“I know you’re serious,” he says with a show of teeth, “although misguided. That’s why it’s a morale boost.”
I shake my head at his booming laugh, and we watch out the windows until Mark announces the next town is only miles away. “Let’s stick to the west side,” he says. “There may be a better chance of a fuel barrel around the industrial areas.”
We pull off the highway and drive the streets. There are all kinds of businesses, but the few metal barrels we come across either have rusted holes or something that might react with gasoline. We find a couple of gas cans, but they’ll only hold ten gallons. After we’ve given up, we head for the shopping center that houses a gas station, supermarket and Tim Hortons. “Ooh, Tim Hortons,” I say.
“What’s that?” Hank asks.
“A donut shop. Really good donuts.”
He sighs. “Not anymore.”
It doesn’t look as if anyone has broken into Tim Hortons thus far. I wonder aloud if they have baking mixes in there, and Zeke says, “We’ll try everything. Looks pretty quiet.”
We save the gas station for last because the pump will attract attention, and once it does we can’t hang around to investigate. The two vehicles stop outside the small supermarket whose windows are shattered but doors are locked and fully intact.
I suit up. I’ve been wearing a thigh or hip holster in order to keep my jacket zipped up tight. I can wear a shoulder holster over my coat in warmer weather, but with the layers under my jacket it’s too bulky. I slide in the Ruger .22 I found in the VW and shove the two extra magazines in my pocket. According to John, a .22 will scramble a zombie’s brains. That’s all that’s necessary when it comes down to it, and it’s quieter than my revolver. It’s still loud as heck, but quieter. By now you’d think I’d be accustomed to being outfitted like this, with a hatchet and knife on my belt and a holster on my thigh, but sometimes I feel as if I’m on my way to a Halloween party.
The parking lot is quiet but for the wind that moans through the broken glass like a Lexer. I stand between Zeke and Peter at the waist-high wall below the windows and peer inside. Empty checkout lanes and a floor littered with empty packaging is all I can see before the murkiness fades to black.
Adam taps the back of his knife on the frame. “Hello?”
We’re answered by a moan. I don’t know how I could have thought the wind sounded like zombies. Their moans are raspy, almost hisses. The wind is ghostlier, the sound kids make to spook each other. The noises get louder and a figure wades through the debris on the floor. When it reaches the light, the exposed bone of the left half of its face glows.
A few more come into sight, all as decrepit as the first. The black mold grows in patches on every one of them, but they don’t appear slowed by it yet. There might come a day when the mold wins. We’ve seen it happen to a few, so it should only be a matter of time. If we knew how long, if we even had an inkling, it might make this more bearable.
“C’mon, just get your rotten asses over here,” Zeke says, which puts a spring in their step, if that can ever be said of zombies.
Mark taps my arm with the compound bow I used on the farm. I’m not anywhere near proficient yet, but I can usually hit somewhere near where I’m aiming.
“What would you say to some target practice?” he asks. He lifts his recurve bow and nocks an arrow. You’d never know how high his draw weight is by the way he pulls it back so effortlessly. When I tried his bow I almost threw out my shoulder.
I nod and take an arrow from his hip quiver. Mark’s arrow zips through the air and into the eye of one of the Lexers farthest away. Mark gets another, this time through the mouth. “Your turn, my dear,” he says with a small bow.
I curtsy and try to block out the others who I know are watching. In the time it takes me to remember what Mark’s taught me about stance, the first Lexer has been impaled with Zeke’s spike. I focus on one in back who’s walking straight for me. I think mouth, I will it to hit the mouth, but the arrow hits neck. That would be great on a human target, but it does diddly-squat on a zombie. I might as well have asked it nicely not to eat us.
“Try again,” Mark says.
This time I don’t think so hard. I let it fly and it rams into its mouth with a punching noise. The Lexer’s lips move around the shaft before it falls.
“Next one,” Mark says.
I ignore the two that are closest. Nelly calls them his way so he and Adam can finish them off. The last Lexer falls when my arrow hits its eye twenty feet from the window. Everyone is suitably impressed, including Hank, who knocks on the RV window excitedly.
