Authors: Sophie Littlefield
“What was yours?”
Zihna grimaced. “Mary Chastity.”
“Oh, no.” Cass laughed and then Zihna was laughing too.
“Your dad said that didn’t fit me at all. And then he told me that Zihna means ‘spinning’ in Hopi. And, well, I thought it was pretty.”
“And what about Dad? Was he still going by Silver Dollar?”
“Yeah, he was. Showed me this old band flyer he used to carry around—‘Hammerdown, featuring Silver Dollar Haverford.’”
“You know…I took his name when I turned eighteen. Cass Dollar, it’s legal and everything. Mostly I think I just did it to piss off my mom.”
“Well, how about that.” Zihna grinned. “Save that up, maybe tell your dad the story one day when he needs a lift. I think he’d get a kick out of it.”
“So…how did you come up with Red?”
“Well, I asked him if I should just call him Tom, but your dad said it brought back memories he’d rather forget, that he wasn’t proud of being that man and he’d just as soon start over with something brand-new. And I said, anything I want? and he said, yes, anything, and I was going to tease him and maybe call him Skeeter or something but he was so…serious.”
Her voice went soft and dreamy and Cass felt like she was intruding on a private moment.
“Your dad can be a very serious man, for someone who makes me laugh every damn day,” Zihna said, smiling, but Cass didn’t miss the way she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Anyway, when I was a little girl, my grandfather used to listen to this old comedian named Red Skelton. We kids thought that was such a funny name. It made me think of a red skeleton, you know, the bones…anyway, your dad has this amazing thick hair for a guy his age, and when the sun hits it just right, I swear there’s these glints of red.”
Cass laughed. “I think you’re just a little dazzled. He’s pretty much gray all over.”
But secretly she was having a hard time keeping her emotions reined in. It shouldn’t matter to her, what her father did, who he was, after all this time.
But then again, why not let it matter?
“But that’s just it. Everyone has their own reality, right? I mean, we see the same things, but the thoughts in our head and the experiences we’ve had, all of that changes things, so the pictures we carry around with us are all different. Like, look up there…lot of folks would say that’s a ruin, a junk heap.”
Cass had been walking and thinking, not focusing on the horizon, but up ahead the torn flags and hulking wings of the mall stood out against the steely, damp clouds.
“But for a lot of folks, that’s home now. I imagine it’s got a certain kind of beauty when you think about how it couldn’t be much more secure, how it’s probably got a pretty good stockpile of necessaries, plenty of room to spread out.”
Cass tried to see what Zihna saw, but instead she got a deep foreboding, a tightening in her gut that could not be entirely explained by the bad architecture and gloomy weather.
“We shouldn’t go to the mall,” she breathed.
“What’s that, honey?”
“I have a bad feeling about the mall.”
“Well, let’s just send these East Coast yokels in, then.” Zihna laughed. “I don’t much care for them, they’re kind of uppity.”
Cass forced herself to brush the feeling off. It was true that they all needed a rest and a chance to dry out, as well as to restock their supplies, if possible. There was the unspoken but very real hope there might be room for at least some of them to live in the mall too, at least for a while. But the idea of all that concrete, so few windows… She wished she’d appreciated the freedom of the island more, the ability to step outside her home without worrying about Beaters, to walk in her garden without looking over her shoulder every second.
So many days and nights on the island, she worked so hard to forget that she failed to take notice of the good things—the beauty of the moon reflected in the river, the wind riffling the reeds that grew along the bank, the laughter of the children playing in the yard. The only time she let go of the tension lodged inside her was when she was with Dor. It was no wonder they came together with a passion that was almost violent: they both had so much loss to obliterate. And that’s what it had been, wasn’t it—tearing holes in their dreary and painful reality and letting in sensation, longing, even joy, if only until the tears skimmed over and their lives were shut tight again.
And now even that was lost to her. But she shouldn’t need him anymore—Cass berated herself; she had Smoke now, her heart, her love. Dor was in the past, just a phase she’d gone through, a crutch she’d relied on. As soon as Smoke was well, as soon as they were settled, it would be as before, the two of them together, being everything to each other.
Only…Smoke had been spending all his time with the new council. Reunited only days, he was already strategizing and planning, eager—maybe too eager—to work with the Easterners. It wasn’t glory he was after, Cass was sure of that. But something else…something familiar, something she had thought, had hoped, he had left behind on the battleground where he killed the Rebuilders.
