by T. A. Sorsby
‘Sorry if you were looking forward to more barbecue.’ She said over her shoulder as we came in, ‘We had all this fresh veg to use up, and if you eat too much meat and no veg, well, not being able to flush properly anymore will be the least of our worries.’
‘Speaking of that, is the water still working?’ I asked.
‘For now, thankfully.’
‘I’m going to go clean up. We all probably should, don’t know when we’ll get a chance again.’
‘That’s what we figured. Lucile’s taken Damian down to her place for a sponge bath, but I was waiting for you guys to get back. Need someone to mind the veg, and there’s a joint of beef and a load of chicken in the oven.’
‘The oven still works?’ Neville asked, reaching for the oven door.
‘No!’ Morgan said, getting in front of him. ‘But it’s still a good thermal insulator. There’s a joint of beef in there, chicken breasts and sausages wrapped in foil – it’s not all for now, or might not be. This is experimental cooking here.’
‘How’re you cooking then?’ Laurel asked, craning to see through the tiny glass panel, from which came an orange glow.
‘Disposable barbecues. I’m hoping the temperature will get high enough for long enough, since they cook well enough in an open space, why wouldn’t it work in a closed space?’
‘We’re still getting something though, right Morgan?’ Laurel asked, folding her arms. ‘There a backup plan in case?’
‘Something in there will definitely be cooked.’ She hurriedly said, standing between us and the oven. ‘Sausages and chicken ran the risk of being overdone, hence the foil, but it was a thick joint of beef, might be bloody in the middle.’
‘Ugh,’ Laurel moaned, obviously a fan of rare meat, ‘I can only take so much food talk right now. How long?’
‘Could be a while…’ Morgan teased.
Laurel’s face fell, and I’ll admit, mine did too.
‘But there’s chips and dip in the living room.’ She shrugged, making for the door.
She’d even put the tortilla chips into bowls rather than leave them in the bags. We didn’t talk for a good couple of minutes, just set about the snacks until the rumbling in our bellies had died down. Neville and Laurel hadn’t snapped at each other in a while, so I felt comfortable leaving them in the lounge while I checked on the boiling carrots.
I heard the door to the Jamesons bedroom open, and turned around to see Neville going in.
‘Hey.’ I heard him say to Anita, before mostly-shutting the door behind himself.
Laurel was still sucking her fingers clean when she came into the kitchen and bumped me with her hip.
‘You first, or me? For the shower. I’m assuming I can borrow yours again?’ she asked.
‘You go first. It’s not like there’s any hot water I’ll be missing out on anyway.’ I shrugged, poking the carrots about with a spoon.
‘Cold showers all around. Guess nobody’s going to be feeling the love tonight.’ She added in a mutter, tilting her head back to the bedroom door, where you could just about hear Neville and Anita quietly talking.
I grunted an affirmative, but didn’t comment. ‘Go on, may as well go now.’
‘Can’t see myself being long, cold enough up here as it is, without staying alone too long in the shower.’
Once she’d left, I could hear more conversation between Neville and Anita, but didn’t feel like eavesdropping, so went out onto the balcony. She was right. It’d not exactly been warm all day, but even with the hoodie on under my jacket, it was freaking cold up here. No wonder Morgan was playing around with the oven rather than standing out on the balcony.
The mist that’d begun to creep up as we were parking was starting to take hold now, casting everything in a shroud of grey. I wiped my cheek as a speck of rain fell, but it wasn’t heavy rain like this afternoon, just that slow, damp air that comes with fog. I could still make out the shapes of the cars in the parking lot, but they were fuzzy silhouettes now.
‘So this is it.’ I said to the misty Greenfield night. We were leaving tomorrow. Evacuated in a CDC convoy to Sydow, capital of the midlands – Conrad had said it was a fortress now. A fortress with a lot of hungry human mouths to feed, no doubt. But at least they were human mouths.
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to wait. To stay here, like Katy had told me, just a few days ago. It seemed like months since I’d seen her, since I’d put that ring on her finger, a promise that we’d always be together. A promise neither of us seemed able to keep. I stood there shaking, mostly from the cold, but partly…just because. I leaned my elbows on the balcony and hung my head, letting the dark thoughts creep in.
