“So, you, Lazlo, and Harlow are living together then?” Blue asked, carefully dressing my wound. He taped a square piece of gauze over it, then wrapped another long piece of gauze around my waist several times to help hold it in place.
“Yeah, I guess we are.”
“You know, you could’ve told Lazlo about this,” Blue lowered his voice.
“I know,” I sighed. “I just…” What? I didn’t even know, really. I just felt better keeping things to myself. It felt safer, both for me and for Lazlo.
“You should cut him some slack.” Blue had finished fixing me up, so he pulled down my shirt “He was crazy worried about you. He really likes you.”
“Yeah, well, who doesn’t?” I tried to play it off as a joke, so Blue shook his head. I exhaled and looked down at the floor. “I know. But…” I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s too hard caring about people. I already care about him too much. What more am I supposed to do?”
“That’s up to you.” Blue stood up and took off his rubber gloves. “It’s clean, for now. But you need to wash it and keep it as clean and dry as possible. I’ll check on it again in a few days. But if its gets redder, has excessive discharge, or starts to smell, you need to come see me right away.”
“Yes, sir.” I saluted him.
Lazlo poked his head out a minute later, then came out and talked to Blue. He purposefully kept his back to me, and I had a feeling I’d have to deal with that for a while.
But he didn’t need to know everything that was going on with me. Besides, it wasn’t as if I shut him out to spite him. I was trying to protect him, too.
After Blue left, Lazlo huffed about the trailer, making as much noise as possible without saying anything. Realizing that I had to say something to get him to knock it off, I told him that I had been cut in an embarrassing place and didn’t want him to see. That relieved him, and he smiled and made a lame joke about my body being nothing to be ashamed of.
Harlow came back carrying several bags filled with clothing. Her long blond waves had been pulled back in a hair tie, and I demanded she share one with me. She talked at crazy speeds, excitedly showing Lazlo and me everything after I put my hair up in a messy bun.
Most of her clothes consisted of skirts and dresses, all of which she claimed she could “fix” because she could sew. Bishop had been convinced jobs involving sewing and repairing clothing would be idea for Harlow, and she actually sounded kind of thrilled about it.
The clothes she picked out for Lazlo were equally attractive, of the tight tee shirt and jeans variety. Not that he couldn’t pull it off, because he really could, but I hated that even in the thrift store during the end of the world, they could both still manage to look good.
Harlow’s one big complaint: no combat boots. Hers had been destroyed when we got here because of excessive zombie goop, and Bishop didn’t have any replacements. Although, as Lazlo kindly pointed out, we were on an army base. There had to be a pair of combat boots here she could fit into, and obtaining new boots became her life’s mission.
She went to put her clothes away in her room, carefully arranging and folding them, while I set my sack in the hall closet. I knew I could theoretically put them in the master bedroom, but I still wasn’t ready for the conversation about sleeping arrangements.
I changed out of my bloodied tee shirt and gray sweats in favor of brown pants and a white thermal shirt.
After she had finished, Harlow said we should head down to lunch. Since Lazlo and I had no idea where we were going, we followed her. I’m not even sure how she knew her way through the maze of trailers. As we walked, it became apparent that many of the trailers were empty. The government had planned for a lot more survivors than there actually were.
We walked on a dirt trail amongst the more inhabited homes, and some of them really did look like homes. One of them even had a small flower garden by the front steps, with a bent Radio Flyer filled with rocks sitting next to it.
In the window, a child had colored and cut out pictures of the sun and rainbows and taped them to the glass. I stopped, admiring them. People were really alive here, and I couldn’t help the excited, warm feeling that left inside me.
A familiar throaty growl interrupted my thoughts. I cocked my head, not sure that I heard right, and then it came again.
Ripley.
Without waiting for Lazlo and Harlow to follow, I darted between the trailers, rushing to where I thought I’d heard her. I changed direction twice, because her roars echoed off the trailers, throwing me off course. Harlow and Lazlo were right on my trail, which led me to believe that I was more injured than I thought. Normally, I could outrun them both.
I saw her. Near the brick walls surrounding the quarantine, a heavy chain link cage had been set up. I’m assuming it had always been there, because I don’t know where they would’ve gotten fencing just for her. It wasn’t very big, smaller than our trailer, but it was a lot larger than the dog run we’d had for our collie when I was a kid. Barbed wire ran along the top, in case Ripley decided to climb out.
A small crowd had gathered around, mostly young kids, and Ripley paced the cage back and forth, roaring unhappily.
“Ripley!” I wanted to rush to her, but because of the crowd of people, I settled for walking quickly.
As soon as she heard me say her name, her ears perked up, and she looked at me and roared. She stood up on her
hinc
legs, pressing her front paws on the fence, and swished her tail.
I put my hands on the fence, sticking my fingers through the holes, and she bowed her head, rubbing it up against them. It was the first time I had ever really pet her, and she nuzzled up against the fence, purring.
They had taken the chain off from around her neck, and when I saw the thick, chafed ring it left on her skin, I felt guilty for not taking it off sooner.
“Is this your lion?” a little boy asked in an awed tone.
“No. Ripley doesn’t belong to anybody,” I said, then realized the irony of my statement when I looked at the cage holding her. I swallowed hard, but Ripley just kept rubbing against the fence, her course fur brushing against my fingers. “What is she doing here?”
“She’s a zombie killer,” Bishop said, and I turned to see her standing behind us. “They just brought her in a few hours ago. They saw her attacking zombies, and they thought they could use her. She came with you?”
“Yeah,” I nodded and looked back at Ripley. She stood there, staring at me with her big golden eyes, and swished her tail.
“She’ll be a great asset here,” Bishop said, then added for my benefit, “They’ll take care of her.”
