by Tarah Benner
A foggy, half-forgotten detail surfaced in the back of Soren’s mind: the words “Shelley’s Diner” written in red neon lights.
“That diner was her baby,” said Walt, answering Soren’s unspoken question. “Lucky Kat’s back home. She’s been lookin’ after the place for me. Lord knows I’ve had my hands full ’round here.”
He turned to Soren with an appraising look on his face. “We got a lot of animals and a lot of crops to tend to. Now, I ain’t never been afraid of hard work, but what I need help with is security. Lotta folks ’round here want what I got. We’ve weathered most of the attacks without any problems, but they’ve been small-time thugs — greedy sons of bitches from the coasts and the like. Nobody who’s from here stuck around. They all left for the FEMA camps ages ago. But it’s only a matter of time before we get hit hard, and when we do, we’ll be overrun. Mitchell keeps tellin’ me we need more manpower, and I hate to say I’m starting to believe him.”
Soren cleared his throat, unsure what Walt was getting at.
“Now, I pulled you out here because you struck me as a man who’ll do the right thing,” Walt continued. “You would have sacrificed yourself for that girl in there, and the fact that you feel you’ve got somethin’ to lose makes me trust you more.”
Soren turned this over in his mind. “Why should I trust you?” he asked finally, trying and failing not to sound confrontational.
Walt let out a good-natured bark of laughter. “That’s a damn good question . . . one that I confess I don’t have an answer for.” He studied Soren for a moment. “Let’s just say you’ll have to take it on faith for a while.”
Soren shook his head. “No disrespect, but I’m running a little low on faith right now.”
“Aren’t we all?” said Walt conversationally. “Look, son. Katrina should have blown you away the second you walked into the diner today. But she’s one of those sensitive New York progressive types. You can’t count on her to end things quick and clean-like, but she’s tough like her mother and she’s got my instincts. Kat thought I’d like to talk to you, and she was right. But I need some more information.”
“What do you want to know?”
Walt turned toward him and looked over his glasses in a way that made Soren feel as though he were being X-rayed. “I want to know what ya’ll did to land yourselves in prison in the first place. And I wanna know where you were headed when you decided to follow my daughter.”
Soren took a deep breath. “I got ten years for kidnapping my younger brother and fighting off my mom’s boyfriend. When we escaped San Judas, the plan was to go to Texas to get him and then cross the border to Mexico.”
Walt didn’t say anything, and Soren took his silence as an invitation to continue.
“Lark was sentenced to twenty-five years for murder. She killed a guy who was trying to rape her.”
Walt let out a hard breath of air but didn’t interrupt.
“Simjay’s one of the smartest guys I know. He was in for fraud.”
“What sort of fraud?”
“Cheating rich people out of their money.”
“And that fat lump who mouthed off to me back there?” asked Walt.
“Axel,” said Soren. “He was busted for assault. He almost killed a guy in a bar fight a few years back.”
Walt looked taken aback, so Soren hastened to add, “There were some . . . extenuating circumstances.”
“What kind of circumstances?”
Soren hesitated. That story wasn’t his to tell, and he knew Axel would kill him if he ever found out. “He walked in on his old girlfriend blowing the guy in the bathroom,” he said quietly. “This girl was the love of his life, and it almost killed him.”
Walt let out a long sigh. “Well . . . I’ve known all kinds of people in my life,” he mused. “Good people, bad people, and all sorts of in between. I’ll say this . . . The ones they warn you about are never the trouble. Trouble comes from the sneaky sons of bitches masquerading as honest human beings.” He turned and started heading back toward the barn. “Ya’ll can stay the night, and we’ll go from there.”
“Th-thank you,” Soren stammered, slightly taken aback. “But the night’s all we’ll need.”
Walt turned and gave him a funny look.
“I appreciate you giving us a chance,” he added. “But we’re just passing through. I have to find my brother.”
