“Do you want cream?” Louise asked, sounding chipper.
“No thanks,” Bee responded. “Just a bit of sugar.” She opened the lid to the sugar pot and stirred the granules with a miniature silver spoon. It had pink flowers painted on the stem with a delicate hand. She wondered why a stoic man like Rodney had such a feminine tea set.
Louise set Bee’s coffee down in front of her. Bee spooned sugar into the plain blue mug.
“Are you feeling better today, hon?” Bee asked, sipping her coffee. She met Louise’s eye and held it. They hadn’t spoken much of Louise’s constant slips into catatonia and depression. Bee didn’t think talking about it would do much good. The time for psychiatrist and medication was long past. The world was a harsh place and you either fought and lived or you didn’t.
Louise sipped her coffee and swallowed. “I think so,” she answered, enunciating her words carefully. “I believe the worst is behind us now.” She smiled brilliantly and her eyes sparkled, gold flecks shining.
Bee smiled, forcing it to reach her eyes. “That’s good, darling,” she said, patting Louise’s hand. Bee did not think the tough times were behind them. She thought things had been relatively easy so far compared to what stood in their future. They couldn’t just pop over to the grocery store or the hardware store when they ran out of food or something broke. Bee wasn’t talented at fixing things. Frank had always been Mr. Fixit.
The kitchen lights flickered, bringing Bee’s thoughts away from the dark days ahead. She smiled, thinking that Rodney must be feeling a bit better. Louise glanced up fearfully and a blankness crossed her vision. She sat at the table with the yellow coffee mug in her hand. It drooped briefly, nearly spilling but Louise rallied, clearing her throat and bringing her cup to her lips. Her hazel eyes cleared, gold flecks catching the light.
“It’s just Rodney testing the generator,” Bee said in a calm voice.
Louise nodded rapidly and her lips formed a tentative smile.
A squeal of static sung through the kitchen, followed by the sound of a human voice. Bee heard it distinctly for a split second. It was coming from a little square radio that sat on the counter. Bee had noticed it earlier but assumed that, like much else, their radio listening days had come to a close. She rose quickly from her chair, sending it screeching across the linoleum floor. Bee touched the radio, turning the dial to settle on the human voice again.
“We must gather and . . .“ the voice spoke clearly.
The lights flickered off and the radio fell silent.
“Damn,” Bee spoke, hurrying from the kitchen. She planned to find Rodney and get him to turn the generator back on.
Bee ran into him as he was coming in the back door. The generator was in a detached garage that was just a few short steps from the back of the house. Rodney had insisted on running the daily tests himself, stating that it was too dangerous for the ladies to walk outside. Bee appreciated the concern, really she did, but Rodney was in poor health and she thought it was much more hazardous for him.
“Rodney!” Bee exclaimed, catching him just inside the door.
“What’s wrong, Bee?” he asked, swinging his rife around where he could grab it easily. It was long barreled and had a glossy wooden stock. His expression was tense but there was a tightness to his eyes, she didn’t much like. It looked like he was in pain.
She knew better than to ask. In their weeks of getting to know one another, she’d learned he was a stubborn man and wouldn’t tell her.
“The radio in your kitchen,” she said excitedly. “It turned on when the power flared briefly.”
“Oh, that old thing?” Rodney asked. “I was fiddling with the dials yesterday. It must’ve been only static. I’m sorry if it frightened you or Louise.” His concern was earnest.
“No, no,” Bee responded erasing her hands through the air. “There was a man talking on it. I don’t know what station it was but I heard him clear as day.”
Rodney looked skeptical but was much too polite to say so.
“Turn that thing back on, Rodney,” Bee insisted, giving him a gentle push toward the back door. “I’ll show you.”
“All right,” Rodney acquiesced. There was amusement in his voice. “You just wait here,” he told Bee firmly. “And shut the door behind me.”
