“You’re proud of me?” I said in disbelief. It shouldn’t have been such a shock. After all, most fathers were proud of their children. But I’d never thought my dad was one of them.
“Of course I am.” Dad ran his hand through his graying hair and sat back with a sigh. His expression rueful, he said, “I’ve just not done a very good job of showing it.”
“But I mess up, like, all the time. I tried to steal a car.” I didn’t know why I was trying so hard to talk Dad about of being proud of me. Maybe because I didn’t believe he really was. Or maybe because I felt like I didn’t deserve it. Either way, I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.
“You’re a teenager,” he said. “That’s your job.”
“It’s my job to steal a car?”
“Well, no.” His eyebrows knitted together. “You really shouldn’t have done that. I mean it’s your job to mess things up. To live and learn and make mistakes. It’s the adults who need to have things in order, and I don’t. I haven’t for a long time.”
He sounded so sad I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Yeah, he’d messed up, and admitting as much on a school bench wasn’t going to solve our problems, but it was a good place to start. “Mom’s the one who left.”
“Your mother wasn’t the only one.”
I shook my head. “You stayed here. You stayed with me. You didn’t leave.”
He looked straight at me. “There are different ways of leaving, Lola.”
Oh boy. I’d hope to make it to the end of the conversation without crying, but if the burning at the back of my throat was any indication I wasn’t going to be very successful. Squeezing the plastic water bottle in my hand until it crinkled, I stood up. “I should, ah, go see if Maximus needs any help.”
“Lola—”
“It’s fine Dad, really. It is,” I insisted when he frowned. “I just need time to think about it, okay? But thanks for saying what you did and I’m… I’m proud of you too.”
Spinning on my heel, I walked away before he could see the tears in my eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
An Unwanted Pen Pal
Over the next few days we developed a routine. It went something like this:
Sunrise Wake up, take freezing cold showers
Morning Work on barricading the hotel
Afternoon Search the town for supplies
Sunset Go to bed
Rinse. Wash. Repeat.
Sometimes we would do target practice with Maximus. Sometimes we would lie on our backs in the field, stare up at the sky, and watch the clouds roll by. It wasn’t a very effective use of time, but it was a great stress reliever.
By the end of the first week we had an impressive stockpile of clothes, food, flashlights, batteries, and water sitting in the hotel lobby. There was also a full sized plastic horse which Travis had found chilling in someone’s backyard. It’d taken the three of us – Maximus refused to help, not that I could blame him – to haul it across the cornfield only to discover it didn’t fit through the spinning glass doors. I voted to leave the damn thing outside, but Travis was insistent, and eventually we managed to wrangle it in through a side entrance.
Don’t ask me why. I still had no idea.
The only thing we didn’t find during our daily searches of the town was a survivor. If anyone from Revere was alive besides Dad, Travis, and I they were either great at hiding or long gone.
On the fourth day the bodies of all the victims slain by the drinkers disappeared. One morning they were there, the next morning they were gone, snatched up in the middle of the night and taken only God knew where. Just the blood remained, staining the sidewalk a dull rust color and glistening like red paint on the grass in the early morning.
The power was still out. The water pressure was slowly waning. We talked about trying to go somewhere else, but the idea of traveling into the unknown was far scarier than remaining hidden away in a hotel where we had everything we needed. Besides, who knew what was still out there? There hadn’t been any signs of the drinkers, but that didn’t mean they weren’t waiting in the shadows. Or maybe they’d moved on entirely. With no television, internet, or even a radio there was no way to tell for sure.
We were stuck in limbo.
Maximus came by every other day or so. Sometimes he stayed for a few hours; sometimes no longer than a few minutes. I asked him where he went every night, but he wouldn’t tell me.
“Hunting,” he always said. “I’m hunting them, Lola.”
When I asked if I could go with him, he adamantly refused. “You’re safest here,” he told me. “Until something changes, stay here.”
I didn’t know what that ‘something’ was supposed to be, but I hoped it happened soon. Even though we were safe, the monotony of doing the same exact thing day in and day out was wearing on all of our nerves.
Dad’s sobriety lasted for two entire days. I never saw him drinking, but I could smell the beer in his room. He didn’t say anything about it, and neither did I. After our talk on the bench we’d gone back to pretending our problems didn’t exist. It wasn’t a solution by any means, but it was better than crying. Trying to cope with the possible end of humanity as I knew it was bad enough. I didn’t need, or want, to deal with emotional baggage on top of it.
The weather was exceptionally hot for the middle of August. The one thing I hadn’t been able to find was sunscreen, and my skin had paid the price. I was somewhere between tomato and lobster red and my shoulders were peeling like crazy. It wasn’t exactly a great look, but who was I trying to impress? Maximus?
Yeah, right.
Since the morning on the terrace he’d treated me no differently than he did Travis or Dad. The attraction between us was still there, simmering right below the surface, but neither of us acted on it. We treated each other like acquaintances, and if I caught him staring at me or our hands accidentally brushed we pretended nothing had happened.
On the morning of the thirteenth day – or was it the fourteenth? I was beginning to lose count – I woke up and reached over to poke Travis like I usually did, except this time my hand touched nothing save old lumpy mattress.
