The Seventh Day (Book 2): The Last Hour Page 18

  “Who said that?” I ask and then dump a bag of nuts in my mouth.

  “Some guy, some military guy who knew your dad was with some cranky lady, I can’t remember her name. Claire.” She pauses. “Sarah. Karen.” She winkles her nose, tapping her empty water bottle against the heel of her hand. “Celia! She was named Celia. Total crank pot. You could tell the military dude didn't like her much. She came from out East, in the South somewhere. She said she’d heard it from other Southerners.”

  “Holy shit. I can’t believe what a mess all this has made.”

  “I know. The whole country’s ruined.”

  “The whole world, Lee.” I give her a look. “Nothing will ever be the same again.”

  “But look at it.” She lifts her hands, holding them out. “Look at this house. It’s got to be worth two million dollars. We’re sitting in a hundred-thousand-dollar kitchen, if not more. It’s here. The world is set up to be restarted. The power lines are there. The roads are paved. The stores exist. I bet there’s enough shit that’s already manufactured to last us years. It can’t be that hard to restart. Turn the power and the running water back on again and let us live like we did before.”

  “But the problem is infrastructure,” Harold says from across the kitchen, clearly listening to us for at least a minute. “They could turn the water back on, but how could they keep it running? Maintenance is what keeps our world going; we don't have the population for that. This country ran on labor jobs. Manual labor. There’s no laborers now. And the diversity of our veg and fruit and meat and dairy was dependent upon our differing landscapes. We can’t have the entire country for farming anymore. That would require water and power to the whole place. That's just not possible. Same as the roads. We can’t have heavy trucks going up and down the roads without road crews. So what—we make every person work labor? That's not possible. Not everyone is physically able to work labor. Not just that, but why work all day to come home to sleep? What kind of life is that?” Harold has thought about the tough questions obviously.

  “I guess so.” Lee sighs.

  “But we could be smart and choose the best location for all of us and rebuild on a much smaller scale. Less diversity as far as food and manufacturing goes. But enough to survive and not be slaves to the hamster wheel. It’ll be a hard life for us that have known the ease of our world. But the next generations will learn of the mistakes we made. They’ll fix them. We can adapt. It's one of our gifts.” He glances back at the garage door. “As is the shower I’ve set up outside. If you want to find some towels, I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “Oh my God, don’t mess with me, old man!” Lee jumps up and runs out the garage door, clearly feeling better.

  “Can you keep an eye on him, please?” I nod at Furgus. “He’s been sleeping since we arrived. I don't want him to get sick or need more food and water and worry we left him.”

  “Take him with you. The water might do him some good.”

  “Okay.” I laugh as I get up. “Gus!” I slap my leg. He cracks an eye but doesn't budge from the cool marble floor. “Come on, buddy. You want some water?”

  He perks up a little, lifting his bushy brows.

  “Come on.” I hit my leg again and he starts his ten seconds of struggling to get up. Being huge is hard.

  He saunters out with me, leaving Harold inside to loot some more.

  The water bottle has been dumped into a massive cooler that is suspended in the air by huge rubber cords outside on the pool deck. He’s put a watering can lid in the spout and duct taped it to it and then wrapped electrical tape around that.

  Lee comes tearing out of what I assume is the pool house wearing a bathing suit, carrying a bathing suit for me, and holding two towels. Her smile is wide and beautiful. It almost feels like maybe this isn’t the worst moment in my life. It’s close, but it’s dressed up really nice. Pig in lipstick sort of moment.

  She stands under the shower and passes me the towel and bathing suit. “This is going to be so cold." She nods. "But I found shampoo and leave-in conditioner and bodywash.”

  This might be the best moment in her life.

  I take the towel and bathing suit to go get changed. Gus stays with her and licks the cement around the pool deck where she’s splashing water every time she turns the crank and makes the water come out.

  She squeals and shouts from the cold, making this seem as though it’s a normal summer, even if just for a moment.

  When I get back out, she waves me over. “We should try to share as much of this water as we can.”

