The Outside (7 page)

I heard steps crunching back in the glass and candy. Alex’s lanky silhouette came into view.

“It’s clear,” he said, and I could hear the relief in his voice. “And there’s food.”

Ginger and I clambered though the window. I felt a tiny pang of guilt as I scavenged down the aisles, filling my apron pockets with packages of food. I tore open a candy bar, stuffed it into my mouth without really tasting it to quell the rumbling in my belly.

Alex had ripped open a door in the refrigerated section and was pawing through the sticky cans.

“No beer,” he mumbled. “I would really like a beer.”

Ginger gave him a dark look. “You’d have to fight me for it.” She lifted a bottle of clear liquid. “The vodka’s all mine.”

Alex swore. “Damn it. Looks like looters already got the rest of the good stuff.”

Funny how we didn’t consider ourselves to be looters. Just survivors.

I paused before a glass door. Behind it was a display of red and white Coca-Cola bottles. I had developed a sweet tooth for Coca-Cola on my excursions to the local English-run general store back at home. I reached in and grabbed a bottle. It was warm. I twisted off the cap and took a slug. It tasted hot and unsatisfying.

I turned toward the counter, stepping through ribbons of lottery tickets. I spied the aspirin, Band-Aids, and medicines behind the counter and figured we would need those.

And as I came around the edge of the counter, it was clear that the occupants of the store no longer needed them.

A rust-colored stain covered the gray speckled tile. It was large, as if someone had bled a great deal, but faint, as if it had happened a long time ago.

I crouched down. There were small swipes and rills in the stain. Sweat prickled the back of my neck. I had seen that pattern before, when I’d spilled milk on the floor and the dogs had licked it up.

“They’ve been here,” I said.

“There are more in the city than in the countryside. Simple math. Which is why we shouldn’t linger,” Alex said, reaching past me for a bottle of aspirin.

I nodded and retreated. I left my Coke on the counter, having lost my appetite. I stared at a stack of very thin newspapers. They were from six weeks ago, and the headline was “SUSPECTED VIRUS INFECTS EASTERN US—
RESIDENTS URGED TO STAY INDOORS
.” Only one page was printed. I scanned the article:

 

(AP) In a press conference from a bunker in Greenbriar, West Virginia, the president urged residents to remain calm. A highly contagious blood-borne pathogen with symptoms similar to rabies has infected major metropolitan areas in the eastern U.S., while similar reports of outbreaks are developing worldwide
.

“
We are working on a way to control the epidemic,” the president said. “But it is critically important to stay calm. The world’s top researchers at the Centers for Disease Control are working on a way to identify and isolate the pathogen. In the meantime, stay indoors and do not open your doors for anyone after dark
.”

When asked if there was any truth to the rumor that the pathogen arose from germ warfare, specifically Tuesday morning’s detonation of a dirty bomb in Washington, D.C., the president said that he could “neither confirm nor deny” such reports. He issued a similar response to rumors that the pathogen developed in Chernobyl, Fukushima, or nuclear testing sites in the Middle East
.

The National Guard will be enforcing quarantine orders in the following affected areas: New York, Baltimore, Washington, D.C.
. . .

 

I tucked away the paper to read later. It was old news, but perhaps we could glean something useful from it. I had been calling the creatures we were fighting vampires. The Hexenmeister had simply called them Darkness. It was useful shorthand for what we saw. But there was still doubt among Alex and Ginger about what they really were, of what fusion of myth and technology blighted our world.

Alex reached under the counter, began fiddling with a black machine with knobs, a radio the size of a large breadbox.

Ginger was beside him instantly. “Is the radio working?”

“I think the battery’s about gone.”

The two of them began poking and prodding the machine. I heard a low hiss, varying in volume as they changed the numbers on the dial.

Ginger grabbed a handheld device wired to the radio box and spoke into it: “Mayday, is there anybody out there? Over.”

Alex continued to fiddle with the dials. Perhaps they could summon a voice out of it, some hope that we were not alone.

“Mayday, mayday, is anyone out there? Over.”