Immediately I knew something was wrong. Even if Travis were an early riser (which he most definitely was not) he would have gotten me up before leaving the room. Adrenaline the likes of which I hadn’t felt since the blond haired, blue-eyed drinker held me by my throat shot through me, clearing my mind and snapping me instantly awake. I scrambled across the bed and pressed my palm against Travis’ pillow.
It was cold to the touch.
“No, no, no,” I chanted as I rolled off the mattress, landing hard on my feet. I threw open the cheap plastic blinds we’d stolen from an old woman’s house, flooding the room with light. Dropping to my hands and knees I looked under the bed, then crawled to the closet. It was empty. The bathroom too.
Travis was gone.
I went straight to my dad’s room and pounded on the door with both fists until he answered. He stared at me out of bleary, bloodshot eyes. The table behind him was scattered with empty beer cans.
“What’s wrong?” he slurred.
I shoved past him with enough force to send the door slamming into the wall. Dad stumbled out of my way with a muffled grunt. “Travis is gone. Did he come in here? Have you seen him?” I clapped a hand to my forehead, visibly distraught as I spun in a circle. Dad’s room was an exact replica of mine down to the bare mattress and wooden bureau. Part of me knew Travis wasn’t in here, but I searched the closet and the bathroom anyways. I had to check. I had to make sure. I finished with ripping the blinds open and looking out the window, searching for some sign of him in the woods behind the hotel. Dad groaned like a wounded bear and covered his eyes against the sudden onslaught of light.
“Lola, what the hell are you doing? What time is it?”
I whirled to face him. My hair, twisted into a thick braid, slapped painfully against my cheek. I barely noticed. Chest heaving, hands curled in fi
sts perched high on my hips, I snapped, “Didn’t you hear me? Travis is gone. I woke up and he was GONE!”
Dad stood staring at me with one hand braced against the bureau and the other cupping the back of his neck. Belatedly I saw the only thing he had one was a pair of ratty gray sweatpants. He’d always had an athletic build, but binge drinking had begun to take its toll on his body and his stomach bulged out over the elastic waistband of the sweatpants. “Calm down,” he said soothingly. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for where Travis is.”
“Like what?” I cried. Out of the three of us Travis was the least likely to go wandering off by himself. It just wasn’t in his nature. He followed the rules. Obeyed curfew. Was always on time. Never broke the law. If there was an explanation for why he’d suddenly disappeared, it wasn’t a reasonable one.
For some reason I thought of another special I’d seen on TV once. It was a 20/20 episode about a mom who had been grocery shopping with her four year old daughter. She stopped at the frozen food section to pick up a bag of peas and when she turned around her kid was gone. When the interviewer asked her what it had felt like she’d described it as feeling like some part of her had been ripped away, and that’s how I felt now. Like someone had come in the middle of the night and taken one of my kidneys. Cut out my spleen. Ripped out my liver. Taken a part of me that was so connected it should have been impossible to steal without killing me in the process.
Or at the very least waking me up.
“Lola, I know what you’re thinking,” Dad began. My searing glare cut him off. I didn’t want to hear what a hung over drunk had to say.
“I have to find Maximus. He’ll know what to do.” At least he had so far. I really hoped this time wouldn’t be the one exception. I brushed past Dad on my way back out to the hall. I was halfway to the stairwell when his voice bellowed out and I froze in my tracks.
“STOP IT RIGHT THERE YOUNG LADY!”
Pulling a shirt over his head Dad stormed out of his room. I gasped out loud when he grabbed my arm. Gasped again when I saw the vein pulsing in his forehead. “Dad, what the—”
“We stick together, do you hear me?” he shouted, giving me a little shake. His eyes were damp with tears. His mouth trembled. “If Travis is really gone we’ll find him together. I’m not going to lose you too, Lola. You’re all I have left.”
I stared at him, too shocked to say anything. You’re all I have left. I’d never thought of it that way before, but Dad was right. With Mom and my sister gone I was all he had left. And he was all I had left. For better or for worse, for drunk or for sober, he was my dad… and I was his daughter.
He dropped his arms, releasing me. “I’m sorry, Lola. I didn’t mean to yell.”
“It’s okay.”
“We can’t risk going out there without a plan, if it is daylight.” Calmer now, Dad ran a hand through his hair, leaving the ends sticking straight up. He glanced past me at something on the floor. “Did you see this?” he asked before he crouched down and picked up a folded piece of paper off the carpet. There was a hole at the top of it, as though it’d been thumb tacked up. He opened it and read quickly, his eyes flicking left and right as they scanned the paper. When his mouth opened and his hands began to shake I snatched the note away and read it myself.
My Dear, Darling Lola:
I miss you sweetling!
You’ve been a naughty, naughty girl. If
you would be ever so kind as to meet me
at your high school at dusk I would be
delighted. Otherwise I’ll be
forced to send your friend
back to you…
in pieces.
XOXO
Angelique.
“Lola, what does that note mean? Who is Angelique? Is this for you? Is it about Travis? Lola? Lola, can you hear me?”
