Lost World (26 page)

Gretchen smiles, but it’s small.

The back door opens, and we both turn as Jon comes walking into the kitchen. A huge grin on his face. “You’re not going to believe this, but there’s a truck.”

I jump up so fast my head spins, and I have to sit back down. “Gassed up?”

“Not full, but there’s gas. Only problem is, there aren’t any keys.”

“So we look for them,” I say. “They have to be in the house somewhere, right?”

“In theory,” Jon says, “yes.”

Gretchen hauls herself up off the ground. “So what do we do if we can’t find them?”

“We can try to hotwire it,” Jon says. “Axl showed me how to do it, but I’ve never tried on my own.”

“Let’s worry about the keys first.” I head to the kitchen cabinets and open the first drawer. “If we can’t find them, we’ll worry about that. I can only focus on one problem at a time.”

Gretchen opens a drawer on the other side of the room, and we start digging. Jon heads into another part of the house, probably to check the bedrooms. I find forks and spoons and all kinds of knives. Even a can opener, which I pull out—we may need it down the road. No keys, though.

Once we’ve gone through every drawer, Gretchen and I head into the living room.

“Did you search out here?” I yell to Jon.

“Not yet,” he calls from the bedroom.

There aren’t a lot of places to look, but I open the few drawers anyway. I find some old black and white pictures, pens, and a deck of playing cards. Still no keys.

Jon comes out of the bedroom and holds out his hands. Empty. “Nothing.”

“What about the clothes?” Gretchen says. “My dad was always leaving his keys in the pocket of a jacket or a pair of pants. He could never find them.”

It sounds like her dad had some serious responsibility issues.

“Good idea.” Jon turns back to the bedroom. “I only checked the drawers. No pockets.”

“I’ll check in the other room,” Gretchen says.

She heads down the hall, and I look around. There’s a closet next to the front door, and I open it to find a few ratty-looking jackets that reek of tobacco and dirt. I grab one and dig through a pocket, pulling out a white cloth handkerchief that reminds me of my grandpa. He always used handkerchiefs instead of Kleenex. The other pocket is empty. The second jacket I pull out has a big brown stain on the front, and this time I don’t think of my grandpa. I think of Angus, and I’m shocked by how much it hurts to think I may never see that prick again. Damn. You know life’s shit when you miss an asshole like Angus. Of course, he had his sweet moments. He was good to me when we were in Vegas.

I exhale as I shove my hand into the pocket. When my fingers brush against metal, all the melancholy I felt a second ago melts away, and I let out a squeal of delight. “I found them!” Jon and Gretchen come running and I turn to face them, holding the keys out in front of me. “You’re a genius, Gretchen.”

Her cheeks turn pink and she shakes her head. “I’m sure you would have thought of it.”

“I don’t know about that.” Jon takes the keys out of my hand, then heads for the back door. “I’m going to see if it starts.”

I exhale and close my eyes, still smiling. We are going to have a car. No more walking. No more freezing. Hopefully, we’ll be able to catch up with everyone else.

Things are finally looking up.

“We should pack up the food,” Gretchen says.

I open my eyes and shoot her a big grin. “Good idea.”

Gretchen and I have all the food we can find packed into a couple brown paper bags when Jon comes back in. He stomps his feet in front of the door, leaving behind two piles of brown snow.

“It started.”

“Thank God!” Gretchen says.

The expression on Jon’s face is grim, though, and it makes my heart start beating wildly. “What is it?”

“It’s snowing, and it’s really coming down.”

Shit! I jump to my feet and grab a bag. “We need to go. Before the tracks are covered. Before we lose their trail!”

“What about looking through the closets for warmer clothes?” Gretchen asks.

I know she doesn’t care about finding everyone else, so I understand why she isn’t worried. But I care. I care a lot.

“Make it fast,” I snap. “Five minutes. That’s it!”

Jon takes the bag out of my hand but points back toward the bedrooms. “I’ll load the food. You go get a couple extra shirts and socks. Some blankets. We don’t have a whole lot of room in the cab of the truck and it’s going to be a tight fit, but we need some extra stuff.”

“It will help us stay warm,” I say as I turn and practically run to the bedrooms.

Ignoring the zombie corpse on the floor, I grab the first two sweaters I can find that are thick. Then I get four pairs of wool socks—thank God this poor woman had wool socks—and pull a quilt off the end of the bed—not the one Jon wiped his knife on. It takes me thirty seconds. I’m not shopping and I’m not worried about fashion.

“I’m going, Gretchen!” I yell as I head to the kitchen.

“Already?” She sticks her head out of the other bedroom, holding a shirt in each hand.

“Yes.”

I open the back door and stop in my tracks. The truck is an old Ford that was probably made in the early sixties. It’s so faded the red paint almost looks pink. There are rust spots in several places, and even an area over the back tire where the metal has rusted away completely. It doesn’t look like a very reliable vehicle.

