by J. M. Snyder
Ronnie said a paperclip, Court remembered. He took a few steps down the hall, towards the reception area, where he could hear his friends’ muffled voices as they searched for something to use on the lock. He didn’t get far before the sign beside the other door caught his attention. LADIES.
Maybe there was something in there?
Once when Jeanie had accidentally locked her keys in the car, she had used a bobby pin to open the door in the garage and get into the house. When Court found out, he’d been impressed by her ingenuity, and then worried at how easy it apparently was to break into their home. Now he leaned a hand against the door to the ladies’ restroom and pushed it open gently, resisting the urge to call out, “Hello?” There was no one inside, he knew. He’d seen as much himself when Ronnie took a look.
The restroom was darker than before, though, and shadows clung stubbornly to the walls. Court kicked at the rubber stand at the base of the door, but it didn’t budge, so he bent down and pried it open with his hands. When it was flush against the floor, holding the door open to allow the last of the sunlight in, he stood and caught movement from the corner of his vision. His heart stuttered out a rapid beat and he took a step back before he realized it was only his reflection on a mirror hanging on the far wall of the restroom.
“Jesus!” He stepped inside and, to the mirror, scolded, “Don’t scare me like that!”
He scanned the floor, looking for something that might be useful. Cigarette butts and silver chewing gum wrappers lay scattered about, and he toed through them. He found a paperclip, which he retrieved from a sticky puddle of dried soda. Then he thought he saw a bobby pin and reached for it, only to have it skitter away at the last second. He jumped back with a cry, wiping his hand on his shirt, skin crawling as the millipede disappeared into a crack in the wall.
“Ugh, fuck.” With a grimace, he turned towards the sink and even turned the faucet before he remembered there was no running water any more. “Shit.”
Then he saw what he was looking for—a bobby pin resting on the metal counter above the sink, the kinked wire rusted into place. He tried to pry it up and couldn’t get it, so he used the paperclip to help. It felt sticky, too, and the rust flaked off as he pulled it up, but maybe it’d hold together long enough to get the door open.
He checked the other sinks, and found the butterfly clasp of an earring, a strand of dental floss, and a wad of once-pink bubblegum that had congealed into something resembling a hard plastic ball. Then a shadow darkened the room around him and he turned away from the sinks, already saying, “Hey, Ronnie, I found a bobby pin.”
“Ronnie and Adam are moving the bikes around back here,” came Bree’s reply. Unnecessarily, she added, “I’m Bree. I thought of looking for a bobby pin, too. You really found one?”
Court held it out to her. “My wife jimmied a lock with one once, but I’m not sure how easy it is.”
“Piece of cake.” She plucked the bobby pin from his palm and turned to face a vending machine soldered onto the wall near the sinks.
At first glance, he assumed it was a towel dispenser, but then he noticed the coin slots. Many men’s restrooms had similar machines, where a fellow could buy a condom or a breath mint if he felt he might get lucky. “They have these things in girls’ rooms, too?”
Bree gave him an odd look over her shoulder. “What do you mean ‘too’? They don’t have these in the men’s room.”
“They do,” Court insisted. “Mostly in bars and such. I mean, I’ve never used them, but—”
“I should hope not.” Bree crouched down to peer into the small keyhole at the bottom of the machine. “The only thing you’d get out of here are pads and tampons.”
Court felt a dull blush warm his cheeks. “Oh, no, I was thinking of something—no, you’re right, we don’t have these. Um, no. Sorry.”
Ignoring him, Bree pinched the bobby pin so she could force both ends into the keyhole, and then began to poke and prod, trying to unlock the machine. Court could hear the faint sounds of metal scraping inside the lock, and he felt embarrassed just standing there while Bree worked. Did she need something out of there? Should he go outside and give her some privacy? Would the bobby pin even work?
A moment later, the lock popped and the small door swung open in front of Bree. She handed Court back the bobby pin and started rooting through the contents of the machine. “Um, should I go?” he asked, pocketing the pin.
