by Walls, Annie
I suck in a breath at her fresh haircut. She’d grown it out, but now it’s as short as the day I first met her. She doesn’t wait for me to stand before wrapping me in a hug.
“Your hair looks great.” My voice is muffled from the rough fabric of her clothing.
She scoffs, pulling back to look at me and smirking. “I know.” She turns serious. “Glad everything went okay.” Gwen unwaveringly supports the council, so we keep her out of everything we can. Plus, she’s used to living in the dark and doesn’t seem to mind it. Ignorance is bliss and all that. Her eyes land on the muffins. “Good lord, what on earth did you do to those poor muffins, Jules?” She gasps, sending a horrific expression toward the bowl of mutilation. “And the eggs?”
Julie flushes bright red—a reason I didn’t say anything and never say anything about her cooking. “I didn’t see anyone else making anything!” She gets defensive and slathers on the guilt for making you feel unappreciative. Gwen knows this also, but Mac received his tactless nature honest.
They’re good, mommy. Ella signs before grabbing another muffin. Julie kisses her head.
I grab my mug and the stack of mail, standing. “It might be tomorrow before I can do a movie. I really need to get the more pressing stuff done. And leave the cleanup to me.” I gesture around the now messy kitchen.
Gwen narrows her eyes. “Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me why John didn’t make it back.”
I wave away her statement and strut from the kitchen, feeling my dreads swish behind me. “We all know Bunyan belongs on a mountain in the forest, not the desert.”
By the time I’m dressed and ready for the day, Julie, Gwen, and Ariella are gone. First order of business, the mail. The mail does not work as it did in the old life. Mail is only delivered once a week unless it’s something pressing which is why it’s required to check it every day. The weekly delivery normally comes with a newsletter that is a makeshift newspaper for Sierra Vista. There are exactly four in my stack. I should be getting another soon. I toss them in the paper bin. That leaves me with a summons to talk at the school for “education” purposes, which I also toss in the paper bin. The whole team’s taken turns lecturing and they say it’s nothing huge and mostly fun, but for some reason I feel as though we’re being paraded around. No thanks.
The last envelope has my heart galloping. It’s blank. I rip into it, thinking it might be from Rudy, but my stomach sinks in disappointment when I read, “Be sure to come by to work out any kinks. Besides, you owe me a bow. -C” Oh. Yeah. I forgot. His bow was shit anyway. The council really needs to equip better weapons if they want people to learn. But I feel horrible for forgetting. I mentally add, “Get Craig, the fitness instructor, a bow because it snapped in half while I was using it and I want him to shut the fuck up about it,” to my to-do list.
I crumble the note in my hand. I can work out my own damn kinks. Craig thinks I’m single. He thinks I’m playing hard to get. Living under certain pretenses has its irritating downfalls. My face gets hot and I toss the ball of paper across the desk.
Forcing myself to move on to the report, it takes a while, but I figure out what to tell the council. This one being a bit harder to explain because of the zombie with a bullet hole in its head. I don’t usually let a zombie get the drop on me since I can sense them near, that is. When I start the detailed report, I lie and go with Glinda shooting the zombie because, let’s be honest, it’s the most believable. Of course, I leave out Mr. Nightshift and how cold it was. For now. I make sure to write down times and all supplies used—resources of the council’s we used.
I fold the three pages of yellow paper and stuff them in an envelope. I unlock a trunk in my bedroom, grabbing a bow I never use and is only in this trunk to help with our facade. Like the notebooks, everything I hold dear that is not on my person is in Colorado. After dumping dirty laundry from my pack, I grab it and trek across the street.
Reece and Glinda’s place is pretty much used for a halfway house for children who don’t have a guardian. It rarely happens but sometimes it’s necessary. A kid named Robbie sits at the kitchen table when I walk in. Robbie is twelve and takes anything and everything apart, but he rarely puts it back together. It drives Glinda insane, but she really likes him because he’s the only one she has allowed to stick around after counseling sessions with Reece. She’s taken him under her wing.
“Hey, Kan,” he greets, tinkering with… Glinda’s vanity mirror. He blushes in that awkward way kids his age do.