“You ready?” Jon asks.

I nod and head to the truck. The snow is really coming down and the wind is blowing, which means the tracks are going to get covered up fast.

“Will it break down?”

“Hopefully we don’t have far to go,” Jon says. “But since it’s our only option, we can’t really be picky, now can we?”

“I guess not.”

Gretchen comes out of the house behind us. Her once empty backpack now bulges with whatever it is she found in the house. She frowns when she sees the truck, but she doesn’t complain.

We climb in and somehow I end up in the middle, squeezed between Gretchen and Jon. With the blankets and food and extra clothes we took, it’s a really tight squeeze. But I was right, it helps keep me warm. Jon backs the truck up, then eases it down the driveway. The shocks must be bad on the thing, because we bounce around like we’re in a popcorn machine. When he reaches the road and I see how covered the tracks already are, a little bit of my hope slips away. Hopefully, they left some other kind of trail for us to follow.

18

LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES INTO THE drive I realize we aren’t going to be able to rely on the tracks. The snow coming down is so thick we can’t see very far in front of us, and the wind sweeps across the road so hard it blows the truck back and forth. With every gust, more snow covers the trail our friends left behind.

I can’t stop my leg from shaking.

“Calm down,” Jon says. “We’ll find them. I’m sure they left clues for us.”

“Yeah.”

I chew on my nails, then spit them on the floor when they rip off. There was a time when my nails were perfect. When I’d set time aside every week for a pampering session. Manicure, pedicure, massage, and facial. At an expensive salon. Then there were the bi-weekly hair appointments to keep me looking strawberry blonde. I thought it made me stand out. My real hair is a light brown color that resembles dirty dishwater.

It all seems so stupid now.

We drive in tense silence. Jon grips the steering wheel, trying to keep the truck on the road as the winter storm swirls violently around us. Gretchen leans her head against the window and sleeps like we’re on some kind of family road trip. I chew my nails until the tips of my fingers are raw.

I think we’ve been on the road for an hour before I really acknowledge that the trail is gone. When it hits me full force, it takes my breath away.

“We’re lost,” I mumble.

Jon shakes his head. “No. This is the right road.”

I twist in the seat so I’m facing him. “What do you mean?”

“This is the road to Hope Springs.”

A feeling of betrayal so strong comes over me that I almost hit him. Now I know how Caesar felt right after he realized Brutus had stabbed him in the back. “We’re supposed to be looking for our friends!”

Jon glances my way, but his eyes don’t linger on my face. He’s too busy trying to keep us from crashing into the snowdrifts that have formed on the side of the road. “Hadley, you and I both know we aren’t going to find them. Not like this. The best thing to do is head to Hope. Maybe they’ll already be there. Maybe they’ll show up later. Maybe we’ll never see them again. Regardless, we need to get someplace safe.”

I hate that he’s right.

When the needle on the gas gauge gets so low it threatens to break off, Jon pulls into a driveway. It’s a brick ranch-style house that sits far back from the road. There’s a garage and a steel barn in the back, and two children’s bikes sitting in the yard, now covered in snow. The front door is wide open.

Jon parks the truck right in front of the garage, then pulls out his gun. “Let me go in first, make sure it’s clear.”

“Be careful,” I say.

He gives me a smile, then shoves the door open. Gretchen and I sit in tense silence, watching him walk up to the front door. He pauses and knocks on the open door, then takes a step inside. I lean forward like it will help me see through the walls. I didn’t realize letting him out of my sight would be so terrifying.

He’s gone for less than five minutes, and when he comes back he’s more relaxed. He jogs to the truck through the snow and jerks the door open. “It’s clear. Let’s bring everything in. I don’t want to risk it getting stolen.”

“Good idea,” I say, handing him one of the grocery bags.

We get inside and set everything down. Then Jon and I work together to move the couch in front of the door. We have to kick a pile of snow out of the way, but otherwise it takes less than a minute. Then we move a huge hutch over to block the big front window. It’s full of glass knickknacks that fall over and break as we push the thing across the floor. I almost feel bad. They could have been someone’s prized possessions. Wedding or christening gifts. Things that used to belong to a beloved aunt. They’re just useless junk now, though.

The house isn’t any warmer than it was outside, thanks to the fact that the front door was wide open. But we luck out and find a wood-burning fireplace in the family room just off the kitchen.

“I’m going to head out to that barn,” Jon says. “I bet they have wood out there.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” I ask. “I don’t like the thought of you being alone.”

He shakes his head, then grabs my hand. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you care.”

It seems corny, but I get what he means. A few days ago, I might not have been worried about him getting killed. To be honest, I’m not sure if I would have been worried about getting myself killed all that much either. Now though, I feel like Jon and I have reached a point where we might be able to carve a future out for ourselves. If we can just hold on long enough.