“What? No, hold out your hands.”
When he did so, she started to pile small, individually wrapped sanitary napkins into his palms. He resisted the urge to pull away. “What’s this for?”
She gave him a sardonic look, and he felt his whole face blaze with embarrassment.
“No, I know,” he said. “I mean, why are we taking them? You don’t—I mean, you’re not…?”
Bree stopped shoving wrapped tampons into her pockets. “First off, whether I am or whether I’m not, it’s none of your business. Second, these things are great emergency supplies.”
Court muttered, “For you, maybe.”
She held a tampon up in front of his face, forcing him to look at it. “The cotton in here is sterile,” she explained. “We can use it in a pinch to stop bleeding—any bleeding, and it soaks up a lot more than rags. The pads do, too. We can also use the cotton inside to filter water, if we need to, or help start a fire. The plastic tube can be used as straw to purify water or suck out poison. The string can be used as a candle wick or a, well, you know, string. Which always comes in handy.”
“Damn,” Court swore softly. “Did they teach you all that in Girl Scouts?”
Bree laughed. “No, I saw it on the Discovery Channel once. We could’ve used some pads to sop up all that blood after you got shot.”
Court shook his head. “Yeah, no, I don’t see myself walking around with menstrual pads strapped to my leg, sorry.”
With a smirk, Bree said, “I bet if Ronnie told you to, you’d do it.”
Though he didn’t respond, Court had to admit there was very little he wouldn’t do if Ronnie asked.
Ronnie and Adam wheeled the bikes around the back of the welcome center and parked them by the broken windows in front of the ladies’ restroom. Ronnie stepped through the window frame to come back inside, but Adam hesitated, taking care to knock the remaining glass from the frame before he ventured through. “So dangerous,” he muttered, shaking his head.
The others ignored him.
Holding out the bobby pin to Ronnie, Court asked, “Will this work on the door? Bree might be able to do it.”
“I can.” Ronnie’s fingers brushed over Court’s with an almost electric spark. Then he turned towards the door and, hunkering down in front of the knob, went to work on the lock.
Court stood back, hands thrust in his pockets, and tried not to crowd his friend. Instead he watched Bree shove the tampons and maxi pads into her backpack. At some point he glanced at Adam, who blushed and looked away. “She says they’re good emergency supplies,” Court said softly. “Stop up blood, you know.”
When Adam snickered, Court laughed, too. But Bree silenced them both with a look. “See if I let you use one the next time you get shot,” she warned.
“There won’t be a next time,” Court countered.
Her hand drifted to the revolver poking out from the waistband of her jeans. Her eyes were stony, her jaw set. “We’ll see about that.”
Court cleared his throat and took a step away from her towards Ronnie. “How’re you coming?” he asked.
The sound of the lock disengaging was answer enough. A moment later, Ronnie eased the door open. “Got it.”
The room beyond the door was dark and windowless. Safe, Court thought. Unbidden, an image of the slaughter he’d seen in the woods earlier flashed across his mind, but he hurriedly pushed it away. They were safe, no one would hurt them. They could close the door and lock it behind them, leaving the apocalypse outside, if only for a little while.
Suddenly
twin beams of light streamed past him, illuminating the darkened room. He turned to find Bree with two flashlights, one in either hand, angled through the open doorway. Without a word, she handed one to Ronnie, who stood and pushed the door wider as he stepped inside.
“Careful,” Court said, for all the good it did.
Ronnie shined the light around the room. It was part supply closet, part employee lounge. The walls, lined with shelves, were stacked high with everything needed to keep this place running—brochures and state maps, log books, office supplies, toilet paper, napkins. There was a desktop computer, the screen dark now, a printer/fax machine, a microwave, and a mini fridge. One corner was crammed full of boxes of extra snacks and sodas for the machines at the end of the other hall.