It’d beaten me. The city. The new world. It’d taken from me the one thing I felt mattered in my life. What did I have, if not her? A so-so job with no future prospects. A decent apartment that was only getting dearer. Not even any friends I cared enough about to risk my life for.
But that wasn’t true anymore. I sniffed back a wave of tears and drew myself back up to full height. I did have people I’d risk my life for, and they’d do the same – they had done the same – for me. This virus might have split me up from Katy, but I’d go on. Even if I never found her, she’d want me to go on living.
I looked over my shoulder, at the curtains and the soft glow of candlelight around the edges. Warmth. People. Life would go on whether or not I stayed out here in the cold, feeling sorry for myself. I turned from the mist-shrouded view of the dying city, and walked back into the apartment, wiping my eyes.
Lucile was just taking her boots off.
‘He settled down for the night?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, out like a light.’ She said, heading over to the stove. ‘Got his and Anita’s meds pushed through straight away. Good job you didn’t pick up the slow-drip stuff. They’ll still need another treatment or three, but they won’t be hooked up to the bag for hours ‘n hours. You see anything of Anita?’
‘Neville’s talking to her.’ I hooked a thumb over to the door, ‘Guessing no news is good news.’
‘Today has been an…eventful day.’ She sighed, straining the cooked carrots from one pot into another, and dumping the cooking water into the larger pan.
‘Here’s hoping every day is boring from now on,’ I said, ‘I’ve had quite enough excitement for one lifetime.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
I left her with the cooking, padding in my socks across the hallway to my apartment. Laurel had lit candles enough to just about see by, placing the little covered tea lights on the floor, lighting a path from the front door to the bathroom and bedroom. I went to the kitchen first though, as I could still hear the shower running.
There were more candles around here somewhere, or so I’d thought. They must already have been in use – Morgan probably took them in her search of the building – but I spent a couple of minutes searching drawers and cupboards, looking behind pots and pans, places I knew they’d never be.
Laurel left the bathroom with her towel wrapped beneath her armpits, and on the tall blonde it did not reach far down her thighs at all. She’d had her shortened hair held up while she showered, but unclipped it as she turned towards my bedroom, shaking it down and flicking it with a hand. The roll of her shoulders threatened to drop the towel, but she closed the bedroom door before I got the whole eye-full. That was about the moment I remembered to avert my gaze anyway – not just out of respect for Katy, but Laurel herself.
I must not have made a whole lot of noise searching those cupboards, and standing in the darkened kitchen she never saw me. That was probably lucky. Awkwardness avoided. I crept over to the front door, and pretended to be coming in for the first time. I didn’t think she’d appreciate me perving on her from the shadows.
‘You out yet?’ I asked the bedroom door.
‘Just. You can borrow my hair clip if you want. I hate washing my hair cold, it always goes weird.’
‘Thanks. Are you decent?’ I ask
ed.
‘Sure, come in.’ she said.
I opened the bedroom door, expecting to find her wearing my dressing gown or having already gotten changed – but she’d just been laying clothes out, and was still wrapped in her towel, walking around to her side of the bed. I tried not to stare at her legs as she bent to retrieve the clip from the nightstand.
‘So uh,’ I faltered, ‘cold shower as bad as I’m expecting?’
‘Did me good, I think. Bracing.’ She quickly added, throwing me the clip. ‘Now go, let me get dressed. And pick your tongue up off the floor.’
‘Tell it to my good ear.’ I said, waving a dismissive hand.
‘Oh-ho, you did not just ear crack me. You’ll pay for that one.’ She said, pointing a threatening finger, though the twitching of her lips didn’t seem all that intimidating.
I shut the door behind me, smirking, and went straight into the bathroom. Maybe a cold shower would do me good.
