Year One (15 page)

But she wanted to get aboveground again more.

She heard echoing voices, but couldn't risk finding out if they were friend or foe. So she hurried Fred up the stairs to the street.

The dancing lights circled, then whisked away.

“They'll come back, or others will,” Fred told her, “if we need them.”

“Best backup ever.” Then the tears scorched her throat. “I have to get somewhere, somewhere I can wash my hands—my face. My … I have to get somewhere I can fall apart for a few minutes.”

“We'll find somewhere. Lean on me now.” Fred circled an arm around Arlys's waist.

“You're hurt. We need to get you some ice or frozen peas or a raw steak. Does that actually work?”

“I don't know. Nobody ever punched me in the face before. It really hurts. It really hurts when it happens. It's not as bad now.”

They limped along the street, and Arlys prayed they wouldn't have to fight again. She didn't know if she had any fight left.

They stopped in front of a shop, windows boarded, door bolted, called Cassidy's Closet.

“I bet there's a washroom for employees.” Fred studied the door. “Maybe some clothes. Maybe a coat you can change into.”

“It's shut up tight. If we had some tools, maybe…”

“Faeries—experienced ones—can get into locked places. I might be able to. I just have to find it, and hold it, and…”

Fred shut her eyes, cupped her hands as if about to catch rainwater in her palms. Her wings fluttered out. She began to glow.

“Find it, inside me,” she murmured, “hold it. Bring it. Offer it. Be with me, children of light and air, of the forests and the flowers. Open locks so we may enter.”

Nearly numb to it all, Arlys heard locks and bolts
click
and
clank
and fall.

Bruised, filthy, triumphant, Fred fluttered up on her wings to circle in the air.

“I did it! It's the first time I did it on my own!”

“You're a wonder, Fred. An absolute wonder.” Cautiously, Arlys reached for the door. “But stay behind me, just in case.”

Arlys led with the gun, and Fred threw in some light.

No doubt the secondhand clothing store had been picked over, but it didn't appear to have been looted or vandalized.

“There's no one here.” Fred carefully closed the door, locking it again. “I'd know. I didn't sense the two—the last two—because we, well, smelled, and it made me a little sick. You know?”

“Yeah, I know. Let's see if there's somewhere to wash up.”

As they wandered through, Fred looked around, stopping herself from touching anything because her hands were filthy. “Nobody broke in and trashed the place.”

“Maybe people are more civilized in Hoboken. Or maybe more got out quicker, or are holed up. Chuck must be holed up.”

“I almost forgot about him.”

“Let's hope he didn't forget to watch tonight's broadcast. Here! We got a little washroom back here.”

“Yay! I've got to pee so bad.”

Fred yanked down her pants, dropped down on the toilet.

Arlys braced herself, walking to the little sink, looking in the fancy little mirror over it.

Worse, even worse than she'd imagined. Blood on her face, gore in her hair, the jacket covered with both. She gagged again, fought down the bile. Ripped off her backpack, then the jacket.

“I might be able to fix it.”

“Even if you could, I…”

“I get it. I'm going to take it out, find you something warm to wear. I think I can clean myself up without the soap and water. If not, I'll be back to do that when you're done. And, um, your pants, too, Arlys.”

“I know.”

“I'll take the jacket out so … Arlys, your arm's bleeding. You're cut!”

She made herself look, pulled off her ruined shirt. “It's not really bad.”

“I'm not a healer. I mean magickally. But we should find some antiseptic and a bandage.”

“It's not bad,” Arlys repeated, and though her chin wobbled, she managed a smile. “I'm going to say it.”

“It's just a scratch?”

“Right. Just a flesh wound.”

She turned on the sink, relieved when water actually pumped out and, pumping the lemon-scented liquid soap in her hand, started scrubbing.

She scrubbed her hands, her arms—though it stung the thin slice on her forearm. She stripped down to her underwear, scrubbed at her legs. Then wedged her head into the little sink to wet down her hair, scrub it, rinse, scrub, rinse until she could see it run clean.

Then she sat on the chilly floor, wet hair dripping, and wept and wept.

“Sorry it took so long, but I … Oh, Arlys!”

Clean again, smelling like a forest in spring, Fred dropped the clothes in her hands and knelt down to gather Arlys close.

“I killed a man. I killed him. Maybe I killed both of them. I—”

“You saved me. You saved us both.”

“I don't know this world. I don't know how to live in it.”

“I don't think anybody does, not really. It's why we need each other. You're strong and brave. I think this world needs people like you. And like me.”

“I'm just tired. I'm so tired.”