Ripley didn’t need anybody to take care of her. She was the most badass thing alive, but I didn’t say that. I just scratched the side of her head when she rubbed it against the cage. She must’ve really missed me, because I’d never seen her so happy to see me before.
“She’s a really good cat.” Harlow came up next to me to pet her, too. “She deserves to be treated good.”
“I’m sure she is, and I’m sure she will,” Bishop replied, smiling. “But lunch is ready, and we should all eat.” She raised her voice, speaking to the crowd around us. “Everyone, lunch is served!”
The people started dispersing, heading to the mess hall, and Harlow stopped petting Ripley and took a step back. Bishop lingered for a moment longer, then went with the group. I stayed at the fence, feeling like it would betray Ripley somehow if I just walked away.
“She really is safe in there, you know.” Lazlo leaned against the fence next to me. Ripley eyed him for a second, then continued rubbing her head against the chain link. “You should find comfort in that.”
“She doesn’t belong in a cage.”
“She’s spent her whole life in cage,” Lazlo countered. “Until the past few weeks. She doesn’t really know the difference.”
“She knows,” I insisted.
“We’re all in a cage, anyway,” Lazlo gave a derisive look around.
“It doesn’t mean we belong here, either.”
“Are you guys coming or what?” Harlow asked. She had walked a few feet away from us, and she waited impatiently.
“Come on.” Lazlo took my hand in his, and I let him.
He coaxed me away from Ripley’s cage, and when I looked back at her, she’d flattened her ears and looked confused. We walked around a trailer, out of her sight, and she roared sadly once.
A giant green canvas tent served as the mess hall. At least four or five hundred people were seated at picnic tables or waiting in line for a long buffet of food. I hadn’t been around this many people in a long time, and it was almost overwhelming.
Lazlo saw my deer-in-headlights reaction and squeezed my hand. Harlow adjusted to the situation better than I did and had already grabbed a thin metal tray from the end of the buffet. Lazlo and I stood behind her in line.
I let go of his hand and got a tray. Most of our choices were of the vegetable variety, but that was fine by me. After seeing the way zombies tore into flesh, my appetite for meat had gone way down. I got a few tomato slices, cooked carrots, and some kind of weird freeze dried rice, and then went to find a seat at table.
I ate without saying much, and Harlow started a conversation with a woman sitting across from us. She was here with her niece and a boy they’d found along the way. She pointed at the little boy who had been so awed by my relationship with Ripley, and he hurried over to sit by us. He tried talking to me, and when I only muttered responses, Lazlo made excuses for me.
An excited sound welled through the tent. Pvt. Tatum and a few of his friends walked in, and people immediately flocked to them. Lazlo’s fame became insignificant. The real rock stars here were the soldiers, as it should be.
“I’ll be right back.” I got up and pushed my tray away.
“What?” Lazlo gave me a confused look but didn’t follow when I walked over to Tatum.
I shoved gently through the people gathering around them. Tatum saw me coming, and his expression varied between bemused and annoyed. On the positive side, he parted a few people so it’d be easier for me to get to him.
“You seem to be adjusting well,” he smiled.
“Yeah, I’m adjusting great, thanks,” I said, brushing it off as politely as I could. “Did you hear anything about my brother?”
“You know, I’m actually off duty right now.” Tatum continued with his smile and gestured to his apparel. He had dressed down to a green tee shirt and tan pants. With his helmet gone, his eyes weren’t hidden in the shadows, and I could see something mischievous in them. “Well, as off duty as a soldier a can get.”
“I know, and I appreciate that, but I’m not asking you track him down this second,” I said. “I’m just asking if you know if he’s here or where he might be.”
“I was gonna come find you later.” He ran a hand through his crew-cut blond hair. “Come here.”
“What?” My heart dropped.
“Just c’mere.” Tatum grabbed my arm, not gently but not enough to really hurt, and pulled me away.
My mouth felt dry, and my heart pounded so fast, it hurt. My feet didn’t really seem to want to cooperate either, and I welcomed him dragging me along. I looked over my shoulder just before he led me out of the tent. Lazlo had gotten up from the table in some gesture to protect me, but I just shook my head.
I didn’t want him barging out here and preventing Tatum from telling me something. Whatever he wanted to say, he wanted to do it in private, because even his army buddies weren’t following us.
“What?” I demanded, pulling my arm back when I felt like we’d gone far enough. “What’s going on?”
“I have confirmation,” Tatum said hesitantly. “Your brother’s here. But you can’t see him.”
– 18 –
Intense relief flooded over me, and I wrapped my arms around myself to keep from visibly shaking. Up until the second he said my brother was here, I had been convinced he would tell me Max had died.
“What? Why the hell can’t I see Max?” I asked, relieved that I kept the tremble out of my voice.
“Keep your voice down,” Tatum looked back over his shoulder, but nobody was around us. “I brought you out here so you wouldn’t make a scene.”
“Why would I make a scene?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you anything.” He lowered his voice and leaned in closer to me.
“Why not? What’s going on?” I demanded.
“I don’t know.” Tatum shook his head. “Whatever’s going on with your brother, it’s very classified. He came in the middle of the night on a truck with officers and doctors, but no other civilians. Nobody I know has seen him, and they got very uptight when I started asking about him.”
“But he’s alive?” I rubbed the back of my neck and looked away from his intense stare. The wound on my hip tingled, like some kind of
Tell Tale Heart
reminder.
“As far as I know.” Tatum narrowed his eyes at me. My lack of bravado about hearing the word classified triggered something. “Do
you
know what’s going on with your brother?”
“How could I know?” I tried to return his scrutiny evenly. “He’s locked up, like a prisoner even though he’s an eight-year-old little boy! I have no idea what’s happening to him!”