Fire Birds (16 page)

She broke eye contact first and went back to the house.

“Dinner is ready,” she called out. “Come in and eat.”

I looked over at the RV. The door was open. Grant and Christine had been standing in the doorway listening to our conversation.

“What are you looking at?” I said.

The rigatoni was the closest thing I’d had to real comfort food in weeks. We didn’t have any garlic bread or Italian sausage to go with it, and the sauce came out of a jar, but it was wonderful. We had a lot of it, too. It wasn’t one of those sparse meals I was used to eating; I went back for seconds and thirds. There was salad, and Sara even found a box of croutons in the supplies in the red van. I opened two bottles of red wine, and we drained them both.

The mood should have been celebratory–we were all a little drunk–but it wasn’t. Christine was sullen as usual. Sara was quiet.

“Let’s look at the pros and cons,” Grant said. “On the pros side, they have electricity, and the dude can fly a plane.”

“He’s not going to take you anywhere,” I said. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“They’re still following religious fairy tales,” Christine said. “Big fucking con.”

“Bible study doesn’t mean anything,” Grant said. “It’s not like they can make you love Jesus.”

“I don’t have a problem with Jesus,” Christine said. “I have a problem with church people. This asshole could be planning to start a little caliphate. He’d eventually have me stoned or burned at the stake.”

“That’s just stupid,” Grant said.

“Is it?” Christine said. “You have no idea how many times church people treated me bad because I didn’t look like them. I was called everything from a whore to a witch to a Satan worshiper. Now that there isn’t any law around, they can act on their hate.”

“Did you?” Grant said with a mischievous grin. “Did you worship Satan?”

“Kiss my ass, Grant,” she said. “Frat boys like you were the same way–fucking knuckle-draggers.”

“All that aside, they do have a plan,” Sara said. “Eventually, it can be as good in Clayfield as in Biloxi but without the gangs.”

“It might be better than pulling weeds and shitting in a bucket,” Christine said, “but I don’t think I want to live with them. I don’t want to live here either. There’s nothing good anywhere.”

“I haven’t seen you pull a single weed,” I said. “The only problem here is that you haven’t even tried. You–”

“Stop,” Sara said.

I glared at Christine a moment then turned my attention to Sara.

“We’ve had bad experiences with other groups,” I added in an even tone.

“I’m sure you were the common denominator in those bad experiences,” Christine said.

“I never said we weren’t going to help these people. We just shouldn’t move in with them. At least here you know you’re safe. I’ve done a lot of work here. Here we have fresh food to eat, and if we work it right, we can have a relatively comfortable life…considering.”

“Well, consider me gone,” Christine said. “It just isn’t worth it. Julio was all I had left that made all this bearable.”

“Sweetie, I know you’re hurting, but it’ll get better,” Sara said.

“I don’t want it to,” Christine said. I could tell by the way she was speaking that the wine was hitting her a little harder than the rest of us.

We were quiet for a minute then Christine spoke again.

“Know what?” she said. “We’ve got guns and ammo out the ass. We need their electricity, but we don’t have to take their shit. If we went in there and let them know that we’re running the show then–”

“Then we’d be no different than the other gangs,” I said.

“Should we be sheep?” she said. “Should we join his little flock?”

“What if they wouldn’t go for it?” Grant said. “What would you do?”

“We would do what we have to do,” Christine said. “Pastor Andrew might have to go.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “You haven’t even met the guy yet. He said we could meet on Tuesday. That’s the day after tomorrow.”

“I don’t need to meet him,” she said. “I know his type.”

“I’m not into religion either,” I said, “especially not these days, but you’re acting no differently from the religious people that judged you.”

Christine stood up. “You don’t understand, and you never will. People like me get a lot of shit from people like them.”

“Maybe people like you bring it on yourselves,” I said.

“You’ve brought a lot on yourself, asshole,” she said, leaning in, hands on the table. “I hope you can handle the shit storm.” She had a look in her eyes that made me squirm a little.

Grant laughed, “What does that even mean, Christine?”

“Fuck you,” she said to Grant, her speech slurred.

“Why don’t you go to bed,” Sara said. “I think you had too much wine.”

“I think you’ve had too much dick,” Christine laughed. She stood straight again and looked around at everyone. “She’s laid every healthy man between here and Mississippi.”

“Go to bed, Christine,” Sara said.

“I’ll go to bed when I want,” Christine said. Then she looked at Grant with a smirk. “Want to join me, jackass?”

Grant seemed startled by her gaze, “What? Me? No.”

She stepped over to him, sat in his lap, and kissed him. Sara stood.

“Stop it,” Grant said, pushing Christine away. “What’s wrong with you?”

Christine got off and slapped him. Then she took a step backward and pulled her 9mm from its holster and pointed it at Grant. Immediately, we were all on our feet, guns drawn.

“What the hell?” I said. “Put it away.”

“Drop the gun!” Sara yelled.

“You got Julio killed, Sara,” Christine said softly. “You all had something to do with it. I should take a man from you. Unlike you, I didn’t have a backup; Julio was my only one. He was special. You could lose one and not even miss him. Grant, come upstairs with me and screw my brains out…or I could just blow yours out here and now.”

“Christine, don’t talk like that! You’re drunk, and–”

She quickly turned and pointed the gun at me.

“What about you? Want to come upstairs and give it to me? Let me see why Sara had to put us all in danger to come back to you.”

“Don’t make me shoot you, Christine,” Sara said.

