by Jones, Isla
“That’s very capitalistic of you,” he said, flashing me a grin. “But I’m not a trader. I have cartons of them.” My face fell immediately. “Adam will trade,” he added.
Sticking out my tongue in a mock imitation of vomiting, I chucked the packet of cigarettes at him. “I’d rather give them away for nothing than trade with him.”
Leo tucked the packet into his pocket. Rolling my eyes, I walked away.
His voice called after me, “Does that make us friends?”
I snorted and glanced over my shoulder at him. “Far from it.”
Vicki hadn’t come back out of the bedroom when we left the gas station. She’d stayed in there to sleep, I suspected, but Mac emerged before we’d pulled out of the lot. As he joined Leo at the driver’s cabin, I riffled through my bag at the bench. I was hungry, and hoping to find a spare ration-scrap at the bottom of the backpack.
I’d almost given up hope when my fingers brushed over a wrapper. I tugged it out, pulling through books, this diary, and spare clothes. As I finally unearthed the wrapper, I gazed down at it in delight. It was a chocolate bar, untouched. I didn’t remember finding one, or putting it in my bag. My hand dived back into the bag, burrowing to where I’d found the chocolate bar—I felt another wrapper. I pulled it out and froze. My gaze was glued to the chocolate bar and the other item—a dog chew-stick.
I smiled.
My smile grew and craned my neck, looking over at the driver’s seat. Leo didn’t notice my eyes on him, but I knew he’d put the treats in my bag. He’d traded for the cigarettes I’d given him.
When I unwrapped the treats, Cleo came darting out of nowhere and settled herself on the bench table. A hungry, greedy snort came from her as she snatched the meat-stick from me and dug into it right on the table. I won’t lie—I ate my chocolate bar much the same way.
7.
The vehicles were parked in a line on the overgrown grass. I jumped off the bottom step and took in the scene before me. “Wow,” was all could manage to say. The ‘farm’ we’d stopped at for the night was not as I’d expected. There were no wiry fences erected around the property, no barns, no livestock, no paint-peeling houses. There was one building only, and it was likely the most stunning construction I’d ever seen. Perhaps it seemed more beautiful in comparison to the barrenness I saw every day?
Ahead was a stark white farmhouse that looked to be more like a cottage, which reached four stories high. A French-inspired porch bordered the front of the home, with cushioned benches and swing chairs set up all around it. The windows were long and panelled, all white, and the double doors leading into the house were carved with petals and flowers.
Rumour had it, there was pool in the backyard. Mac had told Vicki after he helped clear the house, and she had told me.
Survivors poured out of the vehicle once the all-clear was given; they raced for the house, ready to claim their sleeping spots for the night. The way they scrambled over each other gave me nostalgia—it was like the Black Friday sales all over again. The soldiers didn’t participate. They had priority in choosing sleeping arrangements for themselves; they were in charge, after all, and they needed the rooms with the best views in case anything came into the confines of the farmhouse. So, unofficially, the bedrooms were off-limits. That left sofas, armchairs, window seats, and studies.
As I was content with an armchair or even the floor and a blanket, I didn’t race into the house like the others. Vicki would share with Mac—I realised around then that they were exclusive. He didn’t stray to other survivors, and neither did she. The more I observed them, the more obvious it became that Mac’s attention was for Vicki only.
Cleo, Vicki and I took our time walking up the overgrown path towards the house, taking in the scenery. Vicki and Cleo played with the tattered tennis ball ahead.
Despite the waist-length grass seeping onto the path and farmhouse, I saw it as it once was; stunningly beautiful. A building so detailed and delicate that I knew I would never have had the chance to see it if it weren’t for the end of the world. Leo and Mac walked behind us, but didn’t seem too interested in the beauty around them. They spoke in low whispers to each other. But I could hear snippets of their supposedly private conversation.
“—running low,” said Mac. “Down to our last insulin injection. Morphine is sitting at two sixty millilitre bottles … We’re almost out of asthma medication for Vicki … She isn’t doing too well, Leo. We need more, as soon as we can get it.”
