Allison Hewitt Is Trapped (33 page)

“Maybe that’s what he needs,” Julian says brightly. “A little destruction.”

“No. The landscape is different now. He should hold onto her, she’s part of his other life, his normal life. And relationships … It’s all new. Friendships are made so fast that you can’t dwell, no, you have to just move on. How many people have I met recently that I liked, really liked, and then lost? How many people have tricked me? Lied to me? I need to keep focused, keep focused on just staying alive and getting to my mom. It’s not worth it to dwell, not when our expiration dates are so—”

“Unpredictable?”

“Exactly.”

“You know, there’s a Latin phrase for this.”

“No there isn’t.”

“Yes there is,” he insists.

I’m getting drunk. That is the only explanation for why I’m even indulging in this conversation. It’s like I can see the path in front of me, see exactly where the edge of the cliff is and when I’ll tumble over it but somehow,
somehow
, my feet just keep on moving. You and me, Johnnie Walker, you and me are quits.

“Fuck. Fine. Let’s have it then,” I say, throwing up my hands.

“
Carpe connubium
.”

“You’d almost be charming if you weren’t a complete man-child.”

“Trouble, one o’clock,” he says, suddenly serious. There are two of them, quieter than the others. The smell drifts all the way over to us from their rotting bodies. You can never forget that smell. I take care of them, checking the clip to make sure I’m okay on bullets. I’m running low. I need to conserve.

“Is this just about sex? I get it, Julian. You’re horny. There isn’t exactly a romantic vibe going around.”

“No,” Julian says, and for once the white whale smile is gone. He goes on, rambling, saying things like, “This is about you rescuing my ass from that redneck hellhole. It’s about you saying ‘Not me, never, I’m bad with blood’ and then performing a fucking
medieval
surgery on my leg. It’s about you, cool and collected under pressure, saving your friend’s life. And it’s about you and me having a drink while you shoot zombies in the head. I mean, you’re kinda
scary
, but no one’s perfect.”

“I think it’s time we said good night.”

“It’s early yet.”

“You should get some rest. You’ve had a big day,” I say, making sure he has the whiskey. I can’t be left alone with it. “I can take the watch from here.”

“Allison…”

“
Good night
, Julian.”

I should follow my own advice and ask for someone to cover the watch. But there’s nothing appealing about sleeping on the hard ground under a torn tarp, or in a car stained with blood. It’s not insomnia, just my preference for being awake to face the demons. In sleep they have more power; in sleep there’s no way to turn away from what’s coming for you.

Half an hour later Renny comes looking for me. Ted is sound asleep and, she thinks, out of danger. It takes her all of two seconds to smell the whiskey on my breath.

“Caveman getting you drunk?” she asks. She’s wide awake for this time of night, her dark eyes gleaming like ancient jewels. “Bold move.”

“I’m not interested.”

“No? You sure? Man is in the middle of surgery and he still can’t keep his eyes off you.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, wishing that I hadn’t been so hasty about letting that whiskey go.

“I
would
say he’s smitten, but I’m gonna go ahead and keep my mouth shut. I’m just looking out for you. He’s hungry for it, is all I’m saying.”

“I know that, Renny. Seriously. I know. He’s not exactly the king of subtlety.”

“I wouldn’t ordinarily advocate running away from a potential lay, that’s not my style, but I feel—as your friend—that I have an obligation to point out that Julian is, in all likelihood, a slimeball,” she says. “And I don’t give a
fuck
if he’s a doctor or an astronaut or whatever. I think you should steer clear.”

“You’re right,” I say, permitting myself a smile. “And coincidentally I’m writing the inspirational poster in my head right now. ‘Abstinence: Hey, motherfuckers, don’t knock it till you try it.’ Times New Roman. All caps. And it’ll be right below a big ol’ picture of an industrial-grade chastity belt.”

“Don’t you mean a big, sloppy red heart?” Renny asks. She isn’t moved by my stony look. “Don’t be shy. You can’t fool me when it comes to this shit.”

“Apparently
nobody’s
fooled. So okay, Miss Marple, it’s got nothing to do with the boneage. Happy?”