“Me, too. Maybe you can change, and we'll rest for a while. This feels like a kind of safe zone, and we've got plenty of time before three.”

“Yeah.”

“But first, I found a first-aid kit, so we can bandage your arm.”

“You need some ice.”

“I couldn't find any, or frozen peas. Maybe Chuck'll have some. I took some of the Motrin I found in a desk in this tiny office, so that'll help.”

With her arm bandaged, Arlys pulled on thick black leggings. She folded the jeans Fred had brought as an alternate into the backpack. It wouldn't hurt to have a spare.

She went for a long-sleeved tee and a black hoodie over it.

Feeling nearly human, she studied the options for coat or jacket.

“This is really nice. It's cashmere.” Arlys held up the black peacoat style.

“It'll look great on you.”

“Yeah, I'm really worried about fashion.”

“When you start reporting, you'll want to look good.”

“I love your optimism.” Arlys tried the coat, found it was a good fit. Then she folded it, sat on it, and drank one of the sodas Fred had packed, ate an apple.

“What are you doing?” she asked Fred.

“I'm leaving a note for Cassidy, in case she comes back. I'm telling her what we took—leaving the tags here—and how if the world comes back, we'll pay her. Signed Arlys and Fred, with a whole lot of gratitude.”

“Yes, you're a wonder.” After stretching out on the floor, Arlys used the folded coat as a pillow. “Thirty minutes, then we should go.” Arlys set her no-fail internal alarm. “If Chuck doesn't show, we can come back here, figure out what to do next.”

“Thirty minutes, check.”

But Arlys didn't hear her, as she'd dropped out.

She woke in thirty, feeling worse than she had before she slept. But in forty, they were outside, following the map she'd drawn.

“Not completely civilized.” Arlys gestured to a shop, a restaurant, a market—all obviously looted.

“I don't think many people are left. You can barely feel the air stir. I hope they got somewhere safe.”

But Arlys imagined at least some of the homes and apartments—locked and boarded—held the dead.

They reached the rendezvous point twenty minutes early.

“I don't think we should wait in the open,” Arlys began.

“Too late.”

At the voice out of the dark, she whirled, dragged the gun out.

“Whoa, whoa, wait, Annie fricking Oakley. It's Chuck.”

She knew the voice now, and he came out of the shadows, hands up, with that silly and wonderfully elastic grin on his face.

“Chuck.” Arlys lowered the gun, digging deep to hold back fresh tears. “You're early.”

“You, too. And you got company.”

“This is Fred.” Arlys put a protective arm around her. “I couldn't have gotten out without her.”

“Yeah, I want to hear about all that. But let's get inside. It's been pretty quiet around here the last week, but you never know.”

“There's a lot you never know.”

“It's really nice to meet you.” Fred offered a hand.

“You did the weather some these last few weeks. You give good weather. We're not going all that far.”

He started to walk, fast on long legs. “I'd have brought you in closer, but I had the Old Blue Eyes moment, and went with it.”

“It worked.”

“I knew you'd latch on. Didn't figure it would all blow up tonight.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Hey, no sweat there. You did what you had to do, and it was
real. Jeez, way real. Anyway, I'm glad you're here. I like the quiet, but even for me, it's been too dead around here. Pun sort of intended.”

“We've got to get out, Chuck. I mean away from here. They're too close. What's in the tunnels.”

“You came through the PATH tunnel?” For a moment he had to stop, to gape at them. “Jesus, you've got steel, both of you. I don't think I could've handled it.”

“I'm not sure I would've if I'd known, but I know we can't stay.”

“Figured it. Been working on a get-out-of-Dodge plan for a while. Few more things to tie up. Probably by tomorrow afternoon. You look like you need some sleep. This is us.”

He stopped at a corner building, four stories, brick. Old and distinguished.

“We've got the basement.”

“I just knew you'd live in the basement. Anyone else still here?”

Chuck shook his head as he pulled out keys, opened a series of locks. Then stepped inside a hallway, keyed a code into a wall panel.

“Everybody is dead or fled. It's my uncle's place—one of his properties. He's got a big-ass house on Long Island. Or did. He died the end of week one.”

“I'm sorry.” Fred rubbed Chuck's arm.

“Hell of a guy. Lights,” he called and they flashed on. “I like my toys.”

“I'll say.”

Arlys stared. The enormous and well-finished space resembled some sort of high-tech HQ. Computers, monitors, stations, some sort of communication system. Some counters and swivel chairs, the biggest wall screen she'd ever seen, and a leather recliner.

One corner held a kitchen—stainless-steel appliances, cluttered counters.

