by M. J. Haag
Even if I had an endless supply of alcohol, I wouldn’t get away with drinking myself into a constant state of numbness with her around. That meant I either needed to go somewhere else and drink—not happening with so many fey around—or find some way to distract myself from the burning thirst drying my throat.
I decided to keep cleaning. It’d been something my family had done every Saturday morning. We’d all take a room and clean the hell out of it. As my sister got older, she and I competed to see who could get done first. It’d been fun.
The small smile on my lips died with the memory, and regret and guilt clouded my mind.
Emily didn’t comment on my dusting when she finally came downstairs or when I changed to washing light switches and doorknobs. Moving from room to room gave me an excuse to duck into my own for a quick drink without raising suspicion.
“You have a lot of energy today,” Emily commented when I returned to the kitchen with the cleaning rag. “Did you sleep better last night?”
“Yep. No dreams that I remember.”
“Good. Do you want to get out and do something? I was thinking about catching a fey ride over to Tenacity to check it out.”
From all accounts, Tenacity was just like Tolerance, a massive cluster of homes that the fey made “safe” for habitation by building a wall around them. Since I didn’t care for my current prison, I didn’t see the point of going to tour another one.
“I’ll pass. We haven’t made a cake in a while. I think I’ll go to the supply shed and see if there’s a box mix.”
“I heard it’s pretty low, but there are groups going out for supply runs every morning. If you can’t find anything today, there might be something tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t want to go with me?”
“I’m sure. Don’t worry. You go do you. I’ll be fine.”
I pulled the vacuum out of the supply closet and pretended I couldn’t feel her staring at me.
As soon as she left, I stopped cleaning and poured myself a cup of vodka. I didn’t bother mixing it with anything because if Emily returned before my drink was gone, it’d look like water. At least, that was the reason I told myself.
Wandering the house, I sipped and studied all the empty nail holes in the walls. There were boxes in the basement filled with the previous family’s belongings. Based on all the holes, there had to be a lot of pictures. Unable to help myself, I crept downstairs. The basement ran the width of the house, its length divided by the stairs. One side had once been used as an exercise room, based on the equipment drowning amidst the clutter.
At the bottom of the steps, I flicked on the overhead lights that did little to dispel the long shadows cast by the stacks of boxes and totes. I went to the nearest box and lifted the flap. A picture, carefully cushioned by newspaper, lay on top. A family of four posed against a green backdrop of trees, the parents standing behind the children. I studied the happy boy and girl, barely into their teens, and took a bigger drink.
As much as I wanted to believe the family had made it to somewhere safe, I knew better. There wasn’t anywhere safe, and families didn’t survive. At least, not intact.
The light from the nearest basement window dimmed for a brief moment. Fear and resignation kept me from looking up. Instead, I took another long drink and continued to gaze at the happy family that reminded me so much of mine.
The light grew brighter. Hand trembling, I put the picture back in the box and glared at the leather-clad legs as they vanished from sight.
I hated the way the fey moved around aimlessly just like the infected. Just like my family. My sister.
My bitter thoughts weighed on me so much that just breathing became hard. I hated this world. It offered only anger and fear to those who still survived. With the constant presence of those two emotions, I felt like I was always two seconds from drowning.
I took a bigger drink and thought again how this wasn’t living. It was a suspended state of death. There was no blissful peace, just never-ending time to contemplate how I would meet my end.
Back upstairs, instead of going for the cake mix, I went for a refill.
“You’re never going to believe what I heard,” Emily called the moment she opened the door.
I didn’t bother sitting up. It was too much work.
“What?” I asked. Had that come out a little too slow and relaxed?
“The plane that’s been going out to look for Molev spotted some survivors. Can you believe that? It’s not just us and the Whiteman folks anymore.”
A fear settled in my chest, and I forced myself to sit up and look at her.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a bunch of them. The pilot wasn’t able to count accurately, but at least a dozen people came out to wave when the plane flew overhead.”
She was excited about a dozen waving humans? I lay back down on the couch and closed my eyes against the spinning and the subtle heartache. A dozen more survivors wouldn’t do shit. They weren’t some miracle find but fate throwing the dregs together to make the slaughter more convenient for the infected.
Emily babbled on, relating all the juicy details from her amazing visit to ward number two. I made non-committal noises whenever she paused. Prodded by what she perceived as interest, she continued her gossip, barely noticing me.
When she finally headed to the kitchen to put something together for dinner, I mumbled an excuse about a long day of cleaning and turned in early. I wasn’t even sure what time it was when I fell into the bed and pulled out my bottle. I didn’t care about conserving as I took a long pull; I only cared about my unacceptable state of consciousness.
It was dark when I jerked awake.
Heart pounding, but not sure why, I sat up in bed and looked around the room. There was nothing there. Yet, the panicked feeling continued to grow.
Taking my bottle, I went into the bathroom and sat in the dry shower, hugging my knees. I thought of my family, of my sister, and the fear continued to swell. I did the only thing I could to stop it and took a drink. Then, another. My throat burned when the next one went down the wrong way. I coughed and went back for more.