Gretchen and I get blankets out of a closet and pillows from the bedrooms, then set them up in the living room while Jon heads outside. We’re going to want to stick as close to this fireplace as we can. With the storm and freezing temperature outside, it’s going to be a chilly night.

Jon comes back with an armful of wood. He tracks a ton of snow into the house, but I’m too excited at the prospect of a fire to care that he got the carpet wet. He drops the load, then heads out for more while I pile logs into the fireplace.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Gretchen asks.

“Not really, but we’ll figure it out. See if you can find some paper. I’ve seen people use newspapers and stuff to get a fire going, so we’ll start with that.”

Gretchen digs through the kitchen behind me while I try to organize the wood. I know air needs to be able to get in so the fire will catch, but I’m not really sure how to do it. I wish I’d paid more attention when I was little and my parents took us camping.

Gretchen comes back and shoves a handful of paper in my face, coming dangerously close to giving my eye a paper cut. “I found these.”

“Thanks,” I say, jerking my head back as I take it out of her hand.

They’re bills from the family who used to live here. I light a match as I catch sight of the massive number on the credit card statement, along with the red letters announcing that the account is more than ninety days delinquent. I hold the flame up to the paper. Watching it catch gives me a strange sense of triumph.

“This is probably something these people always wished they could do.”

Gretchen snorts, but she doesn’t respond. Maybe she’s thinking about her father and his money problems.

By the time Jon comes back with a second load of wood, I have several other bills burning and shoved between the logs.

“You got it going?” he asks, setting the wood down next to me.

I blow gently on the flames. “Waiting to see if it catches.”

The three of us stare silently into the orange flames. I hold my breath and watch the fire flicker across the wood, waiting to see if it disappears after the paper is gone. It doesn’t, and after a couple minutes I’m able to sit back.

Jon loads another log, then shuts the screen. He sits down next to me, our shoulders touching as we stare into the fireplace without talking. Gretchen is already curled up under a couple blankets, and even though it isn’t dark out yet, I consider doing the same thing. Sleep would be nice.

“There’s a car in the barn,” Jon says quietly. “Half a tank. We could head out in the morning and make it to Hope with no problem as long as the weather doesn’t stop us.”

“This seems like a lot of snow for this time of year.”

He nods and moves his hand to my leg. “Yeah.”

We sit side by side, quietly staring into the flames for a little longer. Gretchen starts snoring. I can’t stop thinking about everyone else. Wondering if they’re okay right now. If they found shelter or if they’re all huddled together in the back of the Sam’s truck. No matter what Jon says, I don’t see any real reason for them to go to Hope Springs.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“Are you cold?” Jon asks.

I nod even though I’m not sure if I am. He holds his arms out, and I scoot over until my back is against his chest. Then he wraps his arms around me. The fire crackles and an orange glow flickers through the room, lighting it up enough for us to see but leaving the corners dark. In my mind, I replay everything that’s happened the last few days. The more I think about it, the more I start to wonder if we’re ever going to find our group.

“What are we going to do if we never find them?”

“I know you care about them, and I do too. But we’re going to be okay whether or not we find them.”

“I know,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure I do know. “I’ll miss them. Vivian especially. We’ve been through a lot together.”

Jon’s lips brush against the top of my head. “I know, I’m sorry.”

There’s so much more to it than just missing them. I feel like someone who fought with their loved one right before they walked out the door and got into a car accident. The way I acted before we left camp was horrible, and what I did…I can’t even think about it without feeling ashamed.

“I kissed Axl,” I blurt out, then cover my face with my hands.

Jon’s body turns to stone behind me. “What?”

“I said, ‘I kissed Axl.’” My hands are still over my face, so the words come out muffled. Jon doesn’t move and his body doesn’t relax. I count to ten, and when he still hasn’t said anything I drop my hands and say, “I don’t know why. It was stupid and impulsive and now I’m so ashamed and terrified of what Vivian must think of me.”

“That’s why you two were fighting before we left camp?”

I nod and chew on my lip until I’m on the verge of biting it off.

“What were you hoping would happen?” he asks after a few seconds.

“Nothing! I don’t know.” I take deep breath. “I was terrified. I knew I was pregnant and we’d been on the road for weeks and I didn’t know what was going to happen with me and you.”

“So you wanted to steal Axl from Vivian? From your friend?” The venom in his voice makes me want to pull away from him, but he hasn’t loosened his grasp on me.

“No. I don’t like Axl, not like that. I was just standing there talking to him, arguing about going to look for meds, and all I could think about was what a good leader he was. How Vivian would be okay if she was the one pregnant. Then I kissed him. I didn’t think about it, I just did it.”

“What did he do?” Jon whispers, sounding like he’s afraid Axl threw me on the ground and screwed me.

“What do you think? He pushed me off and walked away. We didn’t talk about it. I didn’t get a chance to explain why I did it, not to him or to Vivian.”