“Bedroom's through there—haven't been using it much. You guys can take that. Bathroom's attached, but I've got another one over there.”

Fred wandered, head clocking back and forth, eyes more than a little dazzled. “You must be really rich.”

“Well, my uncle was. Who's rich these days? I guess you are if you've got supplies and a roof over your head. So we're rolling in it. You want eats?”

“No, not me.” Arlys pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

“Want a beer, and to talk about it?”

“Not now. I don't think I can now. If I could get some sleep first.”

He gestured toward the bedroom.

Arlys walked toward it, turned around. “Thank you, Chuck.”

“Hey, there's no buds like cyber buds. Go crash, and we'll talk on the flip side.”

Fred watched her go. “She needs sleep and some quiet.” Then she smiled at Chuck. “I wouldn't mind a beer.”

“Sure thing.”

“And I can tell you some of it. I can tell you so she doesn't have to. Unless she wants.”

“Got my napping couch over there. Have a seat. I've got some chips and salsa to go with the beer.”

Fred dumped her pack, her coat, sat down on the big leather couch, sighed. “She really likes you, and trusts you. I can see why. Um, do you maybe have some ice? There were men in the tunnel, and they tried to … One of them punched me.”

Chuck gave her a long, quiet look as she cupped her bruised jaw. “A lot of people suck, that's why I like the quiet.”

“A lot more don't.”

“Maybe. I'll set you up, Red Fred. Ice, beer, chips, and salsa.”

“Is it really spicy salsa?”

“Set your mouth on fire.”

“That's my favorite kind.”

 

CHAPTER TEN

With Max at the wheel, they crossed the Susquehanna. The tire chains bit through the snow—an inch, then two—as they pushed west.

He picked up the 414, kept to the rural areas, passing a scatter of homes and little farms as the hills rolled and forests thickened. A few times, with Eddie asleep in the back, he worked with Lana to ease an abandoned or wrecked car onto the shoulder of the winding two-lane road.

“Maybe we should find a place to stop. You've been driving more than three hours, and the roads are getting worse.”

“We've barely hit a hundred miles today. I want more before we break.”

In the back, Eddie stirred, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. “Ain't letting up, is it? Storm's coming in from the west, looks like, so we're heading into worse. Want me to take the wheel for a spell?”

“Not yet.”

He made it another twenty miles before he had to stop for a three-car pileup.

“Well.” Eddie scratched his beard. “Looks like we've got some work to do. Lana, you mind taking Joe to do some business while me and Max see about pushing this mess out of the way?”

A warning look from Max told her he wasn't ready to share what they could do with their new companion.

She took the dog, trudged through the snow to a stand of trees.

Max and Eddie walked toward the wrecked cars.

Behind the wheel of the hatchback, the body of a man slumped.

“That's a bullet hole in the windshield there, and in him, too, I guess.” Though he'd gone a little pale, Eddie moved closer. “I don't know much, but I know this dude hasn't been dead long. I mean not like a couple of days.”

“Somebody put some bullet holes in this Subaru, too. And there's some blood on the seat.”

Pulling lightly at his scraggle of a beard, Eddie let out a sigh. “Gun rack in the truck there—and no guns in it. I ain't no CSI type, but I watched it some on TV. Looks to me like the truck dude shot at these two, killed the one here, wounded the other. Wrecked the shit out of the truck, so he couldn't drive it.”

“I'd say you're right.”

“So, you know…” Eddie looked around, searching for tracks, afraid he'd find them. “Maybe we should clear this mess out of the way, quick as we can, and get the hell out of here. In case.”

The hatchback rolled easily once in neutral with Eddie guiding the wheel and Max pushing from the rear.

Lana walked back as they worked on the Subaru.

“Tire's flat. Looks like the wheel's bent, too.” Eddie rolled his shoulders. “Gonna take more muscle.”

“I'll help.”

“Don't you strain nothing,” Eddie warned. This time, he cut the wheel, left the door open, and put his back into it from the front.

It only took Lana one shove to know muscle alone wouldn't be enough. She added a different kind of push, and though she tried to keep it light, the car jerked forward.

“We got her!” Eddie called out. “Just a little more.”

Max, his hair covered with snow, laughed under his breath. “Ease back, Amazon Queen.”

They pushed again, had the car bumping over the shoulder, and stopping crookedly in the shallow ravine beside it.

Eddie shot Lana a grin. “Stronger than you look.”

She only smiled, flexed.

“We can get around the truck,” Max said.

“Yeah, room enough to squeak by. Give me a minute first.”

