Never Wake (12 page)

“Damn it, speak up,” he said under his breath and then sat still. She had stopped speaking and was looking in his direction. If he’d still been crouching instead of sitting on the ground, she might have caught a glimpse of him. When she turned back to the plaque she seemed calmer. After a few long minutes, she stood and picked up her bike, and walked toward the street. She easily avoided the tire puncture grates and rode away as if unaware of the rain and in no particular hurry to get anywhere.

“Good,” Abe said aloud when she was far enough away that he was sure she wouldn’t see him. He crab-walked to a pile of leaves and brushed them aside until his hands hit the handlebars of the bicycle he had taken that morning. He thought it was called a beach cruiser, but he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that it made no sounds when he rode it unless he hit a pebble or used the handbrake. The bike would allow him to follow Troy, and if he stayed far enough behind her and she didn’t look back, he would be able to see where she’d been staying.

*

One guttural moan warned Jake of its presence long before it appeared around a corner. He let it grab him, let it bite his neck, let all but the last of his energy seep from his body before he began to fight. He raised his gun and fired. The zombie fell back and Jake fired again, this time right between its eyes. He watched it sink to the floor, and blood spilled from its body almost as an afterthought—as if someone had opened an artery in the thing. Jake smiled with vague amusement at the carcass. He had played this game so many times that he often had to let himself be drained of some of his energy in order to make it interesting. He watched himself—the female version of himself—limp down the hall of a mansion. He didn’t bother to open any of the doors because he knew what was on the other side of every one of them. An elixir here, a gun there. None of it was any use to him. He was on a mission to make it through the game as fast as he could because at the end, he would be given the key. It was the one thing that would save the doomed citizens of the city from the disease that had turned them into the zombies. The microwave beeped and a low whine to his left bought him back to reality. The smell of buttered popcorn and rotting dog flesh permeated the air.

“Smells like we finally got some that didn’t burn, huh boy?”

Malice stood up on thin shaky legs. He looked at Jake with soft, brown eyes and licked his lips, as if to say, “Yes, I’m hungry, too.”

He pushed pause on the wireless game controller and stood up. He had found the dog eating garbage out of a tipped trashcan in the alley behind the shoe store where he’d gotten his Aaron Austins. The dog—he had named him Malice because it sounded good—had followed him home without much coaxing.

Malice wouldn’t let Jake near the wound on his head and, from the look and smell of it, it wasn’t getting any better. He would have to do something about it soon, but for now, Jake liked having the dog around, even if he was unable to play fetch. There were dark droplets of blood on the light-colored carpet. Mommy and Daddy always said pets were dirty. Not that that mattered anymore.

Jake could hear the dog’s labored breathing as he followed him into the kitchen. Malice whined as Jake poured the popcorn into a bowl for himself. He was careful to scoop any extras off the counter and back into the bowl.

“Okay now we have to find something for you to eat, right?” Jake rummaged around until he found two cans of corned beef hash in the cabinet and mixed it with a few things he found beneath the sink.

“You’re going to love this shit, aren’t you?”

Jake took the whimper to mean that the dog wasn’t picky. The wound on Malice’s head no longer seemed to bother him as he pranced from side to side and licked his lips in anticipation of his meal. Jake got down a large serving platter. His mother’s mother had given it to her when she married his daddy. He dumped the can of hash on it and mixed the other ingredients in and, at the last minute, decided to add an egg from the refrigerator. He gave the mixture a cautious sniff. It smelled like what he imagined dog food would smell like, and he placed the platter on the floor. To his surprise, the dog did not leap forward. The only sign that Malice was even excited about the meal was his black, bushy tail swishing back and forth across the tile floor.

“What are you waiting for?” He felt a bit miffed that his creation was being refused. The dog had never turned it down before, and he had made this at least two times since bringing the dog home. “Eat it.”

