“Gina’s family lives here,” said Cameron.
Wade shook his head. “I get that. But look at her. If we do have to look out for ourselves here, she doesn’t look like she can help much.”
Cameron arched an eyebrow. “Pretty quick to judge there.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on. Don’t be like that. She clearly doesn’t have a skill set to be useful. That Jeremy guy can probably be of use. But her …”
“So you’ll take the construction worker who doesn’t live here, instead of the manicured girl who actually does?”
Wade shrugged. “If things keep on the way they are, we’re going to have to make some tough choices.”
She didn’t answer that. Instead, she set off for the gate house. Bill saw her almost too late, and ran over to get between her and the door.
“You’re not doing that again,” he said. “No one gets in or out without my say-so. Not again.”
Cameron met his eyes, and fixed him with the stare she’d learned in the service. More than one guy who’d try to put a move on her saw that stare, right before they ended up in medical. “A man stood between me and a door the day before I came up here, Bill. I broke his arm. You want to see how?”
His flabby, stubbled throat twitched as he swallowed. Then he took a step to the side, and Cameron opened the gate.
* * *
They had the same argument as last time. Gina was allowed to move into her parents’ cabin (after Bill made sure there really were pictures of her inside) but the other arrivals were consigned to RVs. Gina’s cabin was one of the ones with an RV, and Hernando was stationed there at her insistence. Jeremy and Theresa, the couple, were relegated to an empty RV at one of the back cabins. Cameron was pretty certain she’d never seen anyone living in that cabin, but she didn’t press the issue with Bill—she’d already pushed things far enough. Pick your battles, she reminded herself.
“He’s a damn fool, and a cruel one besides,” said Bettie. “Setting people up like second-class citizens. We’ve got space and enough food to spare, at least for a few people.”
Once they’d gotten settled in to their new (temporary, or so Bill liked to keep reminding them) homes, Cameron invited all the new arrivals to her cabin to get acquainted. Some of the other compound residents—Christ, was she already thinking of it as a compound?—came by and introduced themselves. Bill showed up, too. Cameron thought about telling him to piss off, but thought better of it. She’d already won a battle against him today. But she locked the door to her basement. Bill didn’t know about the food stores she had down there, and if she had her way, he’d stay ignorant.
In Cameron’s living room, the young gangbanger-looking guy looked everywhere: the furniture, the pictures, the TV. It was like he was appraising the place. Cameron tried not to let it raise the hairs on the back of the neck. Hopefully he was just impressed—she doubted he came from a home that cared much about interior design. Gina seemed innocuous enough, though, and the couple, Jeremy and Theresa, were very polite, if a little out of their depth. Cameron kept catching them staring off vacantly into the distance, and wondered what they’d seen before they fled Seattle.
“Here, honey,” said Bettie, coming to the gangbanger with a sandwich and a beer. “Eat up.”
The kid blinked twice. His hands fidgeted for a moment before raising to take the food. “Thanks.”
“No problem. What’s your name, son?”
He took a bite and spoke with his mouth full. “Hernando.”
“I’m Bettie. You need anything, you come and talk to me. All right?”
Hernando pursed his lips. “Yeah, all right.”
“And you—it’s Gina, right? You want a beer, too, sweetheart?”
Gina shook her head. “I don’t drink beer. Do you have wine?” She blinked suddenly and looked to Cameron. “I mean, if it’s no trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” said Cameron, loud enough to draw attention as she fixed Bill with a dark look. It took him a moment to notice. When he did, he jerked his gaze away from where it had been, trying to slide up Gina’s short-shorts.
“Thank you,” said Gina, blushing and crossing her legs.
“Mm-hm. I’ll get you all some food, too.” Bettie slid off towards the kitchen.
“So, what then?” said Bill, face flushed. “You’re going to take care of them? Feed them?”
“I’m giving them a meal, Bill,” said Cameron. “That a crime?”