“Suit yourself,” said Walt. “But I expect you’ll need to load up on supplies before you go.”
“Yessir.”
“Well, there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch, but I’ve got a line on a place that could very well turn out to be a veritable mecca. The kids are goin’ tomorrow bright and early. I’m sure they could use the protection.”
“Protection?” said Soren. “Protection from what?”
A dark look settled over Walt’s face. “People like you they kept locked up aren’t the monsters, son. The real monsters are still roaming free.”
five
Lark
Lark waited on her knees with her heart in her throat. To her left, Simjay was trembling, and Axel was glaring daggers at Thompson. Thompson was glaring right back.
Every few minutes, Axel would let out an impatient breath, and Thompson’s eyes would narrow a little more. If Lark’s stomach hadn’t been in knots over Soren, she might have found their stare-down funny. But as it was, she was furious and terrified and desperate for answers. Her knees were an inch deep in straw and manure, her throat was swollen, and her heart was pounding in her eardrums. All she could do was listen for the sound of a distant gunshot and wait for the man to reappear.
Suddenly, the barn door slid open, and Lark’s breath hitched. It wasn’t the old man or Soren. It was only Katrina.
She’d changed out of her odd shorts and tight waitress top and was now wearing a baggy green flannel over a faded pair of overalls. The transformation was dramatic. She no longer looked like a punk-rock fangirl, apart from the piercings, but she seemed even tougher somehow.
Mitch, who’d been pacing along the wall, stopped in his tracks. Katrina shook her head.
“Where did he take him?” Lark asked loudly.
Nobody answered.
“What does he want with Soren?”
Still nothing.
“Are ya’ll deaf?” snarled Axel. “The lady as’t ya’ll a question.”
Lark felt a swoop of gratitude before remembering that it was Axel’s fault they were there to begin with. He was the one who’d insisted on following Katrina, and he was the one who’d led them into the Baileys’ trap.
They fell into an uneasy silence, and Lark’s stomach twisted into tighter and tighter knots. Minutes ticked by, and Lark’s knees grew numb. Her back ached from kneeling in the same position for so long, and she’d become uncomfortably aware of all her bumps and bruises.
Suddenly, when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, the barn door slid open, blinding them with daylight.
Lark drank in two big gulps of air, willing herself not to throw up. Two silhouettes stood in the entrance: one tall and strong, the other withered and lanky. She squinted at the two men, and her heart thudded back to life.
Soren was standing beside the old man, looking completely unharmed.
Lark let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She felt as though she’d just emerged from a nightmare.
Soren caught her eye, and she held his gaze as her eyes filled with tears. She could hardly believe that he was standing there before her, but she was so overjoyed that she couldn’t be bothered to wonder why.
The old man cleared his throat. “Kat, why don’t you take these folks up to the house and get ’em somethin’ to eat?”
“What?”
“They’re gonna stay with us for a while.”
Lark’s whole body stiffened, and she pulled her eyes away from Soren in time to see Katrina and Thompson exchange bewildered looks.
“For how long?”
“
For as long as they need to,” said Walt. “They are our guests, and I expect them to be treated as such.” He glanced over at Soren, whose jaw was set in a determined expression.
A swell of relief and confusion rose up in Lark’s chest. She searched Soren’s face for some sort of explanation, but his steadfast brown eyes gave nothing away.
“What’s goin’ on here?” asked Axel, getting to his feet and taking a step toward the old man. “One minute ya’ll are holdin’ us at gunpoint, and the next ya’ll want us to stay for tea?”
“Not all of us,” Katrina snapped.
“Shame on you, Katrina!” Walt scolded. “Your mother would be absolutely ashamed.”
Katrina looked abashed but didn’t back down. “Dad —”
“We will talk about it as a family in a moment,” said Walt pointedly. “In the meantime . . .” He turned to Axel, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I apologize for our . . . less than warm welcome. You just can’t be too careful these days. I’m afraid we’ve let our bad experiences color our judgement. But Soren and I had a chat, and we’ve come to an understanding.”