My stomach churned. I looked at Vicki. She and Cleo had jogged a few metres ahead, racing each other to reach the ball. I hadn’t known Vicki suffered from asthma. I’d never seen her use an inhaler. Suddenly, I realised—Mac and Vicki disappeared together often, thrice daily at times. I’d assumed they were having sex, but now I wondered if he was giving her medication.
Even worse; was he trading medication for her body?
I shook the thought from my mind. It was a horrid thought.
Sick people in the group hadn’t crossed my mind before. Though, apparently there were quite a few sick. Diabetes, asthma, and whatever required morphine. Perhaps it was awful of me, but amidst the pity, I felt fortunate. I only required the basics: food, water, and shelter. As did Cleo. But some had to survive other dangers. Dangers their own bodies threatened them with.
“There’s a medical clinic a few miles farther east,” whispered Leo. “I’ll arrange a small team, and we’ll leave in the morning before sunrise.”
“Vicki can’t go,” informed Mac. “She’s pretending she’s all right, but I won’t risk her exerting herself. I’ll need to stay here with her.”
I spun around to face them. “I’ll go,” I said. “I want to help.”
I want to help Vicki, I corrected mentally.
Mac seemed surprised, but Leo was stoic as ever. He considered me for a moment before he nodded once. Mac’s gaze darted over my head and he narrowed his eyes.
“Vicki!” he shouted, taking off at a run up the path. I glanced over my shoulder and realised he was angry that she was running. Maybe he cared more about her than I’d thought. A smile twisted at my lips.
A hot puff of air tickled my ear. I tensed just as Leo’s whisper brushed against my hair; “Eavesdroppers are frowned upon here.”
My shoulders jerked with a derisive laugh. I kept walking—he followed closely—and said, “But are they forbidden?”
Leo moved to walk beside me; his hands were in his pockets, and he’d slipped on the version of him that I liked—the one that was casual, almost fun sometimes. “They’re not forbidden,” he said, and winked at me. “Yet.”
“Then there’s no issue.” I beamed a smug smile and marched up to the farmhouse.
“Why didn’t you run?” he asked.
My smile slipped from my face, replaced with confusion. “What?”
“The others are quick to claim a bed for the night. You didn’t run, so you’ll be stuck with the floor.”
I shrugged. “I’m fine with the floor. It’s better than some of the places I’ve slept before I met you.”
“I’m intrigued,” he said, and adjusted the strap of his firearm over his shoulder. “Where’s the worst place you’ve slept since the outbreak?”
“Since the outbreak?” I said. “In a tree, probably. Spiders can still get you up there. Did you know that?”
He laughed. “And before the outbreak?”
All humour evaporated. My face fell and I licked my thinned lips. We reached the house and I pushed through the door, ignoring his question. If he cared, he didn’t make it known. He merely watched me follow Cleo down the white-papered hallway, passed the staircase, and into another room.
*
All hope of taking a dip in the pool were crushed. The water in the basin was murky, brown and slimy. Layers of moss had blossomed in jagged circles over the still water. Weeds and grass had broken through the concrete in the backyard, and bushes had wrapped themselves around the lounge chairs. The only place t
o sit was the porch at the back of the farmhouse, looking out at the garden which had turned into a swamp.
“I was really looking forward to a swim,” complained Vicki for the second time. We sat on the bottom step of the porch, watching Cleo sniff through the weeds. Vicki and I shared a tin of syrupy strawberries. They were too tart for the palette of my tongue, but it was a treat nonetheless. Mac had given her the tin after they’d fought. He was in the ‘doghouse’ as Vicki had said.
“You can still go in for a swim,” I mumbled through a mouthful of slimy strawberries. “It just might be the last thing you do.”
Vicki smiled, her already plump cheeks bulging with fruit.
“Do you think it’s contaminated?” I wondered aloud.
“The pool?”
“I heard Ivan say they found a body in it when they were clearing the place. Apparently, it was bloated and had moss all over it. Do you think a corpse being in the water for so long can poison it?”
Vicki appeared to consider it for a moment. Decidedly, she replied, “No. It’s not as if it was an infectee. I think the danger of the pool is the moss and how long it’s been stagnant for.”
