Read The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse Online

Authors: William Oday

Tags: #Post-Apocalyptic | Infected

The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse (6 page)

Borrowing future grief wasn’t a useful propensity in a world where the present had plenty of its own.

A cool evening breeze tickled her nose with the welcome scent of lavender. She’d taken to plucking a few leaves from the overgrown bush in the backyard each morning, and then rubbing them on her wrists and neck. She’d never been super-girly, but she still liked to smell nice. And that was getting more and more difficult as the days ticked by.

She recognized the dim outline of the giant Ford truck. The old beast didn’t have a single edge that wasn’t rough, but that just made her appreciate it more. Mason claimed to love it like a fourth family member, and she could understand the attachment. You invested a part of yourself into fixing something, into keeping it alive. Whether it was healing sick animals or fixing Spock, her old Kawasaki Vulcan 750, Beth knew more than most about not giving up on things.
 

Spock had all the badges of old age and failing faculties. It hadn’t been treated well before she adopted it. The bucket of bolts should’ve given up the ghost long ago. But Beth didn’t give up on a patient, whether made of flesh or metal. She’d nursed the blown bike back to health and it now rode as good as ever.

Her persistence didn’t always pay off so wonderfully. Jane hadn’t pulled through despite Beth’s best efforts. Beth shook off the dark memory as a light flashed across her chest.

Mason stood at the open door with a headlamp around his head. Light from the fading sky bathed the backyard in soft contrast. He accepted the backpack and unzipped it.

“Gloves, dust masks, cloth bags, extra flashlights…” he said as he rifled through the contents. He finished and zipped the pack shut. He tossed it up onto the front seat—the ginormous tires put the Bronco a few feet above most other vehicles on the road.

The things she’d seen while riding in the passenger seat.

The things she’d
done
while riding in the passenger seat.

Riding
being the operative word.

She grabbed Mason’s waist and looked up into blue eyes that appeared a shade darker than usual in this light. He was as devastatingly handsome as the day they met, if a little more lined with experience.

“You look positively nefarious,” she said with a forced smile. A joke was better than what she longed to say.

Stay here!

Don’t go!

There’s danger out there!

I need you!

I can’t lose you!

And so she told a joke to keep the fear at bay.

“I feel positively nefarious,” he said as he gathered her up in a hug that she could’ve sunk into forever. His embrace made the world feel safe again, if only until it ended.

He tilted her chin up and stared quietly into her eyes. Her heart thumped against his firm chest. “We’re going to be fine, honey.” He dipped down and kissed her softly. He pulled back and captured her eyes. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m a mother. It’s my job to worry.”

“And it’s my job to keep people safe. Our daughter more than anyone else.”

“Not just Theresa.
You
,” she said as she tapped his chest. “ You keep
you
safe too.”

“I will. I promise.”

Theresa bounded out of the back door with a backpack slung over her shoulder. As requested, she was dressed in generally dark colors. She saw them and rolled her eyes. “Is there anything I could do to see less of this?”

Beth shrugged. “Sure, close your eyes.”

“Very funny.”

Mason looked up at the darkening sky. “We need to get going.” He reached up to the driver’s seat and pulled down three walkie-talkies, the Motorola Talkabouts that they used for camping. He handed one to Beth and one to Theresa.

“I solar charged them up to capacity this afternoon. Keep it on your hip at all times. You’ll probably lose us when we get enough buildings and houses in between, but it’s the best we’ve got. Theresa, we shouldn’t need one each, but it’s backup if we somehow get separated.”

He looked at Beth. “Which we won’t.”

Each of them clicked on their walkie-talkie and took turns verifying they were sending and receiving correctly. They got the volumes right and then stowed the devices.

Mason lifted his sweatshirt and unclipped a holstered pistol from his belt. “This is for you, Theresa.”

Theresa’s eyes opened wide.

Beth stepped back to give them room. This wasn’t something they’d discussed, but she trusted Mason implicitly. This was his expertise, from a career as a Marine to a career as a bodyguard… or close protection officer as he preferred to call it.

“You should carry for tonight. Again, redundancy. This isn’t the call I’d make in a sane world, but we no longer live in one.”