  “What?” I pause, certain I’m not hearing this right.

  “Get in the shower with me, crazy. We need to conserve the water so Harold can get clean too.”

  “Okay.” I wrinkle my nose and head over, putting down the towel and cringing when the room temp water splashes down on me.

  We put our backs to each other and press our heads together so the water hits us both. When she has enough, she starts soaping up, moaning about the smell and the fresh feeling of a shower.

  It’s been a couple of days since we got cleaned, in Lee time that’s years. And years.

  But as much as I want to mock her, I have to admit that scrubbing myself after all the dusty nonsense we’ve done over the last day does make me feel rejuvenated.

  As I slather the leave-in conditioner into my hair and drag it through and towel dry the excess out, I sigh.

  My body is clean, even the bits I never imagined I’d clean next to another person.

  The apocalypse changes things and modesty is the first to go.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Her clothes fit like a glove. Whoever she was, this lady had a lot of yoga gear.” Lee spins in a circle, admiring herself in her stretchy capri pants and cute Lycra tank top. “Even the bra fits. Like what the hell?”

  “Well, if it fits you, then I guess I’m in luck.” I grin and raid the closet. It’s the size of my bedroom and filled with only ladies’ clothing. “I wonder if she’s divorced or if there wasn't enough room for his clothes.”

  “Oh, he dresses and sleeps somewhere else. People like this don't sleep together.” She laughs and I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. “He was probably old. Look for pictures.”

  “Do you miss it, all the luxury of Chicago?”

  “Oh yeah. I miss everything about it. The Cubs. Games with my family. Eating at normal restaurants and getting smoothies. Getting coffee.” Lee’s like me, she doesn't try to make it extravagant. She misses coffee and her phone.

  “Kyle was trying to tell me he misses yachts and sailing and eating ripe peaches.” I roll my eyes.

  “He’s a dork who cares too much about impressing you. Which I find endearing.” She lifts up one of the handbags and holds it, slipping on sunglasses to complete the look. “What do you think? Mom of three, super into fitness ‘cause she worries her older, successful husband is getting some tail at work. Does the overachiever nonsense and has accidentally slept with a couple of fitness trainers, but she doesn't count it because it was the week before her period and she was unstable.”

  “Wow, you have this down to a science.”

  “I have spent too much time with rich people.” Lee tilts her head. “Do you still dream about your mom?” She pulls down the glasses and our eyes meet.

  “Yeah.”

  “Me too. Is she still screaming for you to run?”

  “Not always. Sometimes she’s doing other stuff. Holding my hand.” My voice cracks and I clear it.

  “Mine still yells for me to run. And I don't want to. In the dream, I never want to run away. Erin’s there, she’s bleeding and dying and I don't want to run.”

  “If she’s bleeding and dying you have to run, Lee. That's survival.” I say it too flatly, too cold. I don't recognize myself for a second.

  “Would you run from your sister?”

  “No, I’d die next to her.”

  “If you could die, you mean.” She smiles and pushes th
e glasses back up.

  “Ladies!” Harold comes into the room as I quickly finish dressing. “Is it safe?” he calls from the bedroom, not looking in the closet where we’re getting dressed and Furgus is sleeping.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh good. Are we all thinking the same thing, sleeping here tonight?” His hair is brushed back and he’s wearing some dressy men’s clothes. He even smells good, more like a grandpa should smell.

  “Sure. Yeah. I think so.” I give Lee a look. She shrugs.

  “Okay, well you girls get some rest and I’ll take first watch.”

  “No, Harold, I can take—”

  “Lee, your eyes are swollen and your voice is scratchy. You’re exhausted. Sleep. Lou, I’ll wake you in about six hours and you take your turn?”

  “Sounds good, Harold,” I admit.

  “Okay then, I’ll sleep in the husband’s room.” He laughs. “I think he and I were almost the same age.”

  Lee wrinkles her nose as he stalks off. “Told ya.”

  “Wow. Glad we didn't bet on it.”