“Damn, girl,” Zeke says.
“I’ve never seen someone pick it up so fast,” Mark says. “Hitting an eye is something to be proud of.”
I consider basking in the glory, but then they’ll expect this every time, which is never going to happen. My cheeks are fiery. “It would be, except I was aiming for its mouth.”
Peter chuckles and Nelly laughs so loud that he bites his coat sleeve to quiet himself. Mark gives them the teacher evil eye and strokes his beard, which has gotten slightly shaggier the past few days. “No matter. Hitting a head is no small feat.”
“Shall we go inside or are we going to laugh at me all day?” I ask Nelly and Peter.
We climb through the windows rather than shatter the glass doors and invite over any nearby Lexers. I shine my windup flashlight down the first aisle’s barren shelves. Nelly lifts his light to the sign above our heads. “Noodles, canned soup, crackers. Nope. How about nothing, nothing and nothing?”
It looks as if half the food was consumed in here. Cardboard and plastic litter the floor along with the occasional body. Adam slams into Nelly when Nelly halts and points with a look of horror. The red, white and blue of the torn packaging of a case of Pepsi lies on the tile, surrounded by several dented cans of the same. The sticky brown goop around them attests to the fact that they hadn’t been drunk.
“Seriously?” Adam asks. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“It’s an absolute travesty,” Nelly says. “Kill me now. I don’t think I can go on.”
“Let’s finish and get out of here,” I say. “Don’t you know that stopping to joke in horror movies always gets you killed? Joke later, when we’re safe.”
“So, never?” Nelly asks. I push him and he walks past his wasted favorite beverage with a dramatic sigh.
The next aisles aren’t any better. The cleaning aisle has a wide variety of options, however, and we grab bleach, laundry soap, dish soap and antibacterial wipes. Toilet paper and baby wipes round out our haul.
“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Peter says as we follow Nelly and Adam to the windows. “That was a good shot before. Sorry I laughed.”
“You have met Nelly, right? I think I’m used to being laughed at by now.”
“I didn’t want you to feel bad.”
“I didn’t. But thanks, Petey.”
One side of Peter’s mouth creases the way it does when I call him Petey. He used to tolerate it, but I think he’s grown to like his nickname. I hop out the window and turn to say something else, but he’s gone. In a second that feels more like a year, I imagine him being pulled back into the store by a Lexer we missed.
Peter reappears at the window holding a ripped bag. “There’s food in here. Someone must have dropped it. It was mixed in with all the other garbage.” He holds it out and finally takes in the fact that I’m clutching my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“You don’t just disappear! You gave me a heart attack!”
“I was ten feet away. Getting food. You heard me say this was food?”
“I don’t care what’s in the bag if you’re dead!”
Nelly relieves Peter of the bag so he can exit the store. I know my last statement didn’t make total sense, but still I stand, hands on hips, and glare at Peter.
“Calm down, darlin’,” Nelly says. “Why are you getting all riled up?”
“Don’
t tell me to calm down!” I shout at the loudest volume I can get away with out here. “I’ll get all riled up about whatever the fuck I want to get all riled up about.”
I stamp to the RV, well aware I’m acting like a teenager. But tears are looming, and I don’t want to cry. Anger is easier, although they sneak out when I’m angry, too. Sure enough, they’ve come by the time I reach the bathroom, where I lock the door and take deep breaths until I’ve cut them off.
I look in the mirror and regret it immediately. It’s been days since I’ve seen my reflection. Penny might be right about losing weight—my cheekbones and collarbones look sharper, and I have new purplish shadows under my bloodshot eyes, although all three could be from exhaustion. I take down my hair and sigh at the greasy waves. It’s not much of an improvement, but it feels good to lose the buns for a bit.
I leave the bathroom as the RV rolls toward the gas station. Bits and Hank pull out the contents of the bag while the others look on: three cans of beans, a bag of frosted cookies, a jar of honey and a jar of olives.
“Can we have some cookies?” Bits asks no one in particular.