“No, that’s downright generous of you. But what about dinner tonight? What about tomorrow? You gonna just keep feeding them? It’s only a matter of time before they’re coming to the rest of us, asking for a meal. Food’s gonna get scarce, and not just here.”
“Well then we’ll just have to find more food,” said Bettie from the kitchen. “Or grow some.”
That drew a snort from Bill. “Sure. Grow some. This isn’t Little House on the Prairie. You got any idea how much work it is, farming to feed even this many people?”
Bettie gave him a cool look. Cameron was amazed the woman hadn’t flown off the handle at him already. “I grew up on a farm. So the answer to that is yes, and that I’m guessing I know better than you do.”
Bill’s face grew a darker shade of red, and Cameron tensed. She hated to admit it, but she was almost hoping Bill would try something, just so she could have the pleasure of knocking him on his ass.
It seemed that Bill had just enough sense, though, to know that he couldn’t backhand an old woman in the presence of so many others. “Even if you’re right,” he said slowly, grating the words out like they pained him, “that takes time. What do we do until then?”
Before Bettie could answer, Hernando spoke up, to the obvious surprise of everyone present. “There’s food around we can grab,” he said. “We saw a truck overturned on the highway coming up here. It looked like it held food, like a grocery store truck. Ralph’s or something.”
“It was Vons,” said Gina.
Hernando frowned at her. “Okay, whatever. Point is, the back was still closed and locked. What with everything being so crazy, the driver probably left once they crashed it.”
Cameron straightened in her seat. “You remember where that truck was?’
The boy shrugged. “Of course. It was right on the highway.”
Wade looked to Cameron, and she nodded to him before turning to Bill. “All right, Bill. If you’re really worried about feeding people, let’s go get our hands on some grub.”
Her stomach clenched as Bill sneered. “Sounds an awful lot like stealing. Would have thought you’d be too high and mighty for that kind of thing.”
She knew she couldn’t rise to his bait. He was looking for some little moral victory. If that’s all he needed, she’d let him have it. Cameron rose from her chair, and Wade did the same. Hernando got to his feet more slowly. “Call it whatever you want. I’m not any more interested in starving than you are.”
“I don’t think everyone should go,” interjected Wade. “Just people who can take care of themselves, and each other.”
“Hernando, will you come with us?” said Cameron. “Just to show us where the truck is?”
“Sure. I can handle myself.” Hernando rolled his shoulders and tilted his head to crack his neck. It was probably supposed to look badass, but Cameron had spent years bunking with Marines, and the gangbanger’s slight frame was laughable if anything. Not that she felt the need to say so, of course.
“Good. Wade, you’ll come too. Go and grab Russell—he’s got a crew cab truck, we’ll need it to bring back food, if there’s any in the semi.”
“What about …” Wade paused for a moment, frowning. “I mean, the roads are probably abandoned, but just in case there’s others out there looking for stuff to steal—”
“I’ve got a pistol you can have, and a rifle for myself,” said Cameron, taking his meaning at once. Hernando stood a little taller for a moment. Cameron’s mouth twisted. “And no offense intended to anyone else, but I’m go
nna keep guns in the hands of ex-military.”
Hernando frowned, but he nodded without a word. On the other side of the room, Bill stood from his stool and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Let’s meet at the front gate in five minutes.”
Cameron gave him a cool stare. “You’re staying here, Bill. We’ve got two vehicles, and I want two people in each. We’ll need the rest of the room to bring back the supplies.” She turned and headed for the front door. “Besides, the community needs someone to watch the front gate, and that’s the only thing I’ve seen you do. Now get out of my house.”
CHAPTER 15
Alex awoke to the sound of knocking, and then the sound of Max’s furious barking, which the boxcar walls amplified until it was louder than cannon fire.
In an instant he was wide awake, rolling over and feeling for Piper. She was on the floor right next to him. At first he thought she was asleep, but then he saw her eyes glinting in a thin shaft of light from a gap in the boxcar door. She remained utterly silent, frozen with fear.