The dog just stared and Jake realized he wanted him to leave so that he could eat his food in peace. “All right,” Jake said and walked away as if returning to the living room. He stopped after he had turned the corner and peered into the kitchen. The dog was looking at the platter, but still wasn’t eating. He waited, his tongue lolling out every so often, as if tasting the air. He sniffed, and then sniffed again before taking a cautious nip at the food. Jake was beginning to fear he had added too many things to the concoction when Malice began to eat.

Jake smiled and headed toward his parents’ room.

Both were positioned on their backs. Daddy’s hand was in Mommy’s. Her hair had been brushed out across her pillow until it gleamed. Jake sat on the side of the bed closest to his mother. He wished he had thought to steal a digital camera. The one they had required the film to be developed. He reached across both sleeping figures for the cigarettes and matches on the nightstand. Daddy was always “finishing the last pack” so that he could quit and had been since Jake had known him. Jake lit one of the cigarettes and inhaled. He blew the smoke out and watched as it shrouded the bodies in a white fog. He needed to finish his game and maybe get some sleep. He left the room closing the door behind him. As he passed the kitchen he glanced in. Malice was still bent over the platter. His hindquarters quivered as he licked the platter so hard that it was moving across Mommy’s terracotta floors with little scraping noises.

Jake grinned and drew more smoke into his lungs and settled in front of the TV. Just before he hit the “resume play” button on his controller, he heard a loud gagging noise and a sneeze. The game’s eerie soundtrack killed any possibility of hearing more. Not that he wanted to. He had been right not to put any water down. Less mess to clean up that way.

Jake watched his female alter ego, a messenger bag filled with herbs and extra ammunition slung across her body, limp into the depths of the warehouse where she would have to fight her final showdown.

*

Rain and clouds brought darkness sooner than it should have. Emma had decided that Troy would hole up somewhere until the storm passed. She had been dozing off and on beneath the afghan that Troy slept under. The sound of the buzzer ripped her from the warm embrace of a dream that did not end with a scream.

She sat up, uncertain whether the sound had been part of the dream. The streetlights had not flickered to life yet, which meant it was not quite half-past seven. She looked in the direction of the door just as the buzzer sounded again. Emma stood up, and forgoing the cane, walked as fast as she could to the door, said “yes” into the speaker as if she didn’t know who could be at her door at that hour.

“Emma?” Worry colored Troy’s voice.

“Yes?” Emma said, smiling at the speaker, then muttered, “Shit,” and released the speak button so that she could hear Troy’s response.

“Can I come up, or are you angry with me?”

“I’m not…” Troy was too far away for Emma to sense anything. She hit the release button for the front door and took a deep breath. She had come back. She hadn’t doubted that she would, even if it hadn’t been tonight. She removed the chains and the lock and moved back to the window seat. Emma had to find someplace to put her hands and settled on picking up her book.

“It’s open,” she called out and was surprised at how good she felt when Troy walked in, carrying her bike. Troy let her bag drop to the floor and stood there, dripping on Emma’s hardwood floors. Emma took in all of her as if she hadn’t just seen her that very morning.

“I’m soaked,” she said. Her smile was apologetic.

Emma jumped up, ignoring her protesting knee, and went to the linen closet.

“I’ll get you some towels.” She pulled down two large fluffy towels and handed one to Troy, then stood there holding the other, unsure whether she should help or not.

“Sorry. I should have left my bike outside. Habit.” Troy turned as if to open the door.

“And deprive me of the pleasure of watching you bring it in? No, you can leave it right there.”

“It’ll drip all over the floor,” Troy said, her hand still on the doorknob.

“It’s okay. I have a lot of towels.”

Troy smiled and leaned the bike against the wall. She ran the towel through her curls, leaving them askew, and then began to dry the floor with Emma’s best towels.

She had to be honest with herself. She was relieved that Troy had returned. Even if food weren’t an issue, she liked having her there, even when she was asleep. Emma used the moment to give herself some distance.

