The Remaining: Fractured (26 page)

Greg was in. He had been in from the start, because Jerry had seen him as a means to an end—Greg wasn’t fooling himself about that—but lately the relationship had seemed to adopt a more mutual feel. They needed each other. It was a symbiotic relationship. They both wanted to run Camp Ryder in their own ways, and they assisted each other to their ends.

Jerry’s was control.

Greg’s was gain.

So let Jerry think that Arnie and Kyle were idiots. He wouldn’t contradict Jerry while they stood on the receiving end of one of his tirades. But out of the office Greg knew he had to have his guys’ backs.

He spread his hands out. “Come on, guys. You’re doin’ this to yourself.”

Arnie made an exhausted noise. “Man, it was my fault. I just didn’t think we were gonna get Mr. Keith through the fence without him raising some sort of hell. I figured it’d be easy just to handle it out back. Shit, no one ever goes back there.”

 “Well, this time someone did.” Greg rubbed his face. “You guys gotta play this shit a little bit smarter, alright? We gotta have Jerry’s back. Can’t put him in shitty spots. Otherwise he’s gonna get a bad taste in his mouth and he’s gonna find other people to do his work.” Greg looked at Arnie and Kyle. “And we need that work. Scrap and scavenge is the one commodity left in this world, gentlemen. And right now we’ve got a monopoly on it.”

Arnie and Kyle both nodded.

“My bad,” Arnie said. “Won’t happen again.”

“Alright.” Greg turned back around and started marching down the stairs. “Go find that little shit. I’ll deal with this cunt, Angela.”

***

The medical trailer was a mess of people. The beds were no longer in use, because there was no point in keeping the people with pneumonia in them when there was no cycle of antibiotics to administer at a particular time. So Jenny had been sending them home with instructions to rest. If they had loved ones to look after them, she told them to keep them hydrated, and try to keep them well fed. If they didn’t have anyone to look after them, Jenny made sure she stopped by their shanty several times each day to try to give them what they needed.

Now the medical trailer contained four newcomers, all of them coughing wetly into their hands, and Angela standing there with Jenny, watching them and imagining each person surrounded by a cloud of infectious germs. She didn’t want to breathe, kept subconsciously taking short, shallow gulps of air instead.

Jenny looked bewildered. “I’ve got nothing for these people,” she murmured to Angela.

Angela shook her head. “I think everyone’s here for the cold-flu thing.”

Jenny nodded. She raised her voice so everyone could hear. “Please raise your hands if you are displaying any of these symptoms: pain in the chest when you cough or breathe; dark colored mucus, or if it’s got blood in it; feeling short of breath; or if you’re running a fever.”

The four people looked about hesitantly. They all raised their hands.

Jenny’s face was grim. “That’s what I thought. Okay. Look, folks, I’m speaking to all of you now, so listen up.” They coughed and sniffed and stared at her expectantly. “I have no medications whatsoever. There is nothing that I can give any of you that will make you better right now.” She glanced at the floor. “I’ll be submitting a request to Greg and his team for antibiotics and cough medicine, but right now I have nothing that can help you. As for the symptoms I just mentioned…” she sighed. “…You probably have pneumonia. Right now, it’s best for you to try to stay warm and to rest up. Drink plenty of fluids. Make sure you’re eating carbohydrates—oats, rice, sugars.”

She looked at them. “You’re all otherwise healthy middle-aged adults, so you’ve got a great chance of just beating this thing on your own. But if your symptoms do get worse, please send someone to come get me. I’ll be coming by your houses and checking on you, and as soon as I can get some medication, I’ll be addressing the worst cases.” She shrugged. “That’s all we can do for now.”

Rather than arguing or bickering, the tiny crowd simply seemed to droop, as though they didn’t have the energy to protest. Then they turned and shuffled out of the medical trailer.

Jenny watched them go, the hard feeling showing on her face. She wrapped her arms around herself. “God, I feel so fucking useless.”

Angela reached out, rubbed the woman’s arm. “Hey. We got some rounds to make.”

Jenny nodded. “Yeah…”

The trailer clanged three times, hard knuckles wrapping on the metal sides.

Angela and Jenny both looked up sharply.

Greg stood at the entrance to the trailer, his head turned as he watched the last of the sick people file out of the trailer and disappear into their shanties. He frowned at them, holding a hand over his nose and mouth as though it would protect him from invading germs. When the last of them had gone he removed the hand and gave the slightest of shudders, then turned his attention back to Jenny and Angela.

“Jenny,” he said, familiarly.

“Greg,” she replied, cautiously.

Angela took a step forward, wished that she hadn’t—didn’t want to be any closer to this man. “What the hell do you want, Greg?”

“Whoa,” he held up his hands. “Settle down.” Then he tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “Jerry wants to talk to you.”

Angela touched her chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

Her mind exploded with warning bells and whistles and questions.
Why does he want me? Did he overhear something? Did someone say that I’d gone behind his back? Did Greg hear me and Jenny talking and report it back to Jerry? Why would Jerry want to speak with me? I didn’t say anything during his town meeting, why the fuck is he mad at me?

Shaking, but trying to not make it obvious, she raised her chin up. “Why me? What’s wrong?”

Greg gave a small shake of his head. “You’re gonna have to talk to him, Angela. He just asked me to come get you.”

A hand squeezed hers.

She looked back, found Jenny putting on a brave face. “It’ll be okay.”

Angela nodded, mimicked the face, but it didn’t feel right on her. Then she turned back to Greg and followed him out of the trailer. Oddly, as she walked, she thought of Abby’s torn jacket and how she had not been able to mend it yet. She’d been caught up with Jenny and then the town meeting, and then the medical trailer…

“You know we’re out of medications, don’t you?” Angela asked quietly.

