Islands of grass are scattered throughout the lot and in front of the buildings, many with a tree or two, and long stretches of trees and bushes line the entry roads to the parking lots. Even with the foliage, it feels like we’re adrift on a sea of asphalt. A mix of soldiers and civilians roam outside the tents and buildings, and the people who walk by seem dirty, bedraggled. One woman carries a food-stained toddler in her arms, and they both look in need of a nap. The rest of the gigantic lot is empty, with windblown garbage collected at the base of the far-off fences, which are covered with everything from house doors to rugs and blankets.
Here’s the next part of our future, and it’s depressing as all hell.
Footsteps sound behind me. “Hey, Clara,” Ethan’s voice comes, friendly and warm.
I spin in time to see Clara hug Ethan. Ethan releases her and moves toward me with a big smile. “Tom, good to see you. I can’t believe you’re all okay.”
He puts out his hand, and I pump it a few times. “We thought you were a goner, too.”
Ethan laughs the laugh of a man who’s just won the lottery. “So did I. I’m glad you’re here. Thanks for keeping them safe.”
I nod. “They kept me safe, too.”
Behind Ethan, Rose’s eyes flick my way, but I can’t read what’s in them before she gazes into the parking lot. My chest burns again.
Barry appears with Marquez, Nora, and our bags. “Let’s get you inside. You’re in the Expo Hall right here. Building Seven.” He points at the last oblong red building closest to us. Whereas the other buildings have standard doors, our entrance is via a metal rolling door. “You can enter here now, or, at night or in bad weather, through building Six’s doors and then cut over inside. Let’s walk the long way so you can see. Nora and Juan, you bring the bags through and we’ll meet you there.”
“I’ll move my stuff,” Ethan says. He gathers Rose and Holly to either side of him and moves for the building. “Then I’ll show you all around.”
Jesse hangs back to wait for Clara while Sam and Mitch start forward. I follow last, swallowing down an acrid lump that feels a lot like jealousy. Ethan has managed to come through this with his family intact, and I’m jealous. That’s all it is.
But that’s not all it is, and I draw to a stop when it hits me like a pack of zombies. I’m jealous Ethan has Rose by his side. Not just a partner, a wife, but Rose. I watch the group tromp into the building, then trail them with heavy footsteps.
This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.
41
Rose
Expo Hall Six is a long space with peeling tan walls and a high, peaked ceiling. It’s cool inside and dimly lit by an expanse of windows that stretches over the doors at either end, though a few overhead lights make it brighter. Wide openings with sliding doors connect to Expo Halls Five and Seven on either side. I’ve only ever seen the interior cordoned off by metal animal pens, the floor littered with hay and feed, and the entire complex stinking of barn. Now it smells of unwashed people and their belongings, like bedsheets long overdue for a washing.
I slide out from under Ethan’s arm, ostensibly to get a closer look, though it’s really to escape his hold on me. In more ways than one. I no sooner have the thought than I rebuke myself for being awful. The tears came unbidden when I saw Ethan standing outside the building. Something like love welled for that brief moment, but so did hurt and anger, until love was banished back to its dark cave. He saw the reproach on my face. Felt it when he kissed me. Ethan can read me like a book, as I can him, and the slight dip of his lips, the tightness around his eyes, means he knows all is not well.
I trace a finger along the wall seams, then inspect the rest of the room. The space is divided into makeshift rooms by a framework of metal poles with blue fabric curtains that drape to the floor. They’re the same ones they use to divide booths at craft shows—the ones I myself used when I did Holiday Market at the Events Center years ago. I was selling handmade soaps and candles then. Or maybe it was pottery. In any event, they’re better than no dividers. I’d pictured rows of cots like in the photos of refugees and disaster victims. The survivors of a zombie hurricane.
Most of the rooms with open drapes are unoccupied by people, and all contain a mattress or two on the floor, covered by blankets and comforters. Bags, shoes, and small items—hairbrushes, toiletries, a book or toy—mark the spaces as inhabited. Clothes are strung between the poles, likely to dry from washing or rain.