Axel still looked distrustful, but he didn’t say anything.
“So you’re not . . . gonna kill us?” asked Simjay with a slight hiccup.
The old man studied Simjay with a mixture of sympathy and amusement before breaking into a smile so genuine that it felt like the first real smile Lark had ever seen.
“No,” he said. “No one is going to hurt you while you are under my roof.” He turned to Katrina. “Kitty Kat, why don’t you take this young man up to the house and pour him a tall whisky?”
Katrina stared at her father out of the corner of her eye as she turned to leave the barn. Lark glanced up at Soren and then followed Katrina outside. Simjay half stumbled, half ran out behind them, and Axel shuffled out last, looking surlier than ever.
“Have you seen my dog?” asked Lark as they walked back toward the farmhouse.
“Who? Killer?”
A swell of discomfort rose in Lark’s chest. “Yeah . . . Look, I’m sorry about that. It’s just —”
“You know, I had a dog I really loved once, too,” said Katrina.
“Oh?” said Lark, terrified about where this was going.
“We used to have sheep, and we kept border collies here on the farm. They were working dogs, but there was this one called Dice that used to sleep in my bed when I was a kid. He lived to be almost fifteen.” She cleared her throat, back to business. “I haven’t had the heart to get another dog since.”
Lark figured there was probably more to the Dice story, but at that moment, all she cared about was finding Denali. “So, have you seen him?” she asked after an appropriate amount of silence. “My dog, I mean.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I found him sniffing around the chicken coop a few minutes ago.”
Lark swallowed, hoping Katrina hadn’t made good on her promise to shoot him.
“Relax,” said Katrina as if she’d read Lark’s mind. “I put him in one of the pens over there.”
The surge of relief that washed over Lark was so strong that she had the urge to hug Katrina. Several seconds passed before she could speak, and when she did, she felt as though she had a golf ball stuck in her throat. “Thank you,” she managed.
Katrina smirked. “He’s what you’d call all bark and no bite. Not so tough when there’s turkey jerky involved.”
Lark couldn’t help it. She laughed. As she did so, she felt as if a hundred years’ worth of problems had just been lifted off her shoulders.
As they approached the house, Lark caught a glimpse of a tiny blond head watching them from one of the back windows. The head belonged to a little girl no more than three or four years old.
When she saw Lark, her eyes drew wide and she ducked out of view. Lark glanced over at Axel and Simjay, but neither of them seemed to have noticed the girl.
Now that they were no longer being held at gunpoint, Lark had a chance to appreciate the beautiful old farmhouse. It looked as though it were original to the property — built at least a hundred years ago — but it had the appearance of a house that had been updated in stages over the course of several generations.
There were a few cracks in the stone foundation, and the windows were peeling, but when they walked around to the front of the house, Lark noticed that the porch had a fresh coat of paint, and the bronze light fixtures looked almost brand new.
The screen door creaked in a friendly way as Katrina led them into a cramped mudroom, where two pairs of waders were lined up against the wall. Lark took off her shoes out of habit, feeling a slight twinge of homesickness deep in her gut.
Katrina opened the door and called out a greeting, and Lark’s senses were assaulted by several delicious smells at once. She detected the earthy aroma of old furniture, clean laundry, and freshly scrubbed floors, but there was also a sharp, spicy smell like roasted chilies wafting from the kitchen.
Light streamed in from the large front windows, illuminating a cozy living room layered with old Oriental rugs. A lumpy couch sat in front of the painted brick fireplace, and four overlarge armchairs were situated around it. Dozens of mismatched picture frames crowded the walls on either side, and Lark got the sense that the Baileys had called this place home for a very long time.
“This is it,” said Kat. Her voice had the air of someone trying to sound casual, but her tone was noticeably softer than it had been in the barn.
“Hello,” called a female voice.