They’d all gone to indoor and outdoor shooting ranges over the years. They didn’t do it every month and they weren’t what your average person would call gun nuts, but Mason had made certain that Theresa was both comfortable with a handgun and also respectful of the damage it could do. He pulled the Glock 26 out of the holster, making sure to keep it pointed down in a safe direction.

Beth knew it was identical to the one he carried on his ankle. Yet another redundancy thing. She also knew he used cartridges for Theresa that didn’t kick as hard. Whatever they were, their daughter had never expressed any serious discomfort at firing the gun.

Mason reversed the grip and wrapped Theresa’s hand around it, making sure to keep the barrel pointed at the ground. He held her hand in place. “What are the four rules of gun safety?”

Theresa rolled her eyes.

“I’m waiting,” Mason said, not releasing the pistol.

“One, treat all guns as if they are always loaded. Two, never point a gun at something you aren’t willing to destroy. Three, keep your finger off the trigger until your aim is on the target and you have decided to fire. Four, be aware of what is around and behind the target.”

Mason glanced at Beth. “She’s good.”

“She is.”

“Holster your weapon and attach it to your belt,” Mason said as he released the firearm. He watched closely as Theresa did as instructed. “Last reminder. I’ll handle security tonight. You are backup. Backup like I’m in big trouble and you’re our last hope. Otherwise, keep it holstered.”

He was expecting big trouble?

Mason turned to Beth. “And no, I’m not expecting big trouble.”

Theresa gave a theatrical salute. “Yes, sir, Sergeant West!”

Mason rolled his eyes at her. “One, you don’t call an enlisted man ‘Sir’ and a Sergeant is an enlisted man. And two, I haven’t been an active duty soldier in more years than I’d like to count. Dad is fine.”

Theresa struck her sneaker heels together with a dull click. “Yes, sir, Sergeant Dad!”

“Get in the Bronco, Private.”

Elio appeared at the back door. “You guys about to leave?”

Theresa bounded over and wrapped an arm around him. “Yep. Someone’s got to do the manly work.”

“Hey, I’m on the injured reserve.”

Theresa pinched his cheek. “Don’t make excuses! It only makes it sound worse.”

Elio pulled her close. Their arms created a bubble that sucked the air out of the rest of the world. “I’m serious. Be safe.”

The space between them shrank and Beth waited to see what might happen. She was genuinely curious and saw no harm in it.

“We’ll be fine,” Mason replied in a flat tone. “Private Theresa, Bronco.”

Elio seemed to snap back into confused reality. “Yeah, uhh, you should get going.”

“Wait up for me?” Theresa asked.

“How could I not?”

Theresa smiled and pecked his cheek.

He was a good kid. His affection was both earnest and endearing. Beth hadn’t said it explicitly yet, but he had her seal of approval. Mason was another matter altogether. He couldn’t be blamed though. He was a father, and he’d eventually come around.
 

He would if he knew what was good for him.

Theresa tilted her head and kissed Elio before dashing to the Bronco’s passenger door.

Elio’s mouth gaped open.

Beth’s heart warmed to see the two in their first faltering steps toward romance. It was sweet. It was natural. She glanced at Mason. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

He didn’t share her opinion. He needed time. A lot of it by the look of the bulging veins in his neck.

“Easy, tiger,” she said as she patted his chest. “Don’t push her away just because you’re afraid to let her go. She’s growing up.”

His eyes settle back into his head. “You’re right.”

“I know,” Beth replied with a smirk. “I thought you knew that by now.”

Mason kissed her lips and then hopped up into the Bronco. “You’re right about half as much as you think you are, and twice as much as I’d like you to be.” He slammed the door shut.

Be safe.

The words choked in her throat.

Mason nodded. “We’ll be safe.”

Beth didn’t doubt Mason’s intention. She doubted what could happen when that intention encountered the chaos in the wider world.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As much as she might not like to admit it, watching Iridia clean the toilet gave her a certain smug pleasure. The model’s gloved hand squeaked as she scrubbed at the stain ringing the bowl. A lock of hair fell out of her ponytail and dipped into the water. She jerked it out and flung droplets on her cheek.

“Disgusting! I need scissors! Where are some scissors?”