Barry brings us through a wide doorway and into the last long building. Our new home. This one has a gray-painted concrete floor and peeling yellow-cream walls. It’s much brighter due to the row of high windows that run its length and the monitor roof: a raised structure, almost like a narrow second roof, that runs along the ridge of the main roof and whose sides are lined with clerestory windows. The space is ugly and depressing, but at least it isn’t dark.
The soldiers have piled our bags at the end of the last row of drapes. Barry nods his thanks before they leave, and then he turns to us. “This building is pretty empty, but they’d like you to only take up four spaces, if possible. They decide based on family size and gender, but you can choose who goes where.” Barry pushes one of the poles that hold the curtains, sliding the square metal base with a toe. “You can move them a little to suit you, too.”
“So, we’re living in here, huh?” Mitch asks. “I always wondered what it would feel like to be a goat.”
My quiet laugh echoes. I’ll have to talk low inside if I don’t want to be overheard. Barry wears a perplexed expression, and I explain, “The county fair. They put the farm animals in here.”
“Right,” he says with a chuckle. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’d tell you what you need to know, but Ethan can do that.”
Ethan nods. His blond hair is shiny, and he has a bit of a tan. He looks good. Healthy. “Thanks for going, Barry. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Just rest that knee of yours.” Barry leaves for the roll-up door, which is open to let in fresh air. He’s nice, friendly, and huge. I’m always on the hunt for a mate for Mitch, and I file him away just in case.
“What happened to your knee?” Holly asks.
“Twisted it again, no big deal now.” Ethan pulls one of her curls. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come. What happened over there?”
“We built a new fence,” Holly says. “And we went on two trips to get more food. Mom, Tom, and Pop tried to find you at the office, but you weren’t there.” At this, Ethan’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, and I know he’s thinking of the spoon and cotton he left on his desk.
“Where were you?” Jesse asks. “You were supposed to be home early that day.” His blank expression is negated by the challenge of his crossed arms.
“I got a last minute call to show a house. The place off River Road.” Ethan glances my way, the lie evident in his eyes. “I texted Mom, but I guess it didn’t go through. On my way home, I was almost surrounded, and I got out and ran to the office. I stayed there until they came around and brought me here. I tried to get home to you guys, but it was impossible.”
“We got in on the west side,” Jesse says.
I mentally beg him to stop. It’ll do no good to press Ethan now. The muscle under my left eye spasms. The twitch is back—I’d forgotten it existed.
“We were surrounded over here,” Ethan says easily. “I’m glad you got into town, though. Did you get anything good?”
“Freeze-dried food and lanterns and stuff,” Holly says. “And MREs. Do you know what those are?”
“I know very well what MREs are. It’s all we ate for the first week I was here. Terrible, right?”
Holly nods eagerly, returning Ethan’s grin. They were close until his drug use made him distant, and though she wouldn’t admit it to me, it hurt when he pulled away. Ever since, she’s been overly cheerful in his presence, attempting to include him with a quiet desperation that makes my heart twinge.
“Let’s figure out roo
ms,” I say. “Or curtains. Tom and Clara don’t need to hear us rehashing the events of the past month.”
I turn and bump directly into Tom, who steadies me. It’s the first time we’ve been this near to each other when neither of us is crying or running from zombies, and the weight and warmth of his hands on my shoulders throws me even more than I am already. “Sorry,” I say with a semi-hysterical laugh. “Stop sneaking up on me.”
His hands drop, and his lips curve before he steps away. “I don’t care where I sleep. Just tell me where to lay my head.”
“Can the three of us be together?” Holly asks, pointing at Jesse and Clara. “Then you guys can have the other three.”
