Hope for the Best

by Vanessa Lafleur

  “We have running water,” she shouted, skipped out of the bathroom, and slid back onto the bench. “We have running water.”

  Nick squinted up at her, still rubbing his forehead.

  “We won’t have to go look for water to drink.” She dug through her bag to find the flashlight. “We can wash our clothes and take showers. It might be cold, but who cares?” Her hand closed around a plastic tube and she pulled the flashlight from her bag. Pointing it at the wall, she flipped the plastic slider up and a weak beam of light blossomed into a yellow circle on the wall. Standing, she held a hand out to Nick.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To wash away the blood so I can have an actual conversation with you.”

  Without argument, he took her hand and limped to the little bathroom. Standing in the doorway, she held the flashlight as he splashed water over his face, through his hair, and up his arms.

  “Is that better?” In the narrow shaft of light, a cut stretched across his forehead near his hairline and a dark blue bruise formed beneath his left eye.

  “Much better.”

  Together they walked into the next room down the hall. A large green area rug covered the wooden floor in front of a couch with a chair positioned on each side. Two shelves piled with books filled one corner of the room, while a little table holding a white vase with pink flowers painted across the top adorned the other. Nick lowered himself onto the couch inch by inch, and winced when his body came in contact with the cushions. He held the bottom of his shirt out, examining the stains with a frown, and revealing a blackening bruise crawling across his ribcage.

  “I had a clean shirt in my bag.” He leaned back all the way. “I guess it belongs to someone else now.”

  “I can find you another clean shirt.” Lareina smiled and sat down next to him.

  “You’ll steal me a clean shirt.”

  “Let’s call a truce. Just for tonight, we won’t argue.”

  He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Agreed.”

  Chapter 8

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Aaron appeared in the room carrying a small plastic tote. “This place is even bigger than it looks from outside.” He set the tote on a chair and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, band aids, and a needle and thread. “There’s eight rooms upstairs and another five on the third floor.”

  “Whoa, what do you have sewing stuff for?” Nick slid a little closer to Lareina.

  Aaron poured some rubbing alcohol into a glass then dropped the needle and a section of thread in after it. He rubbed his thumb across his forehead to mirror where Nick’s wound slashed an angry red gash across his skin. “The abrasion on your head.”

  Nick pressed his hand against his forehead then pulled it back. “It’s fine. It’s not even bleeding.”

  “Until it breaks open while you sleep, never fully heals, and eventually gets infected,” Aaron warned.

  Nick’s eyes went wide. “You are hearing this, right? Your friend wants to stick a needle into my forehead.”

  Lareina rested her hand on Nick’s shoulder. “He’s not exactly my friend. I only met him a few minutes before you did.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Aaron held the needle up to the light, struggling to thread it. “I assure you it won’t go all the way through.”

  “It’s okay, Nick. He used to work at a hospital.”

  Turning so his back faced Aaron, he whispered, “How do you know?”

  “Because he told me,” she mimicked in a hushed voice.

  “You met him an hour ago. You don’t even know his name is really Aaron.”

  She swallowed over a lump forming in her throat. Would she let someone she just met stitch her forehead? Absolutely not.

  “I know it seems scary.” The words were more appropriate to comfort a little boy instead of someone her own age. “But you only have two options. You can let Aaron help you or you can figure out how to get antibiotics when you get an infection.”

  Nick winced, took a breath, and slowly turned until he faced forward.

  “Lie back on the couch and relax,” Aaron instructed. “Rochelle, sit right there and hold his hand. Nick, if you feel much discomfort squeeze Rochelle’s hand and I’ll stop, okay?”

  “Okay?” His voice sounded faint.

  Aaron pushed the curtains aside then shook his head. “Has anyone seen a flashlight around here?”

  “I have one.”

  After retrieving it, she sat on the edge of the couch and aimed the beam of light at Nick’s forehead. She squeezed his hand once for reassurance then focused her attention on the shelf of books while Aaron worked. They were all strangers who never would have met under normal circumstances, but at least for a moment, they all needed each other.