I avoid the eyes of everyone but the kids. “Ash’s seventeenth birthday is soon. Maybe we should save them if we can. In case we haven’t gotten to Alaska yet.”
Ashley ducks her head, pleased I’ve remembered her birthday. I walk to the bedroom and perch on the bed. We have enough people that I can let the others handle the gas station. Peter enters and drops to the bedspread beside me.
“Sorry,” I say, and inspect my dry hands. I should’ve thought to look for lotion in the store. “I didn’t mean to flip out.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
I shrug and push down a cuticle. “You were ten feet away. I’m the crazy one here.”
“As usual,” Peter says, and bumps me with his shoulder. “It’s only been a few days since…” He drifts off. I think he was going to say something about Ana and the others. “And Mike, Rohan and Tony—was that yesterday?” I think for a moment and nod, relieved I’m not the only one who can’t keep track. “Really? That was yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
He scratches his jaw, which is heading from stubble to beard territory. “It feels like two or three days ago, maybe more.”
“I know.”
I’ve thought about the three of them today, but not as much as I think I should. I’m so preoccupied with keeping the people I have alive that it’s hard to mourn people I didn’t know as well. There’s a hierarchy of sorts when it comes to losing the people around you, and I’m afraid the next who die will be ones I can’t afford to lose.
He rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry I wandered off. I won’t do it again.”
“You didn’t wander off,” I say, feeling guilty that he feels guilty. He doesn’t need anything else to worry about, especially someone who loses her marbles over nothing. “I’m sorry. I got scared. It was stupid.”
Peter covers my hand with his. That’s something I’ve always liked about Peter. I touch people all the time—a squeeze, a hug, a punch, especially if it’s Nelly—and Peter does, too. “I’ll stick like glue from now on.”
“Except for the bathroom,” I say, and wrinkle my nose.
“Except for the bathroom.”
Nelly steps into the bedroom. “Everything settled or are you still yelling at people?”
I sigh. “I’m done. Sorry.”
“Glad to hear it. You want to go to Tim Hortons with me, Adam and Kyle while they check on gas? It’s totally clear out there.”
I look to Peter, who says, “You tell me. I’ll go if you are.”
“Let’s go.”
I braid my hair before tucking it into the back of my jacket, find my axe and wait by the door. “Be right back,” I say to the kids. “You guys can watch out the window and radio if you need to tell us something. You want to be our lookout?”
Hank scrambles for the radio and whispers, “Hank to Cassie. Over.”
“This is Cassie. Over.”
“We’ll let you know if anything comes.” He sets the radio on the table. “Don’t worry, I know it’s not a toy. We’ll only call if we have to.”
I nod gravely and once we’re outside say, “That kid kills me. He’s like a forty year-old in a ten year-old’s body.”
“He’s almost as odd as you,” Peter says.
We pass Shawn, who’s up to something under a neighboring truck, and circle the Tim Hortons to find the sliding window of the drive-thru has been smashed. Kyle calls through the hole and says, “Nothing, but it looks like it’s all gone.”
I pull myself through and sit on the counter, ready to vault back outside, but it feels and smells empty. Adam comes in after I drop to the floor. The names of the donuts on the empty glass cases taunt me, and I say them aloud. “Sour cream glazed, honey dip, double chocolate.”
Adam groans and points to another. “Toffee glazed? I would sell Nel into slavery for a toffee glazed donut.”
“I heard that,” Nelly says as he hits the floor.
“You were supposed to,” Adam says, tearing his eyes away from the case. “I guess we’ll try the back?”
A walk-in freezer and oven take up most of the space. There are no bags of baking mix, not even a dusting on the floor, which seems unlikely since there’s plenty of other trash and crumbs stuck in what might be chocolate sauce. The freezer is empty.
“Maybe they didn’t bake from a mix,” Peter says. He kicks a wrapper on the ground that says ‘Apple Fritter.’ “Looks like they probably got frozen donuts.”
Nelly roots around while I look in the freezer twice more for something to magically appear. I swear, every morsel of food in Canada has been eaten.
