Dead World Trilogy (Book 2): A World Together

by Weir, R. K.

  "We should stop somewhere, get some rest," I say. My eyes run along the street we're on. Shops and restaurants line the left side, on the right is a sizeable casino, its entrance spread out along the majority of the block. My first instinct is to go with the restaurants to my left, but after a moment of thought, I remember the small bistros that are usually inside casinos. Odds are they'll still have some food left over, I doubt many people would have thought to scavenge them. Everyone else agrees.

  Each of us breaks off to investigate a different part of the casino, with the exception of Gale, who chooses to wait by the front where there's still a little light. For once, I don't blame him for being fearful. In the dark, there's nothing to differentiate this place from a cave, large machines looming like oddly formed stalagmites. Not to mention the silence, overbearing in a place that's meant to be chittering with lights and sounds. Just another graveyard, I think. Hoarding the skeletons of what used to be.

  After delving deeper, the darkness growing more pronounced, I stumble down a small set of steps and find myself in what I think might be a food-court. A congregation of tables and chairs fill out most of the space in front of me. Once my eyesight adjusts, I can just make out the row of eateries packed together at the end. When I reach them, it becomes apparent that I've underestimated how difficult it will be to find anything. My first objective quickly deviates from finding food to finding a source of light. This task proves easier than I anticipated. Tucked away in a desk drawer, I manage to find an old box of matches. They're short, stubby things that burn away in no time at all, but they're better than nothing.

  "Hey," I recognize the voice before I turn towards it. The small flame bathes Stella's face in a soft, yellow glow, yet still her expression manages to look hard.

  I grumble a greeting back. I'm still angry at her, so before she has a chance to say anything more, I turn my attention towards a stack of unopened boxes at the back of the store. The match burns down to its hilt and scorches my fingertips as I open the first box. With a curse, I flick it away and light another. Judging by the weight of the box, I was hoping to find cans of food, but instead there are only large bags of salt. Just the sight of it makes my mouth feel drier. Assuming the rest of the boxes will be as disappointing I move on to search the shelves. I burn through three more matches before I find anything; some beef jerky and a can of beetroot. Pocketing both of them, I'm about to search elsewhere when something nudges at my shoulder.

  "Here, there are heaps on the tables outside," Stella says. I hold the match up to see that she's offering me a candle. Or maybe it's a white flag and this is her way of apologizing. When the match I'm holding burns out and I still hesitate from taking it, she sighs. "Look, I'm sorry for what I said, okay? It's just, you called me selfish and I got mad. I didn't mean it."

  I take the candle from her. "You don't think you're selfish?" The wick ignites just in time for me to catch her frowning.

  "I think I do what I need to do in order to survive," she says. "You don't think you're only trying to help people because you feel guilty?"

  I take a moment to reply, "I think I do what feels right." She studies me before accepting this response with a nod, and then we both fall silent. I don't know what I was expecting, but even though she's apologized, I still feel the sting of her words. Maybe because it's made me question my relationship with her. Would I be willing to go to the coast if she didn't look like my daughter? Would I have ever even let her in my Jeep? Just thinking this makes me feel awful, because I'm so unsure of the answer. I want to think that I'm good, that I'm helping her – that I help others – purely because it's the right thing to do. But she's made me realize that that isn't true, and it only reminds me of what she said.

  "I guess you were right," I tell her, "everyone is bad." By all accounts I wouldn't consider either of us good.

  Stella shakes her head. "You're not bad, Logan."

  Her words fail to make an impression on me because I know that she's wrong. I was uncertain before, about whether I would be helping her, whether I would be helping anyone if guilt weren't driving me. I've decided now that I wouldn't.

  Miraculously, because I didn't think it would actually be possible, this revelation manages to weigh me down with even more guilt. If she didn't look like my daughter I wouldn't be here, I never would have helped her. But she does look like Anna, and so I'm trapped.

