“He was a wizard…I think.” Or was I confusing him with Dumbledore?
Shit. My brain was starting to rot. That was the only explanation.
I fought a zillion zombies this morning. Of course I can’t think straight.
Renati’s smile was fleeting, but seemed genuine. “Why don’t you go home? Lionel will be in soon. He can help me re-dose.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You look…tired.” He paused. “We make mistakes when we’re tired.”
I couldn’t tell if it was a slam at me or not, and at that point I no longer cared. I was glad to just step back outside, into the dull gray world we’d inherited, and make my way to my borrowed home and the pillow calling my name.
Chapter Eighteen
I slept a long, long time.
It was dark by the time I stumbled down the stairs. Dax was sitting in the kitchen, playing with what remained of his pastrami. He kept tearing off pieces and tossing them down to the dog, who refused to look at them. Man, even Evie didn’t want the stuff and she had no quibbles chewing on zombies. What was the world coming to?
He glanced up when I stopped in the doorway. He had dark circles under his eyes, and seemed to just about disappear into that giant Hastings Monarchs sweatshirt he insisted on wearing every night. I had no doubt I looked as run-down as he did.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said. “Well. Evening.”
“Thanks for letting me sleep,” I said.
“I napped for a while, too. Tony just went straight up to bed.” He gestured to another package on the table. “Pastrami?”
My stomach gurgled in warning. I reached for the MRE anyway, then felt my insides knot up, clearly planning bloody revolt.
Maybe it was best not to take the risk. I left the pastrami on the table and walked over to the dog, who was pointedly ignoring the pastrami on the floor and chowing down on some kibble instead. I’ll say this for Keller’s government, they had raided the city’s pet stores and made sure all the local critters had plenty to eat.
That meant Evie had no fear of going hungry. Unlike those of us with two legs.
On impulse, I picked up a piece of the kibble from her bowl and sniffed it. “You know, this doesn’t seem all that bad.”
Dax shook his head. “Don’t do it.”
“It’s healthy, right?”
“For a dog.”
Even Evie watched me with trepidation. She placed her paw on my foot, as if to say, No, no, don’t do that.
I put the kibble in my mouth and let it sit on my tongue.
Dax covered his eyes. Evie whined softly.
“It’s not bad,” I said as I chewed. The look on Dax’s face was priceless, but my stomach wasn’t doing calisthenics, which I took to mean my digestive tract definitely found this stuff more palatable.
I found a bottle of water and took a sip. Food was food, right? “Honestly, it’s an improvement over the pastrami.”
Tony chose that exact moment to walk in on us. He took in Dax and the dog staring at me in a mixture of horror and fascination as I chewed on the kibble, and I swear the man grew five gray hairs right then and there.
“Christ on a pogostick,” he said.
I held out my hand. “Want some?”
He swatted the kibble aside. Evie sprang for it, gleefully lipping up everything that hit the ground. “Are you nuts?” Tony asked. “Stealing the dog’s food?”
“I can’t eat any more pastrami!” My voice shot up higher. Too high. Okay, maybe I wasn’t as calm as I thought.
“That shit’s not any better for you!”
My stomach rumbled—not in revolt, but in genuine hunger. Holy fucking shit, the dog’s food was officially better for me than Army grub. “But it tastes better.”
He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the living room, away from kibble, pastrami, and all other edible things. He gave me a shove and I sat down hard on the sofa, my head swimming at the sudden change. Shit. My blood pressure was plummeting. Or I’d been poisoned. Or the all pastrami I’d already eaten had just overwhelmed my system.
He riffled through the DVDs in the small tower next to it, muttering over the selection. “Let’s watch Star Wars.”
“I don’t think Star Wars is going to make me feel better.”
“Star Wars makes everyone feel better.”
I couldn’t eat the Imperial March, but whatever.
He straightened up, looked around the room. “Can you read something?”
I looked at the coffee table. The only book on it was Tony’s dog-eared copy of Dead Mennonite Walking, and I’d had quite enough of both Ezekiel’s supernatural problems and my own.
Oh. Supernatural issues. That reminded me. “Tony,” I said. “Gandalf the Grey was a wizard, right? Not a sorcerer?”
He blinked at me. “What?”
“It’s kind of important.”
His dark eyes regarded me for several seconds. I could see he wanted to say something, but didn’t exactly know what; some distant part of me knew this must have been at least a little bit scary. I was eating dog food and talking about wizards, for fuck’s sake.
But it’s not awful and I don’t want to barf and I’m so hungry…