The fabric smelled like the gunk in the shower. But the cotton was soft against my skin, and right now I’d take comfort over smell any day. I gathered the Bible and my clothes in one hand, my gun, jacket, and boots in the other, and made for the door.
The room was quiet; actually, this whole place was quiet. I crossed the room, catching sight of the rows of bunks. Only four were piled with blankets, one with stuffed animals. Photos covered the wall…all except for one bed, the blankets made neatly with precision, the pillow so lonely compared to the others. There were no mementos of family, no hint of the life left behind.
A faint call echoed from outside. I dropped my gear near an empty bed, slipped the gun under the pillow, and made for the sound. The yell turned into a soft cheer, and I followed that sound, turning left instead of right. My bare feet slapped the smooth floor. The sounds resurrected the woman running along the street, desperate for freedom.
My steps stuttered, the boom of my pulse filled the space. I tried to stop the memory. But terror rose like a wave inside me. My fingers were trembling as I reached for the door. Movement came from inside the room as Damon rose from the floor.
All heads turned as I pushed open the door and stepped through.
“There she is!” Damon called, his eyes drifting from my damp hair to my bare feet.
But it was Kenya who took a step forward. “Everything okay?”
I gave a weak nod, but inside I was reeling. I wanted to be strong, wanted to be hard like stone, uncrackable, unmovable. I wanted to be a mountain that reached for the sky…but inside I was soft—I was so fucking soft.
“Hey,” she murmured, her steps blurring as she crossed the floor.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. Pain flared. I wanted that pain, needed it. It anchored me, it stilled that slow slide inside, the one that was falling into the depths of despair.
Warmth moved against me as Kenya stepped close. Her arms felt alien, her touch unwanted, unneeded, and far too much like my Mom’s. Strong arms pulled me against her. She didn’t seem to care that my hair dripped, or my arms were folded across my chest. I was giving all the signals, all the ones that made me strong.
“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I understand just how you’re feeling. Let it all out, let it all out.”
Her fingers skimmed my hair, her body so warm. I could feel myself crumbling, rock by rock the mountain started to fall. I could see the others, Damon and Chuck made an attempt to look somewhere else.
“It’s a hard world out there, and you look like you’ve been on your own for quite some time.”
Her words invaded, pulling boulders down from the mountain I held inside.
“The dog’s not yours, is she?” Kenya murmured.
One lone tear slipped as I shook my head.
“Didn’t think so, not your character to beat up an animal. But you go right ahead and be weak, just for a moment. We’re all here to protect you. We’ll stand guard.”
And that’s just how it felt. All these years. All the loneliness, and the hurt and the desperation, I could never stop…never, ever stop, not for a minute—not for a second. Not for the dreams, not for the memories.
I’d pushed them down, closed off, drugged out. Anything to stop feeling, to stop remembering. You wouldn’t last long in the present when you lived in the past.
“We lost our families, too, all to the plague. My Mom and my brother. Dad was long gone, shacked up with some younger woman years before. I’d just started working here, when the first wave struck. Can you believe it? Fucking fate. Fucking fate.”
I stood there, letting her talk about her life and rub my hair. I listened, until I finally felt solid. The mountain was still standing, a little shaken, an avalanche at its feet. But it was good, it was there, and I could always rebuild, one rock at a time.
“Thank you,” the words were raspy and harsh. I swallowed and dropped my arms. “Thank you.”
Kenya stepped away, giving me a smile. “Any time. It’s hard to be a woman, especially in a world as cruel as this. Us girls gotta stick together, right?”
My lips curled, the smile weak, but honest. “Yeah, we sure do.”
“Good,” she smiled and stepped away. “Now to add one more female to the pack.”
White blurred as the hound limped. But this time there was a wide white bandage strapped across her chest.
“I cleaned the wound, stitched and bandaged,” Damon stepped as Pitt limped close. “I also gave her a shot of antibiotics. You can thank the vet clinic Kenya raided last month. She’ll be okay, just a little sore. She’s been through some rough times, looks like she was confined at one stage and starved. But we’re working on fixing that, aren’t we?”
He bent low enough to scratch between her ears. Pitt still limped, sweeping past his hand. I knelt against the floor and reached for her. Brown eyes shone with love and warmth.
She moved against me, lowering her thick head to sniff my cheek, and then gave a soft lick. I wrapped an arm around her good side, and pulled her close. She smelled of honesty and iodine.
“And now, food,” Damon called.
“Hands…” Chuck snarled, dragging my gaze high. “For the love of God, wash your hands. Twice. And make sure you get under your nails.”
Damon shook his head, and gave a laugh. “Yes, Mother. Through there,” he motioned to a door at the end of the room, “is the kitchen. Food’s all ready, so help yourself.”
“I found some canned food when I raided the vet clinic, good stuff that’ll give her some extra fat. Come on, I’ll find it for you.”
I shoved up from the floor and followed Kenya through the doors. The smell of the food hit me like a punch to the face. My stomach tightened and acid rose before the vise around my gut released. Real food. My mouth watered with the thought. Not canned, not a mixture of everything I could find.
Kenya stepped into the kitchen, rose on her tiptoes, and yanked open a cupboard. “I know they’re here somewhere.” Cans were yanked out, some shoved aside. “Ah, here they are.”
She wrestled three large cans from the back of the cupboard and set them on the bench. Behind me was a counter fitted out with cookers, steamers, water purifiers, and mountains and mountains of food. Some had no labels, some were worn and dented. But some were fresh, green sprouted from styrofoam boxes. Green was everywhere. Thin stalks of lettuce, spinach even…and tomatoes. I reached for the bowl at the back, smooth flesh dimpled under my touch. I cupped my hand. This had to be a dream. Tomatoes, real tomatoes.
“How?” The word slipped from my lips as I stared.
“Damon’s got a green thumb, and I rigged a hydroponic set up in the hospital’s atrium. That’s what I look for when I go hunting, seeds, anything that is still salvageable. We make new ones from the food we grow, and we just multiply.”
“For yourself?” I turned to catch her stare.
“For ourselves, and to trade. The Mighty aren’t very smart, and the Lost Boys have better things to do than to worry about a petty thing like vegetables.”
“Lost Boys?” It was the second time she’d mentioned the name.