A round table sat in the middle of the room, six folding chairs pulled up around it. There was a time clock on the wall under a calendar and shift schedule. A narrow door opened onto a single toilet and sink, obviously for employee use only. As the four of them entered the room, it seemed to shrink down from a wide, open space to cramped quarters quickly. Taking a look around, Court joked, “Well, this is nice.”
“We can’t sleep in here,” Adam complained. “There’s no room.”
Ronnie swept the flashlight across the floor. The tiles were dingy but not exactly unclean. At least there was no paper clutter, like in the reception area, and no overflowing bilge and shit like in the restrooms. “It’s clean enough,” Court said. “The damn table’s just in the way.”
“So we push it outside,” Ronnie said.
Adam looked doubtful, but Bree brushed past him and started folding up the chairs. She handed one to Court, who took it and glanced around, uncertain. “Where am I supposed to put this?” he wanted to know.
“There’s plenty of room in the bathroom,” she said. “Come on, hurry up. The sun’s almost gone, and I’ll be happy once we’re settled in for the night.”
Adam helped with the chairs, and soon there was no room in the small bathroom for anything else. The table was too large to get through the door, and Court tipped it on its side, hoping it’d go through that way, but no. Between them, he and Adam got two legs out, then couldn’t move it any further. “Shit,” Court cursed. He was outside in the hallway, the table blocking the doorway, and everyone else was in the room. The table was wedged pretty well—two legs outside, two inside, and no room to budge or wiggle it in either direction.
Helpless, he shrugged. “Now what?”
Ronnie handed Adam his flashlight. “Now we take off the legs,” he said, unscrewing the table leg closest to him. “Which we should’ve done before you two got it stuck.”
“You could’ve said something,” Court muttered, but he started unscrewing the legs on his side, too. By the time the last of the sun disappeared behind the tree line, the legs were piled in the hallway and the table itself rolled out to lean against the door to the ladies’ restroom.
They brought in all their supplies off the ATVs, even the tent poles and cooler, because Bree didn’t want anything to get stolen in the night. The tents they spread out on the floor, as extra padding beneath their sleeping bags, and poles were laid in the middle of the room, dividing it into two sides. Ours and theirs, Court thought, unrolling his sleeping bag next to Ronnie’s. The room would be warmer than the tents, to be sure, but he would’ve liked a little privacy. When he stretched out on his side, his head propped up on one hand, he not only saw Ronnie’s bedding, but Adam’s and Bree’s, too.
As they settled in, he warned, “No sex tonight, you guys. We’re right here on the other side of the room.”
“I should say the same to you,” Bree teased. “Or, hey, foursome. What do you think?”
Adam’s eyes widened in horror behind his glasses and Court laughed. “Oh, God! You should see your face!”
In a strained voice, Adam said, “We are not having a foursome.”
“What, I’m not sexy enough for you?” Court batted his eyes, which made Bree giggle. “Come here, big boy. It takes a real man to please another.”
Adam’s skin blanched until it looked as white as the walls in the glow of the flashlight. Court blew Adam a kiss, enjoying his friend’s discomfort, and was just about to say something wildly suggestive and witty when Ronnie nudged his foot. “Stop it,” Ronnie said.
Pain flared along Court’s leg and he winced, sobering immediately. “That’s my bad leg, man!” he cried.
Ronnie knelt and covered Court’s knee with one warm hand. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Serves you right, hitting on me like that,” Adam grumbled. “See if I look at it again.”
Before Court could reply, Ronnie’s hand tightened, catching his attention. When Ronnie stared at him with such intensity, Court found it difficult to look away. “Did I hurt you?” he asked softly.
Court shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Ronnie persisted.
“Fine,” Court said again. He ran a hand down his thigh until it covered Ronnie’s, and for a moment, their fingers laced together. “It’s okay, really.”
Ronnie squeezed Court’s hand, then slapped his leg playfully and stood. “Good. Because it’s your turn to cook. And no rice. I’m sick of it.”
“What? No!” Court cried, sitting up. “We always have rice! Bree!”
