"I'm a growing girl," she said. "And I knew you'd give her some of yours."
"Come on, then. Nearly time for bed," he said as he watched her downing a mug of hot chocolate.
He was ripped from a peaceful sleep by the sound of a dog barking outside. Had he been dreaming? No, there it was again.
He awoke in an instant and jumped to his feet as adrenaline surged through his body. "Luna!" he called, running into the main bedroom, flashlight in hand. She was gone. He ran his hand beneath the sheets—they were still warm, so it had only just happened. Something rustled on the blankets—a note.
Dear Marvin. Thank you for looking after me. You are a very nice man. I am going to New York. Dany is coming with me, so I will be okay.
Lots of love,
Luna
Marvin threw the note down, grabbed his handgun from beside the couch, and stepped into his boots, not bothering to tie the laces.
As he ran down the garden path, he heard Dany barking again and tried desperately to work out which direction the sound was coming from. Mercifully, an ebbing moon was high in the sky, so he was able to run quickly along the once familiar roads, praying as he went that he wasn't too late. He couldn't imagine what was happening, but Dany was obviously distressed and that could only be bad for Luna.
His flashlight bobbed from left to right as he panted. They couldn't be far away now, and he slowed a little. If Luna was being threatened, he wanted to be able to sneak up on her attackers rather than going in all guns blazing.
He rounded a corner and stopped. He could see the dog barking at something out of sight behind a house. There was Luna, standing behind her, trying to haul on her lead. And just then, as he watched, a dark shape leaped out of the shadows and fell upon Dany.
Tucker sprinted along the road. He was no Usain Bolt, but he put every last ounce of energy into closing the gap as fast as humanly possible. Dany and her attacker were a single ball of fury that convulsed back and forth as each tried to gain the upper hand. And, to his horror, he saw a second shape creep around the fighters and approach Luna who shrank away.
It was a cat. A big cat. It could even have been a lioness. But there was no time to think, no time for subtlety. He reached them just as the creature looked ready to pounce. It and Luna turned at the same moment and Tucker's boot caught it square in the jaw before it went flying along the road. The cat gave out a yell and jerked backwards as Tucker pushed Luna behind him and emptied two rounds into its head.
Dany squealed. She was pinned beneath the other cat and Tucker couldn't get a clear shot, so he wound his arm around its neck and yanked its bloody jaws backwards before, with his other hand, he pushed the gun under its chin and pulled the trigger.
His ears rang as Luna ran to Dany's side. The dog had gashes on her chest, but the worst wound was the bite mark on her shoulder from which blood was flowing.
"Help her, Marvin!" Luna cried. "Oh, this is all my fault. Please, please help her."
Dany looked like a hopeless case to him, but he was determined to try, so he pulled his sweater over his head, removed his T-shirt and then ripped it into a makeshift bandage. The dog whined in pain, and then bared her teeth when he pressed the cotton against her wound.
"It's okay Dany, we're going to help you."
Tucker sat back on his haunches and tried to catch his breath before running his hands under the dog and lifting her up.
"Boy, she's heavy. I think you've been feeding her too much of your rations, kid. But come on, there might be other animals on the loose. We need to get back quick."
They saw no other signs of life as Tucker carried the dog back. Luna was silent aside from the occasional sob, but they made it back without incident. He put Dany down on the bed and stood up, rubbing his back.
"Will she be alright?" Luna said, stroking the dog's head.
"I dunno. I'll do my best if you promise never to run out on me again. You could both be dead now, you know."
"I promise," Luna said, quietly. "As long as you take me to find my mom. In New York."
Tucker's shoulders sagged as he finally realized the true depth of the trouble he was now in. Truth was, he didn't want to stay here anymore, especially now that they'd discovered why people didn't live in the neighborhood. He hadn't thought about the private zoo a few blocks away. Some fool must have released the animals so they wouldn't starve to death. Well, that part of the plan had worked perfectly.
And, anyway, this house held so many memories it was suffocating him. To stay would be to live in a departed past until, inevitably, he'd either have to move on or blow his own brains out.
"Okay kid, you got a deal. Once she's fixed up, I'll take you to find your mom."
Chapter 18
The gas station at Breezewood was a smoking ruin, and there was no sign of the little community led by Hanna. Solly had been banking on picking up some fuel for the last stage of the return journey to the farmhouse, but it was obvious he wouldn't find it here.
"I wonder what happened," Ross said as they parked up beside the station. The pumps were covered with soot and shriveled plastic signs lay on the floor, bearing testament to the inferno that had destroyed the place.
Solly felt his mood darken. Just three weeks ago, this had been a functioning community under a firm leader, and now it was just as dead as most of the other settlements they'd passed through on their journey. They had seen a lot more people on the roads since they went west, some in vehicles, many on foot, and the story was almost always the same—they were heading for D.C. Somehow, the call had spread far and wide and the remnants of the American people were gathering around their national capital, like battle weary soldiers mounting a last stand around their flag.
He understood their compulsion to head east. Everything they'd known, everything they'd believed inviolable, had been destroyed in those first hours. The survivors had been left to scramble around in the ashes of their former lives, existing rather than living, in the hope that things would one day improve. And then the rumors of a government reestablishing itself in D.C. had spread from east to west. Finally they had a purpose and people emerged from their hiding places and joined the great migration.