My fingers itched to reach for my phone and search the internet for the answer. It’s strange that even after five months of no phones, internet or electricity, that my instinct keeps such habits.
“Wanna play past lives?” asked Vicki, scooping out the last strawberry. I eyed it greedily, but she tossed it at Cleo. The black Chihuahua sniffed, licked, and pawed it a few times before deciding to eat it.
“I already know your past life,” I said. “You were a veterinary nurse, and had two roommates.”
“I don’t know anything about you,” she said. “Other than that, you have a sister, Summer.”
“Guess away.” I smiled, leaning back against the white-painted steps. A bit of chipped paint stabbed at my back, but I barely felt it over the constant dull ache in my shoulder. I should be wearing the sling, but it was inconvenient, I found. It got in the way. Besides, I’d left it in the caravan.
Vicki lay back, too, and turned her head to study me as if the clues to my previous life were etched into my face. Her gaze passed over my peachy-blonde hair—lighter under the constant sun—tied into a bun atop my head; my plain brown eyes, squinting back at her through the light that shone down from the sky; my swollen lips, almost bruised by my nap at the bench table in the caravan where they’d been smooshed against the window.
Eventually, Vicki spoke; “You said you were from Los Angeles.”
“I said I lived there.”
“You were an aspiring actress,” she guessed, sceptically.
I laughed and shook my head. “I’m not that much of a cliché, am I?”
“A gold-digger,” came a sickly-sweet voice from behind. Both Vicki and I craned our necks to see who had spoken. My eyes narrowed on the intruder. It was Rose, and she was sprawled over the faded hammock, peering over her sunglasses at us. I wanted sunglasses. Where had she gotten them? She must’ve found them in the house somewhere. Next time, I’d be faster getting into the house.
“That’s my guess,” she smiled, but it came across as more of a sneer. She transformed from the pretty girl-next-door into a wicked witch with that one facial expression. She cocked her head and added, “Life aspiration; to be Hugh Hefner’s favourite playboy bunny. And you—” Her thinned eyes settled on Vicki. “—wanted to be a plus-size model, taking over the world of biased fashion. Am I close?”
Vicki made a sound at the back of her throat, a sound that told of her disbelief that Rose had really said what she’d said. Rose was out of line.
I glared over my shoulder at her. “Models make it in New York, not Los Angeles.”
It was a lame comeback, I know, but it was all I could manage to say during the wild thoughts I had of kicking her off the hammock and slapping the bitch out of her.
I looked at Vicki. “Do you think he’s still alive? Hugh Hefner?”
“Maybe,” thought Vicki. “I know who isn’t, though.” Her brown eyes hardened and flickered to Rose. “Rose’s dad.”
The cruelty of her tone had my brows raising skyward, and my lips parting. As I gaped at Vicki’s stone-cold expression, Rose jumped off the hammock. But before she left, she looked down at Vicki and said, “I always wanted to know—do you steal extra rations at night and pig out in some shadowed corner?”
Rose smirked at her frowns.
“I only ask,” she said, “because you seem to have gained weight here, while everyone else is losing weight.” Her face swiftly hardened into a cruel canvas. “Oh,” she added. “I forgot. You trade your body for food, like some common whore, don’t you?”
She turned and stormed into the house.
“Damn,” I whispered, aghast. “That was disgusting.”
“She deserved it,” said Vicki. She turned and faced the swampy pool. “Trust me.”
“I didn’t mean you,” I said. “I was talking about Rose.”
Vicki’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh.”
Seconds of silence passed before I finally asked, “Is she always like that or did something happen between you two?”
Vicki sighed, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. She propped herself up, placing her elbows on the step behind her. “Her dad was a part of the group a few weeks before you found us … Or we found you.”
Clicking my fingers, I summoned Cleo. She’d ventured too far, and came prancing back the second she heard the snaps.
Vicki said, “We came across a herd. A few of us were separated from the group, and a couple of us didn’t make it. Rose hid in a car. Mac had always told me that if we were pulled away from each other, that I was to hide underneath a car if I could. The infectees don’t look there, you know.” She shrugged. “Well, that’s what I did. I went underneath it; the same car Rose hid inside of.”
