Domino Falls (6 page)

“Yes,
mamacita,
” Darius said, and made a kissing noise.

But that killed the laughter. Afterward, Terry could barely remember why it had seemed so funny.

But it had felt good to laugh.

Lights were out at eight o'clock, so Kendra went to her room, which looked
like it might have been a sewing room before Freak Day, with lacy curtains and framed prints of kittens on the walls. The daybed with a gold-colored frame waited beneath her barred windows, and the mattress was firm. Even her bed at Grandpa Joe's had been old, musty, and lumpy—this was the first good bed she'd slept in since she left home. Was she dreaming?

She'd scrubbed her body raw in the tepid shower, crying the whole while. Any moments of rest let her sadness in. But she'd been thrilled to find clean underwear in a plastic bag on the bathroom counter; pink granny panties that were nearly too big, but handily beat the alternative. She hadn't had time to do
laundry on the road and had barely realized how filthy she was. She had taken two pairs, leaving at least six behind for others who might need them. She'd also grabbed a handful of tampons and pads. Hallelujah!

Whatever else Threadville might be, it had hospitality down to a science.

Kendra no longer believed the quarantine was about waiting for the infection to show up; this was a time for observation and learning on both sides, judging how they might fit in. If you weren't willing to give yourself completely to the town and its rules, you wouldn't fit in. And maybe they caught a few freaks in the process.

Maybe that was all. If they were lucky.

Kendra tensed up when she heard footsteps in the hall, relieved when they passed. What if someone came in while she was alone in the dark? Were the others close enough to hear her screams? Faint tremors began in her bent knees. Kendra's imagination played such tricks on her in the dim lighting, especially near the shadowed window, that she finally closed her eyes, preferring visions of her imaginary demons.

Mom's worried face. Dad's shock and surprise. Grandpa Joe's irreparable bite mark. The suddenness of losing them was mild compared with the horror on their faces at the end—their worry for her.

“We'll be all right,” she whispered to her family, or maybe just to herself. She breathed, yoga-style, deep in her belly the way Mom had taught her. Counting her exhalations.

The muted shaking in her limbs stopped. With the sole light from a battery-operated lamp she discovered after about twenty minutes, Kendra saw a stack of Thread literature piled neatly on a night table—a strong suggestion. She picked up
Thread War
and flipped through it, although she couldn't make out a
word until she pressed the page to her nose and held it directly in the dim light.

It sounded like a science fiction story:
“. . . and the threads fell like clumps of luminous snowfall across the mountains and flatlands alike, knitting and binding, scouring the vast Oneness for the unifying ties that create universal transcendence . . .”
Did Sonia swallow this stuff without chewing? Kendra could hardly believe that a whole town had genuflected to Wales's ramblings.

Kendra stared out of her window at the pitch-dark night. She saw a few twinkles, campfires or flashlights, but otherwise the entire town was dark, still a mystery. She'd have to wait to see the rest of Threadville.

Kendra hated to admit it, but it was worth it. The locked door. The strip search. She might have done far more for a bed and a freakproof lock for the night. She didn't feel locked in—she felt
safe.
And Terry was safe too, just down the hall.

A smile flickered to Kendra's face, and her palm sizzled with the memory of sitting beside him on the sofa, holding his hand. She wished Terry were in her room, that she could settle against his chest. Maybe one day soon? The idea fascinated her.
And then what? You'll have to tell him you're a virgin, like Wales said in the movie. Or are you ready for a change?

It seemed absurd: only hours ago, she'd been afraid of getting bitten or shot, and now she was fantasizing about a boy like she was back in high school in the normal world; as if she and Terry were on the beach again, listening to the song of the waves. Kendra planned to use the lamplight to write in her journal.

About Terry. About Threadville.

Instead, as soon as she lay on her stomach across her bed, still fully clothed, pen in hand, she rested her head on her clean, fluffy pillow . . . just for a few minutes.

Almost before her eyes closed, Kendra tumbled into a deep tunnel of slumber.

