Monsters: The Ashes Trilogy (22 page)

Tori caught up as he and Pru were halfway down the nave. “She’s just
upset.”
“Lot of that going around,” Pru said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Greg said, still angry. “No big deal.”
“Yes, it is. Look, I . . .” Tori’s eyes flickered to Pru and then back.
“Can we just talk a sec?”
“Uh . . . sure.” Greg looked over at Pru, who only hunched a
shoulder and headed for the altar, hung a left, and ducked through an
arched entry. Greg waited until he heard the clump of Pru’s boots on
the steps, then turned back to Tori. “Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean to give you a hard time,” she said, giving his arm a
light squeeze. “I’m glad the Council picked you to take Chris’s place
and not Pru.”
“Oh.” His mouth dried up. Tori had never touched him before.
No
girl had. How strange was this, to be standing in a church with a girl
he was majorly crushing on—and he was armed? “I don’t, ah . . .” He
muzzled a cough. “It’s not like I had a lot of choice.”
Tori’s eyes were very blue, but that could’ve been because she
was standing even closer than before. “You could’ve said no. But you
didn’t. It’s easy for people to complain, like how I always got on my
mom’s case when she wouldn’t let me stay up late?” Tori’s mouth
moved in a smile so sad Greg had this weird impulse to cup her cheek
the way his mom used to when he had a bad fever. “Now that we have
all these little kids, I understand where she was coming from.”
“Most days I’d give anything for my mom to nag about homework or put away the Xbox. I don’t think she’d even recognize me
anymore.”
“She’d recognize you. You’re doing the best you can.”
“But what if it isn’t my best?”
“Then figure it out,” she said, and before he knew what was happening, her mouth was on his.
Greg was so startled he gasped. His heart began to bang and he
thought he might faint, this felt so good. He didn’t know what to
do with his hands, couldn’t catch his breath, wasn’t really thinking
anymore. They came up for air at the same moment, and he said,
“T-Tori—”
“Shh,” she said.
So they stopped talking for a while, and that was fine. That was
good.
At least, there were a couple moments where Greg didn’t have to
think about what a terrible person he was, heading out to kill some
grandma’s poor old cat.