At some point, the alcohol did its job, and with the cold tile of the bathroom cradling me, I returned to the peace of oblivion.
A knock at the bathroom door startled me awake.
“Hannah?” Emily called.
“Yeah,” I croaked.
“Are you okay?”
For a bleary moment, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know where I was or who was at the door. Unfolding from my huddled position, I winced at the stiffness in my back and the numbness of my ass. Pieces clicked into place. Mostly that it was Emily outside the bathroom door, trying to mother me again.
“Yep. I’m fine. Did you need something or do you just enjoy sending me to turtle town?”
“Oh, sorry! I’ll talk to you downstairs.”
I rubbed my hand over my face then carefully climbed to my feet. My knees popped.
What in the hell had happened to me last night?
Going to the sink, I rinsed out my mouth and tried to remember. A big blank nothing between going to bed and Emily knocking on the door was all I could manage. It should have felt like a win. Nothingness was far better than dreams of Katie. But my life was too far removed from that of a winner.
Turning away from my sallow reflection, my gaze caught on the vodka sitting in the center of the shower. Why had I carried it in here? I frowned, trying again to remember what had happened last night. Maybe it was better that I didn’t.
Mid-morning light streamed through my bedroom windows when I emerged from the bathroom. It didn’t bode well that I’d slept in that long. It also explained why Emily had come looking for me. No doubt she would scrutinize every damn thing about me once I went downstairs. Annoyed, I returned the bottle to its place under my bed and did my best not to notice how there was less than half of it left.
Skipping a shower since I’d already spent enough time in it, I changed into s
omething I found on my floor then twisted my hair into a sloppy bun. The look had been cute, once upon a time, and I hoped Emily would think that’s what I was going for.
Leaving my room, my stomach lurched at the smell of whatever Emily was making. Why did she always have to cook?
“Hope you’re hungry,” she said, hearing me on the stairs. “I’m making scrambled eggs and toast. We had another box of food this morning with bread in it.”
She looked up as I entered the kitchen.
“You look…” Her gaze swept over my face as she obviously searched for the right word to describe my appearance.
Obviously, my half-hearted attempt at cute had failed by a mile.
“Like I slept like shit? I did. Thanks for noticing.”
“Sorry.”
Feeling agitated and disagreeable, I sat on the stool.
“You say that too much. Don’t be sorry. Just be thankful it's not you.”
“I wish it were me,” she said quietly. “I hate seeing you like this.”
“Then don’t look.”
Instead of guilt, her expression of hurt irritated me more.
“You know what? I’ll spare us both and just go back to bed unless you need something.”
“Wait,” she said, stopping my move to stand. “I have a better idea than spending the day in bed.”
The rest of her suggestion was lost on me as I noted someone through the window to our backyard. He’d been standing so still beside the tree that he almost blended with it.
“Fucking bullshit,” I said as I recognized Merdon.
“We don’t have to go,” Emily said, regaining my attention.
“Not you. Him.”
I nodded toward the window. Emily followed my gaze.
“I can’t deal with him right now,” I said. “Get rid of him. Make sure he knows not to come back.”
Turning away from him and Emily, I went upstairs. However, instead of heading to my room, I moved down the hall, looking for a good spot to spectate.
The space by the tree was empty, but I wasn’t a fool. He was out there somewhere. Even as I had that thought, something creaked overhead. I looked up to glare at the ceiling as Emily called Merdon’s name outside.
Emily appeared as I glanced at the yard through a sheer curtain.
“Merdon?” she called again.
A dark shape fell past the window and landed right beside her, making my heart race. Merdon smoothly straightened from his crouch, facing Emily, who’d whirled as soon as he’d touched ground.
She started talking, and I resented that I couldn’t hear her tell him off or, at least, see his fallen expression. Settling for watching body language, I waited for his shoulders to slump, needing to see his dejected defeat. But the bastard just crossed his arms when she stopped talking. The way she continued to stare at him let me know she was listening. What was he saying? Shit. Was he telling her I jumped?
I hurried downstairs and yanked open the back door at the same time she reached it. There was no sign of Merdon behind her.
“Is he gone?” I asked. “Or back on the roof? What did he say to you?”
She stepped inside and took off her jacket, not meeting my gaze.
“He said you’re drinking too much. And I told him he shouldn’t base his opinions on what he saw at the party.”
Relief coursed through me.
“Good.”
I started to turn, and she caught my arm.
“He said he wasn’t, Hannah. I know you’re drinking too much, too. I can smell it on you.”
I faced her and rolled my eyes. “I slept like shit and grabbed clothes off the floor because I’m lazy and tired and in a mood. I’m wearing the same stuff I wore on party night. Instead of going back to bed, I’ll do laundry.”
She reluctantly released me, and I could see in her eyes she wasn’t buying my bullshit anymore.
“That’s not what you were wearing.”
“Now you’re the clothes police? Whatever, Emily. I’ll clean up and stop stinking up your air. If I continue to be offensive, just say the word and I’ll find somewhere else to go.”
“You know that’s not what I’m suggesting.”
