The Survivor Chronicles (Book 2): The Divide (6 page)

John huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "I guess there will always be some things that stay the same."

An unexpected jolt of relief and hope coursed through him. John was right, he
had
to be right. Nearly everything they knew had vanished, been crushed, boiled or burnt, but there were some things that would
never
change. He wanted to become one of those things that evolved to its surroundings and became better because of it, instead of being one of the things that was destroyed by its hostile environment. He would like to be an improved version of himself, not this deadened husk that was mindlessly shoving stolen supplies into a cart.

He grabbed hold of John's arm as he went to toss the last of the band-aids into a bag. "Leave some."

"What?" John asked in astonishment.

"Leave some, we won't need them all. At least not right now, and someone else may need them." He knew it was ridiculous to leave band-aids when they'd just raided most of the antibiotics, but it was something at least a little human again.

John looked about ready to protest but he closed his mouth and nodded as he released the last of the boxes. "Yeah, you're right."

They turned away from the shelf and met Riley and Al at the end of the aisle. "Got everything?" Al inquired.

"Yeah."

Carl wiped the menthol cream off of his lip as he stepped outside and pushed the cart toward where Lee and Rochelle waited by the truck. The air didn't smell much fresher out here, and by the way Rochelle's nose wrinkled and Lee took a step back, Carl guessed it was the four of them that were the source of the odor now.

"I grabbed some stuff for an oatmeal bath and tomato soup, maybe that will get the smell off of us," Riley told him as John threw open the backdoors of the truck. "We just have to find some clothes."

"We will," Carl assured her as he grabbed the gas cans from the truck and handed them to Al. "Fill the car up with these and we'll siphon some more from the cars on the road. We might as well top off while there's no one here to stop us."

Carl waited till the cans were empty again before taking them to siphon gas. It took five cars before he was able to fill one of the cans back up again. "Doesn't anyone put gas in their cars anymore?" he muttered as he handed the full can to Lee. "Does the car still need more?"

"Yeah."

Carl's mind churned as he looked at the dilapidated vehicle. "It doesn't look like much, but it got us here and seems to run well enough," Al said as he caught the direction of Carl's stare. "And we can always siphon it back out if it becomes necessary."

Carl nodded. "Ok, put it in then."

He refilled both the cans and placed them in the back of the truck. Looking at the mound of supplies he almost felt a growing flutter of security and optimism in his chest. If they could find somewhere to bunk down for a bit, someplace to fortify and make their own, then maybe just maybe they would be able to pull through this.

Riley hurried up to them with a smile that seemed strangely out of place for this town. "There's a thrift shop around the corner."

"Finally things are starting to look up," John said.

Riley and Lee groaned. "What's wrong with you?" Lee demanded. "Don't you know you're
never
supposed to say something like that!? You just jinxed us."

John just shrugged. "Like I could jinx us even more?"

Riley groaned again as she shook her head and Lee glared at John. "We're doomed," Riley moaned.

"We'll drive to the thrift shop," Carl interjected, hoping to ward off John's lynching. He wasn't a superstitious man, but he half felt like choking the kid himself.

Al and Riley nodded their agreement before heading toward the car. Lee trailed behind them, not looking at all pleased by the prospect of having to climb into the car with them, and neither did Rochelle. John handed her a tub of Vick's. "It helps."

"Let's hope so."

She rubbed it under her nose and hopped into the truck. Carl was relieved to be moving again as he followed Al down the deathly still streets of the desolate town. Scraps of garbage skittered across the street as Al turned onto the next road and crept along the sidewalk. He parked underneath a sign that read,
Thrifty Lisa's
. Beyond the store, Carl spotted a dilapidated motel at the end of the street. It would be convenient, but he had no intention of staying in this town for one minute longer than they had to.

"Let's hope there's more than just women's clothes in there," John grumbled.

"I don't care if you have to wear a dress, you're getting out of
those
clothes," Rochelle told him.