  Trapped until one of us dies.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Logan

  There are a number of things I bid farewell to when civilization ended. Walking down the street without having to look over your shoulder, meeting new people and not having to wonder if they want to kill you, sleeping with both eyes shut. The list dwindles down to simpler things like fresh food or watching TV. Most of these I know I'll never have again, but I suppose it was premature to assume that I would never play another game of poker.

  When Rocket found a deck of cards she insisted that we play. We delved deeper into the casino until we found a private room with a poker table and plush chairs, a place clearly meant for high rollers. There's a bar too, but so far I've resisted the urge to see if it's stocked. We took the candles from the food court and scattered them around the room. There's just enough flickering light to see the cards. Instead of playing with chips though we decided to use whatever food we managed to find.

  Surprisingly, Gale has won most of the rounds. Somehow his general facade translates into a proficient poker face. I think it's because even when he has a good hand he still manages to look timid. That, and he never bets high. I'm throwing down cookies and the most he's willing to bet is stale crackers.

  Occasionally my gaze will stray from my cards and I find myself looking at Stella and thinking about how complicated things are. Trapped was a good way of describing it, because that's exactly how I feel. And there's nothing I can do about it, I can't even blame her. I was wondering before what she's done to make me place her above everyone else, but now I know it's nothing she's done. It's me. It's entirely my fault. I've projected the image of my daughter onto Stella and now I can't see past it. Am I trying to replace Anna? No, definitely not. The very idea is so horrible, yet, I can't deny that Stella fills a part of the void that Anna left.

  Have I recruited Maisie for the same reason? Am I just torturing myself further by doing so? Thinking about it only exhausts me and I feel my eyes beginning to droop when Maisie clears her throat.

  "We should play a game," she says, sitting up in her seat.

  "We are playing a game," Stella says, and then drops her cards on the table with a sour look. "Although this one isn't very fun."

  "No I mean another game," Maisie says, "like a game within a game."

  Stella ignores her and instead leans over so that she can get a look at my cards. Since she was the only one who didn't know how to play when we started, I let her look. Although I'm fairly certain Maisie doesn't know how to play either, she insists that she does. Stella glances at the five cards on the table and then back at my hand. Then she slumps back into her seat with a sigh.

  "What did you have in mind then?" Stella asks, turning her attention towards Maisie.

  "In mind for what?" Maisie asks.

  "A game?"

  "Oh, right, well," Maisie says, "why don't we go around the table and name something we miss from back before the world ended."

  "Ugh, that sounds like even less fun than poker," Stella says.

  "I think it would be a good way for me to get to know everyone!" Maisie chirps.

  During their squabble, someone's foot has begun to rub up against mine. I'm about to move away when I catch Rocket smiling slyly across from me. I hesitate but smile back as her foot begins to trail up my leg and towards my thigh. Rocket. Another relationship that only confuses me. Is flirting really the only thing she's interested in? She's made it abundantly clear that she isn't after anything serious, but sometimes I find her looking at me in a manner that suggests otherwise. Do I want something more? I have
no idea. It would seem that the only stable relationship I have right now is with Gale.

  "We'll go round in a circle! Let's start with Rocket!" Maisie says.

  The exploration of her foot is unperturbed by the attention, but her eyes bounce from mine to Maisie's. "What do I miss most? Hmm . . ." Rocket says, the words drawn out. To anyone else it would sound like innocent pondering, but with her foot so close to my groin, it sounds more like a seductive purr in my ears. And then she says, out of everything in the world that's been lost, "Probably music."

  Music! The answer confounds me, because out of everything that I can think of, music wouldn't even make the bottom of my list. Rocket must notice my reaction, because she shrugs and says, "I like to dance."

  Gale sits to her right, and every pair of eyes around the table automatically shifts to him next. It would seem that this round of poker has been abandoned in favor of Maisie's game. Which is too bad because I honestly think I could have won. I drop my cards on the table just as Gale raises his in an effort to hide behind them. Because we only have two cards each, it proves a poor barrier.