Eddie slid down to the ravine, pulled the keys out of the Subaru, stomped through snow to the back to open it. “Could be some useful things got left behind. Should check the other car, too.”

“I'll do that.” Max thought of the body. Lana didn't need to see it. “You help Eddie.”

She slithered down, opened the suitcase in the back while Eddie poked through a big cardboard box.

“Got food,” he said. “Looks like somebody grabbed stuff out of the pantry.”

“Just take the box. There are clothes in here—men's clothes. And…” She took out a framed photo of a man in his thirties, a woman of about the same age. He wore a tux with a white rose boutonniere, and she a billowy white dress.

“Their wedding photo,” she murmured. “But only men's clothes. He must have lost her to the virus.”

“We oughta take the suitcase, too.”

“Yes.” She put the photo back inside. She wouldn't leave it to fade in the back of a car.

Between them, they managed to haul the box of provisions to the road while shoving and pulling the suitcase. Max joined them with a duffel bag and a rifle.

“In the trunk. The gun and there's ammo in the duffel, some warm weather clothes, a roll of cash stuffed in a boot. For all the good that does anyone now.”

“Gonna check the truck.”

Eddie jogged to it while Lana and Max started to pack the new finds in the car. Eddie came back with a half bottle of Jack Daniel's and three cans of Bud.

“I suspect somebody was driving under the influence, and maybe that caused the wreck.” He wedged them into the car, turned in a circle.

“Pretty country. Damn pretty country. Find a stream, build yourself a cabin. Life wouldn't be half bad.” He grinned over at the dog, who leaped through the snow, rolled in it. “He sure likes it.”

Max opened the driver's door, leaned in to start the car while Eddie called the dog. “You drive,” he told Eddie. “I'll navigate.”

“Sure thing. You oughta take yourself a nap, Lana. You look tired out.”

The glamour is wearing off, she thought. And the truth was, she felt tired out. The new provisions took up some of the backseat, but she managed to curl up, and tuned out almost immediately.

As he drove—competently, to Max's relief—Eddie struck up conversation.

“You guys been together awhile?”

“We met about a year ago, moved in together a couple months later.”

“When it's right, it's right. Haven't found the right yet. Not really
looking, but I appreciate female company, if you know what I mean. Is she out?”

Max looked back. “Yeah. You're right, she's tired. We've pushed it pretty hard.”

“Likely have to keep pushing. What we saw back there? That's how it is now for some. Kill you soon as look at you. I don't get why when what makes sense is we need each other, but that's how it is. You had to see plenty of that back in the city.”

“Too much of it. People are scared and pissed off, desperate.”

“And some are just no damn good,” Eddie added.

“And some are just no damn good.”

They passed through a little township, its main street deserted but for parked cars. Its shops shut down or gaping open.

“You let me know when you want to find a pump, top off the tank.”

“We've got enough for now. We're going to get off this when it dips south, head north toward Route Six. If it's clear, we can take that west. If not, there are back roads.”

Eddie flicked Max an impressed look. “Got it mapped out in your head?”

“I do. And it's written down if anything happens to me. And if anything does, I have to trust you with her. I have to trust you to look out for her.”

Under the bruise and the beard, Eddie's jaw tightened. “Nothing's going to happen. We're looking out for each other now. But you can trust me to take care of her if she needs it. I got no family left, dude. You could've left me back there. I guess you could say you're my people now.”

“Take Fifteen north when you get to it. Let's try to get at least another fifty or sixty miles before we stop, find a pump. We're going to want one of the small towns, nothing too big.”

“I got that.”

Max kicked back, shut his eyes. As he drifted off, he heard Eddie singing some country song. Bluegrass? He wasn't familiar enough to know. But the clear, easy voice sang about angels, and soothed Max to sleep.

He woke with a start, felt their speed drop. Shoving up, he expected to see another wreck blocking the road. Instead he saw a snow-covered road, some houses, and a mini-mart with gas pumps.

“Six was a no go,” Eddie said. “Had to double back, take the back roads. We're down to a quarter tank, so we better gas it up.”

He pulled into the lot.

All three got out. “It looks like it's slowed down, the snow. I'll see what I can put together so we can eat something,” Lana said.

“I sure could use that.” Eddie glanced around as Max walked to a pump. “Quiet around here. Maybe everybody lit out.”

“Maybe. Pumps are still on.” Max put the nozzle in the tank.

“I'm going inside first, use an actual bathroom.”

“Probably locked up,” Eddie told Lana.

“We'll see.” Because that she could deal with.

“Joe and I are fine with the great outdoors.”