With Dad’s voice echoing dimly in my ears I sat down in the middle of the hallway and buried my face in my hands. The paper that must have been attached to my door and fallen off when I shoved it open in my rush to get to Dad’s room fluttered down beside me and landed face down. I didn’t bother flipping it over. Every word was already imprinted into my mind. If I never saw Angelique’s delicate, looping handwriting again it would be too soon.
She’d finally found me.
Did I ever truly believe she wouldn’t? Yes. Yes, with every day that passed I let myself feel a little bit safer. And now Travis was paying the price for my mistake because instead of taking me, instead of killing me, Angelique had done something far, far worse. She’d taken Travis. Sweet, kind, dependable Travis who’d already been traumatized by one drinker… and now thanks to me was at the mercy of another.
He’d never talked about what happened in the Livingston’s house that night two weeks ago, and he didn’t need to. The terrible cries he made in his sleep told me everything I needed to know. Horrible, gut-wrenching cries that sliced through me like a knife and left me awake for hours trying not to imagine the terror he’d suffered. Cries he never seemed to remember. Cries I never brought up. Not with him. Not with Dad. Not even with Maximus who knew probably more than anyone else what he’d suffered through.
I should have told him and Dad about the marks on my wrist and what they meant. I should have told them everything. Instead I’d put both of their lives by saying nothing and now Travis was paying the consequences for my selfishness.
Pushing my hands into the carpet I rose unsteadily to my feet and leaned against the wall. Dad watched me uncertainly. “Lola, are you all right?”
No, I wasn’t all right and I wasn’t going to be all right until Travis was back where he belonged. My fault, I thought. This is all my fault.
Dad started asking me more questions. Who was Angelique? How did she know my name? Why would she want me to meet her? What was going on? Why would she kidnap Travis?
“Maximus,” I whispered.
Dad stopped talking and frowned. “What? What did you say?”
I looked at him. Inside my chest my heart was racing, but suddenly my head was as clear as it’d ever been and I knew exactly what I had to do. “We need Maximus.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Operation Rescue Travis
We couldn’t find Maximus. It seemed he, like Travis, had simply… disappeared. With Angelique’s imposed deadline of sunset counting down and with nothing else to do to occupy my time, I took my last cold shower and carefully picked out the outfit I was going to die in.
I had no illusions I would be getting out of this alive. Angelique had made the mistake of letting me get away once. She didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who screwed up twice.
Once I was dressed I studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Forgoing my regular braid I’d pulled my hair up in a high ponytail. Diamond earrings (fake, of course) in the shape of skulls glinted at my ears and black liner framed my eyes. It was the first time I’d worn jewelry and makeup since the world came crashing down, but I figured if not now, then when? If I was going to march off towards my death like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter then at the very least I wanted to look badass doing it.
For clothes I’d picked a loose fitting black tank top and black leggings that cut off right below the knee. I wanted to be able to move easily. To kick and bite and yank Angelique’s hair out at the roots if the opportunity presented itself. If she expected me to roll over quietly she had another thing coming. Once Travis was safe I was going down swinging. There wasn’t going to be anything quiet about it.
I should have been trembling and crying. Instead I was filled with the oddest sense of calm. I knew what I had to do. I knew what was at stake. And I knew what the outcome would be.
Dad spent the entire day trying to change my mind. He yelled, pleaded, and when none of that worked finally threatened to ground me.
I looked up from the picnic table where I’d spread out our small arsenal of weapons and rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Dad, I’m going. Stop wasting your breath
. You’re not going to change my mind.” I turned my attention back to the guns. Courtesy of Maximus I now knew what all of them were called, as well as how to load and shoot them. The knives I’d lined up side by side on the right were a little trickier. Since chances were I was just as likely to slice off my own thumb than stab Angelique I narrowed it down to two pistols instead.
A slight breeze ruffled my hair and I sighed, tilting my face up towards the clear blue sky. If I was going to face the dark I wanted to spend as much time in the light as I could, which was why I’d set up Operation Rescue Travis in the cookout area behind the elementary school.
Five picnic tables arranged in a half circle framed a dormant fire pit. Without a maintenance crew to tend it grass was beginning to grow up past the legs of the tables and over the rough cut stones that formed the pit. Soon it would be completely overgrown.
How many family cookouts had been held back here? How many children had devoured cheeseburgers and begged for more ketchup for their hotdogs? How many couples had sat side-by-side, sharing laughter and silly stories? It helped me to think of them as they’d been, not as they’d ended up: broken bodies with their necks gaping open and their limbs twisted.
Would they be forgotten, as Maximus’ parents had been? Would I be forgotten? The thought was unsettling enough to form a fissure in my wall of calm. I swallowed the fear that threatened to overwhelm me, pushing it down to somewhere deep inside where I couldn’t reach.
“Lola, you can’t do this.” Dad sat down on the other side of the picnic table and absently began to fill up an empty magazine with bullets. “It’s insane. Going out at night is crazy. You know what those things can do. I don’t know why this Angelina would take Travis—”
The Lola Chronicles (Book 1): A Night Without Stars Page 19