She dreamed vividly of falling red threads. Distantly, she remembered that she'd had the dream before she knew anything about Josey Wales, his town, or his Threadies.

She'd had the same dream right before the end of the world.

December 20

T
erry
was awake by five a.m., before daylight, and couldn't get back to sleep after the rooster began its throaty calls. His bed was fine, and the room was bigger than the one in his real house with his mother and sister, but it felt like a cell. He'd never slept well in lockdown.

An unfamiliar bark in the hall made Terry shiver. Sniff test time. He hadn't been bitten. Not that he remembered. But what if infection blurred the memory?

Two Gold Shirts, including Crew Cut, entered his room without knocking, bringing three leashed dogs—two burly German shepherds and Hipshot. Hipshot jumped up on Terry, licking his face, happily christening his human. When the other dogs only ignored him, Terry breathed with relief. He didn't want to sleep away from Hippy again.

Crew Cut shrugged. “Welcome to Domino Falls.”

But his eyes said
We'll see what happens now.

Kendra, Piranha, and the others all gathered groggily in the hallway. Crew Cut opened a satchel, and their handguns gleamed inside. “These are the ones you came with. Your rifles and shotguns are tagged at the arsenal—patrols only. But we encourage everyone to carry their sidearms. An armed society is a polite society.”

“Great,” Ursalina said, reaching for her Colt 9mm. She checked the clip, slid it back. That left only three handguns for six of them. Terry, Piranha, and Dean all grabbed Smith and Wessons.

Crew Cut nodded toward Ursalina. “Army?”

“Corporal, National Guard Hundred and Fourth. Vancouver. You?”

“Captain. Coast Guard Air Station, San Francisco,” he said. “What happened up there?”

“Freakstorm we couldn't handle.”

He nodded with sympathy. “Lot of that going around. Good to have a soldier.” He extended a hand.

She slapped it. “This soldier'll be glad to have a bunk.”

The ranch house was at the edge of town, near a cluster of fenced-in homes and the two-lane road leading to a more densely built area barely visible through the mist about two miles down the hill, probably a main street. A closer neighbor housed a stack of chicken coops, and another land parcel was home to grazing cattle. Cows. Cheeseburgers, on the hoof.

In the driveway, a surprise: Darius and Dean found their motorcycles waiting, still damp from an early-morning washing. Terry hadn't realized how grimy the Kawasaki and Honda were until he saw the clean cherry-red metal sparkling. Terry was happy for them, but he wished the bus were there too.

The Twins circled the bikes, whistling approval.

“Looking good!” Darius said.

“Who did this?” Dean sounded suspicious.

“I did,” Jackie said, behind them, just turning the hose off. Terry had thought he'd picked up a vibe from Jackie toward the Twins, but now he was sure of it.

In tight jeans and clinging sweatshirt, Jackie wasn't a bad picture either. Kendra glanced at him while he was appreciating the redhead, so Terry turned his studied gaze to the bikes instead.

Dean grinned. “Welcome wagon?”

“Nice wheels deserve a nice bath,” Jackie said.

“That's awfully . . . nice,” Darius said. “So, what do you deserve?”

Jackie winked. “Between the two of you, I'm sure you'll think of something.” Behind Terry, Piranha sucked in his breath and whispered
Dang
.

“Home sweet home,” Dean muttered, and grinned for the first time since Freak Day.

Jackie took over to escort them into town in her huge white pickup, and
they left the Gold Shirts behind. Terry wasn't sorry to be free of them. Darius and Dean guided the truck with their bikes, happy with the stares they triggered.

Downtown Domino Falls seemed to be about two dozen stores along a couple of blocks, and then a network of narrow roads leading off toward farmland and orchards. Three saddled horses tied to bicycle posts made the street look like a set from a Western. Except for that, Domino Falls might have been an ordinary town.

Terry had barely noticed that Kendra was holding his hand
again, as if their palms belonged together. That was just fine. The closer she stayed the better.