It’s impossible for a man’s eyes not to wander. No matter how long you’ve been in a relationship, even been married, biology wants guys – and girls – to check each other out. You might be perfectly happy with your sex life, your partner might mean the world to you. But if a well put together member of your preferred gender flashes a lot of skin, its only natural to find your eyes wandering. So I told myself.
Wandering thoughts on the other hand, are what cold showers are for. Ten minutes since I decided I was going to go on living for Katy’s sake, and already shit like this was happening. I let the water freeze me back down before I started with the shower gel. The memory of her touch wasn’t even a week old yet.
It was probably the most unpleasant shower I’ve ever had – the cold water sapped every breath of warmth from me, so I was quick as could be, but still had to scrub myself from top to bottom – just not the hair. Like Laurel, my hair did not like being washed in the cold. It’d itch something fierce the next day, so I left it tied up, under the ridiculous looking ducky-themed shower cap Katy had bought me for a joke. Thankfully, it lived under the sink so Laurel hadn’t seen it.
I shivered and towelled my way to dryness and put my jeans on before leaving the bathroom. I wasn’t letting her get a look at my legs. But she’d already left the bedroom by the time I got there.
Once changed into my winter pyjamas, heaviest dressing gown and slippers, I was beginning to feel the ghost of warmth coming back to me. I retrieved my pistols; the antique and the giant, putting them into the roomy pockets of my robe along with their bullets. I wasn’t expecting trouble next door, but I’d never cleaned them and it was probably about time I learned how.
As I’d guessed, the gunslingers were playing with their toys again. Neville and Anita sat on the sofa with Morgan, their pistols and tiny tools in carefully separated tea-towels before them, slides off, magazines out and all kinds of intricate, tiny pieces arranged before them. They were cleaning the weapons down with cloths and little brushes, oiling parts I’d never hope to identify.
Damian’s shotgun and Lucile’s pistol were placed next to the coffee table, forming an orderly queue, so I added my guns to it. It was family bonding time, I didn’t want to get in the way of that.
Lucile must have been getting her shower, so that did mean I found myself alone with Laurel at the kitchen island. She must have had a gun cleaning kit too, either that or Neville had way too many. Her rifle was broken down into several pieces – but it was a simpler affair than the semi-automatic pistols, I guess, as there weren’t half as many.
‘Really blows the cobwebs out, right?’ she asked.
Unlike everyone else, in PJs and robes, she’d just changed into clean jeans and a t-shirt, with a long sleeved cardigan over the top. It wasn’t her usual style, but if it kept her warm, she needed it. I suppose packing up nightwear isn’t essential when you’re fleeing your home. Anita must have borrowed hers from another tenant.
‘It blows alright. Wonder when the next time we’ll get a hot shower will be?’ I thought aloud.
‘Any time we want, if we can be bothered.’ She shrugged. ‘Head to a camping supply store. They do fancy ones, but at the basic end they’re just a massive bag with a shower head you can put water into. Warm the water up first and we’ve got hot showers. The black ones will warm themselves up in high summer.’
‘You know, all these post-apocalypse movies are starting to seem a little far-fetched to me.’ I said, not meaning the plots. ‘Good showers are easy to come by, you can loot new clothes from anywhere and gasoline goes out of date. So why is everybody always dirty faced, wearing the same ripped up outfits and still hunting for gas like it matters?’
‘That shit wouldn’t look as cool on bicycles.’ She shrugged, poking down her rifle barrel with a little rod.
‘Horses?’ I suggested.
‘Then you’d be complaining about that. Wondering where they get the feed from, how they stable them, shoe them, who mucks them out…’
‘Probably. I’ll give you that one. My willing suspension of disbelief can only ignore so many unanswered questions. Anything I can do to help with…this?’ I asked, gesturing at the rifle.
‘I got it, thanks. But you can stay. I mean, not like you’ve got anything else to do?’ she added with a smile.
I returned it. ‘Sure, I’ll stay.’
*
Forty Nine
Tonight was open bar night. When the meat was about ready, Lucile went to see if Damian was up to moving, but he declined in favour of bedrest. He’d been shot, so we didn’t hold it against him, but it didn’t stop us celebrating ourselves.