He was still avenging. Even after the Rebuilders were no longer a threat, he was seeking…something. Maybe not vengeance, exactly, but atonement.
And still she didn’t know what he was atoning for. The thing that had always been between them was still there. He cherished his self-punishment more than anything else in the world, and nothing could banish it, nothing could ever be enough. He’d almost given his life as trade, but even that was not enough—as his strength came back he was already seeking ways to matter, ways to give, give of himself. And there would never be enough left over for her.
Knowing that had chilled Cass’s feelings. No longer did her heart race at the sight of him. No longer did the brush of his hand against hers excite her. He kept his distance and she, if she was truly honest with herself, kept hers.
Maybe the mall would be a fresh start. Maybe she needed time to be alone, without any man at all. She had a lot more in her life than she had a few weeks ago. There was Red, for starters, a father she’d given up for dead, for lost. There were the moms, the fragile peace between them. There was Zihna and Sammi and the other kids. And always, always, there was Ruthie.
It would be work, all the complicated messy relationships she’d damaged and scorned, learning to trust and to earn trust, to take risks and take deep breaths, try again and again, until she got it right. But God willing there would be time for that too.
“You’re right,” she said to Zihna, as cheerfully as she could.
Fake it till you make it.
“It’s going to be fine.”
Chapter 34
SOMEONE HAD BEEN working on the mall parking lot. The cars had been dragged away from the innermost spaces around the central entrance, and an area had been walled off with chain-link that looked like it had been scavenged piecemeal and then welded together. Inside the fencing were mismatched outdoor chairs and tables that looked like they had been taken from several different restaurants. A fire pit in the center made from stacked brick pavers was blackened and piled deep with ash.
They left the vehicles and horses at the far edge of the parking lot. There had been an undercurrent of excitement buzzing through the crowd all morning, a yearning to be indoors again, to see other citizens, but the council insisted on a break before they went inside, a chance to eat something and drink water. No one argued. Experience had taught them to take dehydration and hunger seriously enough that they broke their progress for a meal of kaysev, chewing methodically and with little satisfaction. The mothers coaxed the little ones to eat.Colton and Kalyan practiced tossing hard little dried kaysev chips into the air and catching them in their mouths, people good-naturedly cheering them when they managed a direct hit.
Still, the excitement and anticipation were palpable. When the meal was finished, the group hurriedly assembled and made its way through the parking lot, threading through the maze of cars. A few were parked neatly, as though their owners had come for a final trip to buy a sweater or a tube of lipstick, but many more were abandoned haphazardly, crashed into others or blocking lanes.
Nobody looked inside the cars. The smells had abated, but you never got used to seeing the decomposed corpses, the hair that was still styled the way it was on the morning they died, the leer of exposed jaws and teeth always making cadavers look cheerful and jaunty, in stark contrast to the horror of the eyes, which were often eaten away by parasites or dried to thin, flaking tissue.
But there were always remains outside of cars in places like this, people who waited until hunger or thirst drove them out of their cars, who made it a few yards or even a few hundred yards until they were set upon and devoured. These bodies—little more than skeletons, their clothing ripped from them and abandoned nearby—were the worst, and Cass and the other mothers held their children close and shielded their eyes from the sight of them.
Dor had somehow managed to get Sammi talking to him in the past couple of days, and though she didn’t look happy about it, she and the other kids stayed close to him. The girls who’d escaped the Rebuilders had remained silently loyal to him after they reached New Eden—Cass wouldn’t be surprised if Dor planned to protect them all. Other little cliques—Valerie and her friends, Luddy and his, Corryn and Rachael and the other kitchen staff—merged into one tight group as they neared the doors.
A hand on her shoulder, and there was Smoke, his cautious smile. “I’d like you to remain near me.”
Before she could respond, Mayhew leaped nimbly to the hood of a blue sedan at the edge of the cleared area. The rain had abated and weak sunlight forced its way through the clouds, and Cass had to squint to look at him.
“Everybody.”
His voice carried easily through the stillness of the parking lot, rebounding faintly, a trick of echoes. “Davis and Nadir went ahead to check things out. They found a couple of old kills around the corner, so we need to be careful. I think we’re better off all sticking together and going in. Once we get the lay of the place we can send some folks back out to deal with the cars and the horses.”