I heard only the dull, rushing hiss. They continued to try to work the machine. Once, it seemed like there was a garbled human voice at the other end.

I held my breath.

“Repeat that? What’s your twenty?” Ginger’s fingers tightened on the microphone.

The voice sharpened and then faded.

“There are people out there,” she said, her knuckles white on the black plastic. “Probably in the city.”

“That’s a great way to get killed. We can’t fight a city of vampires, even in the daylight,” Alex said.

“But we have to find out what happened,” she protested.

“We may never know what happened,” Alex charged. “The only thing we can do is survive.”

Ginger threw the corded plastic microphone down on the countertop so hard that it bounced and struck a reel of lottery tickets. She stormed away to the back of the store.

Alex moved to follow her, but I caught his sleeve. “Give her some time,” I said, as soothingly as I could.

He grunted and went back to rummaging through the medicines.

I gravitated toward a strange contraption in the corner. It stood on four legs, and had a glass tabletop with colored bits of enamel and springs inside.

“It’s a pinball machine,” Alex said.

I blinked. “It makes . . . pinballs?”

“No. It’s a game. You put in a quarter.” He pointed to the slot. “A ball gets loaded here.” He gestured to a rod with a spring wrapped around it and pulled. It made a startlingly loud noise in the silence.

I jumped back, and he chuckled. “It’s a lot more fun when the power’s on. The ball hits the bells, and it lights up. You score points based on how long the ball’s in play.”

I leaned curiously over the glass. “Interesting.” I met his eyes. “You actually pay money for this?”

“Remind me to show you Pac-Man sometime.”

I frowned. “We play checkers or chess back home . . .” My voice trailed off. “Or, we did.”

Alex squeezed my shoulder. “Maybe we can find a chess set somewhere along the way.”

“There’s water!” Ginger exclaimed.

I turned, clutching my apron full of goodies. Ginger had emerged from a hallway marked
SHOWERS
. Her hair was wet, and she held a bottle of shampoo. She looked overjoyed.

“It’s working?” Alex’s face split into a grin. He let out a spontaneous whoop and tore off his jacket.

“Yes! I don’t know if it’s still what’s left in the pipes, but there’s water. And it’s even kind of warm.”

I scurried down the tiled hallway. Ginger had started a fire in a wastebasket, and the flames illuminated a bathroom. Lockers stood on the left side, sinks on the right. And beyond them, shower stalls. I wrapped my apron up, kicked off my shoes. I peeled off my dress, mindful to keep track of the pins that fastened it together, threw my bonnet and the rest of my clothes in a pile, and skidded into the nearest stall.

I turned the handle and held my breath.

A blessed stream of lukewarm water flowed out and over my head. I scrubbed it through my hair and over my face. I felt filthy. Not just from the grime of the journey. From the evil and destruction. From hopelessness. It clung to me like a corrosive film. I could feel evil creeping into my pores, feel my morality slipping down the drain. Each day, I was slipping further and further away from my faith. I had begun to demand things of God. I had surrendered to fear and doubt.

I choked back a sob. I felt that I was falling. Failing. I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t tell if there were tears on my face or just the warm water.

The sweet smell of violets assaulted my nose. I took a deep breath, savoring that innocent scent.

I felt hands in my hair, the soft lather of shampoo. Startled, I twisted back to find that Alex was massaging my scalp.

Naked.

I felt a flush crawling over my cheeks. “I . . .”

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen him in the nude before. I’d given myself to him back home. I knew that it had been wrong, violated every rule I’d been taught. But I cared for him. Not in a romantic, head-over-heels kind of passionate longing I’d seen glorified in the English magazines. Instead, I felt a deep steadiness when we were together, a quiet reservoir of strength. It made me wonder whether there were different kinds of love, for different kinds of people.

But it was still new, and I was still shy. My hands curled over my chest to cover myself, but my eyes roved over the water sluicing down his shoulders. The scarred ankh on his heart contrasted sharply with his fair skin, and I could see the black Djed pillar creeping up his neck in ink.