“It’s fine,” he whispered—but his hand went to the shotgun on his other side, where she couldn’t see. He raised his voice. “Quiet, Max. Quiet! Who’s there?”
“You all right in there?” called a voice from outside. It sounded like a man, old, from the sound of it, and he had a thick accent—not southern, precisely, but definitely country. “Need anything?”
“We’re fine,” said Alex firmly. “We don’t want any trouble, and we don’t want any company, either.” His hand tightened on the barrel of the shotgun.
“Oh, fair enough, fair enough, can’t blame you, can’t blame, you,” said the man. Max started barking again, and the man fell silent until Alex got hold of the dog’s collar and shut him up. “Just trying to help, that’s all. The roads are a little more dangerous these days. People get along better if they help each other.”
“Well, we’re doing just fine,” said Alex. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave us alone.”
There was a moment’s silence—Alex could imagine the man looking offended—before the reply came. “All right, then. I won’t knock again.”
Alex didn’t hear any receding footsteps, but then again he wasn’t sure he’d be able to, what with the boxcar walls being decently thick. Max’s ears were perked, but he didn’t growl, and he didn’t go running for the boxcar door when his collar was released. Still, Alex sat listening for a moment, trying to hear any indication that the man had retreated as asked—or that he had remained against their wishes.
“Who was that?” whispered Piper.
“No idea,” whispered Alex. “But I think they’re gone. You should go back to sleep.”
She stared at him in the dim light, but when he only smiled, she rolled over. Max lay down beside her, and soon Alex heard her breathing deepen and slow down with sleep. But Alex was wide awake, and adrenaline didn’t stop coursing through him for a long while. It was no longer raining outside, though if he had to guess, he would have said it was still cloudy and overcast, based on the color of the light he could see from outside. If the storm had passed, they should return to the car and get what supplies they could from it. The car itself was a lost cause—he’d seen the bent axle himself. But he didn’t want to force Piper to rise if she could still sleep, and the encounter with the passerby outside had made him extra cautious. They could wait until Piper woke up on her own. A couple of hours wouldn’t make much of a difference.
But then, less than half an hour after the man outside had spoken, Alex began to smell something. Something incredible. A smell known to any red-blooded American, and particularly beloved by Alex himself: the smell of bacon frying.
The man outside, he thought. He might have obeyed the letter of what Alex said, and left, but it seemed he hadn’t gone very far. And despite all his best efforts, Alex’s stomach was now growling—no, raging, at the smell wafting in from outside. He dug in his backpack for a protein bar and munched on it, but his appetite wasn’t fooled. He could still smell the bacon, and the bar tasted like sawdust.
It wasn’t long before the smell roused Piper from sleep. She sat up immediately, looking at the boxcar door with wide eyes. “Holy cow, what is that? It smells amazing.”
“Keep your voice down,” said Alex. She had forgotten to whisper.
“But I’m hungry,” she said.
Alex sighed. There was no point in denying it—he was, too. And there was no way either of them was drifting off to sleep with that smell outside. Whoever the man outside had been, he was clearly cooking just outside to make a point, and to get them to come out. That in itself was a good sign—the boxcar didn’t exactly have a lock on it, and if the man had evil intent, he could have just opened the door. Instead he was enticing them out with the smell of cooking food. The best damn food I’ve smelled in days, too.
“All right, we can go out and see,” said Alex. “But stay behind me. And be careful.”
“I will,” promised Piper.
With another rueful shake of his head, Alex got to his feet and went to the door, making sure to bring the shotgun with him. Its rusted tracks screamed as he pulled it open. Outside, the world was a friendlier place than it had been when they went to sleep. He’d been right—the day was overcast and cloudy, but still pretty for all of that, and a green landscape stretched on ahead of them as far as the eye could see.
