She comes over, kneels, and gently snatches the bottle away from him. “Bob, what are you doing? Trying to kill yourself in slow motion?”
He breathes in, and then exhales a sigh so foul and flammable it could light a barbecue. “I’ve been … weighing my options.”
“Don’t say that.” She looks into his eyes. “It’s not funny.”
“Ain’t trying to be funny.”
“Okay … whatever.” She wipes her mouth, glances over her shoulder, nervously scanning the street. “You haven’t seen Austin, have you?”
“Who?”
She looks at him. “Austin Ballard? You know. Young guy, kinda scruffy.”
“The kid with the hair?”
“That’s him.”
Bob lets out another chorus of hacking, wheezing coughs. He doubles over for a moment, trying to cough it out. He blinks it back. “No, ma’am. Ain’t seen that rascal in days.” Finally he gets his coughing under control and then fixes his yellow eyes on her. “You’re sweet on him, ain’t ya?”
Lilly gazes out at the far reaches of the town, chewing a fingernail. “Huh?”
Bob manages a cockeyed grin. “You two an item?”
She just shakes her head, letting out a weary chuckle. “An item? I wouldn’t say that. Not exactly.”
Bob keeps looking at her. “Saw you two heading into your place together last week.” Another crooked grin. “I may be a juicer but I ain’t blind. The way you two was walking, talking to each other.”
She rubs her eyes. “Bob, it’s complicated … but right now I have to find him.” She looks at him. “Think hard. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Lilly, I ain’t too good with particulars. My memory ain’t exactly—”
She grabs him, shakes him. “Bob, wake up! This is important! I have to find Austin—it’s super important! Do you understand?” She gives him a little slap. “Now concentrate, try to get those booze-addled brain cells working and THINK!”
Bob shudders in her grip, his droopy eyes wide and wet. His liver-colored lips tremble, and he tries to form the words but the tears are coming. “I-I don’t—It’s been—I ain’t real clear on—”
“Bob, I’m sorry.” All the anger, urgency, and frustration drain out of her face, and she releases her hold on him, and her expression softens. “I’m so sorry.” She puts an arm around him. “I’m a little—I’m not—I’m dealing with a bit of a—”
“It’s okay, darlin’,” he says and hangs his head. “I ain’t been myself lately, ain’t exactly on top of the world right now.”
She looks at him. “You’re still hurting, aren’t you? Hurting bad.”
He sighs again. He feels almost normal when he’s around this woman.
For a moment, he considers telling her about his Megan dreams. He considers telling her about the enormous black hole in his heart that is sucking every last ounce of his life into it. He considers explaining to Lilly how he was never really that good at grief. He lost dozens of close friends in the Middle East. As an army medic, he saw so much death and heartache that he thought it would rip his insides out. But none of it even compared to losing Megan the way he lost her. He considers all this over the course of an agonizing instant and then looks up at Lilly and simply murmurs, “Yeah, honey, I’m still hurting.”
They sit there in the overcast morning light for a long while, saying nothing, both of them drowning in their thoughts, both of them ruminating over dark and uncertain futures, when finally Lilly looks at him. “Bob, is there anything I can get you?”
He lifts his empty bottle, and taps it. “Got another one of these stashed back at the fire escape. That’s all I need.”
She sighs.
Another long moment of silence passes. Bob feels himself drifting again, his eyelids getting heavy. He looks up at her. “You seem a little outta sorts, darlin’,” he says. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Yeah, she thinks to herself, the weight of the world pressing down on her. How about a gun and two bullets so Austin and I can finish each other off?
TWELVE
Martinez paces along the catwalk that crowns a semitrailer parked along the north corner of the wall when he hears somebody calling out to him.
“Hey, Martinez!” the voice cuts through the wind and distant thunder scraping the sky to the east. Martinez looks down and sees Rudy, the bearded former tuck-pointer from Savannah, coming across the construction site. Rudy is built like a redwood and keeps his dark hair pomaded back in a Dracula widow’s peak.
“What do you want?” Martinez calls down. Dressed in his trademark sleeveless shirt, bandanna, and fingerless racing gloves, the lantern-jawed Martinez carries a Kalashnikov with a banana clip and a sawed-off stock. From the rusty steel roof of the Kenworth, he can see for over a mile in any direction, and he can easily pick off half a dozen undead in one controlled burst if necessary. Nobody fucks with Martinez—neither man nor biter—and this unexpected visitor is already getting on his nerves. “My shift ain’t over for another couple hours.”
Squinting up into the sun, Rudy delivers a stoic shrug. “Well, I’m here to relieve you so I guess you’re getting an early break. Boss man wants to see you.”
“Shit,” Martinez mutters under his breath, in no mood to go to the principal’s office this morning. He starts climbing down the side of the cab, grumbling softly, “What the hell does he want?”
Martinez hops off the running board.
Rudy gives him a look. “Like he’s gonna tell me.”
“Stay alert up there,” Martinez orders, gazing out through the narrow gap in front of the truck, surveying the flooded fields to the north. The farmland is deserted but Martinez has a bad feeling about what lies out there behind the distant, dark pillars of pine. “It’s been quiet so far today … but that usually never lasts.”
Rudy gives him a nod and starts climbing up the side of the cab.