Bee nodded emphatically, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a schoolgirl. Rodney smiled again and walked outside, rifle held at the ready. The lights flickered and came to life. Bee could hear the faint drone of the generator. After a moment Rodney came back in. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow but he looked better than he had in a few days.
A man’s voice floated from the radio in the kitchen. “See?” Bee spoke, poking Rodney in the chest.
“I hear it,” he grinned.
“Come on then,” Bee said. “Hurry up.”
They hustled back into the kitchen. Louise was standing in front of the radio, gripping the counter top. Her knuckles were white and her expression was expectant. Louise’s brown and silver hair fell in front of her face and she swept it aside impatiently.
“The President was speaking,” she said, voice full of wonder.
“Hush, dear,” Bee spoke, walking close to the radio to listen. Rodney was right behind her.
You heard him folks, Mr. President live on the airways. There was an emphatic pause. We must gather as one, the man on the radio continued. The President will be at the meeting point to welcome all newcomers. The selected . . . A peal of static roared through the airwaves, causing Louise to whimper and cover her ears. Bee patted her shoulder gently.
“It’s all right, honey,” she spoke. “It’s just static.”
The voice continued. And you will join us together at the headquarters of the New United States. We will rebuild! The voice was fevered.
Bee could practically see the crowd that would gather for this. She imagined it thousands strong and united. A small voice inside told her that this vision of unity was false but she squashed it, too desperate to listen.
On December 20th, the voice went on, we will be meeting any who want to apply where Highway 7 dead ends into Raccoon Road. Bring whatever supplies you have gathered. There are many of us here and our numbers are growing.
The speaker paused for dramatic effect. Silence filled the airwaves long enough that Bee thought they’d lost the signal.
Bee opened her mouth to say just that when the man spoke again.
Join our ranks. There is safety in numbers. It is the only hope of survival. That meeting place again is on December 20th at the T intersection of Raccoon Road and Highway 7. I hope to see you there. The radio let out another peal of static and Rodney shut it off.
“What do you ladies think?” he asked, expression pensive.
The bags beneath his eyes weren’t as prominent but Bee thought he could still use some rest. She had decided to ask what type of medication he was taking before they went anywhere. It would be a danger to them all if he had an emergency and Bee did not know how to help him. She’d been a candy striper in her youth and had completed half of her nursing school courses before she had to drop out. Her mother had become ill and Dad couldn’t support her medical bills on his income alone. Bee had gone to work for the local grocer, bagging items and carrying customer’s groceries to their cars. She worked her way up in the company and she managed that little store until she retired two years ago. Sometimes she missed the daily bustle of work but most days she was glad of the peace. Though there wasn’t much tranquility to be had these days that was for sure.
“Bee?” Louise asked, concern evident in her voice. “Are you all right?”
Rodney looked at her silently, eyebrows raised and a gentle smile on his lips.
Bee smiled faintly. “Sorry,” she spoke. “Just woolgathering.”
“That’s an occupation of the elderly,” Rodney spoke, eyes crinkling. “And you aren’t quite there yet.”
Bee laughed. “All right, old man,” she said, jesting. “What do y
ou think we should do?” She couldn’t decide. The message over the radio had an ominous feel that she couldn’t quite place.
Rodney scratched his stubble covered chin. “I am of two minds on the subject,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not sure that I trust these men, whoever they are. I’m also sure that the President they speak of isn’t our President Herald. But we certainly can’t abide here forever on our own.” There he stopped, looking pensive. His fingers whispered across the hair on his chin, loud in the silent kitchen.
“I think we should go to this meeting place,” Louise said, grinning like a fool. “They sound well organized and I don’t want to be out here alone anymore. It’s too dangerous.” She brushed the hair from her face.
“Okay,” Bee said, looking betwixt the two. “Let’s go then. I should be able to have us packed by tomorrow morning.” She turned to Rodney.
Louise began to smile then her face froze, lips halfway raised. The sparkle drained from her eyes and her hands fell to her sides.