“You must be cold. Why don’t you get into a hot shower, and I’ll put some soup on when I hear you getting out.”

“That sounds good, thanks. Ah, shit, I forgot the food.”

Emma laughed, and Troy ran her fingers through her wild curls. Troy looked as if she was considering going back outside.

Emma was surprised at the ache she felt in her chest. The fact that this woman would go back in the rain to get her food when she wouldn’t even get it for herself made her feel so sad, but cared for. “I haven’t eaten the stuff you gave me yesterday.”

Troy looked surprised. “Why not?”

“I wasn’t that hungry after you left.” It was a lie. She had been a little hungry. But she wasn’t sure when or if Troy would be back and she wanted to make the food last as long as she could.

Troy’s body had become rigid. “You didn’t think I’d be back.”

Emma hesitated and then decided to admit the truth. “I wasn’t sure.”

Troy looked offended. “Look, I know we don’t know each other, but I try not to lie. Sometimes I can’t do what I want to, but my word is all I’ve got to offer, so I try to keep it.”

Troy was struggling with something. Emma could sense it, but it was so deep and convoluted that she couldn’t figure it out. The words meant more to Troy than what she felt comfortable saying. Emma understood. Troy was trying to tell her that she wouldn’t lie to her, at least not on purpose. She was asking Emma to trust her. Emma met Troy’s eyes, giving her a little smile—the “thank you” she couldn’t manage to vocalize. To Emma’s great relief, Troy accepted it and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

The tears were as unexpected as they were immediate. It was as if the closing of the bathroom door opened another portal inside of Emma. She scooted back against the pillow of the window seat and pulled her knees up, ignoring the dull pain. She wrapped her arms around her legs, closed her eyes and let the tears flow.

It was relief. Pure, simple relief. She hadn’t known she was lonely. Sure, she had been afraid when the groceries didn’t come, but more than anything, she was afraid that she would die as she had lived. Alone and afraid. And now, Troy was telling her she didn’t have to. The touch to Emma’s shoulder was such a shock that she let go of her legs and began to fight. Troy caught her arms and held on to her until she was sure that Emma realized it was her.

Emma shook her head and tried to speak. The stern look on Troy’s face told her she would not be shrugged off. Emma allowed herself to be pulled into a warm, but not dry, embrace. Emma sobbed into Troy’s chest. She felt compassion sweep over her, and then a deep sadness that made her cry even more. It was a slow realization, but so steady that she knew that it was coming from so deep within Troy that she wasn’t even aware of it herself.

Why would Troy blame herself? How could any of this be her fault? Emma struggled to catch her breath and allowed her arms to loop around Troy’s slim waist. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled Troy close.

“I hate this,” she mumbled. “I don’t even know you and here I am, snotting onto what’s probably your favorite shirt.”

“Nah,” Troy said. “I stole this shirt to make myself feel better.”

Emma leaned back so that she could see Troy’s face.

“It was a hundred and fifty dollars!”

Emma continued to stare.

“I left an IOU.”

“Nuh-uh?”

Troy grinned and said, “I did. I figure if someone comes to get me, it would mean they all woke up. Couple months in jail would be worth that.”

Emma laughed a little, but stopped because Troy was looking at her with such concern that Emma felt self-conscious.

“You all right?” Troy didn’t pronounce the “l” in all right, giving it a lightness that didn’t match the concern in her eyes.

“I’m fine.”

Troy’s arms loosened, but Emma stayed close, her nose and mouth pressed into Troy’s stolen shirt. “You sure? ’Cause I’m stinky and soaking wet, and you don’t seem to be in any hurry to get away from me.”

Emma laughed. Troy was soaked, but she was also warm and had a slight spicy scent to her. Emma didn’t find it the least bit unpleasant.

“Look, Emma. I know you’re scared. I think someone hurt you, and if you ever want to talk…” Troy paused and looked so serious that Emma’s heartbeat quickened. “If you ever want to talk, there’s no one else here.” She said and smiled.