by Ilsa J. Bick
“Sarah’s right,” Tori said. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that old man took a shot?”
“A .30-06,” Pru said. “I thought Greg was going to shit his pants.”
“The guy was just scared.” Greg still thought they could’ve talked the old man down, but Pru’s Ruger Mini-14 put the period to that conversation. In a bedroom, they found what the old guy was protecting: a cage of three scrawny parakeets. The sight made Greg want to cry.
“But people are shooting back, and it’s worse since the rationing. They’re killing horses, they’re shooting dogs.” Sarah ruffled the shepherd’s ears. “Jet and Ghost are still alive because they guard the kids, and Daisy’s yours, Greg. But they’ll come for them, too, eventually.”
“Then people, I bet.” Pru’s expression darkened. “Start off with the real old guys who won’t last much longer anyway.”
“Eating people? Come on, get real,” Greg said. “This isn’t Lord of the Flies. The Council would never allow it.”
“Oh, like they’re so relevant.” Pru gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “The only reason they’ve held on this long is because everyone was fed, and the village was real tight before everything went to hell. They had Peter, their miracle boy: too old to Change, not old enough to survive but Spared anyway—and his grandpa’s on the Council. Then, here comes Chris, another Spared, and, oh, he just happens to be Yeager’s grandson. A total God thing, and everyone calmed down. Peter cleared out the Changed, killed them all. People were fed; they felt safer. Remember their ceremonies on Sundays, how Yeager would bless us and spout all that crap about holy missions? Now with Peter and Chris gone and nothing coming in, it’s all falling apart.”
“Then we have to get out before we all starve, or get traded for food or something,” Sarah said. “Or maybe they’ll only pass us girls around as a reward. The way some stare, like Cutter—”
“Cutter?” Something flitted through Tori’s eyes, but when she said nothing, Greg looked back at Sarah. “He’s one of your guards.”
“Yeah, and I sleep so much better knowing he’s got keys. He hasn’t done anything, but you can hear the wheels turning. If he could figure a way …”
“I’ll get him moved somewhere else.”
“It’ll end up being the same no matter who gets posted.” Tori’s voice was strangely toneless. “I never used to worry. When Peter and Chris were in charge, they were like this indestructible team. But now?” She turned him a shimmery look. “Greg, we can’t count on the adults anymore. We need to take care of ourselves. So, either we take over or we leave.”
Greg threw up his hands. “And go where? East is out. Lot of cities, lot of people, a ton of Changed. That’s why Peter and Chris didn’t want us patrolling out that way. South is no good either. Once beyond the mine and closer to Iron Mountain, it starts getting real crowded.”
“If there’s anyone left.” Tori wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like south anyway. That earthquake two weeks ago? From the cave-in? That was pretty weird.”
If a cave-in’s all it was. A finger of unease dragged over Greg’s neck. Subsurface vibrations was what one of the real old-timers had said: You can get spontaneous combustion in a coal mine. But the Rule mine was iron first, gold second, and the rock’s inert. For that mine to cave bad enough to set off an earthquake, you need high explosives, and a lot of them.
Which begged the questions: who had access to high explosives, and why do it at all?
Aloud, he said, “So that leaves west. Wisconsin, Minnesota …”
“Wyoming,” Pru said. “Betcha it’s pretty empty.”
“Or we go north, maybe even into Canada.”
“Oren is north,” Sarah said. “Chris and Lena went north.”
There was a silence. “They went east,” Greg said.
“Greg, Chris knew east was dangerous, and he’s been to Oren. So if he’s alive …”
“Big if,” Greg said.
“Yeah, and I’ll bet he’d be real glad to see us, too, seeing as how he’s come back to rescue us and all,” Pru added sourly.
“No matter where we go, you’re talking forty kids,” Greg said. “We’d need wagons, food, ammo, horses. All stuff we don’t have.”
“If we take everyone,” Sarah said. “Maybe we don’t.”
“Oh?” Pru raised an eyebrow. “You got someone you want to kick off the island?”
“Yes. Aidan, Lucian, and Sam.” Sarah leveled a look. “I don’t trust them.”