Christine stood there a moment longer then she took a breath and put her pistol on the table next to her plate.

“I’m trying to give out free poon, but I’m surrounded by faggots. Julio was a real man.”

The three of us had not relaxed at all; we were still pointing our weapons at her.

“Go to bed, Christine,” Sara said. “I know you don’t mean any of this. I’m still your friend.”

“Fucking shit storm,” Christine said, then turned and went upstairs.

Slowly, we all holstered our weapons.

“It’ll be best to leave her alone,” Sara said.

“No shit,” Grant said.

“She can’t be here,” I said. “I know what I said earlier, but she’ll have to go.”

Sara took her plate to the sink. “You should have just left her alone. You kept picking on her.”

“I won’t have her living in my house, not after that.”

“It’s not your house,” Sara said, coldly. “I’m going to save these dishes until tomorrow. I don’t feel like washing them.”

“I’ll wash them, babe,” Grant said.

“Whatever,” she said and left us. I heard the front door open and saw her walk past the window on her way off the porch.

Grant and I stood next to the table in an uncomfortable silence.

“Crazy week,” Grant said.

“Yeah,” I said with a frown. “Crazy year.”

“Chicks and their periods, huh, bro?”

Christine kept herself closed up in the other upstairs bedroom, and no one bothered her. Grant slept in the RV again, and Sara slept on the couch. I didn’t speak to anyone after the ordeal at dinner. We all just avoided each other.

I tried to read for a while before bed, but I couldn’t concentrate. I finally gave up, and just went to bed. Around midnight, I woke up to a warm body crawling in with me. It was almost completely dark in the room, and all I could see was a silhouette.

“Sara?” I said.

She straddled me. My hands found soft, warm thighs then moved up unclothed skin to her waist. Her crotch pressed against mine. I could feel her heat even through my jeans, and my body responded. When she leaned in, I realized it wasn’t Sara.

“Christine? Get off me! Get out of here!”

“Shut up,” she said and ground herself against me.

Then I heard Sara scream downstairs.

“Sara?” I yelled.

I reached back over my head and fumbled under the pillow for my flashlight. The beam hit Christine in the face, and she turned her eyes away from the light. She pushed her crotch against me again harder and leaned back so that she was sitting upright. That’s when I noticed the knife.

“Shit!”

She knocked the flashlight out of my hand. It hit the floor and spun around. I tried to push her off me before she could stick the knife into my chest.

“You ruined everything,” she spat out through clenched teeth. Then she screamed and slumped over me.

I gave a final push and rolled her into the floor. She was on her feet right away and fell back against the wall by the door.

“Sara!” I yelled. My feet went into my boots, but I didn’t lace them. I grabbed my pistol, picked up my flashlight, and pointed both of them at Christine.

She was naked, and her arms hung at her side. Her hands were wet and red. Blood dripped from the fingertips to the floor. She squinted into my flashlight beam then gave me a little grin.

“You are so fucked,” she said.

Sara screamed again, and I heard glass break downstairs.

“What’s happening?” I said.

Christine turned her wrists up so I could see. Blood dribbled and spurted out of deep, open gashes. The bloody knife was in the floor. There was a gunshot downstairs. I looked at the dark doorway then back at the bleeding woman in front of me.

“What have you done, Christine?!”

She slid down the wall and sat on the floor with her knees around her ears, then grinned up at me.

I ran out the door, “Sara!”

“They’re in!” she yelled. “I need light; I can’t see!”

I ran into the first creature at the top of the stairs. I did a quick shine of the flashlight, saw the ghoulish face, and put my pistol against its forehead. I fired, and it fell back down to the landing and sprawled there. I got a better look at it then. The bottom of its face below the nose and ears was raw bone. Its eyes were gray and milky. A few strands of black hair remained. The body was clad only in the dirty elastic collar of a t-shirt and the elastic waistband of some Hanes tightie-whiteys. Between its open legs was something, but it didn’t look like genitalia.

I went down as far as the dead zombie then I saw Sara coming up. I shined my light behind her. The front door was standing open, and there were several in the house. I could see the shadowy figures of more on the porch. Farther out, the headlight beams of the RV shown on scores more in the driveway and in the yard.

I took Sara’s hand and helped her over the dead thing on the landing.

“How did they get in?” she said as we both ran back up the stairs.

“Christine,” I said. “She must have opened the gate. Then she left the door open so they could come in the house.”

“No. She wouldn’t.”

We ran into my bedroom. I shut and locked the door. Christine was still on the floor between the door and the dresser. She was sitting in a dark puddle of her own blood and urine. She was hanging on, but her eyelids were drooping.

“Christine?” Sara said in a pleading voice. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”

Christine only stared.

“Christine, please…oh, God, your wrists…oh, sweetie…”

Sara grabbed my shirt from the floor and tried to wrap it around Christine’s wrists to stop the bleeding. I shined the flashlight below the window on the other side of the room to make sure my bug out bag was still there.

“Light!” Sara yelled. “I can’t see what I’m doing!”

I put the flashlight on the floor and shined it in her direction. Then I went around the bed for the bug out bag. There would be another flashlight in there.

“Why?” Sara said to Christine.

There was a thump against the door. The undead were on the second floor. I felt around in the backpack until I found the light–an LED headlamp. I put the strap around my head and turned the switch, illuminating everything in front of me in bright, bluish light.

“There’s a first aid kit in here,” I offered as I dug through the bag taking a quick inventory.

“No,” Sara said softly. “It’s too late. She’s already gone.”