“Calm down,” Beth said. “It’ll wash clean.”

Iridia looked up at her in horror. “Clean? It just took a deep dive in toilet water! It’s contaminated!” She held it at arm’s length like it might try to bite her.

Beth laughed. As annoying as Iridia was, she also brought much-needed humor into the household. She was a real
look on the bright side
kind of deal.

The impossibly skinny and aggravatingly immodest supermodel wore a pair of Beth’s shorts and a tank top. She’d taken to wearing her clothes after Beth put a stop to her wearing Theresa’s undersized garments. Unfortunately, Iridia had almost no clothes of her own. On second thought, maybe it was a good thing she didn’t have more of her own clothes on hand.

She’d worn one of Mason’s old UCLA sweatshirts one time and one time only. After enduring the gorgeous bimbo blabbering on and on about how yummy and manly it smelled, Beth forbade her wearing any more of his clothing.

It wasn’t that she felt threatened.

It wasn’t that.

Okay, it was a little of that.
 

Not that she thought Mason would ever do anything in a million years. It was just that Iridia was a freaking-for-real-in-life supermodel. It was hard as hell not feeling a scooch inadequate in her objectively stunning presence.

It would’ve been impossible not to be intimidated were it not for Iridia’s knack for sounding like a selfish idiot. That tended to put her whole package into perspective.

“Ack,” Iridia said as her body spasmed. “I’m going to vomit. I’m not kidding.” She convulsed again. “It’s in my throat. It’s literally in my throat.”

“If you puke, you’ll have to clean that up, too.”

Iridia held up a soapy sponge with a grimace on her face. A curly, black hair was stuck to the frothy white bubbles. “A pube.” She gagged again. “I mean, seriously. This is why I have weekly visits with my esthetician.”

“You
used
to have weekly visits,” Beth corrected her.

Iridia glanced down between her legs. “Don’t remind me. The horror.”

“Wash your sponge off in the bucket,” Beth said.

Iridia grimaced. “But then it’ll be in there… somewhere… waiting to stick to my fingers the next time I rinse the sponge.”

Beth rolled her eyes and continued wiping down the sink. “Occupational hazard, sister. Get to it because we’ve got three loads of clean laundry that aren’t going to hang themselves.”

Much to Beth’s surprise, Iridia finished helping her clean the bathroom with no more than the occasional muttered comment and the infrequent theatrical gagging. “Please put everything away while I get the laundry together.”

“Joy,” Iridia said as Beth headed to the living room, which had also become their makeshift laundry room because it was the biggest place to hang a cord to dry clothes. Beth made sure to dim the battery LED lantern to the minimum as she entered the living room. The heavy curtains blocked any light from escaping, but it was easy to miss a tiny open fold or crevice.

One oversight and a beacon of light would pour out advertising to the world that they were a juicy target. That there was more than a looted house of decomposing bodies to be had by those bold enough to enter.

Elio brought out a tub stacked high with wet, clean clothes from the kitchen. “I squeezed them out the best I could.”

Beth finished securing the cord across the room and joined Elio in draping sheets and clothing over the taut line. A few minutes into the task and Iridia joined them on the other side of the line. She knew the drill. Beth had walked her through it a couple of times already.
 

Five people in a house that all worked hard and didn’t take showers like they used to. Clothes got stinky fast. But Beth was determined not to live in a sty, even if the world was collapsing around their ears. Perhaps even more so then.

“I hate doing laundry,” Iridia said as she hung a sock that looked like it needed another soak. “Does it really happen, like, every few days?”

“Do you wear clothes everyday?” Beth asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, then you make dirty clothes everyday. Times that by five people and that turns out to be a lot to do by hand.”

“Fine, then,” Iridia said. “I’ll fix that.”

Beth laughed. “Yeah, that would be great. Fix the electricity so I can have my washer and dryer back. Do that and I’ll take bathrooms for a month.”

“In my dreams,” she replied.

“Mine too,” Beth agreed.

Elio continued to hang up things in a daze. His mind was clearly elsewhere… with her daughter.

They finished hanging everything and they all paused to admire their effort. Looking over a hanging sheet, Beth saw Iridia cradling her hand and peering closely at it like it was injured.

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