John glowered at her as he opened the door and hopped out of the truck. Carl felt his stomach sink as he studied the dresses the mannequins were sporting in the window. "Apparently not only will we be wearing dresses, but our asses are going to be hanging out of them," Carl muttered.

Rochelle placed her hands on her hips as she stared at the window. "They're not that bad."

"I've seen more clothing on a prostitute."

Rochelle rolled her eyes as she made her way toward the store. "That's good to know," John told him as he clapped him on the back.

Rochelle pressed her hands to the window and peered inside. "It might smell just as bad in there," Lee told her as he pulled her back.

"Let's hope not." Riley grabbed for the handle, but the knob didn't budge beneath her hand. "Where's your trash can?"

Carl scowled at her, lit a cigarette and stalked down the street to the closest can. Thankfully this one was empty as he hefted it into his hands and eyed the glass door of the shop. His wrists and hands still smarted from the impact of the last time he'd tried this, but the prospect of breaking something was too tempting to turn down.

He walked back to the store and gestured for the others to step back. Winding up, he spun and heaved the can at the door with the full force of his might. Glass shattered inward, the can bounced and rattled into the dark recesses of the store before coming up against a wall. Carl danced back from the possible poisonous vapors escaping and threw his hand over his mouth.

The last bits of tinkling glass fell to the ground as they all leaned to the side to stare through the broken door. Though it was dark, Carl could make out the racks and tables of clothing within. Lee crept closer and braced his hands on either side of the doorframe as he hesitatingly sniffed the air.

"I can't tell, not over me, and especially not over you four," Lee told them.

Rochelle pushed past him and stuck her head inside. "Smells like mothballs."

"Much better," Riley said eagerly. "Let me in there!"

She disappeared into the dark interior before anyone could stop her. "I know the prospect of a new outfit is tempting Ri, but maybe you should make sure it's safe before you go shopping."

"Bite me Lee," she tossed over her shoulder. "It's obvious that no one was here if the door's still locked, and it doesn't reek like month old road kill so no gases."

"That you know of," Lee muttered but he followed her into the store.

The girls broke off and began pawing through the clothes on the table as Carl hung back by the door with Al. "I'll stay here and keep watch," Al volunteered.

Carl nodded and split off from the others as he headed toward the back of the shop in search of something suitable to wear. He was beginning to resign himself to a black sundress when John called from the back, "Here!"

Maneuvering around a wall of shoes, Carl found John and Lee pawing through a table in the back. "It's slim pickings," John told him. "But at least it's pickings."

Slim was the understatement of the year, but Carl searched through the meager contents for clothes in his size. Al appeared as Carl managed to find two Bermuda shirts and a pair of Capri's. John's lip curled as he studied the plaid shirt and jeans in his hands. He hastily shoved them under his arm and hugged them against his side though when he saw the ensemble that Carl had managed to salvage. Carl looked at the flowered shirts, then at his filthy green work shirt, before turning his attention back to the Bermuda shirts as he tried to decide what was the lesser of two evils.

In the end it was the possibility of Rochelle sticking him in a dress that decided it for him, and he still wasn't completely convinced that the shirt was the better option. Riley and Rochelle were standing by the door with an armful of clothes when he arrived back at the front of the store. "It's getting dark fast out there Big Kahuna," Riley told him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a freaking riot?" he asked her.

"They've told me I'm a few things."

"I believe it."

She smiled at him, but the smile didn't reach her clear blue eyes as she glanced nervously at Rochelle. Carl stepped forward and peered out the door at the darkening sky. He couldn't figure out if night was descending, or if thunder clouds were looming on the horizon. Inky darkness was eating the reddish sky as it seeped forward to block out the sun.

"What is that?" He hadn't realized that John and the others had returned until John's voice sounded just over his shoulder.

Carl glanced back at him but his attention immediately returned to the sky.
What else could possibly be coming at them now?

"You had to jinx us," Carl told him.

"I think we should get to that motel." Al grabbed hold of Rochelle's arm and nudged her toward the door. "Come on."