“Oh, Good Lord,” Bee spoke exasperatedly and grabbed Louise’s cup to dump out her cooling coffee.
“Your friend sure does have some impeccable timing,” Rodney spoke. He leaned back in his chair and drank the dregs of his coffee.
Bee rinsed out the sink and sat again at the table. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she spoke, taking Rodney’s hand gently in her own.
He lifted his brow but said nothing.
“I know you don’t like to talk about your health,” she said, noticing with amusement that his expression hardened. “But as we’ll all be traveling together very soon, I need to know what type of medication you’re taking and what I should do if you have an attack of some sort.” Bee kept hold of his hand though he seemed inclined to pull away.
Rodney sighed, resigned. “I take Prozac. It’s an anxiety medication.” He looked ashamed.
Bee raised her hand to her breast. “Oh thank goodness,” she gasped. “I thought you had a heart condition.”
Rodney laughed. “No, thankfully.” He thumped himself on the chest. “My heart’s fine. Fit as a fiddle on my last check up.” He grinned.
Bee squeezed his hand, feeling stirrings low in her body that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. I wonder if he’s too old to rise to the occasion, Bee thought. She decided that if they got out of this alive and made it to the safety of a group, she just might seduce the old man. He wouldn’t know what hit him, she thought, smiling devilishly.
Rodney laughed again and pointed his finger at her, “You’re a pistol, Bee,” he said, grinning like an idiot. They held eye contact for a tension filled moment. He took back his hand and rose from the chair. “I’ll go collect what clothing I need,” he said. “Can you gather the dry goods and pack them up?”
“Sure,” Bee answered, glancing at Louise and frowning.
“When I’m done I’ll help you with her.”
“Thank you,” Bee responded. She smiled as Rodney walked from the room, very glad that he didn’t have problems with his heart. She understood why he was so reticent to speak about his anxiety. Bee suffered from spells of anxiousness herself and she knew how it made her feel weak and useless at times.
“All right,” she spoke aloud. “Time to pack.” She clapped her hands together and grabbed a duffle bag from one of the low cabinets. After three weeks here, Bee knew his kitchen like the back of her hand and she went about the business of packing. It wasn’t all that different than bagging groceries and Bee fell to the task with half of her mind. The other half thought of their future.
Bee glanced at Louise and sighed. Her friend hadn’t moved. She just sat statuesque at the table, hands held limply at her side.
“Oh, Louise,” Bee sighed, pulling her friend’s hair back from her face and securing it with a bobby pin. “What are we going to do with you?”
Bee turned and continued packing. Everything she thought they could use went into the bag, dry goods, cutlery, spices and random kitchen hardware. Bee stuffed items into the pack in an organized manner, sorting them by size and weight. The habits learned from bagging groceries for decades were well instilled and Bee completed the task without much thought. Her mind turned again to the weeks ahead and she saw much uncertainty. Bee tried not to dwell on their circumstances, but it was a difficult thing. The precariousness of their future loomed ahead of her like a monolithic rock and she quailed in its shadow.
Chapter Nine
Merging of the Groups
Liz
Liz woke with a start, once again surprised to find herself in a small and orderly room. Every night she dreamed about living in the cabin with Raven and Henry, sometimes she dreamt of home but not nearly as often anymore. Home with her father had turned into a distant memory. She could no longer recall it in detail. It was like an insubstantial shadow sliding through her fingers.
The room that had become her bedroom was painted sky blue and had plain white sheets on the bed. It had a single window with nails in the frame, only opening a couple of inches. There was no mirror and the only furniture beside the bed was a small wooden table placed by the door. Each week someone put three books on the table, different stories about various things. This last week she’d read about a girl detective, a boy who went back in time, and a cat who talked. Liz never saw who put the books there but she always read them. There wasn’t much to do in such an austere room.
The first day they’d put her here, Liz had tried to escape. The door was locked tightly at night and there was nothing with which to pull the nails out of the window frame.