  She walks to the bed, flinging bags and glasses down and crawls into the massive king, nestling into the sheets and pillow. “This is a nice bed. Maybe the nicest I have ever slept on.”

  I close all the curtains and crawl into the other side, sighing as I lie back. “Oh wow. This is amazing.” I close my eyes but part my mouth to say something else, only I hear the slowdown of her heart and the deepening of her breath.

  It takes seconds for Lee to pass out.

  Smiling, I settle in for some sleep.

  I don't dream.

  I don't move.

  I wake to fingers biting into my arm. “Lou,” Harold whispers, “get up and come downstairs.”

  “What?” I blink, confused. Is this a dream?

  “There’s people. Lots of people.” Harold sounds weird. He sounds scared.

  I jump from the bed and follow him down, leaving Gus and Lee upstairs.

  When we get to the landing, I peer through the window to see lights. Bright lights.

  People are walking on foot with flashlights. They have bags and sticks and guns.

  “What are they doing?” I ask, even though he clearly doesn't have the answer. How could he?

  “I don't know. I woke up, I didn't realize I fell asleep and the lights were shining in my eyes through a slit in the curtains.”

  Closing my eyes, I open my ears and listen. Heartbeats and whispering and feet crunching on dry grass.

  “Did you already take what the Shuberts had?” a man asks someone.

  “Yeah, she’d just hit Costco. Huge flats of water and beer and chips. It was awesome,” another guy answers.

  “Sweet. Carry it down the road,” the first guy says.

  “They’re looting, on foot?” I give Harold a confused stare. “That must take forever.”

  “That's why these houses weren’t looted. They can only do so much, so they take what they can carry and come at night ‘cause it's hot here. There’s no way they’re moving that tanker truck.”

  “And it doesn't snow here, so they can carry it on foot all year long.” I stare at Harold. “What do we do?”

  “Well, apart from the unfriendly greeting in Vegas, I have yet to meet an unpleasant person. Why don't we wait for them to come to the door and then open it?”

  “It sounds like they know the neighborhood. They’ll know we’re squatters.”

  “How can we sneak out now, with Furgus? He might be the friendliest dog I’ve ever met,” Harold groans.

  “Yeah, he’s friendly if they are. Otherwise, I don't know. My money’s on him though.”

  “Well, avoiding bloodshed would be the best plan. I don't want to fight that many people. There have to be twenty of them out there.” He peeks out again. “They’re next door.”

  “Shit!” I bite my lip and head for the front door, realizing they’ll see the forced entry and come in, ready to shoot.

  Harold and I both grab our guns and stand ready.

  Tension builds in my stomach as we wait, listening to them laugh and talk and plan. There’s one who’s clearly the leader. His voice is deep and if I had to guess, I’d say he was late thirties, early forties. He sounds like my dad. He sounds like he knows what he’s doing, which could be a good thing. My dad would never shoot someone without finding out their intentions. It’s just who he was.

  “I’m heading to the Milsteins’!” a lady shouts as her work boots clomp up the stamped concrete driveway to our front door.

  “Milsteins’.” I sigh, realizing that might be us.

  She touches the handle and then pauses. “Uhhhh, guys, did you do this house already?” she asks, her heart rate picking up.

  I glance at Harold, not sure how we handle this moment.

  “No, why?” Deep Voice asks.

  “The door’s busted open already.”

  “Weird.” More of them start making their way up to the door. I swallow hard as flashes of light flutter about the window and shadows dance as people mill outside our house.

  Harold tucks his gun and walks to the door, taking a breath and opening it a crack. “Please don't shoot. I’m an old man and I mean you no harm.” He inhales sharply and pulls open the door more.

  “Who are you?” A gun is in his face and lights floods us.

  “This is my grandchild, Lou. We’re on our way south, we stopped to get food. Same as you. My name is Harold. I’m a retired vet, I don't want any trouble.” He’s more honest than I might have gone with, but so far we haven’t been shot.

  “Why are you here in this neighborhood?” the lady asks.

  I’m blinded by their lights but I hear the heartbeats. They’re scared.