Pru shrugged. “I’m okay with that.”
“Wait. I don’t know if it should be that simple,” Greg said. “We’re not choosing teams for a pickup game. Sure, I don’t like what they do, but I don’t have any better ideas.”
“You guys could not do it,” Tori put in. “Just because Peter decided torture was okay doesn’t mean it is. Won’t a prisoner say anything so you’ll stop hurting him?”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Pru said. “Council had to approve, too.”
“Which most of us didn’t know about until Chris ran. So if torture was so okay, why hide it?” Tori’s attention stayed on Greg. “What would happen if you refused?”
“I don’t know.” Greg didn’t want to find out. It would be like telling the principal he was doing a sucky job: Gee, thanks for your opinion, kid, and that’ll be detention for the rest of your life. Look how easily Yeager decided to throw Chris into the prison house, and Chris was his grandson. He stood. “We gotta go. Can we just not decide on who until we figure out how, or if we should do this now? It’s still winter, for God’s sake.”
“Not for much longer. We need to decide, and soon.” When Greg only bent to zip his parka, Sarah continued, “Look, if you’re not with us? Fine. But stay out of our way.”
“What?” Greg snapped. “Sarah, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the enemy.”
“She’s just upset,” Tori said.
I’m not? “Don’t make excuses for her.”
“But don’t you see, Greg? It’s all coming down.” Sarah’s eyes brimmed. “Peter’s dead and Chris is gone and it’s all falling apart!”
“You think I don’t know that?” The red blaze of sudden anger was acid on his tongue. “Let me tell you about falling apart. Peter was my friend. The only reason I didn’t die in that ambush is because I went to Oren with Chris. There isn’t a day goes by I don’t think about how, maybe, I could’ve saved Peter. And what about Chris? He trusted me. If Chris had asked, I’d have helped him get out. But he didn’t and he’s gone. Now when there are decisions the Council wants enforced, they come to me, and you know what I get to do now? Boost some old people on a rumor that they got a couple spare gerbils lying around. So don’t tell me how things fall apart, Sarah.” He yanked his zipper so hard the metal should’ve sparked. “Been there, done that, bought the goddamned T-shirt.”
Tori caught up as he and Pru were halfway down the nave. “She’s just upset.”
“Lot of that going around,” Pru said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Greg said, still angry. “No big deal.”
“Yes, it is. Look, I …” Tori’s eyes flickered to Pru and then back. “Can we just talk a sec?”
“Uh … sure.” Greg looked over at Pru, who only hunched a shoulder and headed for the altar, hung a left, and ducked through an arched entry. Greg waited until he heard the clump of Pru’s boots on the steps, then turned back to Tori. “Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean to give you a hard time,” she said, giving his arm a light squeeze. “I’m glad the Council picked you to take Chris’s place and not Pru.”
“Oh.” His mouth dried up. Tori had never touched him before. No girl had. How strange was this, to be standing in a church with a girl he was majorly crushing on—and he was armed? “I don’t, ah …” He muzzled a cough. “It’s not like I had a lot of choice.”
Tori’s eyes were very blue, but that could’ve been because she was standing even closer than before. “You could’ve said no. But you didn’t. It’s e
asy for people to complain, like how I always got on my mom’s case when she wouldn’t let me stay up late?” Tori’s mouth moved in a smile so sad Greg had this weird impulse to cup her cheek the way his mom used to when he had a bad fever. “Now that we have all these little kids, I understand where she was coming from.”
“Most days I’d give anything for my mom to nag about homework or put away the Xbox. I don’t think she’d even recognize me anymore.”
“She’d recognize you. You’re doing the best you can.”
“But what if it isn’t my best?”
“Then figure it out,” she said, and before he knew what was happening, her mouth was on his.
Greg was so startled he gasped. His heart began to bang and he thought he might faint, this felt so good. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, couldn’t catch his breath, wasn’t really thinking anymore. They came up for air at the same moment, and he said, “T-Tori—”
“Shh,” she said.
So they stopped talking for a while, and that was fine. That was good.