“Look at these,” Kendra said, tugging him toward a closed storefront. A store crammed with what looked like junk—antiques, maybe—had three paintings displayed in the window. The largest, in the center, was so realistic that it looked like a photo: a snapshot of the exact spot where they were standing on the street. But while the buildings were sharply focused, hundreds of blurry, identical people crowded the street from end to end, their faces turned upward to look at a single red ribbon hovering above them like a long, curled snake.

“Weird,” Terry said. He had never had much of a taste for art.

Kendra didn't answer, staring. After a moment, he moved her along to follow the others, who were already halfway down the block.

An elegantly painted wooden sign designated a two-story brick colonial building in the middle of Main Street, the town hall. After a quick heads-up from Jackie's walkie-talkie, they were met by a short, balding man in faded jeans and a checkered shirt. He spoke in an enthusiastic whine.

“Heard we had a group of young people!” he said. “Welcome, welcome. This is Domino Falls—or, as some of us like to call it, Threadville. We're so excited you made it. Been quite a while since we had seven in one day, much less in one group.”

“Hope you have room,” Piranha said.

The man laughed, but it changed tenor midway, more like a moan. “Oh, we've got room—a Travelodge and empty houses from folks who didn't make it. Fewer than a third of the people here are original townies. I'm Van Peebles, pretty much acting mayor, except we really never had a full-time mayor, just a town
council. But since things changed, we're a little more formal around here . . .”

Terry forgot Van Peebles's rambling as he stared at the waking town. With sunlight, more people were streaming to the main street: most on foot, many riding bicycles, a couple of Gold Shirts on horseback. Some had vendor carts and baskets they were setting up in front of empty storefronts or inside shops that were otherwise mostly barren. The people were clean and warmly dressed, gazing at them with only mild curiosity.

And there were dogs everywhere, about a dozen roaming without leashes. Hippy was having private sniffing exchanges with the town canines who ruled the streets. In a world where dogs could smell impending death, they were man's best friend indeed.

A few people smiled as they greeted one another. Terry overheard two stout men wondering if it would rain soon. A woman and a young girl were
laughing
over a shared secret in the woman's palm. Even the stray dogs looked well-fed. Domino Falls was more than Terry had hoped for. What
wouldn't
he give to stay in a place like this?

“We can't let everyone in,” the mayor said suddenly, stealing his thoughts. “That's the bottom line. Trade here is healthy, so we'll let you visit if you have reasonable barter, which means products or services our people want. Sometimes we can use good field hands.”

“What crops?”

“Good survival crops,” Van Peebles said. “Beans, peas, broccoli. Potatoes, cabbage, carrots, melons, peppers, sweet potatoes. High-yield, high-nutrition crops. Then we have specialty fields like craftsmen, physicians, nurses . . . that's always good. If you want sanctuary, you need the ability to work the jobs we assign. Children are exempted, and their parents are given special consideration.
We'll treat the infirm as best we can before we send them on, but . . .” He paused, watching them, perhaps projecting his own discomfort. “We're not monsters. We're just trying to survive.”

“You and the rest of the world,” Terry said.

“What happens to the people waiting outside?” Kendra said, the same question simmering in Terry's own mind.

Van Peebles sighed. “We've got our hands full with our own. They can stay outside the fence a few days, but then we send them on. Like I said, we can't take everyone.”

Terry thought of the old man by the fire and his crutch. Where would he go?

There was an awkward pause and Kendra leaped into it. “We'll be perfect citizens. If we stay, you'll never regret giving us a home.”

“And if we decide to leave, we'll leave as friends,” Terry said.

They all looked at one another, to make sure they were in agreement.

Van Peebles nodded but didn't smile. “Any relatives who can vouch for you?” he said. “Helps you get past probation much quicker.”

“No, sir,” Kendra said. “We just followed the radio.”

“That's too bad,” Van Peebles said. “Like most of the surviving townships, there are strong sanctuary rules for relations. If you petition to stay here . . .”

Kendra suddenly squeezed Terry's hand. Was it unconscious? He guessed she wanted to know more about other townships like Devil's Wake. But she kept silent.

“We're definitely petitioning,” Sonia said. “As of yesterday.”