rarely get that far and if they do, it’s usually just spotters.”
“Thank you, Mister Phil, sir,” Jillybean said, “but we need to get to a college called Edmonds Community College. It’s just north of the big building part of Seattle. Like five miles or something.”
“You know how to get to the Camry?” Sadie asked. “How? You were just as turned around as I was. Jillybean, we can’t go messing around in the city, going all over the place.”
Jillybean was walking with a skip every other step so that she could keep up. Now she stopped. “I don’t think I’m messing around. I don’t know how to get to the car from here or from where we drove into the water, but I can get to it from Edmonds College. I saw the road name we were on and I counted the turns and all after that.”
Phil gave Sadie a look that said: Don’t let her go there! He then squatted down so he was eye level with Jillybean. “We’ll get you a new car, something much better than a Camry. The governor has agreed to give you two gallons of gas from the reserves and a battery with a full charge. I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but we don’t have much in the way of gas here. It’s not really a priority with us. Either way, with the right car, it’ll be enough to get you across the cascades and safely on your way. There are plenty of cars in Tacoma to choose from.”
“Are there any that are up-armored, with mounted cameras and advance scout drones?” Jillybean asked. “If not, I think we should take our chances with the Camry. Once we get to it, we’ll be as safe as cats, right Sadie?”
Sadie’s stomach went into an anxious roll as she answered, “Once we get there, sure.” Until then, they’d be sitting ducks.
Chapter 31
Sadie Martin
“At least let me come with you to find your car,” Phil offered. Phil was a good guy, but not a tough guy. He didn’t look particularly strong or fast and the one weapon he had on him was a Glock 19 which he carried in a gallon ziplock bag to keep from getting wet.
Sadie had a premonition of doom hanging over her and was utterly certain that if he came along the fates would get the life they were seeking, and it would be on her conscience. “No, thank you. That’s kind of you to offer, but we made it this far alone, we can make it back by ourselves.”
“Well, we weren’t all alone,” Jillybean said. “There was Sergeant Steinman. Don’t forget him. He died, Mister Phil. Sadie had to shoot him on account he was getting eated by a monster. It was real sad and kinda my fault, but not really. And there was also Jimmy, who was with us but he just ranned off like a chicken. That definitely wasn’t my fault.”
“None of it was your fault, Jillybean,” Sadie said, bending down and pointing a finger at her nose for emphasis. “Sergeant Steinman made a mistake. He was sloppy and that was that. It could have happened at any time. It’s sad, but not your fault.” She was about to go on when she saw Spot lifting a leg against a tree. “If anything is your fault, it’s that. Let’s go.”
She started walking off; however, Jillybean didn’t follow. She was watching the man urinate against a tree. Sadie rushed back and grabbed her hand. “You shouldn’t watch that, it’s gross.”
“How is that my fault?” Jillybean asked. “I didn’t give him anything to drink, which I guess is why he was drinking out of that puddle back there.” She was skipping again to keep up and her mouth was going even faster than her feet. “You know what? That puddle was gross. It had leaves and gunk and stuff in it…”
Sadie let her go on talking and even put a finger to her lips when it looked as though Phil was about to ask a second time if he could come along. Jillybean needed to be able to vent. She needed to focus her mind and her energies away from herself. The one thing Sadie knew that Jillybean should not do was dwell on Ste
inman or Jimmy or even on the crossing of the sound. She had to hold it together until they were across.
And then we’ll get some pills in her and everything will be good to go, Sadie thought to herself. With a sane Jillybean at her side, they could make it back to Colorado with the good news: they had found a home. The island was safe, as safe as any place Sadie had ever been in the last two years. Unlike Estes, no army of zombies could storm it, and unless there was a pirate fleet in the vicinity, no army could cross the sound without being discovered and blown to bits.
This begged the question: “Do you have artillery here?” she asked Phil. “Or mortars or anything like that?” On her tour of the island, she hadn’t asked to go up into the towers. They weren’t big enough for artillery and as they had roofs, they wouldn’t have mortars. Rockets were a possibility.
“Uh, no,” Phil said. “We’re a little light in the defense department. Hey, when you get back, maybe you guys could help out there. Jillybean especially. Everyone knows about your gift with explosives.”
“Gift?” Jillybean asked, her nose wrinkling. “Bombs aren’t a gift. Not a proper gift that is, not usually. I think a hat is a good gift, or toys. Stuff like that is a good gift. Sadie got me a tutu for my birthday, but I lost it when our Suburban got sanked and that really was my fault. Hey you know what? A gun really isn’t a gift neither, but the governor just gave me one and she’s pretty smart, so maybe I would like a bomb as a gift. A pipe bomb would be nice, but I’d love C4 with a remote detonator.”
Phil looked lost, but with a question on his lips. Sadie stopped it with a word, “Barbies.” She had to get Jillybean focused away from bombs, explosives and all of that. “A good gift would be a Barbie doll, or a doll house. Jillybean loves doll houses. The bigger the better. Clothes would also be nice. Her favorite color is pink, right Jillybean?”
This set her down the proper path and for the next ten minutes as they walked first north and then east to the sound, she went on and on about the color pink which segued into a one-girl discussion on flowers which led to her declaration of being a “May Flower.” That devolved into a talk about her mom and how she died looking like a skeleton and how her eyes had fallen back inside of her head.
The Apocalypse Sacrifice: The Undead World (The Undead World Series Book 10) Page 32