At least, there were a couple moments where Greg didn’t have to think about what a terrible person he was, heading out to kill some grandma’s poor old cat.
41
An hour later:
“Go rest,” Tori whispered, laying a light hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “I’ll sit with Caleb.”
“No. It’s all right.” Sarah tried a smile, but her muscles felt frozen, a feeling that reminded her of when her dad repaired their driveway and she’d tested just how long you could stick your sneaker into wet cement. A million years from now, an archaeologist would discover a little pink sneaker and wonder where the rest of the body was.
“What’s so funny?”
“Huh?” Sarah actually had to put a hand to her face. Her lips were so stiff they would’ve been at home on a corpse. “Nothing. I was just remembering something.” By her feet, she felt Jet whimper. Normally calm, Jet had been restless ever since Greg and Pru left. “I’m sorry about earlier, with Greg. It wasn’t fair.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Tori draped a moist cloth over the little boy’s forehead. “You’ve got to stop this self-pity crap. We all miss Peter. I keep expecting Chris to walk in any second.”
“To rescue us?” She marveled at how easily the bitterness oozed back. When had she gotten so mean? All this moaning and woe-is-me … Still whining, Jet had clambered to his feet. She ruffled his ears to quiet the animal—and herself—down. “I’m sorry. That was nasty. I just can’t seem to find a balance, like I’m on this emotional teeter-totter.”
“You’re not the only person having a hard time. Greg is trying, and he’s got feelings to hurt. You think I’m always so cheerful and understanding? Most of the time, I’m faking it. Otherwise I’d spend half the day crying and the other half daydreaming about food I can’t have. I’m going to be eighteen in two months. I should be thinking about college and driving my mom crazy and if I’ll be a blimp in a prom dress.” Tori squeezed out a small, bleak laugh. “Wish my mom could see me. She was always on me about my weight.”
“So were you faking it before? Talking about getting away, I mean.”
“No. We better do it soon. Pru’s right. You can feel it in the air, how angry everyone is. The food went so fast, and so did the rest of the supplies. We’ve got plenty of guns but no bullets and no game left to hunt anyway. We’ll be lucky the Council doesn’t get lynched. Things are starting to get out of control.” Tori paused. “Remember I mentioned unlocking the choir door? What I didn’t say was … Cutter was waiting, right outside, hours before he was scheduled to show.”
“What?” Of their two night guards, she most disliked the shaggy, thickset old man who’d wandered into Rule with Lang and Weller. Other oldsters darted a quick glance, but Cutter actually stared. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because he didn’t exactly do anything. He pretended he needed to check the door. You know how small that landing is?”
She did. The stairs were narrow, meant for the choir to access the chancel. The landing between the basement and sanctuary was a square no larger than a couple doormats placed side by side. “Did he … you know …” She didn’t want to say touch you.
“Pretty much. He was inside so fast he copped a pretty good feel. His face was … dangerous. Like I’d better not scream or fight.”
“You really think he would’ve hurt you?”
“I honestly didn’t want to find out. But there are the littler kids, and I thought, all of a sudden, well … better me than one of them. How sick is that?”
“That’s not sick. You were protecting the kids.” Sarah took Tori’s chilled hands in hers. “Something else happened, though. I can tell. What was it?”
“He said that if I didn’t want Pru or Greg to end up in trouble, I might want to be nice. So I … I let him get in a good, long, dirty little grope.” When Sarah pulled in a breath, Tori said, “Don’t, okay? I already feel like I’ve crawled through a sewer. But you know those beans Pru gave him? Cutter offered the can to me, like payment. He said he didn’t expect something for nothing. That … that the kids might like more food if I would, you know, do more. And what’s horrible?” Tori’s eyes dropped to her lap. “For a second, I thought … okay.”
“Tori.” Sara could taste the acid boil from her empty stomach. “You don’t mean that.”
“I don’t know.” Tori gave a hopeless shrug. “Maybe I do. The kids are hungry, and what if Cutter threatens to hurt Greg? Or Pru? None of us are safe.”