“Right. I better get started on my laundry.”
Even knowing that she could smell it on me, I needed another drink. When I reached my room, I pulled all the shades so my creeper wouldn’t spy on me and took several gulps. Then I stripped naked, wrapped myself in a blanket toga, and spent the morning as a drunk washerwoman.
Around lunch, Emily tried to get me to eat some mashed-up crap that looked too much like vomit. It was an easy pass for me. Dinner, a simple baked potato with butter and cheese, didn’t appeal to me any more than lunch. She only asked once before leaving me to my rerun of Drop Dead Fred.
At some time during the night, I woke up on the couch with my bladder screaming at me. I fell when I tried to get up, then banged my knee on the damn end table when I tried to navigate to the guest bathroom. None of it hurt. Probably because my world was still spinning. I sat with a sigh and stared at the window as I peed.
A face appeared.
“Jesus fucking shit!”
I fell off the toilet mid-piss and got it everywhere.
Even drunk off my ass, I knew enough to be angry as I stood, shorts and underwear around my ankles, and yanked the shade down. Kicking off my wet bottoms, I stumbled from the room.
People ran. Their screams filled the air, almost muting the groans of the infected that sprinted in the streets. Fear congealed the blood in my veins. I’d be an idiot not to feel it. But I didn’t run like the rest. Not when Emily called my name or when she tugged on my arm. Rooted, I watched the woman with the torn off cheek turn toward us. A sense of acceptance joined my fear as I faced my impending death.
The dream shifted.
Arms around Emily, I watched the massacre below. The cheekless woman was dead on our lawn. Others still ran after humans or broke into houses. I could hear fighting in our living room. Emily shook. I probably did too. I couldn’t really tell. Most of my attention was on the people running outside.
A woman stumbled and went down to her knees. I could see the panic in her wide eyes, so like Katie. Fear crawled its way up my spine, wrapping around my lungs. Squeezing.
I tried to shut my eyes but couldn’t.
The infected lunged for the woman.
But it wasn’t the woman anymore. It was Emily that the infected bit again and again. Emily’s screams that filled my ears.
I jerked away from the person I still held. She tilted her tear-streaked face up to look at me.
“You left her,” Katie whispered with sad eyes.
There was no transition from sleeping to waking. Not really. The sobbing and screams that had escaped during the nightmare continued as I slowly became aware of my bedroom, daylight, and the open door.
Emily sat on the edge of my bed, softly saying nonsensical things like, “It’s okay,” and “you’re safe.” We knew both were lies.
“I’m fine,” I said through my snot-filled sobs. “You can go.”
She exhaled heavily.
“I think you’re so used to saying that that you don’t stop and ask yourself if you really are, Hannah.” She took my hand before I could get angry. “I cleaned up the urine all over the downstairs bathroom and washed your clothes.”
Last night came flooding back, and I did get mad. Pulling my hand from hers, I scowled.
“I was mid-pee when that asshole, Merdon, looked through the fucking window. Given recent happenings, the sudden appearance of a face scared me so bad I fell off the toilet. I doubt you would have reacted any differently.”
She studied me for a moment.
“I would have been aware enough to close the curtain before using the bathroom,” she said softly then stood. “I’ll make us something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said, feeling thirsty more than anything.
“You need to eat, Hannah.”
“You need to stop acting like my mom. She’s dead.”
Instead of giving me a hurt look, she nodded and left.
Whatever. I didn’t need her weirdness right now.
The dream still clung to me, making my skin itch and tingle. I reached under my bed, grateful I’d actually hidden the vodka before falling asleep. Helping myself to a large drink of it, I ignored how little remained in the bottle and did my best to erase the dream.
It didn’t fade easily. The bad ones never did.
Pacing to the window, I looked out at the street where the woman had died a few days ago. Instead of seeing the slightly trampled but still pristine white snow, I saw Emily laying in a pool of her own blood.
Shuddering, I gulped more vodka.
How long before that really did happen? Today? Tomorrow? It didn’t matter. I didn’t want to be around to see it. I couldn’t.
Just as I let the curtain fall back into place, Merdon stepped into view.
I could feel his gaze shift from my face to the bottle in my hand. I gave him the finger, hoping the gesture wasn’t completely lost on him.
Chapter Five
I was out. Not a drop remained in the bottle after yesterday’s binge drinking because of that messed up dream.
Making a face at myself in the mirror, I dabbed another layer of concealer under my eyes and gave my wet curls another scrunch. Hopefully, the effort would be worthwhile. After all of Emily’s condemning looks yesterday, I needed to at least pretend to have my act together if I wanted to fool Mary and James.
Exhaustion pulled at me as I made my way downstairs. Too little sleep could do that to a person if they let it. I wasn’t about to let it. There was a lot to do today even if dawn’s light was barely creeping over the wall.
In the kitchen, I whipped up a batch of biscuits as quietly as possible. While they were baking, I started on the powdered eggs and sausage. It wasn’t much, but Emily would know effort went into it.
While I waited for her to wake up, I opened the curtains of every window in the house for the show.
Look at Hannah not drinking.