“We have rice,” she assured him, gathering together her cooking supplies. They planned on using the table legs to start a fire in the pit that had once been the reception desk, so they didn’t burn or smoke out the supply room where they were going to sleep.
Ronnie was already out in the hall. Over the clatter of the wooden legs, Court heard him grouse, “God, what I wouldn’t give for a fucking French fry or, I don’t know, fresh potato salad. Something not boiled, and not rice.”
“Next box of cheesy potatoes we find is all yours,” Court promised.
But Bree reminded them, “You need butter and milk to make those. You want cheesy potatoes, find a cow first.”
Court rolled onto his back and sighed. “Maybe they have cows at Sumter. You think?”
No one bothered to reply.
After dinner, Court took the first watch so he could listen to the radio while the others slept. Out in the hallway, his back against the door to the storage room, he sat on the floor with Ronnie’s gun within reach beside him and fiddled with the radio dials. He kept the sound down low, just in case it carried into the room behind him. There wasn’t much to hear anyway but bursts of static and the occasional clip far down near the end of the band which he couldn’t seem to tune in properly. After a while, he gave up and set the radio aside. Standing, he stretched his arms up towards the ceiling, then hefted the gun in one hand as he took a quick look around. The place was quiet around him, almost dead, and he returned to the storage room door to wait out his shift.
Two hours later, he eased open the door and ducked inside. One flashlight had been left on, its lens covered with a shirt to diffuse the light. But it was enough to see by, and Court stepped carefully amid the bedding and bodies to wake Bree for the next watch. Once she was up, he found his own sleeping bag beside Ronnie and quickly stripped down to his underwear before easing into the cool fabric. He snuggled up to Ronnie, cuddling up against his friend until a heavy arm draped across his shoulders and pulled him close. With a soft press of his lips against Ronnie’s chin, Court closed his eyes and felt the day fall away from him. In the time it took to settle down, he was already fast asleep.
It felt like he only dozed off, and minutes later he woke to a yawning emptiness beside him. In the flickering glow of the flashlight he saw twin bundles on the other side of the room where Adam and Bree slept, but he himself was alone. He rolled onto his back, reaching for the radio, but couldn’t find it. Probably out in the hall, he thought, where he’d left it after his watch. What time was it? Without any windows in the room, he had no clue.
Yawning, he rolled into his bedding and tried to go back to sleep, bu
t the harder he tried to keep his eyes closed, the more they wanted to open. His whole body was exhausted, but his mind was wide awake. Maybe if Ronnie were beside him, he could snuggle into his friend’s warmth and drift off again. But Ronnie must be on watch now, which meant it was the wee hours of morning. Even if he did manage to fall back asleep, he’d only be woken up soon, anyway.
He yawned and stretched, then kicked his bedding down around his ankles and lay still, listening. He could hear faint breathing from the other sleeping bags, and maybe faint bird song outside, but nothing else. A week ago, he hadn’t thought they would ever get back on the road and now look at them, halfway through North Carolina and closer to Sumter every day.
Sumter.
Though he knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that some part of him expected everything to be as it once was when they reached the old fort. Like the promised land or the Garden of Eden, Sumter embodied all Court missed about the way things used to be, and held the hope that maybe, just maybe, together they might be able to get that back. He had no idea what the place looked like, but in his mind’s eye, he envisioned a castle-like fortress offering protection and sanity. Civilization. Life.
Sitting up, he felt around until he found the clothes he’d worn the day before. As quietly as he could, he got dressed and tiptoed around the jumble of bedding towards the door. He hesitated, but only a moment, then turned the knob slowly to avoid making any unnecessary noise. When he had the door open wide enough, he slipped out into the hall.
Ronnie looked up from where he was sitting against the wall, facing the windows. Faint morning light filled the hallway, turning the white walls a pale blue-green. There was a chill in the air that made Court shiver, and as he closed the door behind him, Ronnie said softly, “You should’ve put on some shoes.”