All of this was already in place, of course, so he wasn’t so much asking permission as building consensus. Not so different, it occurred to Cass, from the way New Eden had been run. And Mayhew was good at it, too, playing on people’s fears; at the mention of the Beater kills the crowd seemed to press in on itself.
“Did they see the Beaters?” a woman called…maybe Cindy, Cass thought. “The ones who did it? Or the nest—did they see the nest?”
“I think they may be using a mechanicals shed for a nest,” Mayhew answered easily, keeping his voice in a reassuring, even timbre. “Makes sense they’re around, trying to get into the mall, since there’s folks sheltering there.”
“Did you talk to anyone inside?” Dor, stepping out from the crowd.
“Not exactly. We got a visual. There’s a, what do you want to call it, like a sunken lobby in the middle, bunch of coffee shops and restaurants, seating. There were about eight or ten people there, but Davis couldn’t get their attention from up here through the windows. That’s good glass, by the way. Solid as all heck, just needs some Windex.” He smiled at this joke, a gesture reminiscent of television.
“So maybe we should send in one or two people first,” Dor said, ignoring the few titters Mayhew’s joke earned, his tone making it clear he thought Mayhew was an idiot. “Before we risk our entire population. What do you think?”
Mayhew stared at Dor without blinking, and the people in the crowd looked back and forth from one to the other. Cass knew the popular opinion had swayed to Mayhew, but there was enough uncertainty that she knew the outcome hung in the balance between them.
“The way to risk lives is to keep standing out here, where there’s a known Beater threat,” he said impatiently. “Davis saw citizens, they were sitting together talking, eating, whatever. Just like you guys were doing a few days ago, just like I was, with my own loved ones, a few weeks back. Look, at least two of you have been here recently and confirmed that it’s a friendly group—”
“If you call two months recent,” Dor cut in, his voice rising angrily. “Things change fast. As I guess you might know, Mayhew.”
“And so I suggest we break into this door here and if nothing else, we’ll have a warm and dry place to let the kids run around a little,” Mayhew continued, as though Dor hadn’t spoken.
“You won’t have to break in. This group doesn’t lock their doors from the outside,” Dor said, disgusted. “The mechanical ones don’t work at all, but there’s a safety latch on the emergency doors, under the push bar. The Beaters haven’t had the dexterity to work them so they leave them unlocked so citizens can come in quickly. They only lock them on the inside.”
“So much the better.” Mayhew smiled, his expression chilly. He walked over to the door and ran his hand along the bar. There was a click and the door opened. “Okay, look, MacFall, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll go first. We can keep the women and kids in the back. Let’s just get in there, everyone can take off their packs, rest a little while we look around, talk to the folks.”
“Only a damn fool would go in alone,” Dor said, and strode to the door.
“Guess we’re two damn fools, then,” Mayhew said sarcastically. “But I appreciate the company. Anyone else?”
The Easterners stepped up, as well as a few others. The rest of the crowd murmured approvingly. Clearly the popular vote was for Mayhew. Again.
They entered single file, Nadir holding the door open. Inside, there was a faint hint of the smell that permeated every mall, Before, industrial cleaners and plastic and perfume. But there was also the shelter smell—notes of burned food, urine and bodies living in close contact with little opportunity to bathe.
Oddly, Cass found it comforting.
“I think you should carry Ruthie.” Smoke had appeared quietly at her side. “And stay in the back of the crowd, with me.”
So he felt the same as Dor and as Cass herself, that there was something off here. But she wasn’t about to stay outside without protection from the Beaters, no matter how long it had been since they’d swarmed in the area. She picked Ruthie up without a word.
“Hello!” Mayhew called, as the crowd walked along the broad hallway into the mall’s upper floor. The entire ceiling was made of glass and plenty of natural light filled the open areas. Many of the storefront windows had been shattered, the contents looted, but the debris had all been swept away and the mannequins and displays stacked against the walls, leaving most of the stores clear in the center. As they passed, Cass could see that many of the clearings had been made into homes; shelves held personal possessions, stacks of clothes, stores of food. Curtains had been hung to lend some privacy to the living quarters; posters and lamps and other merchandise had been moved into the spaces to personalize them. Other than the fact that everything was new, the atmosphere was not so different from the middle of the Box, where the employees made their permanent homes.
But where was everyone?