  "Gale?" Maisie prods.

  His glasses lift up over the cards and he peers at us. "Um . . . food," he says.

  It's a strange answer from a man so thin, but I decide not to question it. It's obvious that truth isn't a factor in this game, because if it was, I imagine their answers would be far different. Eyes turn to me, patiently waiting for my answer. But unlike Gale and Rocket, I don't have to wonder, the answer comes swiftly to me. In fact I'm surprised it hasn't already been said.

  "Family." It's the truth, but maybe this was too dark of an answer, I can tell it's made them uncomfortable. Rocket's foot even retreats from my leg and a certain coldness replaces it. Now I realize why their answers were offered simply, without any serious thought. To keep things lighthearted. There's no denying that my answer has put a damp mood on things. While Maisie's eyes linger on me, Rocket and Gale are quick to shift their attention to Stella.

  I do the same, more than happy to move on from my response and more than intrigued to hear what Stella's answer will be.

  "Pass," she says with a wave of her hand, as if trying to swat the question away from her.

  "You can't pass," I say. Of course she would try to avoid the question, like she tries to avoid anything personal. But the game is innocent enough and I'm not going to let her get away that easily, not without an honest answer at least.

  "Fine," she huffs, "TV."

  "Come on," I say, "be serious." I don't know why I care. Maybe because in re-evaluating my relationship with her, I've realized that there's very little I actually know about her.

  "What? You think Gale's answer was serious?" she asks. Gale flushes a deep red and once again holds the cards up to cover his face.

  "My answer was serious," Rocket chimes. Stella looks at her and then slumps back into her seat with an annoyed puff.

  "So?" I ask.

  She glares at me, but instead of spitting an insult her gaze drops back down and she quietly mutters, "Birds, then."

  "Birds?" I echo.

  "The day they stopped singing was the day I knew things were never gonna be the same." She shrugs.

  It's not an answer I was expecting, but it forces a quiet hush to fall over the table, and just like with Rocket and Gale's responses, I find myself confused. This girl, cold and ruthless, who kills without flinching and lies with ease, misses the lilting songs of birds telling her that everything is okay? The answer just doesn't fit with who she is, and for a moment I consider that she might be lying again. But the way she's said it, eyes cast down, almost shy, makes me believe that her answer is truthful. I don't know what I was expecting, but I find it difficult to imagine this version of Stella, from before the infection, who relied on the singing of birds and noticed when they stopped.

  It would seem I've learned a lot about my companions from this game.

  Maisie clears her throat and regains the attention of everyone at the table. "I miss the clouds," she says.

  Another quiet lull takes hold of everyone, but this time there is no sad undertone. I expect an eyebrow to quirk, or a head to cock to the side, confused or slightly bemused by her answer. Nothing of the sort happens. It would seem in our short time with Maisie, everyone has grown mostly accustomed to her oddity.

  "We still have clouds, honey," Rocket tells her, gently, as if trying to coax her from whatever realm her mind is lost in.

  "Yes," Maisie nods, "but they're not as nice."

  At this I smile. Last I checked, the clouds looked no different to me. It would be interesting to see the world through her eyes, perhaps even permanently. While there's no doubt that she's completely mad, majority of her comments lead me to believe that whatever reality she's living in is far nicer than the one the rest of us inhabit. How wonderful her world must be if the clouds are the only thing not to like. I wonder what the infected look like to her, normal people maybe.

  While I'm thinking about it, she opens her mouth into a yawn and I figure it's about time that we turn in for the night. Everyone readily agrees, but after our lavish night in the motel, with soft beds and pillows that you sink into, no one is looking forward to sleeping on the floor. Although I know it will probably be a wasted effort, I decide to do one last sweep of the place to see if I can find anything we can use, like a blanket at least. Even though we're deep in the belly of the casino, the bitter cold has still managed to seep its way in from outside.

