Hollow Men (8 page)

“Your dad always worried you’d think he was nuts,” Evan said. “They must have kept this their little secret.”

“I didn’t think he was crazy. I had fun with it. Learning to shoot, learning the bow and arrow, learning to store food and cook and track and all that. I lost a lot of my skills…” I patted my gun. When I found him watching me, I tried on a smile. “But a lot of them I didn’t.”

“I know. Let’s see what else we have in here.”

I followed him to the very back of the bus. There were camping rolls that included insulated sleeping bags and foam mats. A small camping stove. Some firewood. Also toiletries and several large duffel bags. All stacked neatly in a corner taking up as little space as possible. Evan unzipped one then a second.

“Bug-out bags,” he said, shaking his head. He gave a low whistle. “Man, they had their shit wired tight.”

I grabbed one of the bags. An extra set of clothes—sweat clothes so they were unisex and the pants were drawstring. Some MREs, first aid stuff, compass, emergency blanket, waterproof matches, hatchet, pocketknife…the list went on.

Tears sprang to my eyes. In that moment, I missed my dad—and my mom—more than words could describe.

Evan caught the look and came to put his arm around me. He always could read me like a book—it was comforting, it was also infuriating.

He bent his head to whisper to me. “It’s okay.”

I shook my head. “It hasn’t been okay for a long, long time.”

It was the first I’d really said that to anyone since I’d been alone. The first time I’d admitted aloud things were not okay. That the world—for all intents and purposes—seemed pretty fucked at the moment. Infected people—
sick fucking people
—were preying on each other. To add insult to injury, so were other ostensibly healthy people. People who took survival of the fittest to heart a hundred and ten percent. On top of that, the military would not hesitate to shoot you should you exhibit any signs of illness.

The one story that had not died dealt with a young girl who was so inconsolable at the death of her family, she could not stop crying or sobbing. When they demanded she did, she whimpered. Her sounds were too close to the sounds of the hollows, and while her horrified travel companions watched, she was gunned down in the streets. Most likely by a terrified rookie soldier, but still, gunned down is gunned down.

The world was a mess. Food, economy, social relations. TV reports assured survivors tests were done before any action was taken against the infected, but people weren’t stupid. Sometimes there was just no time for tests.

Evan held me. What made it better was that he didn’t try to change my mind. He just held me.

In the secret, womblike dark of the bus, I turned fully to him. I pressed my body flush against his, trying to absorb his warmth—his calm. I turned my face up to him, and he kissed me. Gently. Hands smoothing back my hair, lips moving sure but soft over my lips. Our tongues touched and electricity coursed through me. I shivered because I was suddenly hot and cold at the same time.

I put my hand on his fly, and his hand came down on mine. I smiled. Until he pulled my hand away.

“I don’t want to be your drug of choice, Eleanor,” he whispered.

I pulled back and stared into those warm eyes. “What does that mean?”

He threaded his fingers through my hair and gave it a soft, friendly tug. “Just what I said. I know the sex, it comforts you—makes you feel connected. It does the same for me. The sex with us, pretty much
everything
with us, was always so good. But being with you…” He shrugged and looked away from me. He seemed part angry, part sad, part embarrassed.

“Tell me,” I said, feeling hollow on the inside. Is this what they felt like? Out there in the streets searching for something to fill them? No wonder they cried and whimpered. No wonder they were lost.

“Being with you has brought it all back. How much I
loved
you.” He stared at the floor of the bus. The wall. Anything but at me. “How much I still do.”

It was a punch to the gut. Some things never die. Grudges, mildew, fear of public speaking, first true love…

I sighed. “This is not the time in our world for romance and love,” I snapped. I was angry because when he said these things to me, my heart felt light. For a split second, I felt happy. And there was no room for that shit. It was a betrayal to the people we’d lost. The lives that were cut short. This life was about survival.

He looked down at me and gave me that half-smile of his. “Maybe this is
exactly
the time for it.” His hand traced soft circles on my back. “But I know I can’t change your mind or convince you. I wouldn’t try, to be honest. I want you to feel things for me because you feel things for me.”