  “Are you still okay, Nick?” Aaron asked.

  “I barely feel anything.”

  The sun sank lower, draining light from the room. Aaron finished and Nick stretched out comfortably on the couch. After covering Nick with a light blanket from a nearby chair, Lareina explored the kitchen—no food—and the second floor. She unpacked her bag in one of the bedrooms, but it felt quiet and lonely. When shadows filled the house and it became impossible to ignore the pendant’s icy touch against her skin, she gathered a few blankets and carried her empty bag downstairs, planning to find food in the morning. After making herself a bed on the living room floor, she checked on Nick then drifted into a restless sleep.

  Birds chirped loudly in the dim light. Lareina kicked her blanket aside and sat up. Her head ached and she felt damp with sweat. Despite the stifling, humid air, Nick slept soundly on the couch and Aaron rested comfortably in one of the big recliners, the side of his face pressed against the back cushion.

  She tiptoed out of the room and down the long hallway. In the kitchen, wooden cupboards lined three walls and a sink waited for someone to wash dishes. A toaster, a blender, a radio, and a roll of paper towels lined the counter near a refrigerator. She imagined living in the house, coming downstairs to eat breakfast with her parents and siblings, watching movies with them in the living room, and setting the dining room table for a family of six.

  Knowing the cupboards were empty from the previous day’s inspection, she found a glass, filled it with water, and swallowed it slowly. It would have to be enough until they could get some food.

  A light rustling and the soft murmuring of voices drifted in from the living room. By the time she picked her way back down the dark hall, Aaron was folding his blanket, and Nick sat on the couch, leaning forward with his face in his hands.

  “Good morning, guys. How are you feeling Nick?”

  “Like I got beat up,” he mumbled without moving.

  Aaron shrugged. “I told him he’d be stiff until he moves around a little bit.”

  Lareina sat next to Nick, considered putting a hand on his shoulder, then changed her mind. “There isn’t any food in the kitchen. One of us is going to have to find some.”

  Nick’s head popped up to reveal the stitching on his forehead, a cut on his lower lip, and an angry bruise below his left eye. Under different circumstances, he could have won a prize for the best zombie costume.

  “You mean you’re going to find berries or wild plums in the ditches, right?”

  “I haven’t had a lot of luck with that.” Aaron stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  “I think our best option is to shop in Austin.” She stood and stretched her arms behind her. “After we’ve all had something to eat then maybe we can search out a good place for gathering.”

  “Don’t forget Austin is under quarantine,” Aaron warned. “Maybe I should go. I’ve already had the fever so I have immunity.”

  “How exactly are we going to shop? Does anyone have money?” Nick looked from Lareina to Aaron. The contrariness she was used to slid back into his voice.

  Aaron shoved his hands into his pockets. “Good point.”

  One . . . two . . . three. Don’
t lose patience with him. “I’ll find a way to get some money.”

  “You’re going to steal money,” Nick accused.

  Her hands clenched into fists at her sides and she locked eyes with him in a staring contest that neither of them intended to lose. Sunlight filtered through the open blinds, encasing them in golden luminosity. Frustration defeated patience.

  “I’m trying to keep us alive. If you want to starve then go try to gather berries.”

  “What about the people you’re stealing from? How are they supposed to survive?”

  “What do you know about survival?” Her voice rose to a shout, so she took a breath to get it under control then looked right at Nick. “Oh, that’s right—you tumble into traps and get robbed.”

  He stood, bent forward at first, then slowly straightened his back. “At least I know the difference between right and wrong. No wonder you’re the orphan no one wanted.”

  The words knocked her back a step. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Nick didn’t move and if he regretted his words, she couldn’t tell.

  “I’m going for a walk.”

  Aaron stepped in front of her. “Hold on. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go into the city. Especially not alone.”