Carl didn't like the idea of staying in this town, but he also didn't want to be exposed when that blackness arrived. He hurried out the door behind the others and tossed his pilfered clothes behind the bench seat of the truck. Firing the truck up, he bounced down the sidewalk behind Al toward the motel at the far end of the road.

Al parked the car in front of the office and the three of them climbed out. Al hurried to the office but Riley and Lee hung back to study the dark sky. Carl couldn't bring himself to look at it again as images of the apocalypse danced through his mind. He shut down thoughts of all the disaster shows he'd watched. They had no place here and he had no time for them.

"Is this place going to be safe?" Rochelle asked as she surveyed the building.

The last half of the motel had collapsed into a pile of wood, shingles, and motel furniture that poked out from the ruble like a demented game of peekaboo. "Is any place?" John inquired.

"No," Carl answered.

Hope, he'd felt it earlier, but as he thrust his door open and hurried to join the others by the office door, he felt it dwindling beneath the crushing wave of the approaching cloud. Shadows played over the three faces that turned toward him, an ominous chill crept down Carl's spine as a breeze began to tickle the back of his neck.

Thunderclouds,
he told himself. They had to be thunderclouds, but they were the strangest thunderclouds he'd ever seen. He wouldn't have been surprised if they opened up and released a torrent of blood or frogs down on them. Lee thrust the door open, and recoiled as a putrid wave of odor washed out of the office.

Carl knew he should be more cautious but as the clouds spread over top of them, all he became concerned with was escaping from whatever was stalking them from above as he hurried into the room. "It's probably just rain," Al muttered.

Even as he said the words, the sky opened up and water washed down upon the parking lot. They huddled near the picture window in the office as a torrent of black rain beat against the vehicles. With a sinking feeling of dismay, Carl realized they were now stuck in this motel, now trapped within this town.

CHAPTER 5

Xander

Plainville, Mass.

Xander shuffled forward, his hands stretched out before him as he moved them from side to side. He would have killed for a light, and he was half afraid he might be killed because he didn't have one. He could barely hear over his breathing as his heart beat on his ribs like they were a redheaded stepchild. If he looked back, he could make out the shadows of Mary Ellen and Bobby poking their heads around the corner of the window. He didn't look back often though, as he was certain he was about to plummet into a hole at any second and he planned to be braced for it.

He cursed and jerked his hand back as it collided with something that was far too mushy within this world of solid rubble and debris. For a disconcerting moment he flashbacked to when he was a child and his parents had created a haunted house in their basement. They'd invited all of his, and Carol's, friends over for a pre-Halloween party.

Carol had been eight, and wearing a pumpkin costume that had worked well with her chubby cheeks and missing teeth. He'd managed to talk Bobby and Lee into going as superheroes; he'd been Superman while Lee and Bobby had gone as Spiderman and Batman. Riley had insisted upon being a hockey player and had shown up wearing pads, a Bruins Jersey, and carrying a stick. That stick had left his shins bruised by the end of the night, but then he'd thrown more than a few fake spiders and snakes at her over the course of the night too.

He still recalled it as being one of the best haunted houses he'd ever gone through, but then he'd also managed to maneuver himself closer to Riley in the darkness. In her fear, she'd grasped hold of his hand. It was the first time he'd ever held her hand; it was also the first time he realized that he never wanted to let go of it again as they jumped from the skeletons and monsters that leapt out at them.

He'd kept Carol close by his other side as they navigated the twists and turns through foamy rubber hallways that had been recently assembled. There'd been a bowl of peeled grapes, "eyeballs" near the end of the tour. They'd all placed their hands in and squealed as the "eyeballs" squished and squirmed in their hands.

Whatever was in the corner of this room now reminded him of those grapes.

Inhaling shakily, Xander bent over as he tried to control the wave of grief that slithered through him. His shoulders shook as his fingers dug into his knees and he struggled to breathe through the constriction in his chest.

"Xander?"