“And her dad?”
“He ran over to us,” she said quietly. “Three infectees were on him. I heard him cry out to Rose. But she … she just shut the door on him. Rose locked her dad outside with those things, and watched him die through the window. I remember his face. The rotters took him to the ground, and we stared at each other as he died. I’ll never forget that look of betrayal … that pain in his eyes as he took his last breath.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I watched Cleo jump up onto Vicki’s lap. Absentmindedly, Vicki ran her fingers through Cleo’s fine black coat.
“Rose is nothing but a yellow-bellied, entitled brat,” added Vicki shamelessly. “That’s why she’s always a bitch to you.”
“Because I’m so brave?” I snorted. I was anything but. Though, I wouldn’t leave my own father to die. At least, I don’t think I would. Truth is, nobody knew what they would do in that situation until they were in it. It was easy to pass judgement, but not as easy to endure the trials.
“Because you’re getting something she wants,” corrected Vicki. “Or, should I say someone.”
“You?” I smiled and nudged her arm.
“Leo.”
The name buzzed in my ear the moment it slipped from her tongue. Since when did I have Leo? And what did that even mean? I didn’t own the guy, nor vice versa. Most of the time, I wasn’t even sure I liked him as a person.
“You might not see it,” continued Vicki, “but she does. You’re a threat to her, so she lashes out at you. If I had to guess, I’d imagine her end-game is you leaving the group.”
“That seems unlikely,” I said. All of it seemed unlikely.
“She’s done it before,” said Vicki. “Bullied a girl out. We just woke up one morning and she was gone—all of her stuff, gone. It’s a shame, really. I’d gotten close to her. I miss her sometimes.”
“What was her name?”
A faint smile pulled at Vicki’s plump lips. “Zoe.”
“What was Rose’s vendetta that time?” I asked. “Was it Leo?”
Vicki smirked and slowly turned her head to face mine. “Castle.”
<
br /> My face scrunched up in confusion. “Who’s that?”
“If you survive long enough, you’ll find out.”
The rickety porch door swung open with a squeaky creak. I dipped my head back to see an upside-down Leo.
“Dinner,” he said, and disappeared inside again.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Vicki and Mac had gone into a corner to whisper about their fight. My eyes drifted to them a few times, and each time Mac drew closer to Vicki. It was then, I think, that I realised he truly cared for her—he loved her. Was it a blessing or a curse, I wondered, to find love in an apocalypse?
I’d been stuck with Leo at dinner. We’d eaten with the others in the living room that stretched into a dining area. But Leo had snuck me an extra ration for Cleo—a tiny tin of cat food. We hadn’t talked, but Rose watched us closely the whole time from the far side of the room. When I’d realised she’d been watching us, I smiled up at Leo and scooted closer.
He’d said nothing. Rose had stormed off.
*
After dinner and a shared tin of strawberries, my stomach was full. That blissful drowsiness following a hearty meal relaxed my body. Everything felt heavier; my arms, legs, eyelids. I was on the brink of sleep in the parlour room, on top of the piano. Cleo and I—mostly I—cushioned the hard wood of the piano top with cushions and sheets found around the farmhouse. A thick, hairy, woollen blanket weighed down upon us both as we curled up together. It was scratchy against my skin, but my mind was in such a tranquil state that I might as well have been wrapped in clouds.
Over Ivan’s gruff snoring across the room, I heard the door open with a whisper of a creak. The hinges were better oiled than the ones on the porch door, but I heard it nonetheless. Peering through one eye, I saw a shadowy dark figure enter. A few other survivors were in the parlour room sleeping, including the dreaded Rose. Thankfully, she was far away on the sofa.
The shadowy figure hovered by the doorway for a moment, scanning the survivors in the room. Eventually, his gaze settled on me and he approached. As he drew closer, I recognised the familiar green of his eyes. They reminded me of the algae that swarmed the pool outside. Cleo growled and rolled onto her back as Leo reached the piano table. He sat on the stool, eye-level with me.