An hour later:
“Go rest,” Tori whispered, laying a light hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
“I’ll sit with Caleb.”
“No. It’s all right.” Sarah tried a smile, but her muscles felt frozen,
a feeling that reminded her of when her dad repaired their driveway
and she’d tested just how long you
could
stick your sneaker into wet
cement. A million years from now, an archaeologist would discover a
little pink sneaker and wonder where the rest of the body was.
“What’s so funny?”
“Huh?” Sarah actually had to put a hand to her face. Her lips
were so stiff they would’ve been at home on a corpse. “Nothing. I
was just remembering something.” By her feet, she felt Jet whimper.
Normally calm, Jet had been restless ever since Greg and Pru left.
“I’m sorry about earlier, with Greg. It wasn’t fair.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Tori draped a moist cloth over the little boy’s forehead. “You’ve got to stop this self-pity crap. We all miss Peter.
I
keep
expecting Chris to walk in any second.”
“To rescue us?” She marveled at how easily the bitterness oozed
back. When had she gotten so mean? All this moaning and woe-is-me
. . . Still whining, Jet had clambered to his feet. She ruffled his ears to
quiet the animal—and herself—down. “I’m sorry. That was nasty. I
just can’t seem to find a balance, like I’m on this emotional teetertotter.”
“You’re not the only person having a hard time. Greg
is
trying,
and he’s got feelings to hurt. You think I’m always so cheerful and
understanding? Most of the time, I’m faking it. Otherwise I’d spend
half the day crying and the other half daydreaming about food I can’t
have. I’m going to be eighteen in two months. I should be thinking
about college and driving my mom crazy and if I’ll be a blimp in a
prom dress.” Tori squeezed out a small, bleak laugh. “Wish my mom
could see me. She was always on me about my weight.”
“So were you faking it before? Talking about getting away, I mean.”
“No. We better do it soon. Pru’s right. You can feel it in the air,
how angry everyone is. The food went so fast, and so did the rest of
the supplies. We’ve got plenty of guns but no bullets and no game
left to hunt anyway. We’ll be lucky the Council doesn’t get lynched.
Things are starting to get out of control.” Tori paused. “Remember I
mentioned unlocking the choir door? What I
didn’t
say was . . . Cutter
was waiting, right outside, hours before he was scheduled to show.”
“What?” Of their two night guards, she most disliked the shaggy,
thickset old man who’d wandered into Rule with Lang and Weller.
Other oldsters darted a quick glance, but Cutter actually
stared
. “Why
didn’t you say anything?”
“Because he didn’t exactly
do
anything. He pretended he needed
to check the door. You know how small that landing is?”
She did. The stairs were narrow, meant for the choir to access the
chancel. The landing between the basement and sanctuary was a
square no larger than a couple doormats placed side by side. “Did he
. . . you know . . .” She didn’t want to say
touch you
.
“Pretty much. He was inside so fast he copped a pretty good feel.
His face was . . . dangerous. Like I’d better not scream or fight.”
“You really think he would’ve hurt you?”
“I honestly didn’t want to find out. But there are the littler kids,
and I thought, all of a sudden, well . . . better
me
than one of them.
How sick is that?”
“That’s not sick. You were protecting the kids.” Sarah took Tori’s
chilled hands in hers. “Something else happened, though. I can tell.
What was it?”
“He said that if I didn’t want Pru or Greg to end up in trouble,
I might want to be
nice
. So I . . . I let him get in a good, long, dirty
little grope.” When Sarah pulled in a breath, Tori said, “Don’t, okay?
I already feel like I’ve crawled through a sewer. But you know those
beans Pru gave him? Cutter offered the can to me, like
payment.
He
said he didn’t expect something for nothing. That . . . that the kids
might like more food if I would, you know, do
more
. And what’s horrible?” Tori’s eyes dropped to her lap. “For a second, I thought . . .
okay.”
“Tori.” Sara could taste the acid boil from her empty stomach.
“You don’t
mean
that.”
“I don’t know.” Tori gave a hopeless shrug. “Maybe I do. The kids
are hungry, and what if Cutter threatens to hurt Greg? Or Pru? None
of us are safe.”
“Look, let’s just take a step back, okay? Nothing’s happened yet.
We’ll talk to Greg and Pru. We’ll think of something. Know what? I’d
like some tea. Want tea?” Sarah stood up so quickly her heart couldn’t
keep up, and a sweep of vertigo blacked her vision. She gulped back
a shaky breath, then another. “You want chamomile or chamomile?”
“Chamomile’d be great.” Tori managed a wobbly smile. “Look, I
already put Daisy and Ghost with the girls. Would you drop off Jet
with the boys? That dog goes crazy when you’re not around.”
Not as crazy as I feel right now
. “Sure.” She turned to go, Jet on her
heels. “It’ll be okay, Tori.”
“It’s nice,” Tori said, “that you think so.”

God, the thought of
Cutter
hitting on Tori . . . Sarah shuddered as she
walked the breezeway connecting the school to the church. The idea
made her want to take a cup of bleach to her brain and hit
rinse
. The
thought of his creepy old hands on her, or his
mouth
. . .

“Gag me with a fork.” Frosty air palmed her face as she pushed
through double doors and into the west vestibule. Directly ahead
were two sets of stairs. Bear left and you had a choice: either up three
steps to a cloakroom or down twelve to the basement. Choose the
right set of steps, however, and you accessed a circular stone stair
coiling up to the bell tower.

She flicked on a flashlight and took the left stairs. The church
was not her favorite place. The place creeped her out, day or night.
Constructed entirely of off-white, native limestone, the church was a
soundproofed ice cube that held onto a deep gloom and a stone-cold
chill. Following her light, she descended into the midnight gloaming
of the windowless basement. Grit crackled like cap guns under her
shoes. The gelid air was fiery on her skin. The basement was dominated by the inky cave of a common room that seemed only blacker
with the cold. Shivering, she hung a left for the kitchen, a long, narrow throat of a room designed on the cheap. The cupboards were
puke-yellow, vintage plywood. The floor and counters were stained
Formica. The industrial-sized stainless-steel sink sported two spigots,
not that she’d ever known water to run from either. All their water
came from snowmelt, and they always kept an aluminum camp pot,
with a plug of ice, at the ready.