“Absolutely. I barely got to meet your friend Collin,” she says, giving me a sidelong glance, “but, to borrow a phrase, he seems like good people. His wife on the other hand…”

“Ha. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Our laughter dies down and we’re left standing in the cold, consuming night. I don’t want to look at her but there’s something in her face, something open and totally new that tells me I can trust her. It makes me wonder if she had siblings, younger siblings, people who looked up to her and depended on her for that wide-open, welcoming look. I could curl up in that look.

“Something you wanna tell me?” she asks.

“I just … I guess I feel stupid hanging onto
sentiment
. I know logically that I should just renounce this whole monogamy thing. There are new needs, you know? New parameters. We might be an endangered species. But something won’t let me move on. I keep telling myself I just need more time, that it will get easier, that I’ll stop thinking about him … but I won’t. I know that now.” There’s something nice about this, something warm and calm in Renny’s eyes that lets me know she’s been down this road before.

“You’re right,” she says. “You won’t stop, but that doesn’t mean it won’t get easier.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Like a shiny new tube of lipstick.” It’s pure, liquid dark out, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

“You ever think maybe … I mean, what if we end up being, like, the last people on earth?” I say. “Would you … you know … have a kid?”

She readjusts her stance in the dark, resting one leg on the retaining wall I’ve been leaning against. She laughs quietly, letting out a long breath like the exhalation of a pensive drag on a cigarette. “My mom asked me that when I came out.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, she actually asked me. Thanksgiving table, no less. She had balls, that woman, brass balls, but she forgot she was my mama, that I inherited those balls from her too. So I said, ‘No, Mother, no I would not; not now, not ever, not at the end of the world or the motherfucking beginning of it. I would not, could not on a boat, I would not could not, so fuck. You.’ ”

“I bet that went over well.”

“She didn’t talk to me for a month after that,” Renny says, chuckling. “But now? Fuck it, I’d probably do it, I mean if it was getting real dire. I told my mom no because I knew why she was asking me. She wanted me to admit that deep down inside I was still a good little Christian straight girl. But I’m not and she needed to understand that.”

“Don’t do it,” I tell her. “Even if you’re the last woman on earth.”

“You serious?”

“Absolutely. I mean, what’s the point? If this is what you’re giving a child,” I say, gesturing to the soggy field littered with oozing corpses. “If this is what they have to look forward to, you’re better off just sticking to who you are, to what you believe. It’s more valuable, I think, in the end.”

It’s one of those bad nights, an uncomfortable, lonely night and I wish I hadn’t let that whiskey get away. I wish I could hear a bit of
Mary Poppins
whistled in the dark.

COMMENTS

C in C says:

November 2, 2009 at 7:09 pm

The privilege and the heartache of marriage is the picture it presents to the outside world. If a star explodes there’s a little more violence in the universe but there’s a little more beauty too, right? There’s more to say but I can’t think what, and so instead I’ll let someone smarter, someone wiser than I say what I mean to say: “There were times when he could not read the face he had studied so long and when this lonely girl was a greater mystery to him than any woman of the world with a ring of satellites to help her.” Perhaps a goodbye is in order. I think instead I’ll simply say: See you later.

Allison says:

November 2, 2009 at 8:03 pm

That sounds ominous, C. My battery’s low and I have to go beg Nanette to use their back-up generator so I’ll keep this short. Don’t give up. I know I sound grouchy, but don’t give up, never stop fighting.

Isaac says:

November 2, 2009 at 8:58 pm

Allison knows a thing or two about hopelessness. Listen to her and to me, don’t give up man. Fight the good fight.

November 4, 2009—In Dubious Battle

“Renny.”

“Uhmf, hm?”

“Renny!”

“What
is
it?”

“Get up. Get up quickly and quietly. We’ve got company.”

It’s early, the pink fringes of dawn just beginning to cluster around the distant tree line. My mind, I can say with certainty, is hazy. Julian is waiting outside the tent when I step out and he’s alternately rubbing his bicep to stay warm and flinching from the pain of upsetting his injured arm. There are dark bags beneath his blue-green eyes. His face is pale, bloodless. There aren’t many extra supplies at the encampment so we’ve had to make due with sweatshirts and jeans to keep us warm and little else.