“Look, let’s just take a step back, okay? Nothing’s happened yet. We’ll talk to Greg and Pru. We’ll think of something. Know what? I’d like some tea. Want tea?” Sarah stood up so quickly her heart couldn’t keep up, and a sweep of vertigo blacked her vision. She gulped back a shaky breath, then another. “You want chamomile or chamomile?”
“Chamomile’d be great.” Tori managed a wobbly smile. “Look, I already put Daisy and Ghost with the girls. Would you drop off Jet with the boys? That dog goes crazy when you’re not around.”
Not as crazy as I feel right now. “Sure.” She turned to go, Jet on her heels. “It’ll be okay, Tori.”
“It’s nice,” Tori said, “that you think so.”
God, the thought of Cutter hitting on Tori … Sarah shuddered as she walked the breezeway connecting the school to the church. The idea made her want to take a cup of bleach to her brain and hit rinse. The thought of his creepy old hands on her, or his mouth …
“Gag me with a fork.” Frosty air palmed her face as she pushed through double doors and into the west vestibule. Directly ahead were two sets of stairs. Bear left and you had a choice: either up three steps to a cloakroom or down twelve to the basement. Choose the right set of steps, however, and you accessed a circular stone stair coiling up to the bell tower.
She flicked on a flashlight and took the left stairs. The church was not her favorite place. The place creeped her out, day or night. Constructed entirely of off-white, native limestone, the church was a soundproofed ice cube that held onto a deep gloom and a stone-cold chill. Following her light, she descended into the midnight gloaming of the windowless basement. Grit crackled like cap guns under her shoes. The gelid air was fiery on her skin. The basement was dominated by the inky cave of a common room that seemed only blacker with the cold. Shivering, she hung a left for the kitchen, a long, narrow throat of a room designed on the cheap. The cupboards were puke-yellow, vintage plywood. The floor and counters were stained Formica. The industrial-sized stainless-steel sink sported two spigots, not that she’d ever known water to run from either. All their water came from snowmelt, and they always kept an aluminum camp pot, with a plug of ice, at the ready.
It was when she fumbled out a match that she heard it: a very small but crisp crunch like sand under a heavy boot. What? Her heart cramped. She went completely still, unlit match in hand, then eased right to peer down the long throat of the kitchen’s one aisle and toward a closed storage
room where they kept their meager rations under lock and key. As her weight shifted, she caught the snap and crackle again: grit under her feet. You heard yourself, silly. Touching off the Coleman, she squared the pot of ice over the burner. Just freaking yourself out.
Shaking out her keys, she walked to the storage room, socked in a key, turned it, and heard the thunk as the lock didn’t release … but engaged. Huh? She frowned. The door was open? That wasn’t right.
Then she recalled what Tori said: When I went to sweep out the basement … Tori had used the chore as an excuse to open the side door, so Greg and Pru could slip inside. But now there’s sand. She thought about how much colder the vestibule seemed, and her pulse ramped just a little higher. Always icy, the church had been frigid because the side door was open? Would she know? No, not if she didn’t stop to check or feel a draft. And the basement’s freezing, which follows because if the door is open, the air has two ways to go, up into the sanctuary …
Or down here, into the basement, with her.
But hold on, hold on. Tori had gone after Greg. Had she mentioned locking up once the boys left? Sarah hadn’t asked. It wasn’t something she’d have checked anyway, because Tori had enough common sense to realize that you always locked doors.
Even if she did lock it, something could have come in earlier, and be here now.
No, that was silly. Why hang out in a frigid basement? What was here that was nowhere else? Well, food. Duh. And that made her think of something else Tori said: when she opened the side door, Cutter had been there.
Oh God. What if Tori had jumped to the wrong conclusion? Cutter had keys. So maybe he was really there to steal food. A spoonful of peanut butter here, a few crackers there—who’s to know? It wasn’t like they counted every bean.
Maybe she should just get out of here and close off the basement. Yeah, but that meant going through that dark, spooky common room to the stairs. From there, the only way out was through the side door, or the chancel the next flight up. So, maybe best to retrace her steps, make a beeline back for the school, and then the girls could lock themselves in. If something came after them …