  There was a whole world out there away from Nick, crowds of people to blend into and blocks of towering skyscrapers to hide among. She pushed past Aaron and collected her bag in the foyer. “I go wherever I want.”

  Aaron followed her through the front door. His footsteps creaked across the porch as she made her way down the front walk. “Are you coming back?” he shouted after her.

  She stopped and turned back for a second. He stood with his hands on the railing, leaning forward. Unable to reply for fear her voice would break, she turned and hurried away.

  The usual impulse to survive and the need to get far away from Nick smothered any fear of the fever. Lost in annoyance and frustration, her feet carried her through quiet neighborhoods, then past deserted shops and skyscrapers, into an empty ghost city where Austin, Texas, should have been. A sheet of paper swirled down the street in a dusty gust of hot wind before catching around the base of a pole. Blazing sun scorched the city from a hazy blue sky, making it more comfortable to remain, whenever possible, under the awnings of shops or in the shadows of buildings.

  She walked up and down the streets in search of an outdoor market, like the kind she stole from in San Antonio. Very few people ventured outside, but those who did held cloth over their noses and crossed to the other side of the street to avoid meeting each other. Every few blocks she glimpsed stacked shapes swathed in white sheets at the curb. The sight caused her to quicken her pace, afraid the wind would rip the sheet away before she rushed past.

  She shivered despite the broiling sun on her back, and the seriousness of the fever collided with the wounded pride that had driven her away from safety. She’d never been in an infected city. Until now she had only read terrifying accounts in the paper. Lareina mopped sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. You don’t know the difference between right and wrong. No wonder you’re the orphan no one wanted. She would have walked across the entire continent to escape Nick’s judgmental accusations, so she had catapulted herself into a place where nothing but a white sheet stood between the living and the dead. Run away and escape the fever or stay and avoid starvation? Either option seemed like a death sentence.

  Traffic lights creaked back and forth in the wind, flies buzzed around overflowing garbage cans, and a truck rumbled up the street with six white sheets stacked in the back. Turning the corner, she pressed her back against the warm brick of a building. She squinted up at skyscrapers stretched toward the shimmering blue sky. A strange apprehension rose within her, drying out her throat and tying knots in her stomach. If people weren’t sick, they were scared. And scared people were dangerous.

  Walking faster, she tried to focus on the spotty shadows dotting the sidewalk. Occasionally, curtains would flutter as she passed, invisible people peeking from dark windows. The doors of dress shops and restaurants displayed signs with CLOSED printed in large black letters. She wanted to leave, to forget what Nick said, to return to the huge house with bay windows and running water.

  Blinking back a tear, she crossed the street, and trudged down the shaded walking path of a park. She sank onto a bench, and covered her face with her hands. Only days earlier it seemed so easy to jump onto a train and wake up in Maibe. People wouldn’t judge her there; she wouldn’t tell them what she had done. But there were no trains, at least not in Austin.

  The pendant slapped against her chest when she lifted her head. Accepting it had been a mistake that would forever steal her freedom and her future.

  Across the park, through neatly trimmed trees and shrubs, she noticed a sprawling building, the entire front wall made of glass so clean that it glinted in the sunlight. She stood and crept closer to the unexpected but welcome sight. The appearance of the building caught her attention, but the stream of people entering and leaving beneath a sign that read “Penny’s Grocery” captivated all of her hope. Women wearing bright sundresses and wary expressions held the hands of children with masks over their noses and mouths. Life had to go on. There would be survivors, the trains would return, and those who remained would bring the city back to life. Humanity would rebound as it always had.

  Her relief only lasted until she realized that an indoor market would make her method of shopping much more difficult than it had been outdoors. She sat between two bushes, trying to formulate a plan as she watched a woman with two little boys leave the building as a man wearing a white shirt and blue tie entered. As he pulled the glass door open, he reached back and pushed a protruding wallet deeper into his back pocket.