“I know I shouldn’t take it personally, but it’s a little disconcerting that they didn’t notice I was gone until
an entire day later
,” he says. He flinches again as his left hand bumps the sling.

“Stop doing that,” I say. “You look ridiculous. And keep it down.”

“It’s freezing.”

“It’s a hell of a lot colder in the grave.”

Maria woke us up just moments ago, reporting back from her watch that she had seen movement over at the Territorials camp, headlights, the rumble of engines gunning to life. She wasn’t sure what it all meant but I had a pretty good idea. I suspected they might retaliate after we stole Julian back, but part of me hoped they would just ignore it. They didn’t seem to be too attached to him, considering they were prepared to let him bleed to death in a closet.

Renny emerges from the tent, her springy hair held back by a thick black headband. There are bags under her eyes but she’s already wide awake, determined. Dapper trots out of the tent and sits with his muzzle resting against my knee. Renny hands me my ax; lately we’ve been sharing it. “What do we do about Ted?”

“I think we should move him into the car,” I say, adjusting the shoulder strap of my laptop bag.

“But the car is shot to shit.”

“Just for safekeeping,” I reply. “Until we have a clear getaway. If he’s lying down in the back they won’t be able to see him. They’ll check the tents first if anything.”

“Julian, go help the others pack up. Renny and I can move Ted to the car.” I go to him, pull him a few feet away from Renny and take a tight hold on his healthy arm. “Can I ask you a very personal question?”

“Of course,” he says. “Jesus, Allison, you can ask me anything.”

“Do you know what a Molotov cocktail is and could you please make some?”

“I … Roughly … I guess?”

“Good, great!” I shout. “Get to it.”

Before Julian can answer, Renny and I duck into the tent. Ted is there, his sweatshirt bulging at the shoulder where the heavy bandages are wrapped. He’s pale and sweating, but alive. We carefully move him into a sitting position and then lift, taking care not to put a strain on his shoulder. It’s slow going. The natural place to lift someone up is their shoulder joint, but instead I have to sort of grab him around the middle and heave upward. In the middle of this, he begins to wake up.

“Mmf?” he asks, his head lolling against Renny’s shoulder.

“We’re just moving you to a safer spot,” I tell him, smoothing back the damp hair on his forehead, adjusting his skewed glasses. It’s easier with him awake, since he can at least use his legs to help us along. He’s still dozing as we sandwich him between us and guide him away from the tents. We head for the sedan parked on the edge of the camp. There’s a fine, chilly mist clinging to the ground and the yellow grass crunches from the frost as we hobble along together in stride. Every once in a while Ted grunts with discomfort and we adjust to put less pressure on his injury.

There’s still a trickle of blood on the ground marking the path we took getting Ted out of the car. The backseat is a complete mess, littered with glass and stained with Ted’s blood on the seats and the floor. At least the shattered windows have allowed it to air out a bit. Renny stands staring at it all with the door open, her mouth twisted into a scowl of revulsion.

“It’s just for a little while and he’s sleeping anyway.”

She nods, reaching in to sweep the glass off the seat and onto the floor. Together, we slowly help Ted into the backseat, prodding him this way and that until he’s lying down with his knees curled beneath him. He grumbles incoherently, scrunching up his nose as he squirms around trying to get comfortable.

“For the record, I don’t think we should mention this to him when he wakes up,” Renny says.

“Yeah. Agreed.”

When we reach the tents, Maria, Nanette and Dobbs are busy loading up their supplies into his pickup. Julian is nowhere to be found. A plan has begun to form in my mind, and I’m hoping we have a chance of getting most of these people to safety. The Territorials have guns and vehicles, it’s true, but they’ll rely on those things, perhaps too much.

“Maria!” I call, jogging up to them. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

She and I peel off from the group. It looks like they’ve almost managed to pack up most of the makeshift tents and supplies. They didn’t have much to begin with, and it’s obvious that this was never meant to be a permanent solution. “I know this is going to sound like a weird question, but can you think of any place nearby that might be … well … infested? Somewhere there might be a lot of undead, maybe a store or a warehouse or something?”