You and Me against the World: The Creepers Saga Book 1 (12 page)

“We’ll be fine,” Susan said. “Go do what you have to.”

Caroline walked away.

“Great girl,” Thorn said.

“She really is,” Susan agreed.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry about people assuming we’re a couple. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Stop. Don’t do that,” Susan said. The tone was so abrupt that it made Thorn step back.

“Do what?”

“Dismiss me, dismiss us, dismiss the possibility of us by pretending it’s all a misunderstanding.”

She leveled him with a direct, pained gaze.

“Susan, please don’t be angry. I’m just saying—”

“Saying what, Dr. Thorn?”

“Look, we’re in the middle of a shit storm here. Relationships, even the thought of relationships, is just crazy.”

“Why.” It wasn’t a question, it was a challenge.

Thorn looked away.

“Why, Russ, why? Are they crazy? Tell me.”

“Because we’re probably all gonna die, Susan,” he answered in a somber voice.

“Yeah, we are, and so what? We were all gonna die a year ago. I don’t know if you’re aware, Doctor, but people have always died.”

“Come on, it’s not the same.”

“It is for you. The only difference now is you’re not the only one here who has lost a loved one. No longer the only eligible martyr.”

“So that’s it? You think I’m playing the martyr?”

Susan shook her head. It was a soft, sad movement.

“I think I can’t compete with a ghost, Russ. You see that sad little girl out there?”

The one who sat in that pool of congealing blood for three days.

“Russ, she’s not the only one haunted by the past—you just don’t have an iPod.”

Susan walked away.

“Susan wait …”

She turned; a small tear ran down her cheek.

“I can’t, Dr. Thorn. The world doesn’t allow that luxury anymore.”

Thorn’s a cappella

Thorn spent an hour alone sorting the prescription medicines. Most of them were useless; seemed people had a lot of anxiety and cholesterol pills in their homes. He saved a few bottles of the former and pitched the latter. Antibiotics would be vital, so he divided them into their uses and strengths. The supply of painkillers was impressive. Before the end of the world, prescription narcotics were the second highest abused drug in the country. The pile of bottles confirmed there was no shortage of narcotics in people’s medicine cabinets. In this world, they could serve a number of purposes, so he set them aside.

He finished the drug inventory and went to examine the seniors. Caroline was correct; most were beyond anything that their limited resources could fix. They could keep them comfortable, but in the end, most of their efforts would be hospice. He read the charts Caroline had constructed and was again impressed by her attention to detail. He didn’t wake any of the patients, though, since he had nothing to really offer.

Out in the hallway, he smelled smoke a moment before he saw an old woman standing by an open door with a cigarette.

“Ahh, a real doctor,” Mrs. Wilkes said with a smile. “Gonna tell me how bad these are for me, I suppose?” She gestured at him with her cigarette.

“No, ma’am. I’m just considering if I want to put that monkey on my back again.”

“Oh an ex-smoker; such a righteous bunch. Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Russ Thorn.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Thorn. I am Andrea Wilkes.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too, Mrs. Wilkes.”

“Well, I can tell you this, Dr. Thorn”—she held the pack out to him—“not likely you’re gonna die from cigarettes, not with a world filled with those nasties out there.”

Thorn nodded and took a cigarette from the pack. She lit it for him with a shaky hand. The first inhale made him cough. The second was smoother. By the fourth, it started to taste good again.

The old, evil friend gets comfortable fast
, he thought.

“So how are you, healthwise, Mrs. Wilkes?”

The woman laughed.

“Compared to the other old coots, I’m a spring chicken.”

“Any conditions I should be aware of? Medications, illness?”

“Blah, what I’m suffering from is old age. I’ll be eighty-nine this March.”

“That’s still very young, Mrs. Wilkes.”

“No, Doctor; six months ago, maybe. Today it’s very old. If not for these wonderful kids, I’d be dead.”

Thorn didn’t know how to answer—it was true.

“Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Thorn, I’m in no rush to die,” she said in a whisper, “but this is too much for these children. They can’t stay here and take care of the old and the dying.”

“Oh, they’re doing fine, Mrs. Wilkes, and now you have a doctor and a nurse at your service.”

She smiled, but it looked more like a grimace.

“Yes, we do, but something’s coming, Doctor. I can feel it, and I can see that you do too. When it does, these young men and women need to take the little ones and go. Don’t let them stay here on account of us old folks.”

“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Wilkes.”

She tossed her cigarette into the night.

“I’m old, Dr. Thorn, but I’m not a fool. I don’t know why God saved me, but I know we’re miles away from being fine.”

She gestured toward his cigarette.

“Don’t let that monkey dig its claws in too deep, Doc.”

She shuffled away, and Thorn pitched his own cigarette.

Susan avoided him, and he felt the loss of it. The feeling surprised him. Back at the house, she was just “there,” and he’d had no reason to examine his growing attraction to her. It just seemed she would always be there, but now he felt the distance and struggled with the emptiness. He chastised himself for these emotions. He barely knew her; this was just the result of a shared traumatic experience. But that felt a little too much like a lie. They had survived together, true. However, it was more than that. They had spent days and nights talking and sharing themselves in a way most people never had a chance to do.