Solly felt the pull, and he could easily have been among their number except that he had somewhere to go, though this overwhelming desire to return to the farmhouse came laced with guilt. He should be heading south, looking for Bella and the kids. He would be heading south to find the tiniest pin in the most enormous haystack. But, right now, the farmhouse was calling him. As they pulled away from the ruined gas station, he saw Janice in his mind's eye and felt the familiar fear rise in his heart. What if the farmhouse had suffered the same fate as the gas station at Breezewood? And even if it hadn't, what if her feelings for him had died away?
Every night since he'd left, Solly had thought about her before going to sleep. He wasn't religious, so he rarely prayed, but he had a habit of thinking about everyone he cared about and saying their names in the privacy of his own mind. A bit like Arya Stark in reverse.
"So, that leaves us with a problem," Solly said. "I was counting on refueling at Breezewood. We don't have nearly enough to get us home."
Ross gestured at the cars on the intersection. They'd been moved to the side to funnel traffic into a single lane. "None of these will have gas in them," he said. "Maybe we'll find some a bit farther out. Why not take the back roads?"
"That's a good idea, though we're likely to have to do some walking unless we strike lucky."
"Jeez, I hope we don't have to walk. I want to get back, see what they've been doing while we've been away. I hope they're okay."
"Me too, son. Me too."
They parked the pickup on a little road outside the small community of Needmore, PA. It was running on fumes by that point and Solly wanted to hide it so they could return to it if they found fuel or after reaching the farmhouse.
It was a brisk morning, so they wrapped up warm, and the two of them tramped along the main
road like a pair of steam trains. They'd not seen a soul since they'd come off the highway, though the roads were clear of abandoned cars, so someone had survived. They'd probably moved on, Solly thought. The little town couldn’t have had more than 200 souls before the Long Night and, perhaps, only a dozen after it, so the survivors would naturally try to find a larger community to join.
"How far are we from home?" Ross asked.
Solly pulled the route map from his inside pocket. "We're here," he said, pointing a gloved finger, "and the farmhouse is here. I guess it's around fifty miles."
"We won't get there today, then."
"Not if we have to walk the whole way, no. I'm hoping we'll come across a car sooner or later."
"I haven't seen many, and those I have I don't want to ride in."
Solly slapped him on the shoulders. "I know; me neither. We'd best assume we're walking and hope for a bit of luck. But cheer up, we'll be back by tomorrow at the latest.
They trudged on, Solly consulting the map from time to time, and took the 655 heading south. In other circumstances, it would have been a pleasant walk along a quiet, tree lined road, but they were both exhausted and the cold was beginning to seep into their limbs. The hardest thing to bear, however, was the anticipation. They were so close, and yet the miles crept by as they walked.
The living things they saw most often were the birds who inhabited the bare trees on either side of them. The silence was punctuated from time to time by the harsh cawing of crows, while smaller birds chirruped from the bushes beneath.
After three hours, Solly called a halt. "Let's take a look up there," he said, pointing to a two-story farmhouse set on a slope overlooking the road. "We can get out of this wind for a bit."
They walked up the hill to find a neat white house with a yellow-painted upper floor above a brick faced lower story. Set into the bricks was a garage door. "D'you reckon there might be a car inside?"
"It's got to be worth a look," Solly said. "There's no sign of anyone living here," he added, gesturing at the piles of decaying leaves that had been deposited against the wall by the wind.
The main entrance was on the upper floor, so Solly walked up the steps to take a look in the windows. The bodies would probably be in the living room or the bedroom, so he made his way around the balcony to peer in.
He was just pressing his face against a full-length window when he suddenly saw a figure of what looked like an old woman sitting in an easy chair. "You get outta my house, d'you hear me? I said get outta my house! My husband'll be back soon."
Solly lurched to one side as he caught the flash of a reflection off the barrel of a rifle or shotgun.
He ran back to the steps, expecting the woman to burst out of the front door, gun in hand, but nothing happened. He told Ross to wait at the base of the steps and crept back up. Something about this didn't add up at all and, despite himself, he had to solve the mystery.
Solly sneaked silently along the balcony again, keeping below the level of the windows, until he reached the one he'd seen the woman behind.
"I can hear you!” She called out. "I ain't that deaf. Now this is your last warning. If you don't hightail it outta here, I'm gonna fill your butt with buckshot."
Solly laid down on his side so he could catch a glimpse from beneath the net curtain. Yes, it was an old woman. She was dressed in a thick quilted coat, but the chair she sat on was covered in filth and dark stains. Around the chair lay discarded food wrappers, tubes and cans. And she looked so frail that he doubted she could move more than a few paces at a time.
He got up, looked out over a countryside that was gorgeous and full of life even in winter, and sighed. He couldn't leave her like this. He wished he could, but she would haunt his dreams if he walked away now.
He went back to the front door and quietly turned the handle. To his surprise, it opened. Solly stepped back, crying out in disgust as an overwhelming stench erupted from inside.