I don’t know that I could say that we were “in love” the way that they talk about in books. But it was the end of the world. “I thought you’d like this.” He held up a bottle of scented shampoo. Water dripped down his chiseled chin and he grinned sheepishly. “It says it’s ‘violet wisteria water blossom, with ylang ylang.’ I don’t know what that is, but it sounded girly, eh?”

“Where’s Ginger?” I managed to croak.

He jabbed a thumb behind him. “She’s out there, playing with a musical toothbrush.”

I could hear tinny jingling and happy chortling behind the trickle of water.

He tenderly wiped a glob of soap from my eye. “I . . .”

The water suddenly dropped in temperature, and I squealed. I thrust my soapy head under the cold water to finish rinsing off, then stepped back for Alex to do the same.

I beat a hasty retreat to the room with the wall-mounted hair dryers. Ginger was wrapped in a towel, bobbing her head along in time to her musical toothbrush.

I snatched up a towel from a pile in the corner and began to dry myself off. I’d gotten myself pinned back in my dress by the time Ginger had made herself decent. I looked down at my apron full of food and set about tying the corners together. Ginger didn’t mention the flush that still clung to my face, but I could feel the heat.

And that couldn’t be good. Not for me, and certainly not for the fragile state of my faith.

***

We’d scavenged through the convenience store in less than an hour, stuffing everything we could carry into plastic grocery bags and some mildewy-smelling laundry bags that we’d found in the shower area. We’d come away with some good first-aid supplies, some food, fresh water, and some lighters. Those would be helpful—though I could start a fire without one, it was time-consuming and very dependent upon the weather. I’d also found a small collection of brooms and mops that would make good stakes. And we’d found maps. Those were the most valuable things.

My heart soared a bit at our good fortune, and I set about tying the bags to Horace’s tack. He pressed his head into my chest and I rubbed his forelock.

“I promise not to leave you behind,” I murmured.

He seemed nervous, pawing and fussing at the packs I’d tied to him. I took this to mean that he wasn’t used to being used as a pack mule. But I was still eager to move on.

I glanced at the city skyline on the horizon, and longing welled up within me. I had always wanted to see the city someday, but it seemed that “someday” would never come. Not that my faith needed any more tempting.

Alex had hopped up into the cab of the nearest truck. It had a big, boxy trailer. I stared at the one with a cylindrical trailer parked next to it. I had seen trucks like this one at one of the bigger commercial dairy farms near my old home. But I didn’t think this one had milk in it. It bore a placard with an orange flame on it marked
FLAMMABLE
.

“No keys,” Alex announced, jumping down to the pavement.

I frowned. I wasn’t sure he could even manage to drive such a huge vehicle. Though I supposed that there were few penalties now if we hit anything.

“But I found something useful.” He threw a piece of black plastic at me.

I caught it, turned it over in my hand. It had jagged edges, as if he’d pried it out of the dashboard with a knife. It was a compass.

“How about this one?” I pointed to the flammable truck’s cab. I didn’t know if there was a way that we could switch out the trailers to accommodate Horace.

“There were keys in the tanker truck, but gas got siphoned from it. I already checked.”

I glanced at the puddle below it, wondering if it was gasoline. Squinting closer, I could see dripping from the metal seams.

Alex crossed to the back of the truck trailer. “Maybe there are some things we can use in here. If we’re lucky, it’s hauling a fully gassed-up Maserati.”

I didn’t know what a Maserati was, but it sounded like a good thing.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Ginger said. “I think we used up our luck on the candy bars.”

Alex reached up for the handle of the trailer door and pulled it down. “Probably not. If gas was scavenged, then there’s probably nothing else left for us to use.”

The door swung open, and Horace whinnied. The hair rose up on the back of my neck.

“Alex, don’t!” I screamed.

Pale hands reached out of the darkness of the trailer and dragged him inside.

I snatched up a broom and dug a lighter out of a bag with shaking and swollen fingers. I ran to the door of the truck. Chalky hands were already trying to pull it shut, but I saw that they smoked in the sunlight. I smelled burning meat.