“There’s coffee and tea,” Nelly says. He holds up two bags of coffee and a few boxes of English breakfast tea.
I’d sell Nelly into slavery for tea, especially my favorite kind. There’s a box that promises hot chocolate, but it lies. We return to the station to find half of the pickup’s cargo on the ground and Shawn bent over the bed. He has smears of grease on his face along with a cocky grin. “We found a fuel container.”
“Where?” Kyle asks.
“Where’s a good place to store gas?” Shawn asks. We shake our heads. He leans on the truck and crosses his arms. “C’mon, guess.”
Nelly raises his eyebrow at me. “If we’re not allowed to joke, then we definitely don’t have time for riddles.”
“Shawn, just tell them your brilliant plan,” Jamie says. She returns a bin to the truck. “Or I will.”
“So, I’m thinking we need something that won’t corrode,” Shawn says. “And doesn’t have anything in it that would react with or ruin the fuel, right? But that’s harder to find than we thought it would be.”
Nelly searches the lot, probably hoping for Lexers so that Shawn will get to his point already.
“And how would we clean it out, you know?” Shawn continues. “So it has to be metal or a plastic we know won’t react with—”
“Gas tank,” Jamie says, and shuts the tailgate. “He took the gas tank off a truck in the lot. It’s in the bed.”
“Woman!” Shawn shouts.
Jamie tilts her head. “Oh, I’m sorry—did you want to tell them?”
“You’re lucky I love you.”
“I know that. And you’re lucky I don’t kill you.”
Shawn chortles. “Fair enough. So, is my plan not brilliant? It’s big, about forty gallons. James figured out plugs for the holes.”
Everyone agrees it’s the most brilliant plan ever. And it is pretty ingenious, but as it turns out, the fuel at the station is an unusable sludge.
“We’ll have to go into Edmonton,” Mark says. “Which once had a population of 800,000.” It’s an adventure even he’d rather skip, and I pray we find some fuel before it comes to that.
CHAPTER 23
I can tell when we’re nearing Edmonton because the abandoned cars, which have been few and far between, grow i
n number. Doors hang open, and I know that more than a few of the driver’s side seats are not stained brown from exposure to the elements. Especially not when what I assume was the driver is still on the asphalt, shredded clothes barely covering the bone and mummified flesh that was left uneaten.
We have a few hours to find gas before we’ll stop for the night, and we want to be as far away from the city as possible by nightfall. Our first route is hindered by an accident that involved a tractor trailer and a school bus, and our second by a roadblock. Only one police truck remains in front of lines of cars that stretch as far as the eye can see. And bodies—so many bodies that even though they’ve been dead over a year, the breeze through the window carries a light putrid scent.
“They must have tried to quarantine, like in New York,” I say.
“Except there were no bridges to blow up,” Penny says. She’s come down from her perch over the cab to start on dinner. We had cold wheat berries for lunch, but the temperature is dropping and something warm might serve to warm us up. It’s not bad when the RV is moving, since the vehicle heat is on, but tonight is going to be cold.
“We need a phone book,” James says. He leafs through the atlas. “It’s too late to start with gas stations now. There were some nice houses back there. We could sleep in one of them tonight.”
We choose one based solely on the fact that it’s surrounded by a stone fence and follow the long driveway down park-like grounds that have become wildflower meadows. A lake backs the two-story stone and stucco house.
“This place is 6,000 square feet if it’s a foot,” Zeke says. “Damn.”
We enter through double doors into a large foyer with a marble floor and a curved staircase to the second level. A formal living room sits to our left, a formal dining room to our right. In fact, everything about this house is formal, from the furniture to the ten-person table. The woodwork and moldings are exquisite, the windows huge, but it doesn’t throw off the vibe that living people once resided here.
The kitchen is the same with its granite counters and steel appliances and empty cabinets. I get the sense that this house didn’t have much food in it unless they were throwing a catered party. The den attempts to be inviting with a large TV and leather couch, but it falls short.
Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky Page 11