  "I'll come with you," Rocket says. I don't object, in fact, I'd like to have some time alone with her. A chance to talk about things. While Stella and Gale begin clearing the table and organizing all the food for easy transport tomorrow, Rocket and I take a candle each and leave the private room.

  Deep in the casino, shrouded in absolute darkness, the small candles give little in terms of light. Instead of splitting up this time we decide to search together so that we can combine the light of our candles. I don't know what I hope to find, a rug maybe, or a sitting area with cushions that we can use for pillows. Anything would be better than the scratchy carpet, but it's blankets I'm most concerned with. Without all the lights and electricity to warm the city at night, it gets shy of freezing now. A simple cold is manageable, but if it becomes anything more then we'll be dealing with a new set of problems altogether. I should have taken some of the sheets from the motel.

  We only venture out so far before I figure we should start heading back. The last thing I want is to get lost and spend the rest of the night stumbling around blindly in the dark.

  "We aren't going to find anything," I admit.

  "Shame," Rocket sighs, "guess we'll just have to . . . rely on each other’s body heat." I can hear the smile in her words.

  "Very funny," I say, turning to face her. She lifts her candle and places it on the top of a slot machine. Then she inches towards me.

  "I wasn't trying to be funny," she purrs. Her hand lifts up to rest on my chest, but before it does, I grab it in my own and hold it a small distance away.

  "I can't do this," I say. Because really, I can't. I'm exhausted enough trying to figure things out with Stella that this game with Rocket is just too much. Maybe if I never kissed Rocket back at the house things would be different now. Maybe I wouldn't care. But all I can think of when I look at her lips is the shiver that ran down my spine and the shake in her voice afterwards. "I can't do just sex. Maybe you can, and that's fine, but I can't. Not when I want something more."

  "Wow," she says, "okay. Never thought I'd hear a man say that, but okay." She's said it as a joke but it's still managed to pang against what masculinity I have left. I'm glad for the darkness now because my face is probably redder than Gale's.

  "Yeah, well, I don't know," I stammer, "I just can't do . . . this, anymore." I let her hand go, and in the wavering light of the candles I see her brow furrow and her smile drop into a frown.

  "So what is it that you're looking for, then? Romance?" She throws her hand
s out. "Look around you, Logan! Look at where we are! Romance is dead!"

  "Is it?" I ask, "or do you only think that because of your fiancé?" I remember what she said when she was trying to fix the bus. He's the only reason I know where the hospital is in this town. "He hit you and now you can't trust another man? Is that it?"

  I know the words are wrong, horrible, the second they leave my lips, and there's no excuse I can conjure as to why I said them. At first I hope it's a trick of the light, but there's no mistaking the scowl on her lips, the fury in her eyes as the honey in them boils to a darker shade.

  "How dare you," she hisses. For a scary moment, I think she might hit me, even raises her hand. I would let her do it too, I more than deserve it. Instead she shakes her head and turns away.

  "No, Rocket! Wait! I'm sorry! Okay . . . I just—" I cut myself off because she's disappeared into the dark. She didn't even take her candle.

  I'm an idiot, I think. A complete moron! There are worse things I can call myself, but for now I settle on insulting only my intelligence. I wish she had hit me, wish she cursed me out or spat in my face. Something! Anything! But all she did was shake her head, and that's left me feeling like what I've said is unforgivable. I drop my candle next to hers so that I can bury my face in my hands.

  I wanted to make things simpler but all I've done is throw gas on an already raging fire. I don't even understand what possessed me to say something so stupid. Guilt burns at me from the inside out and a horrible feeling settles in my gut. I just want the feeling to go away, and suddenly the guilt that's burning at me is replaced with an overwhelming anger. My hand balls into a fist and I throw a punch at the slot machine. I pull back with a curse, my knuckles throbbing and my anger only intensifying. So I punch it again and again, and once my knuckles feel like they're about to shatter, I start to kick it.