  Target in sight, she stood, patted the dust from her clothes, and crossed the street. Huge red letters painted on the side window announced

  FINAL INVENTORY SALE SHOP WHILE YOU STILL CAN

  A blast of cool air welcomed her into the chaos of shoppers grabbing what they could in dim light. Some rushed through the store avoiding close proximity to other customers. Some chatted through masks as they reached for the last loaves of bread on the shelf. Some strolled up and down the aisles as if they’d never heard of the fever or refused to believe it was in the city.

  For a few seconds the man seemed to have eluded her, but then she spotted his white shirt turning into a nearby aisle. Quickening her pace enough to catch up but maintaining enough of a distance to avoid suspicion, she followed the man to the back of the store, where he stopped in front of a glass display counter. Walking up next to him she imitated the way he peered through the glass at different cuts of raw meat.

  “The steaks here are really good. The way things are, this might be my last chance to enjoy one,” he said without looking up.

  Lareina nodded. “It’s pretty scary.”

  “It’s better not to think about it.” Smiling sympathetically, he leaned over the case. “What’re you here for?”

  “Oh, it’s my brother’s birthday and my mom wants to surprise him with the best dinner we can manage. I’m not sure what I’m looking at though.”

  That was all it took, and the man was off, pointing out various cuts of meat and reminiscing on the special occasions when he had eaten them. Pretending to be interested, she watched the brown tip of his wallet in her peripheral vision. She had done it hundreds of times, but picking pockets always made her nervous. The proximity to her target meant a greater chance of getting caught, but she had little choice if she wanted to leave the store with some food.

  “So that one there is a T-bone steak?” she interrupted, pointing directly in front of her.

  He turned away and pointed to the other end of the case. “Oh no, those are way down on that end.”

  With one smooth motion, she slipped the wallet out of his pocket. He didn’t react as she slid her hand behind her back.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a man asked from behind the cou
nter. If he had witnessed her crime, he didn’t say anything.

  The man looked at Lareina. “Excuse me a minute?”

  Lareina nodded and as the man discussed his order with the butcher, she unfolded the wallet behind her back and felt the wad of bills. Don’t get greedy, she reminded herself. You can only fit so much food in your bag anyway. Unable to see how much the bills were worth, she pulled out three and slipped them into her back pocket. Then, folding the wallet shut, she waited until the man leaned forward to take his package and let the wallet fall behind him. He heard it hit the floor, but she leaned down to pick it up before he could.

  “Here, sir, this slipped out of your pocket.”

  “Thank you, I wouldn’t want to lose that,” he replied with a smile.

  “Sure thing.”

  He waved then hurried off to the front of the store.

  Walking away from the meat counter, she pulled three crisp ten-dollar bills from her pocket.

  Chapter 9

  By the time Lareina left the grocery store, her backpack hung low, the straps straining to hold four pounds of apples, three boxes of granola bars, two boxes of crackers, a loaf of bread, twelve bananas, one jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly. A few blocks from the grocery store, all sound ceased except for the rumbling truck prowling the streets to carry the dead away. Across a long intersection, a sign pointed north toward Dallas, and beyond Dallas, Maibe. A right turn would lead back to Nick and Aaron. Were they pacing across the area rug, worrying about her, wondering whether she would decide to come back?

  The preposterous fantasy made her laugh. As much as she never wanted to see Nick again, she’d left her extra clothes, lock picks, and gun back at the house. She turned right.

  Searing heat rose from the sidewalk in shimmering waves. Gusts of wind funneled between the buildings, twisting her hair around and plastering it against her face. The sky shimmered clear and blue up ahead, but on the western horizon columns of dark clouds flashed with lightning. Her parched mouth begged for water to wash away the grit of dirt lodged there by the wind, but she didn’t want to stop. Faded billboards, overpasses, and closed businesses disappeared behind her as she followed the road into a residential neighborhood. She guessed she had walked about three of the four or so miles between the center of the city and the olive-green house.