I do.

I left it unsaid. Anger was easy to cling to, and as I watched him, it rode in on its black steed, and I grabbed for it. “I’m sorry you feel as if you’re a booty call,” I snapped. “It’s not like that, but I don’t have a place in my life for a happily ever after, Evan. This life is not the life I used to have.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be all doom and gloom and pain,” he said.

“Actually, it does.” I pulled back and moved away. My body mourned the sudden absence of his warmth. I cleared my throat. Back to business. “I think when dusk starts to fall, we should go ahead and fire this thing up and take it through that thicket to the back of my house. There are some things missing from here I know my dad would have packed. I assume they were going to load when needed.”

He watched me but said nothing. A brief nod was all I got as acknowledgement.

I felt sick. I felt as if I were a traitor. And those feelings made me angrier. What a fucking mess. Part of me wished he’d never shown up. I’d be alone in my house just as I’d been for months, and I wouldn’t know the fucking difference. I certainly wouldn’t have a steady ache in my chest as relentless as a rotten fucking tooth because of what he’d said to me. And what it made me feel.

“Right. Don’t talk to me. That’s fine.”

“It’s not that I’m not talking to you, El. I just don’t know what to sa—”

“Save it,” I snapped. “No time for feelings.”

He shut his mouth.

I had that surreal moment where I could hear my mouth and wished it would stop. Wished the venom coming out of me would just cease, and I could talk to him for real. Be honest. But that would mean admitting things I did not want to admit.
Feeling
things I did not want to feel. So I didn’t.

This world was full of loss. It was full of pain. You had something and you loved it and you held it close and then…it was gone. I couldn’t do that anymore. I didn’t want to. I simply said, “I’m going back to the house to evaluate supplies. You can come or you can stay. Whatever you want.”

Chapter Seven

He followed me without saying a word. A respectable distance separated us, but it felt like miles. Evan was trying to give me space, but his courtesy felt like betrayal. I stomped through the trees, forcing myself from time to time to stop. I didn’t want to alert anyone we were out here. My anger and my pain would have to wait.

I tripped over a tree root and felt his steadying hand on me, but he didn’t speak. I wanted him to speak. I wanted him to talk me out of my nasty disposition. I wanted him to tell me it would all be okay and he’d be right there and nothing at all would happen to him or me or us.

I wanted him to hold me.

Instead, I unlocked the back door after a fast sweep of the house and porch. I held the door wide for him, and he ducked inside, passing close to me but not touching me. Inside, he checked the house and motioned for me to come in.

“We can gather everything up here, and at dark go back over and start it.”

“Are we sure it will start?”

I shrugged. “It should. They used to keep their toys in pristine order.” I leaned over, hands on knees. I was suddenly exhausted. “I guess if it doesn’t, worst case scenario, we come home and regroup. Hammer out plan B.”

He moved to the cabinet and withdrew two instant noodle bowls, then he put the kettle on. “You need to eat,” he said.

“No need to baby me,” I snapped.

“I’m not babying anyone. We both need to eat,” he said, facing the stove. He didn’t look at me, and for some damn reason that hurt me more than anything. Only problem was I’d created this rift. Not because I didn’t want what he wanted, but because the minute my true feelings became clear, I had pushed him away.

“Fine. I’m going to go…” I shook my head. What? What was I going to go do? “See what else we need,” I sighed. “I’ll be downstairs.”

I went down and began by watching the external cameras. Nothing at all. No movement on the street. I took a deep breath and let myself relax for a moment. I sat on my bunk and caught my breath.

“You should go up and say you’re sorry, Eleanor,” I told myself. “You should go apologize to him. Tell him the truth. You’re angry because you feel the same way. You’re angry because you’ve wasted—” My throat felt as if I could barely suck a breath down its narrow passage. A sob ripped out of me, and I shoved my fist in my mouth. “You’ve wasted all this time,” I finished.

It might be too late. It
felt
too late.

“El?”

His voice was soft as it drifted down to the basement. I came out of the safe room and called up. “Coming.”