“You know, for being so smart, I don’t think you’re being very bright right now.”
He stays focused on it even with his brown hair in his face. “The light won’t work. I need to fix it for her.” His expression turns serious. “It’ll make her happy.”
The garage door opens and Glinda stumbles in with both arms gripping laundry baskets. She’s got her laid-back look happening with daisy duke cut-offs and a tank top. A messy blond bun plays up her flushed cheekbones. “Hey, suga’! We got some vegetables for yew to take home.” She places the folded clothes against the wall and glances to the counter stacked with the nutritious goods and back to me with a hopeful look.
I smile tightly, feeling like a jerk and can’t come up with a word to say to one of my dearest friends. She sighs but gives Robbie an amused look. “Take that mess ta the garage, chickin’ wang. I need ta talk ta Kansas.”
I flinch as more of her gutter accent bleeds through, and the use of my name isn’t a great sign either. Robbie, the chicken wang, swings hair from his eyes and scrambles out before she can notice what he’s taking apart. The garage door slams.
“You know that’s your vanity mirror, right?”
She smirks, still amused. “I found that old thing while we doin’ the honky tonkin’ down in Texas and stashed it so he’d find it.”
My chest swells with love for this woman. I walk over to the vegetables and place them in the sink, running water over them. “Want some vegetable soup?”
Her face brightens and she immediately pulls out some cutting boards. “If I get some corn cakes ta go with it.” We get to work side by side, chopping, dicing, and prepping a pot.
I bite my lips together, still feeling like a bitch. For a lot of things, but mostly for closing myself off. I’ve told her over and over I don’t want to bring anyone else down and that I need them to keep going, live their lives as good as they can. To stop worrying about me. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizin’. Yew feel how yew feel, and I’m the first person ta understand!” Her knife quickens and chops harder. She’s right, I suppose. “I haven’t given up on yew. None of us have, and Rudy doll hasn’t either. I know it seems like we haven’t put a dent in shit, but we have. I believe that with all my heart and soul.” The way she puts her words together break my heart. She’s not angry or sad… she sounds disappointed—as if she knows her words won’t even go in one ear and out the other, but never hit my ears at all.
“I didn’t feel that zombie,” I whisper. She stops and looks at me.
When I meet her gaze, her blue eyes are wide. “You’re sure this time?”
During another mission, I had thought I came across a famished I couldn’t sense, but I thought it impossible since I could sense the others and dismissed it. I nod and give her the details and what our story to the council should be. “I’m hoping we can come across more of them eventually.”
“That’s good, suga’. Maybe this is a sign we gettin’ somewhere?”
“That’s a good way of looking at it.” I dump everything in a stock pot of boiling broth. “You make a great mother, Glin.” I touch her ring finger, where Reece tattooed their wedding rings. “And a great partner.”
Tears fill her eyes. “Think so?”
I nod. “I know so.” And then I grin. “Even though you’re a liability.”
She wipes some falling tears carefully. “Ugh. Yew messin’ up my makeup.” In a flash, she’s got my neck in a choke hold. The scents of vanilla and laundry
detergent hit my nose. I hug her back, willing my own tears to stay put. “Stop shuttin’ me out, damnit!” She punctuates her statement by stomping a foot.
Burly arms wrap around us both. “Aww. Group hug,” Reece coos. We burst into laughter. I pull away and get to work on cornbread batter. They whisper to each other, mainly about Robbie from what I gather. Glinda tells him to be back in about forty-five minutes for lunch. I focus on the measuring cups in my hand. I don’t really need them, but they give me something to do besides analyzing the ugly feelings stirring inside me. A long silence ensues. I dump cornmeal into the bowl, hating that they feel the need to walk on eggshells around me. He finally leaves through the garage.
I spin around and point to the door. “You want me to be open with you? Then why do you guys do that?”
Her lips purse. “What yew gettin’ on ‘bout now, suga’?”
“Control your affection. I know you guys. He wouldn’t have left this kitchen without kissing you if I weren’t standing here.”
She stirs the pot of soup. “I guess we just damned if we do, damned if we don’t.”