It’s decided that Pop and Tom will bunk together, Mitch will have her own space, and Ethan and I will take the last. A slew of voices enters on the other side of the network of curtains, one a screeching toddler. Ethan walks to the end of the aisle and waves. A moment later, a woman appears. She’s younger, somewhere in her mid-thirties, and she has five kids with her who range from preteen to toddler, and who take off at the sight of new people.
“This is my wife, Rose,” Ethan says, and then introduces everyone else.
The woman’s dark blond hair swings along with her ankle-length skirt. Her nose is pierced with a silver hoop, and she has an armful of bracelets that clink when she extends her hand, which I shake.
“I’m Gabrielle.” She points behind her. “That was my brood. I’m glad you’re here, but I’m sorry they put you with us. I apologize in advance for being annoying.”
“I like kids,” I say.
“So did I, once upon a time.” Gabrielle grins when we laugh. “Anyway, nice to meet you. My husband, Alan, and I are on the other side. Please tell us if we’re too loud. The only thing I hate more than being annoying is when someone doesn’t tell me and hates me instead.”
“I’ll tell you,” Mitch says.
“Good.” An unearthly scream comes from the neighboring aisle. Gabrielle peers over her shoulder. “I might be down to four now. I should probably check.”
She hurries around the curtains, then can be heard talking softly on the end of the opposite row. “She seems nice,” I say.
“She is,” Ethan says. “There are a few other people in here, but I don’t remember who right now.”
In the corner is an assortment of bedding taken from nearby houses, along with cots and air mattresses acquired at some store run Ethan mentions. “We can use the power to blow them up, and you can charge your electronics if you brought them, but they don’t like you to keep things plugged in. We’re operating on less power than normal, but as long as the hydro plant stays in operation, we’re good.”
“Which plant?” Tom asks.
“Leaburg Dam. They have a few guys out there with the dam operators.”
“Have you gone outside much?”
“They haven’t let civilians out since things quieted down.” Ethan pulls a queen air mattress from the pile, and I cringe at the thought of it being for us. “We had mattresses from the houses nearby, but those were snapped up quick. Pop, I have one of the better cots. I’ll grab it for you.”
“Thanks, son,” Pop says with a warm smile. “That sounds like just the ticket.”
He and Ethan always got along well, and it’s likely that only I notice the slight reservation in his eyes now that he knows Ethan’s been using. I avoid Pop’s are-you-okay? glance just as I’ve ignored Mitch’s twenty what-the-hell-are-you-going-to-do-now? glances in the last five minutes. Ethan takes my hand, and my fingers fall into line the way they have forever—his thumb over and mine under. It could be a metaphor for our relationship, if I’m feeling particularly aggrieved. He squeezes gently. “Come with me to get the cot while they get settled?”
I nod, though I would rather do almost anything else, and say to the kids, “Be back in a bit. I guess. I have no clue where we’re going.”
Ethan smiles. “Not far. Let’s walk outside. It’s unwritten etiquette around here, so that you’re not in someone else’s space.”
We exit the open rolling door at the rear and walk through a gated area stacked with the metal fence panels used to corral animals at fair time. A road runs behind the Expo Halls, bounded by a fence on the opposite side. The chain-link is covered with a patchwork of cloth and plastic, in what I assume is an attempt to shield our presence from zombie eyes. But I know that just beyond the fence is a tangle of bushes, blackberries, and trees that slope down to Amazon Creek. The creek runs through Eugene, sometimes rushing but mostly creeping. The water often looks stagnant and garbage makes its way in only to be fished out at later clean-up events. But it’s a water source if we need one, and the steep banks likely help to keep this side of the fairgrounds zombie-free. Most fairgrounds are in the country, on the outskirts of town, but Eugene’s is plopped down right in the center like a bull’s eye. It’s a chilling notion.
This is the way I think now, and I hope it means I’m adapting. Still not sinewy and kickass, apparently, since the number of people in the parking lot scared me. When I told Tom all the corners are mine, I wasn’t kidding. I prefer small gatherings and minimal human interaction. What possessed me to become a realtor, I’ll never know, but I was able to fake it when in Realtor Mode.