They hadn’t mistreated her but Liz couldn’t shake the bad feeling she had. When they’d arrived the man in the truck had escorted her to a large and open room. It was full of women in various stages of undress. They all looked frightened and wouldn’t meet her eyes. Liz was taken in front of another man who everyone called the President. Tall and thin with a sallow looking face and stubby chin President Angler asked Liz all sorts of strange questions. His hungry eyes watched her closely as she answered. How old was she? Had she started her menstrual period? What kind of clothes she liked to wear? What her shoe size was? Liz was embarrassed but answered all the questions posed, afraid to do otherwise.
They’d left her alone after that. One of the women had shown her to this room. She was short and thin with long dark hair and bronze skin. Her eyes were a strikingly bright blue and her body was like the women on television that her father used to whistle at when he thought Liz couldn’t hear. The woman said her name was Sadie but refused to answer any of Liz’s questions. Sadie led her to this room and here Liz had stayed for weeks. They only let her out in the mornings to help with breakfast then jog around a long track with other young girls. Liz had never been forced to run before and she tired quickly. When she tried to slow and walk a man had yelled at her and, frightened, Liz ran on, keeping up with the pack. She’d had no breath for talking with the other women and wouldn’t have known what to say if she had.
Her door opened and Liz hopped out of bed, quickly pulling the comforter and sheets straight. She’d learned right away that whoever was in charge here expected a clean room. The first morning she had neglected to make the bed and straighten up the books that they gave her to read. The grey-haired woman who led her to the kitchen hadn’t said anything about it, but later that afternoon no lunch arrived and no dinner followed. Liz had gone to bed hungry and scared. The following morning the man who’d ridden with her in the truck had come to see her, telling her she must keep the room neat and tidy or the President would be displeased. Liz had nodded rapidly and devoured the tray of cheese and crackers he’d brought with him.
“Liz?” a middle-aged man asked. He was tall and lean with sandy blond hair and grey eyes. He smiled and his expression was kind. “How are you feeling?” He wore a long white coat, like a doctor’s coat. There was even a stethoscope around his neck.
“O-okay, I guess,” Liz answered, unsure what she should s
ay. “Are you a doctor?” Her voice shook and she hated how weak it sounded, but couldn’t seem to stop it. Liz pushed her curls from her face with a trembling hand. She stood in front of the man and quavered, waiting to see what he would want of her.
“I am,” he responded, smiling. It made the skin around his eyes crinkle.
Liz thought abruptly of pictures of Santa Clause and felt a deep longing for home and childhood. She had a feeling both those things were firmly in her past now, never to be seen again.
“Follow me,” the doctor said, gesturing for Liz to come closer.
“W-where are we going?” she asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.
“Don’t be afraid,” he continued. “I won’t bite?” He flashed her a grin that looked goofy and Liz laughed.
She walked a bit closer and he reached out, grasping her hand softly.
Liz tensed and tried to hide it. She knew she had to earn the trust of these people if she had any chance of escape. If they trusted her, maybe they’d leave the door unlocked and she could make her move. She forced a smile.
“That’s my girl,” the man spoke, chuckling. He led her from the room.
Later that Night
Liz lay in bed, completely covered by blankets. Her dinner sat untouched on the little table by the door. She’d had no appetite after what he’d done to her. There was a dull ache between her legs where Daddy once told her no one was allowed to touch. She reached her hand down and pulled it back; there was blood on her fingers, fresh and red. The doctor had been a liar. He did bite and pinch and put his mouth in places it did not belong. Liz burrowed more deeply beneath her quilt, sobbing and holding herself. She wished desperately for Raven and Henry. Liz imagined she was there with them now, holding Rocky and listening to Raven talk or Henry tell stories. Liz scrunched her legs more tightly into her stomach and felt a sharp pain that radiated from her groin to her abdomen. She moaned and held onto her shins, breathing shallowly.
Undead Series (Book 1): Blight of the Dead Page 15