I sigh, knowing she’s right.
Chapter Three
After lunch, I grab my dirt bike from Reece’s garage. Clutching the levers, I stomp the pedal. The bike skids out and a huge smile stretches across my face. I wave “see ya later” to Reece who’s eating my dust, and I fly toward town. I mean town as the small area maintained for all city business.
My sprawling neighborhood harbors a lot of vacancies. They’ve renovated houses and need more people to live in all of them. In the past two years, population growth has slowed down with the lack of compound survivors. Sierra Vista is big. Bigger than they need, but there’s plenty of room for growth as needed.
My bike swerves and winds its way down the curvy roads. It’s during the day or there’d be a few kids playing in the streets, riding bikes or playing basketball, but people ride about town with bicycles, golf carts, four-wheelers, and a ton of electric powered utility vehicles. All very normal stuff.
It’s a beautiful area with a gorgeous views of surrounding desert mountains. The sunsets are a staple and watching the sky change over a canyon… there’s nothing like it. The lack of famished makes it that much more inviting. But even so, I miss grass, hills, and fields full of soft wheat. The smell of evergreen after a fresh rain. The bushels of honeysuckle that scent the breeze. The new life and rainbows of spring. The sweltering humid heat, the buzz of cicadas, and the blinking glow of fireflies in summer. The vibrant colors of autumn. The bitter cold in the winter. I miss home. I tilt my face toward the sun, as if its warmth can wash away the nostalgia. There are things I can’t change.
When I get to downtown, I hop the curb and park the bike by a window of the stucco southwest building. Sierra Vistians mill about—getting their errands done or doing their part to keep the community running smooth.
When I turn around to peer in the window, Linnie stares from the other side causing me to jerk in surprise. Her chest moves as if she scoffs but waves me in. A bell dings when I swing the door open.
The grocery store holds rows of brightly colored fruits and vegetables in stacked crates on a cracked linoleum floor. Dirt cakes the creases and corners of the baseboards. There are lots of homemade goods that people bring in as a consignment of sorts. Breads, sweets, dried fruit, clothing, soaps and scrubs, etc. An area of looted supplies people might want, like batteries, tampons, writing utensils, and other miscellaneous items take up the back corner. Along the wall to the left are refrigerators that hold discounted dairy and meat products from the butcher—the reason this building if one of the few with backup generators. Linnie even has a few shelves of her own canned goods complete with ribbon bows. Fancy.
“Whachu want, girl? Ain’t got time fer any dead ‘em shenanigan.” Her words end on an uncontrollable hack and I hurry forward to rub her back. Her spine is prominent under my touch. “Eh. I’m gewd, I’m gewd,” she wheezes from under her boney arms. Skin sags from her bones more than ever.
“I need to speak with Bruno.”
She narrows her watery eyes behind thick glasses and clears her scratchy throat. “Bruno!” More coughing. Her face seems to get more pale and gaunt. An overwhelming sadness strikes at her obvious declining health. I know she survived cancer in the old life, so who knows what’s going on with her. We aren’t equipped to deal with such things, here or anywhere. We have necessities to cure basic and common health issues.
“Linnie, have you been to—”
She grunts loud and glares. “Just go upstairs.” She spins in a whirl of flowy material and wobbles down the aisle toward the back. I watch her before taking the steps up a narrow passage and when I arrive, I realize it’s a small apartment.
The floor is bowed in the living room and some drywall is cracked but otherwise in great condition. Speaking of floor, it shakes with movement as Bruno appears in a doorway. In nothing but boxers.
“Oh. Sorry.”
He shrugs, eyeing and waiting for me to get to the point already. This guy isn’t much on words and suddenly, I wonder if he ever fought in Guido’s old betting ring at the community in Tennessee.
The floor creaks some as I fret on my feet and pretend I’m somewhere else for a second. I can still change my mind. “I need you in Colorado. We have a captive and need some information,” I blurt it all out before I do.
I think he smiles, but it’s sort of grisly and scary. I flinch. He sits on the high-backed couch and pats the cushion beside him. I sit without any more prompting. “Limits?”