“Be quick,” Max ordered. “And careful.”

He studied the street—theirs weren't the only tracks in the snow—the near buildings. Nothing stirred but a trio of deer nibbling at seeds spilled from a wrecked bird feeder across the road.

He considered trolling for another SUV. The snowfall had slowed, but a four-wheel drive would serve better, especially where they were headed.

Maybe after he gassed up, they'd hunt one down, reload. At least they'd leave a full tank for another traveler. He relaxed a little when Lana came out again, carrying a bag.

“I still feel wrong about just taking things, but I did it anyway. Not much left in there, but I found some potato rolls stuffed into the freezer section. When they thaw out, I can make some sandwiches.”

“That'll give us time to get somewhere more secluded.” Max replaced the hose, closed the tank. “Too open here.”

“It feels wrong, doesn't it? More like a photograph than life.”

She bent down, scrubbed at the pup's head when he raced back. “In you go, Joe.”

He leaped in the back as Eddie walked back. He glanced behind him.

“I thought I heard a—”

The shot that rang out shattered the stillness, a hammer against glass.

She saw Eddie jerk, saw his face go white, and the blood bloom on his flapping army green coat. Before she could rush forward, Max shoved her into the passenger seat.

“Get in, get in!”

He grabbed Eddie as Eddie stumbled forward, all but throwing him in the back.

The next shot shattered the right taillight.

“Get down. Lana, get the hell down.” Max ducked around the front of the car.

Two men ran into the lot from the back, still firing.

Enraged, Lana threw out power, heaving it at them even as Max pulled the gun from his hip and fired back. Both men flew backward, guns firing in the air.

Max yanked the driver's-side door open, hit the starter and the gas even before he slammed the door shut. He spun, fishtailed, feared for a moment he'd flip the damn car, but the chains bit in.

In the rearview, he saw the men struggle to their feet, take aim, but their bullets thudded into the snow behind them.

Others came out of some of the houses, armed, watching with cold eyes as he drove away.

“Are you hurt? Lana?”

“No, no, are you?”

“No. Eddie, how bad?”

“I'm shot!” He pressed a hand between his collarbone and right shoulder. “I'm fucking shot. And Jesus, Jesus
Christ
, it fucking hurts.”

“Lana, strap in, goddamn it,” Max snapped as she started to crawl between the seats.

“I have to see how bad it is. If I can help.”

“I can't stop yet. I can't stop until we're sure they're not coming after us.”

She wedged into the back, hauled up the dog currently whining and licking Eddie's face. She plopped Joe on the front seat. When he immediately tried to wiggle back, Max snapped again.

“Sit!”

Joe didn't sit so much as curl up and cry.

“I need to see, need to see.” Lana unbuttoned the jacket.

“You're going to see I'm shot! What the hell, man? We weren't hurting anybody.”

“Quiet now, just quiet.” With hands that surprised her by staying steady, she ripped open his shirt, then yanked off her scarf, used it to put pressure on the wound. “I'm going to stop the bleeding, that's the first thing. You're going to be all right. As soon as we're far enough away, Max's going to find a place we can stop, and we'll get you inside, take care of this. I think I can help.”

“Like you helped back there, knocking those assholes on their asses like with your mind or something? You're one of those, those others? Both of you?”

Lana looked at him, into his shocked eyes. “We're not going to hurt you.”

“Hell, you just saved my life. Unless I'm dying anyway.”

“You're not dying. I … Max, I feel like I can help.”

Eddie moaned, gritted his teeth. “If you'd get that bottle of Jack—I mean the whiskey—that'd be a start.”

“Good idea. You need to press down on this while I do. Even though it hurts.” She put his hand on the bloody scarf, pressed. “Like that.”

She turned, unwedged the bottle from the floor, unzipped the duffel, dug through until she found a T-shirt. Lifting herself up a little, she pulled out the multi-tool Max had given her, cut through the shirt until she could rip it and make a couple of thick pads.

She opened the Jack Daniel's bottle, nudged Eddie's hand and the scarf away.

“Brace yourself.” And she poured the whiskey on the ugly little wound.

He let out a sound that tore at her, but she doused it, then pressed a fresh pad against the wound while Eddie, eyes glassy, fought for breath.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“I was looking to drink it.”

She put the bottle in his trembling hand so he could.

“I screamed like a girl.”

“You screamed like a man having whiskey poured on a bullet wound.” She got a hand under him, felt the hole in the coat, the wet. “Press that pad, keep the pressure on.” She pressed the second one to his back. “It went through. The bullet went through. I think that's good.”