She was wrong about competing with a ghost. He loved his wife, Rebecca; he would always love her, but that was not what kept him from Susan. The plain, hard truth was that he was afraid. Afraid that he would love her and then lose her, but mostly he was terrified by the memory of his long nights alone in the dark, missing his dead wife with such pain that he believed he would die. Men don’t share those stories with others; instead, they live them in quiet pained solitude. Hours ago, he would have opted for death by the infected horde over such emotional pain. Now, as he watched her across the room as she smiled at a small girl, he realized that he was already well down the road of love. He laughed at himself. He would tell her. He would confide his fears. He would hope she hadn’t written him off.

That was the plan.

Then things went bad so quickly that in all the blood and death, words fell silent.

We (ain’t) got this!

Thorn slept through the next day and awoke rested and revitalized. If he had known that it was his last peaceful sleep, he may have lingered longer. Instead, he went to the cafeteria. Caroline instructed a group of eight-year-olds on breakfast preparation. She saw him and waved for him to sit. He took a spot at one of the long cafeteria tables and reflected on how long it had been since he’d eaten in a school lunchroom. The bench was miserable and hard, but students’ lunch hours had been reduced to twenty minutes, barely time to notice how bad the seats were, and a future foundation for the bad eating habits of a country.

Caroline brought him a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of eggs and toast.

“Wow,” he raved. “This is fantastic. How did you get powdered eggs to taste so good?”

“It’s all in the spices.”

Thorn looked around as he sipped his coffee.

“She’s not here,” Caroline said.

“Who?”

Caroline raised her eyebrow. She was no fool.

“Okay, Dr. Thorn.” Her tone held a note of laughter.

“Please, call me Russ.”

“Okay, well, Russ, Devin asked that you join them in the coach’s office after breakfast. It’s just off the gym.”

“Caroline, do you worry about him going out at night?”

She considered the question as she sipped her coffee.

“Yes,” she answered, “but no more than he worries about leaving me here.”

“You know, you kids seem so okay with … with all of this.”

“Far from it. Everyone just has on his game face. We laugh and joke when we can, but I knew these people before this happened. Underneath, we’re afraid and uncertain, but as long as we can make plans, I think we can hold on to some hope for … for something better.”

Her mature viewpoint shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did, and he respected her even more.

“It’s amazing that you all found each other,” he continued.

She shook her head.

“No, it’s just amazing that we survived long enough to find each other.”

She looked around, and the contemplation on her face was clear.

“Dr. Thorn, I do need your help.”

“For another cup of coffee, anything you want.” He smiled. She didn’t and his faded.

“All the guys don’t see eye to eye on the plans. That makes everything they do more dangerous,” she said.

Thorn remembered the tense exchanges the night of his and Susan’s rescue.

“Yes,” he said.

“All guns and bravado aside, they’re still young men with a healthy respect for a mature opinion. I would be grateful if you could help ensure they don’t do anything crazy, and maybe steer disagreements to the safest and most agreeable solution.

“Are you asking me to support Devin?”

“No, I’m asking you to support the best and safest plan. Make sure they aren’t making decisions based on egos.”

Thorn nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thank you. I’ll get you another cup of coffee to go.”

She left and then came back with it. He thanked her and turned to leave, but she lightly grabbed his forearm.

“Dr. Thorn, it’s none of my business but”—she paused and lowered her voice so the children wouldn’t hear—“our chances of survival are slim. I have no illusions that we are on anything but borrowed time. But each day, each moment is the same as it ever was—it’s a gift. Don’t weigh your love against the clock—one minute, one hour, a week, or a thousand weeks. The time doesn’t matter. You think it’s amazing that we all found each other. The truth is we’re here because we loved each other enough to fight our way to one another. That may seem heroic in a world where people are so self-centered, but it’s not heroism. It’s simply that death is second to love. If you love someone, tell them. Saying the words won’t make it hurt any more if you lose them, but it will make the seconds in between mean something.”

Thorn looked at this bright, insightful young woman and smiled. “Are you a psychologist?”

She laughed and it was a wonderful sound.

“I was going to be, and then the world ended.”

He nodded.

“You would’ve been great. And thank you. I plan to take your advice.”

Her smile grew brighter.

“Good. Now hurry; the guys are probably at each other’s throats.”

Either Caroline was psychic or things were worse than they appeared. Thorn walked into the middle of a tense disagreement.

“If there are a lot of survivors, we’ll need the bus,” Adam argued. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose to accent his point.

“The bus isn’t ready, and it’s the only thing large enough to transport everyone if we have to run,” Devin countered. “We just can’t risk losing it.”

Thorn looked around. Only the young kid in the Yankee’s cap, Austin, seemed to take a side. He stood next to his brother and stared at Adam, presenting a physical challenge to his brother’s verbal.

“It’s good enough. Besides, this place is safe. We’re not running anytime soon.”

Across the room, Thorn saw the tall skinny guy, Connor. Connor seemed a little disconnected, and his eyes were glassy. Thorn thought about all the painkillers he had found and wondered how many the kid was swallowing a day. Connor absently chewed his nails, and Thorn watched as the tips bled.