About ten yards away there was a small cooking fire, and by the fire sat an old hobo. His skin, hair, and nails were impossibly browned and wizened, but surprisingly clean—cleaner, certainly, than his clothes, though those were marked only by stains, and not by fresh sweat or grime. The hobo looked up at them as the door creaked open, and his wrinkled lips split in a smile to reveal fewer missing teeth than Alex would have expected.
“Why, good morning,” said the man. “Name’s Denny. I thought you wanted to be left alone, but if you insist on talking, you’re welcome to come and have breakfast.”
* * *
With the door already open, there didn’t seem to be much use in shutting themselves inside any longer. Plus, Alex knew he could take Denny in a fight, if it came to that. The old man was wizened, but skinny as all get-out—the telltale, hunger-panged frame of a man who’d spent years without a proper home. Giving Piper a nod, Alex led the way over to the campfire, and they sat crosslegged beside it. Max ran nervously at Alex’s heels, and lay on his stomach when they sat—between Alex and Denny.
A pan sat over the fire, the sort of pan that came in an outdoor camping kit. Wordlessly, Denny reached into the pan with a fork and pulled out a couple of strips of bacon, along with an egg he’d been frying, and slid them onto a metal plate, which he handed over. Alex inspected the plate for a second while trying not to look like he was inspecting the plate—but it was spic and span, with no trace of dirt.
“I’m not that dirty,” said Denny, his grin growing wider.
There was no denying that the old man was charming. But Alex had spent this whole trip so far keying himself up to be distrustful of anyone they met on the road, and so he didn’t smile. He looked Denny in the eye and gave him the blunt truth. “It’s been a crazy road since New York, and I decided a ways back I couldn’t leave anything to faith. Especially when it came to other people.”
Denny only lifted his hands, spreading his fingers like a magician trying to show he wasn’t hiding anything up his sleeves. “Like I already said—I can’t blame you.”
Max was licking his chops at the smell of the bacon. Alex lifted off a piece—the heat of it felt incredible after a cold night in the boxcar—and handed it to Piper. He picked up the other piece and bit off half of it, tossing the other half to Max, who caught it before it hit the ground.
“Good dog you got there,” said Denny, nodding at Max. “He come with you from New York?”
Alex almost answered honestly, but then had a second thought. If Denny knew the dog hadn’t always been theirs, he might get the idea that the dog wouldn’t fight very hard to protect th
em. It was a paranoid thought, but Alex was okay with that. But he didn’t know if he could rely on Piper to support a lie, so he changed the topic instead. “Where are you coming from? You’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Me? I come from everywhere.” Denny waved his hand generally at the world all around them. “Ain’t had a house of my own in…thirty years now? The ground’s my bed, the sky’s my roof, all that sh—stuff.” He eyed Piper quickly as he barely avoided the curse word. She was staring at him with wide eyes, and when he gave her a little smile, it only made her shift nervously.
Licking his chops at the aftertaste of the bacon, Max got up and went over to Denny, sniffing at his knee. Denny tentatively reached out and scratched the dog behind his ears. Max pushed forward so that Denny was scratching his neck instead. That made Alex relax just a hair. Dogs could usually sense a threat better than humans could.
“Which way are you headed, then?” said Alex.
“Nowhere in particular,” said Denny, giving a shrug. “I just walk until I find a place I want to set down for a while. Though with weather like it’s been, south is sounding all right. How about yourselves?”
“Washington.”
Denny flashed another broad grin. “I’m guessin’ you mean the state, since you’re heading the exact wrong way to reach D.C.”
Alex allowed himself a smile. “Yeah. State.”
The hobo leaned back, putting his hands on his knees and eyeing the both of them. “Well, I don’t want to speak more than I’m welcome to. But from the sound of it, and from the look of you two, it’s been a rough road west. And I’m guessing that car in the ditch over there belongs to the two of you.” He tossed his head towards the road not far away. The car was just visible.
“Yep,” said Alex. No point in denying it.
“Then, have you thought about passing through Cheyenne?”
He couldn’t remember ever hearing of the place. “That a town? We’re not from around here.”
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