It was when she fumbled out a match that she heard it: a very
small but crisp crunch like sand under a heavy boot.
What?
Her heart
cramped. She went completely still, unlit match in hand, then eased
right to peer down the long throat of the kitchen’s one aisle and
toward a closed storage room where they kept their meager rations
under lock and key. As her weight shifted, she caught the snap and
crackle again: grit under her feet.
You heard yourself, silly.
Touching off
the Coleman, she squared the pot of ice over the burner.
Just freaking
yourself out
.

Shaking out her keys, she walked to the storage room, socked in
a key, turned it, and heard the
thunk
as the lock didn’t release . . . but
engaged.
Huh?
She frowned. The door was open? That wasn’t right.

Then she recalled what Tori said:
When I went to sweep out the basement . . .
Tori had used the chore as an excuse to open the side door,
so Greg and Pru could slip inside.
But now there’s sand
. She thought
about how much colder the vestibule seemed, and her pulse ramped
just a little higher. Always icy, the church had been frigid because the
side door was
open
? Would she know? No, not if she didn’t stop to
check or feel a draft.
And the basement’s freezing, which follows because if
the door
is
open, the air has two ways to go, up into the sanctuary . . .

Or down here, into the basement, with her.
But hold on, hold on. Tori had gone after Greg. Had she mentioned locking up once the boys left? Sarah hadn’t asked. It wasn’t
something she’d have checked anyway, because Tori had enough
common sense to realize that you
always
locked doors.
Even if she did lock it, something
could
have come in earlier, and be here
now.
No, that was silly. Why hang out in a frigid basement? What was
here
that was nowhere else? Well,
food
. Duh. And that made her think
of something else Tori said: when she opened the side door, Cutter
had been there.
Oh God.
What if Tori had jumped to the wrong conclusion? Cutter
had keys.
So maybe he was really there to steal food. A spoonful of peanut butter here, a few crackers there—who’s to know?
It wasn’t like they
counted every bean.
Maybe she should just get out of here and close off the basement.
Yeah, but that meant going through that dark, spooky common room
to the stairs. From there, the only way out was through the side door,
or the chancel the next flight up. So, maybe best to retrace her steps,
make a beeline back for the school, and then the girls could lock
themselves in. If something came after them . . .
Tori has the shotgun. I’ve got the pistol.
But she wasn’t good with
guns, didn’t like them.
Fine, don’t fight the boogeyman. Lock the doors,
open a window, and scream.
If anyone heard them. It was late afternoon,
slipping into early evening. Not a lot of people moved around these
days if they could help it. Very little food meant very little energy—
The sound came again, and it was harsher this time, not merely a
pop and crack but a scuff like a heavy boot.
That was when she knew. There wasn’t something lurking in the
storage room. There was something
behind
her, spiriting out of the
black well of the common room.
Coming right for her.

“But you’ve made a mistake.” From what Greg could see through
the crack—one glittery bat’s eye far back in the cave of her socket—
Verna Landry looked as if she’d have to stand twice to throw a
shadow. “I don’t know who told you—”

“Well, we can talk about that,” he said, trying to inject notes of
both sympathy and steel.
A cat. I’m harassing this poor woman over a
cat
. It was always a toss-up, trying to decide how many guys to take,
and whether they should be really, really ancient or just normal old.
This time he’d opted for six, with four Spared—him, Pru, Aidan,
and Lucian—and two geezers: a really ancient denture-sucker with a
bugle of a voice named Henry, and Jarvis, who was just plain old and
knew the woman’s husband, Chester. “I really need you to open the
door, Mrs. Landry.”

“This is my house. You have no right to come here making accusations.” That single gimlet eye clicked right. “Jarvis, you took all our
food seven weeks ago.”

“Well, Verna, see, that’s the problem.” A pallid geezer, Jarvis had
the kind of knobby neck Greg always associated with a turkey, but he
was one tough old bird. “Chester kept going on about how he got the
runs eating cat food—”

“It was a ration.”
“No one’s giving out cat food to people.” Lucian skimmed that
serpent’s tongue over his lips. His silver stud winked. “Cats, maybe,”
Lucian drawled, “but not cat
food
.” Beside him, Aidan sniggered and
blocked off a nostril with his thumb, let out a juicy honk, did a quick
peek, then wiped his hand on his jeans.