Lucile took Damian some food down first, then Morgan plated up vegetables, various meats and covered it in gravy, I poured drinks. Everything was on the menu. Beer, wine, spirit and mixer – though Neville took his whisky neat. Lucile was a while coming back, so we’d started eating without her, gathered around the kitchen island like we had done that night with the Jamesons.
It was a tight squeeze, but with Damian and the old couple no longer with us, the six of us got around the island without too much elbow bumping.
‘Ate, then went right back to sleep.’ Lucile said, tucking into her roast with gusto. I poured more red into her glass, it’d almost been emptied on the first attack.
‘I can’t tell if I’ll sleep or not. Don’t know if I’m exhausted or wired.’ Anita said between forkfuls. The oven experiment was a partial success, sausages and chicken were safely cooked after a good long wait, but the beef was too bloody for my taste, cooked bleu.
‘More wine, better than any sleeping tablet.’ Laurel saluted, raising her glass in a manner that suggested I fill it with sauvignon.
‘Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we get the fuck out of here.’ I said, topping her up. ‘As much as I have loved my time in this wonderful city, I think it’s time we were moving on.’
‘Here’s to Sydow, and the CDC,’ Neville said, raising his tumbler in toast, ‘may their walls be strong and their larders stocked.’
‘And their guns never run dry.’ Laurel added, clinking glasses with him. We all joined in, Morgan with her uncouth beer bottle, myself with a tall glass of rum and cola, but after that it was all quiet until we’d finished eating – it was a meal hard fought for, and everyone wanted to enjoy it.
However, once it was over, we had business to take care of, even if that business was conducted while drinking around firearms – something I’m pretty sure they tell you not to do in the owner’s manual.
Our little group had quite a lot of nine-mill pistols floating about thanks to those Territorials, but the ammo situation was sliding towards its inevitable conclusion. Where once Neville and Anita had enjoyed a healthy supply, those same bullets were spread across five guns, and with Neville’s pawnshop M1943 no longer sporting a full clip, he took his piece back from Anita, leaving Lucile and I the only ones without a nine-mill.
Given we had our own guns, it wasn’t a problem, but it left everyone with only one full magazine for
them, with Anita carrying the leftovers in a near-full mag for herself. I reckoned we’d get by though – Damian’s shotgun and Laurel’s rifle were still stocked up, for now at least. Laurel’s pockets didn’t clink with brass the way they used to.
Once the pistols were sorted and reloaded, freshly oiled and cleaned, I topped up everyone’s drinks and told them all to get comfy in the lounge. That ran us out of available seating, but before I dragged over a stool from the island to perch on, I found Morgan a notepad and pen from the kitchen.
‘Team meeting, you’re in charge of the minutes.’ I told her.
‘From day saving hero to secretary in just a few short hours. My career is in the toilet.’ She sighed.
I climbed up onto the stool and faltered for a place to put my drink down, sat up in the middle of nowhere. I think that’s why it went down faster. Sure.
‘So…’ I started, my usual oratory self, ‘bit of a busy day. But we made it through. Good job everyone.’ I paused, for refreshment. ‘Tomorrow might be worse though. We’ve no idea what we’ll find when we get to the VBC Station. Neville, throw me a worst case scenario.’
‘Overrun, by Deserters, or looters, some kind of arseholes at any rate. They shoot first and don’t stop shooting until we’re driven off or dead.’
‘Okay. That’s actually worse than what I was thinking, but yeah. That’s a very real possibility. But what’s our best case, Laurel?’ I asked, passing the ball. It was a game Gladys had tried at the post office, trying to get new ideas from people but you could only talk if you had the basketball.
‘If everything comes up roses, we get evacuated to the promised land. Fortress city protected by the mercenary company who specialise in security services.’
‘Like what?’ Morgan asked. She didn’t have the ball, but I let it slide. The ball was imaginary.
‘Small scale? Bodyguards for diplomats, politicians, suits in big business.’ Laurel started, ‘But up from that I know they’ve done event security for international talks, and been hired in to patch holes in base defence for military and government installations.’