Lark turned to her left and saw a barefoot brunette with a disheveled pixie cut standing in the kitchen. Her eyes were the color of water, and she was wearing a flowery apron over a long cotton skirt. The clash of bright patterns and her flyaway hair gave her the appearance of a slightly dazed butterfly.
“Hi,” said Lark, a little taken aback at being addressed as a guest when she’d had a gun pointed at her head not twenty minutes before.
“I’m Kat’s partner, Theresa, but everyone calls me Starlight.”
“Hi,” said Lark. She hesitated, wondering if she should initiate a handshake, but Starlight went in for a hug.
As the woman’s thin arms wrapped around her, Lark’s whole body seized up. She wasn’t used to being hugged by strangers, but after a few seconds, Lark realized that it wasn’t so bad. Starlight smelled like lavender and rosemary, and her skin was soft like a mom’s.
“Welcome,” said Starlight, releasing Lark with a squeeze and moving on to Soren.
“Uh, thanks.” Lark cleared her throat, uncomfortably aware of how rusty her manners had become. “You have a beautiful . . . a beautiful home.”
“It’s Walt’s house,” she said. “But he has been so wonderful. When things got bad in Colorado, he told me and Jackie that we could come stay here . . .” She trailed off, blinking away a spontaneous puddle of tears that had collected in her eyes. “Anyway, you must be hungry.”
Lark noticed that Axel managed to slink away in time to avoid a hug, but Simjay got a full-body embrace.
“The green chili stew’s not ready, but we’ll get you settled, and I’ll whip you up a little something.”
Lark opened her mouth to tell Starlight that she didn’t need to go to all that trouble, but as she did so, she realized how hungry she was. Plus, she had a feeling that their hostess wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer.
Starlight led them out of the kitchen and up a staircase lined with pictures. She stopped on the landing, which led to a small loft on one side and a narrow hallway on the other.
“Mitch and Karen are staying in the guest house with the kids, so two of the boys can sleep in his old room,” she said, pointing to the door at the end of the hall.
“Is there more than one bed?” asked Axel in a loud voice.
“Just one bed, but it’s a queen,” said Starlight. “That daybed in the loft is pretty comfy, so one of you can sleep there.”
“I’ll take it,” Axel mumbled. “I ain’t
a snuggler.”
Starlight bounced from one foot to the other, clearly taking her role as hostess seriously. “You can have the guest room,” she said to Lark, turning her back just as Simjay flipped Axel the bird. “Or you and” — she threw the guys a hesitant glance — “whomever.”
Lark swallowed. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling right then — only that she wasn’t ready to share her bed with anyone that night. “It’s just me,” she mumbled.
Soren blinked twice and looked at his feet, clearly taken aback.
“Oh, right,” said Starlight, seemingly relieved that she hadn’t missed anything. “Anyway, it’s my favorite room in the house.”
Axel and Simjay exchanged a raised-eyebrow look, and Lark followed Starlight to the door directly across from the boys’ new sleeping quarters. She threw the door open with an air of “ta-da!” and Lark felt a surge of homeyness wash over her.
The room’s furnishings were dated, but someone had clearly gone to a lot of trouble to make her guests feel comfortable. There was a four-poster queen bed with a wrought-iron frame covered in a cloud of pastel quilts. The walls were cluttered with butterfly prints, and the corners were filled with wicker chairs and baskets.
“Mitch went to look at your tire,” said Starlight apologetically. “He’ll bring your bags with him when he’s done and put them in your rooms.”
Lark nodded, hoping her gratitude showed on her face. Part of her felt as though she needed to explain the sleeping arrangements to Soren, but she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be close to him; she just wasn’t feeling very romantic after everything that had happened. Mostly, she needed some time alone.
But Soren didn’t linger. He was already following Starlight back down the stairs toward the source of all the wonderful smells. Lark got an uncomfortable pang in her stomach but followed them anyway, wishing she could say something to defuse the awkwardness.