I dabbed my eyes, caught my breath—put my game face on.

Upstairs we ate our noodles and waited for dark.

* * * *

We’d gathered, without speaking much, a stockpile of guns and ammo in the kitchen. We were still working on the foodstuffs. I wasn’t even letting my mind consider the other stuff in my house. It had been hashed out we’d stock the kitchen overnight, sleep in there so we’d hear anything, should it happen. It would give us the option of making a break for the bus if we thought we could make it. We’d also leave the safe room open and ready for entry should we need it, of course.

We had everything from a Glock to a sawed-off shotgun to some flash bombs. Evan was now sitting and considering food. I rooted around in the fridge for two beers. I popped the caps and gave him one.

“You can take a break,” he said. His eyes found me, skittered over me, moved away. He was trying to not set me off. Which set me off. It made me feel as if I were a questionable explosive that needed to be handled properly.

I didn’t need to be fucking handled.

Maybe you do, dumbass…

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I’m fine.”

He smiled, opened the cabinet and began to unload some of the canned goods I kept there, checking the expiration dates as he went. “You sure? One more hot shower?” He chuckled. “God knows how long it will be till we can get another. Could be a day or two, could be a week or two.”

I blinked. He was right. “Then you?”

I figured if I took one and then he took one I would feel no guilt for wanting and having a hot shower.

Evan nodded. “Fine by me. You don’t have to ask me twice, El.”

I took my gun with me and stomped upstairs to the bathroom. All this stomping made me feel comparable to a temper tantrum-prone two year old.

“Because you’re acting as if you are one.”

I stripped and put a towel on top of the hamper and my weapon on top of the toilet tank where I could reach it. The bathroom had no windows so it was one of my favorite places to be. A small oasis in a world full of breaches.

The water was hot, and I was thankful. We’d been without power blips for days. I pushed my face under the spray and tried to relax. The thought of leaving my home made me feel empty and angry even though I knew if my father were alive, he’d have declared we needed to leave too. He’d have insisted.

A sob slipped out, and I snapped my mouth shut. I covered my lips, mortified at my weakness. I needed to shut it off, shut it up, remove it. I let my back hit the cool tile wall, and my fingers slid down my belly, over my mound, parted my lips. My fingertip found my clit, and I pressed in increasingly rough circles.

The swell and burst of pleasure would help. The warm whirlpool of release would take me under so I could ignore my misery.

I turned to press my face and breasts to the cool tile. My fingers delved deeper, and I ground my clit to the palm of my hand, fucking myself ten times harder than I’d wished any man to. It was nearly a punishment, this diversion.

When I came, I felt worse, not better. The brief, swelling pleasure was instantly swallowed by a dull, thrumming loneliness.

I finished my shower and got out. That plan had backfired.

I dressed, packed a duffel and went down to find Evan. He was sitting at the kitchen table looking at a photo album. He glanced up, looking a wee bit guilty when I came in.

“What do you have there?” I considered a second beer, grabbed a bottle of water instead.

“Found it on the shelf. Just a photo album.”

I looked over his shoulder to see me and him dressed for Senior Prom. My dress was black and white. His tux obviously the same, but Evan being Evan had to mess with it. So his tie was a bright aqua blue. The same shade as my eyes, he’d told me. I’d laughed at him; I’d loved him even more for it.

I swallowed hard. “Look at us. What a pair.”

He nodded, shut the book. “Yep. What a pair.” He straightened up and visibly shook off whatever he was feeling. It was basically watching a dog shake off pond water. “You good? I can go?”

“Yep. I put a towel on the hamper for you. I’ll make sure all is well.”

He touched my hair, smiled at me and was gone.

The rest of the night was quiet, but for the sounds of me and Evan trying hard to get comfortable on sleeping bags in the kitchen. At some point in the early hours when he began to snore, and I gave up on sleep all together, I tucked the photo album in the bag of supplies.

When morning came I’d have to say goodbye to my home. For some reason, that realization brought sleep. Nature’s best defense mechanism.