"Get outta my house!" she called. But she didn't appear as he braved the inside.
Solly left the door open to allow a little air inside and crept along the hallway. It was an open plan design, with a large and airy kitchen leading seamlessly into the living room. There sat the old woman, her chair facing the window, the shotgun facing him.
He threw himself sideways as the gun erupted, causing the glass in the kitchen cabinets to explode.
To his horror, he heard Ross running up the steps and into the house. "Solly!" he called.
"Get back!"
But it was too late, Ross ran into plain view of the woman as she twisted round in her chair.
"Who are you?" she called as Ross stood, his hands thrust instinctively into the air. "Wait. Is it Monroe? Have you come home, my boy?"
Ross looked down at Solly, who was frantically nodding.
"Yes," he said. "It's me. Monroe."
"Be careful! There's a thief in the house."
"He's no thief, he's a friend of mine."
"He is?" And the venom in her voice disappeared in an instant. "Well, why didn't he say so? Any friend of my Monroe is a friend of mine."
Solly picked himself up off the floor and cautiously peered into the living room. The shotgun had been put away.
"You don't have any food for your poor grandma do you?"
"Sure I do," Ross said, swinging the pack from his shoulders. "Shall we cook you some soup?"
Solly could see from her expression that the woman was famished.
"We'll get some light and air in here, shall we? My name's Solly, by the way."
"Sure, go right ahead."
So, while Ross lit the camp stove and warmed a can of soup, Solly did the best he could to clean up the old woman's living conditions. He found some black bags in the kitchen and, though she watched him closely, the woman didn't comment or complain once.
Once she'd eaten, she revealed that her name was Gheta Kaplinsky and that she'd lived in that house since she and her husband Jenk had bought it after moving to America decades ago. She kept insisting that Jenk would be home soon, but Solly made the grim discovery of her husband's ruined body in the bedroom. He wrapped it in the rotting eiderdown comforter and dragged it out of the house, carefully making sure she didn't see what he was doing.
While Ross sat and talked to the old woman, Solly dug a shallow grave and rolled the remains inside. He then opened up the garage and found an old Ford pickup. Its battery was dead, but he was pretty sure he could bump start it down the hill leading back to the road.
"Gheta, will you come with us to our home? We have food and hot water there," he said, praying that he was speaking the truth.
"No, I'll sit here and wait till my Jenk comes home."
Solly looked at Ross and shook his head.
"Please come with us, Grandma," Ross said, getting as close to her as his nose could tolerate. "Grandpa wouldn't want you to starve waiting for him. You can have a nice warm bath at our place."
"That's nice, but Jenk will be expecting me. Then we can eat together. I ain't going nowhere."
Solly and Ross convened in the kitchen.
"We can't leave her," Ross said. "She'll die."
"There's a car in the garage. We could drive to the farmhouse, get some supplies and be back here within twenty four hours."
Ross shook his head. "She can't be here on her own, not even for a day." He paused for a moment, then drew in a deep breath. "I'll stay. She trusts me, or at least she trusts Monroe. You go. Come back tomorrow with supplies and I'll try to persuade her to come with us."
"You're a good man," Solly said, pulling Ross into a hug.
The old Ford pickup rumbled along the road beside Conococheague Creek, the steady knock-knocking of its engine announcing its presence to anyone within half a mile. Solly felt a knot form in his stomach as the landscape became more and more familiar. Had they survived? And, if they had, would they—would she—welcome him back?
Two people stepped out into the road, hunting rifles pointing
at him, hands held out. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he realized he recognized neither of them.
A young Hispanic woman bent down to talk through the open driver's window. "Who are you and where are you going?"
"I'm going to the farmhouse, my name is Solly Masters."
Her face betrayed surprise and she stood up to talk to her companion, a boy of perhaps fourteen, before appearing at the window again.
"I’ll come with you."
She walked around the other side and, after a whispered conversation, she opened the passenger door and got in. She'd handed her rifle to the boy and pulled a handgun out of her pocket. "I've heard them talk about someone called Solly, but I don't know you, so we're going to ride nice and slow. We'll see what they have to say."
"Is everyone okay? Jaxon, Janice?" he asked, unable to hide the desperation in his voice.
"I ain't answering no questions. It's not far, and then we'll see."
Minutes later, the old pickup truck turned onto the little lane leading up to the farmhouse. It looked much the same, though there were subtle changes. As he got closer, it seemed that it was better tended than before. The grass and hedges had been cut and pots containing winter flowers had been placed outside. Then he noticed the guard post, set off to the right and surrounded by sandbags. It was shaded by the tree above it, so Solly couldn't see who it was that ran out to talk to the girl as she opened the passenger door.
"Who?"
With a pang, he recognized the voice.
In a blur, she ran past the front of the car and pulled open the driver's door. "Solly? Is it really you?"
He was out in an instant and they cried and laughed so hard he thought he'd hyperventilate. He swept her around as others emerged from the house. As he clung onto her, he saw Jaxon and Landon, their faces alight as they understood that he'd come home. Behind them, Arnold was pushed out by a woman he barely recognized—Agatha Prism, the librarian, restored to full health and strength.
The Long Night Box Set Page 48