  “We’re looking for people. Same as everyone else I imagine.” Harold continues to do the talking, “We came from Boulder, in Colorado.”

  “We heard it’s a free city. Is that true?” someone asks from the back of the large crowd gathering.

  “It is true. No undead.”

  “Why’d you leave?” someone else shouts.

  “We weren’t allowed to stay.” Harold steps back, as if letting them in. “If you’d like to carry on this conversation inside, we’d be happy to explain. But standing here with lights in my eyes is burning them.” He plays the old-man card. “And my back hurts. I’ve told you my name. Are you not going to tell us your names?”

  “I’m Harb, this is my wife, Jag. This is my neighbor Sheila and her son Phalon.” Harb turns to the crowd. “Why don't we do a quick chat inside so Harold here can sit down, and we’ll let ya know what else we find out. You guys keep looking for supplies.” Harb is Deep Voice. He’s younger than I expected but he’s like my dad. Smart. Doesn't act irrationally.

  “Yes, please come in. Lou, have a seat.” Harold points to the living room. I turn and walk to a chair that I can see the stairs from. I don't want Furgus to surprise us.

  Harb, Jag, and Sheila come and sit, all of them appearing uncertain and sounding terrified. Increased breathing, rapid heart rates, sweaty brows, shaking hands, darting eyes.

  Mine still have the lights in them, giving me blind spots.

  “Now, Harold, we are not used to new people. We’ve been alone, about forty of us from the beginning. A city of this size reduced to a few neighborhoods of people. We don't cross territories and we keep the peace. Whatever they find in their area, they keep. Whatever we find in our area, we keep. You see?” His tone is dark and warning. “And now technically you’ve stolen from our side.”

  “No, Harb. There is no stealing anymore. We looted, the same as you’re doing. Now cut the shit, what is going on here?” Harold leans in. “Why are you so freaked out about an old man and a young girl in a house on the edge of town? We’ve been here a day and we haven’t hurt anyone, taken more than we needed, or damaged anything. So what’s the issue?” Harold loses the old-man act.

  “The truth is, Harold, we thought you might be escapees from that camp of bad people. The ones
who got bit but didn’t change into zombies. The ones who live on the coast,” Sheila says nervously, her eyes darting from Jag to Harb’s.

  “We turned in our bitten like good citizens. And we don't want any more trouble with that. So time for you to cut the shit, Harold. Why couldn't you stay in Boulder?” Jag speaks, finally. I realize a second later she is actually the brains of the whole thing. This is one of those situations Kyle told me about, where one of the flunkies does the talking and you think you’re dealing with the boss, but the boss is the quiet one, watching and analyzing.

  “Why did we leave?” Harold’s eyes flicker to mine as he forces a smile. “My granddaughter’s dog. No dogs allowed. He’s the last person left in her family.”

  “Except you.” Jag smiles.

  “Grandparents aren’t the same as parents or siblings. She’s lost everyone. We both did.” He glances my way again. “And when we got to the gate of the free city, they told us the dog couldn't come. So we left.”

  “Where’s the dog now?” Jag asks, skeptical.

  “Upstairs in the bedroom. He’s an Irish Wolfhound. I didn't want him to startle anyone,” I answer.

  “Irish wolfhound, no way.” Harb’s eyes widen. “They’re monsters.”

  “No, Harb. We were the monsters. My dog is the gentlest thing left on this earth.”

  Sadness fills his eyes. “Ain’t that the truth, kid.”

  “What do you guys know, otherwise?”

  “The East Coast is a mess, no one stays there. Some weird fog was used to try to kill the undead but all it did was fry the cars and power. Colorado and Nebraska have a fire, the smoke is bad in the northeastern part of Colorado, apparently. The government is in Boulder, they’re bringing in all bitten and killing them—”

  “What? Killing?” Sheila’s eyes grow wide. “No, they said they needed them to wipe out the undead. No one said anything about killing.” She’s panicking. Her heart pounds as if it’s about to explode in her small chest. “My husband was taken.” She stands up and struggles to catch her breath. “How do you know—”