We walk past the first building in silence. When we hit the next one, Ethan tugs me to the fence and releases my hand to face me. He waits until I look at him and says, “I’m not going to lie to you.”
Because you’re caught is my unkind thought. “Okay,” I say aloud.
“I was getting high.”
There’s a rip in the fence coverings here, and he gazes past the creek and across a large fenced field to the houses lining the streets beyond, all of which have overgrown grass and a broken window or two.
“I know,” I say. “I saw.”
“I left my stuff at the office, I—”
“Yes, that. But I saw you buying them. That first day. I followed you because I thought you were getting high.”
“Oh.” He cuts his eyes to me. It’s a look I know well—a slight widening, followed by a muted panic in which I can practically see the gears of his brain spinning, searching for an explanation, a plausible lie, a distraction. “Oh. You knew before…why didn’t you say something?”
It’s faintly accusatory—somehow, some way, I’m partly to blame. I blink slowly and breathe in the gentle breeze. I’d rather run from twenty zombies than have this talk for the thousandth time. Kill another hundred over the fence than deal with all of those people in the lot. I want my house, my fence, and the six people with whom I feel most comfortable.
“Because it’s not my job to catch you and call you out like a toddler,” I say. “Do you know how tired I am of this conversation? Do you have any idea?” Tears come, and I swipe at them angrily. “Is that why you didn’t try to get home? Figured you’d wait until your stash ran out and then it was too late?”
“No.” His voice breaks, and he goes for my hands. I snatch them away. “I swear. Rosie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You know rock bottom? I hit it. I hit it when I thought I lost you and the kids. I should’ve been home. I said I would be, and because I wasn’t, I might’ve lost you all. It couldn’t get much clearer than that.” Two streams of tears run down his cheeks to his chin, where they fall and make dark circles on his gray shirt. “Can you forgive me? Please, Rosie.”
I watch the field. How many times have I forgiven Ethan now? I’m tired, so tired. It weighs down my feet and my brain and my spirit. I wanted to be rid of him so badly. I hadn’t wanted him dead, just away. Disappeared.
I got my wish. And here he is, begging for another chance. Until this moment, I haven’t fully admitted to myself how happy I was without him. I’ll never tell a soul because it’s too horrendous, too unspeakably selfish, that I reveled in his absence for even one second. Maybe it would be kinder to let him go right here, right now, though it’ll hurt him. Or maybe that idea is a thinly-veiled justification to be sel
fish once more.
“Please,” Ethan says. “I’ll never ask again, I swear. I won’t have to.” He motions at our surroundings. “Can’t you see it’s different this time? How can I make you believe that?”
I lift my shoulders with effort, drag my gaze to his face. He’s aged, but he’s still the guy with the sandy hair and bright smile I fell in love with. “I guess you can’t.”
“I can show you, though. If you let me.” He takes my hands and leans in, bloodshot eyes searching mine. “I know I’ve been an asshole. I know I don’t deserve this, or you, but I’m begging for one more chance. It’ll be the way it was. I’m so sorry for what I put you through. Believe that if nothing else.”
I’m not sure he truly understands what he’s put me through. Not even now.
Don’t do it, my brain whispers, but how can I not? This seems like the old Ethan: honest, willing to talk and take the blame. I can’t say no to him without seeming as cold as he’s accused. I won’t be able to look Holly and Jesse in the eye and say I tried. We came here to be a family, and I can’t be the one who breaks us up. Not if Ethan has changed, not with the way the world is in shambles—with the way the world is shambling. This is it, though. His final chance. It has to be. I’ve said it before, but next time I won’t chicken out or give in.
“I’ll try,” I say. “But you have to give me time.”
“I know, I will.” He lifts my hand in his, wiping my tears with his thumb, and his smile promises everything I want but probably won’t get. “Thank you, Poodle.”
The Cascadia Series (Book 1): World Departed Page 39