I swallow and shake my head. “Bunyan is there. He’ll brief you with details.”
He nods, looking away as something strange flickers through his eyes. “I’ll git on by mornin’.”
I wipe my hands on the couch because my barely-there shorts won’t do the trick with how much sweat gathers on my palms. “All right. Lovely chatting with you as always.”
As I stand, he grabs my wrist. My gaze shoots to where he’s holding me. I glare, wanting him to remove himself from my body. “Look out on Linnie.” His gruff voice has a serious note of concern. When I meet his dark gaze, there’s a shocking worry there. I always thought their relationship was a Norman Bates loves his mommy situation or maybe even brother and sister, but now I’m not so sure.
I place my hand on his. “Of course.”
He drops my wrist with a nod.
As I leave, I realize I’m doing a favor for a very horrific man whose heart lies solely with an ill woman. Fucking hell, I want some cacti in a bottle and the day isn’t even half over.
Trepidation never fails to overtake me as I walk in city hall. Paranoia. The bad feelings from meeting with Bruno still linger in the recesses of my mind—the dark corners spreading and sticking to the walls of my skull like mold. I feel like eventually it’ll take over and nothing good will remain.
The ginger at the desk nods a greeting. He doesn’t like me much.
“What’s up, Andy, the secretary?” I smirk as his feathers bristle. And no, I didn’t used to poke the bear, but I just… stop giving a shit when someone dislikes me for no reason. It didn’t take me long to figure he’s got a chip on his shoulder about something he probably considers a woman’s job.
Me, a woman, out being proactive to make the world better—unintentionally being labeled a hero in the process—while he’s stuck here filing paperwork. What he doesn’t realize, however, is that his job is important, too. I know he organizes supply trips and supply inventory. He also keeps track of the housing units in renovation or any maintenance they might need. He assigns certain people for particular tasks. To me, his job is way more significant. It might be a behind-the-scenes, thankless occupation, but it’s necessary in order for us to do our missions. Missions that we’ve been slacking at lately.
His mouth pinches. “Office slash project manager, you’re welcome very much.”
Smart ass. I’ve tried thanking him for what he does on numerous o
ccasions, but it only pisses him off. He takes it as condescending. He’s much happier with me giving him reason to hate me.
I shrug. “To-may-toe, to-mah-toe.”
Unamused, he shuffles some papers around to look busy. “Nastas is the only one here, but he’d like to speak with you.”
I perk a smidgen. Nastas proves easier to deal with when he’s alone. I smile. “Fantastic.”
When I try to move down the hall, he clears his throat meaningfully. I sigh, palming the .22 pocket pistol from the waistband on my backside, remove the eight-round mag, and rack the slide to show him the empty chamber. The gun’s strictly for a just-in-case scenario. I used to scoff at the tiny firearm. I mean, I’ve seen rat turds bigger than the ammo, but a bullet is a bullet. A well-placed shot to the head and yer dead, as Glinda says. It’s her favorite to carry and no wonder because when I have one on me, I can easily forget it’s there from the compact size.
“Anything else?”
I pause, considering. Fuck it. I remove my boot blade with a huff and bang it on the desk. He nods, dismissing me, but instead I loom over him. His eyes widen, either in surprise, fear, or both, I don’t know.
“I’d switch places with you in a heartbeat, you know.” With that, I leave him leering after me.
Knocking once, I open the door to the conference room the council uses as their office. Computers sit on top of the table, filing cabinets line the far wall, manilla envelopes are stacked in wire baskets. I know what lies within those envelopes, of course. I haven’t left a sheet of paper or hard drive unturned in this damned place, but much like me, they hide all the good stuff.
“Kan!” Hanna springs to her feet from beside her dad. She’s seventeen and grown into her own. Her black hair flows down her back and emphasizes her new womanly curves. He pins her a dangerous look and she immediately sits.
“What’re you doing out of school?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer but looks at Nastas for permission. He answers for her, “She’s been dismissed for the day for smarting off, so now she’ll learn the consequence. Go to the break room. Give us ten minutes.”