The group reached the rail overlooking the atrium. Just as Mayhew had described, there were restaurants with tables arranged in the center area, even evidence of a recent meal, dishes and cutlery on the tables—but no one was around.
“So where are all these citizens you were talking about?” Dor demanded.
“They were right down there,” one of the Easterners said, puzzled. “We looked in from that window up there, there’s stairs up there from the parking lot. There were at least eight of them before. Mostly women. Maybe they’re cleaning up, they must have a separate area for the kitchen—”
A hollow sound stopped him, footsteps echoing from around a curve in the hall that led to another wing. A man stepped into sight. He was good-looking, exceptionally so, with curly brown hair and wide blue eyes. He wore an expensive-looking red sweater that fit him well. His mouth curved in a hint of a smile, and he moved slowly, confidently, a hint of swagger in his stride. There were weapons on his belt, but he made no move to reach for them.
“Hi,” he said.
From behind him, three more people followed, two women and another man. All of them looked healthy and well fed, if slightly disheveled. “Hi,” one of the women said, touching her hand to her face. None of these others held weapons.
“Good to see you,” Mayhew said, stepping forward with his hand extended. “We’re up from the south, a shelter about fifty miles from here. New Eden, you know it?”
“Eden…” said the man. “Eden.”
The uneasiness in Cass’s gut unraveled into full-scale alarm. Something was wrong, very wrong. “Those people,” she said to Smoke. “They’re not right.”
Mayhew reached the little group and stood awkwardly for a moment with his hand extended. After a pause, the man in front reached for his hand and they shook.
“I’m Damon Mayhew.”
The man stared at him with his mouth suddenly slack. “Havoc.”
“Havoc…I’m sorry?”
“Sorry,” the man repeated, with an odd little grin. Then he lifted Mayhew’s hand to his face, as though he meant to kiss it with a courtly flourish.
And Cass screamed.
And kept on screaming, joined by other voices, other terrified Edenites, because instead of kissing Mayhew the curly-haired man licked his wrist delicately, and Mayhew, who hailed from the East and had never seen a Beater in the early, airy stages of the disease, who had time to run but didn’t, didn’t, didn’t, stood there doing nothing while the man smiled wider and then nipped into his skin with perfect white teeth.
Mayhew yelped and jumped back, grabbing his wrist with his other hand but not before Cass saw the little jagged rip dotted with blood. The man who’d bitten him had been recently turned, still had the initial shine of the fever, and he would not attack. This little group would not tackle Mayhew and drag him away to feast upon, even though Cass now noticed the cuts and scabs on their hands and wrists, a gash on one woman’s face, the rosy sheen and bright eyes that were the hallmarks of the sickness. In this phase, they merely nibbled idly, on themselves and each other, their bites more exploratory than savage, nothing like the ravenous hunger that would soon follow. In their fever, they practically glowed.
Mayhew still didn’t understand what was happening, rubbing at his arm and scowling, but the Edenites did.
They ran. Most ran back toward the doors they’d entered through, though a few raced in the other direction toward a T in the rows of shops. Cass had Ruthie in her arms and Smoke at her side and they were not as fast; others—including the Easterners who finally figured out what was going on—passed them by, hurtling with a speed born of terror.
“Go on!” Smoke yelled at Cass. “Take Ruthie, just go!”
He was fumbling at his belt, he had his gun—they had Red to thank for that, Cass’s father had outfitted Smoke with his second-favorite piece in a gesture that seemed oddly old-fashioned, a courtly tradition of another era. Now she was grateful. Now she understood what Smoke meant to do and prayed for the bullet to find its target.
The curly-haired man went down first, his head canting to the side in a burst of blood, his body thrown against the half wall overlooking the atrium, his hands clutching air.
Smoke shot Mayhew second, taking off the top third of his skull, dropping him to his knees with a surprised expression on his face, and as Smoke fired twice more and Cass’s ears rang with the echoing report, the thought that came to mind was that Mayhew would never know why he’d been killed, he’d never know why the people of New Eden turned on him.
But he should have. On this side of the Rockies, at least, everyone knew. Everyone had seen a new Beater and knew they were every bit as deadly as the oldest ones that shambled, flayed and broken, toward their inevitable end.
The female Beaters lay on the floor, one of them silent and still, the other gut-shot and trying to move, shrieking in pain and rage, crawling over her own entrails toward them. Smoke fired again and she crumpled like a moth hit with a garden hose.