Greg gave her a sidelong glance. “Alright.”

“I only mention it because you are the one we’re supposed to be requesting items from.”

“Isn’t that Jenny’s field?”

“I suppose so.”

“I’ll talk to Jenny about what she needs.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Anything you need?” Greg tossed a small wave to a friend as they walked by. “Me and the guys’ll be heading out tomorrow, so if you need something, now’s the time to request it.”

Angela looked at him, wondered what was going on in his head. Her first instinct was to tell him she didn’t need or want anything from him. But what would that gain her? He seemed neutral towards her at this point, and being rude to him would only push him away. An enemy was something she seemed to have a surplus of at this moment, and didn’t want to add any names to the list.

“Warm clothing for my girl,” she said quietly as they stepped out of the sunshine and into the shade of the Camp Ryder building. “She’s small, only about four feet. She needs a good jacket. Some warm pants. Gloves. A winter hat. Things like that.”

Greg ascended the cement steps to the Camp Ryder building ahead of her and pulled the door open, allowing her through. “I’m sure we can find something. All this shit went down in the summer, so most everybody that packed up and hit the road left behind all their winter clothes.”

She stopped at the stairs, unsure how to feel about Greg at this point in time, but positive that she shouldn’t let her guard down. Reservedly, she gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

He didn’t respond, but instead, pointed to the top of the stairs where the Camp Ryder office was located. “Jerry’s up there waiting on you.”

She took the stairs, forcing one foot in front of the other as she pushed away thoughts and images of the last time she had taken these steps, the last time she had been in this office, kneeling next to Bus, his chest hitching and spurting. Then being dragged down kicking and screaming, to be locked away in the dark for a few days.

By the time she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she was angry again.
Fuck Greg. Fuck Jerry and all of his friends. But for right now, you play the game. You play the game and you make them think you are cooperating, that you’re no danger to them. You make them think that you’re just a little lady and you’re terrified of them.

And she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t scared. It would be unreasonable for her not to be. Jerry and his people could hurt her. They could hurt Abby, and Sam, and anyone that she loved and cared for. There was no doubt in her mind about that.

But she would not let the fear
paralyze
her.

She would not let it control her.

Angela stepped into the office, found Jerry sitting at his desk, staring up at the map on the wall. The map that Lee had once used, the marks that he’d made still evident on the paper. The danger zones shaded in red. The state split into three sectors—Camp Ryder in the middle. Like a puzzle that would never be pieced together.

Had he really abandoned them? She couldn’t believe that he had. But then, why hadn’t he returned? Was he hurt? Was he incapacitated? Was he trapped somewhere, hoping people would come looking for him?

Was he dead?

You can’t think about that now.

Think about Jerry.

Think about the game.

She looked down from the map, found Jerry staring at her.

“Angela,” he said, standing. “Please come in. Shut the door.”

Angela hesitated, but turned and shut the door behind her. She kept her hands clasped in front of her because she knew they would ball into fists if she let them. She focused on trying not to let her bald hatred of the man show on her face. Tried only to show compliance. Subservience.

“You wanted to see me?”

Jerry stepped around his desk. Leaned back onto it. “I know that you have no inclination to cooperate with me, given the…” he searched for the right word. “…
combative
nature of our relationship. However there are other people involved now, so we’re going to have to put our little differences aside to help each other out.”

Angela felt her stomach flutter. “What do you mean?”

Jerry looked at her for a long time, as though assessing her. Finally, he took a deep breath and said it: “When’s the last time you saw Keith Jenkins?”

For a moment she felt like she was on a pitching boat. “Just this morning. Like, a few hours ago. Why? What’s wrong?”

Jerry looked grave. “He seems to have gone missing.”

***

Kyle jogged up to Greg as he walked around the back of Shantytown, between the shacks and the fence. The younger man pointed behind him in the direction of Angela’s place. “They’re in the house. Both of the kids—the little girl and the Arab kid.”

“Is Arnie watching the house?” Greg asked, but then answered his own question as he turned onto the row of shanties and could see Arnie standing discreetly, a few doors down from Angela’s. Greg motioned him over. “You two get lost,” he mumbled. “The kids are gonna be scared shitless of you two right now. I’ll talk to them. In the meantime, go walk around the back of the building and make sure there’s nothing—
nothing
—that can implicate you. No blood spatter. No shoe prints. Nothing.”

Kyle and Arnie both nodded hastily and then disappeared. Greg took off his dirty old ball cap, rubbed an itch on his receding hairline, then replaced it. He walked calmly down the row. These little huts built of scrap were becoming little more than hollowed-out piles of trash. As the original structure began to deteriorate in the steady wetness of a North Carolina winter, people were simply adding more crap on top of the old crap, sealing leaks, increasing the insulation, propping up boards that propped up other boards that propped up sheets of corrugated siding.

Pretty soon it’ll just look like a giant fucking junkyard, and we’ll burrow into the trash at night like fucking moles.
He wrinkled his nose.
Develop our own fucking language. Start fucking our relatives. Fifty years and we’ll be deformed and inbred. Gibbering nonsense when they find us.

Luckily, Jerry’s plan for complete isolation wouldn’t last.

But it suited Greg for now.

He stood at the flap of blue tarpaulin, rapped his knuckles on a piece of wood. “Hello?”

From inside there was shuffling and whispering.

“Are you kids alright in there?” Greg asked, his voice concerned.

A little girl’s voice: “Sam, I’m scared. What’s going on?”

Then a slightly older, boy’s voice: “Who’s there?”

“Hey, it’s Greg,” he leaned on the shanty. “I don’t really think you know me, but I saw you running across the field and…well, it looked like you might be in trouble. Is everything okay?”

“Go away.”

Greg clenched his jaw. Not the reaction he hoped for. Clearly, the caring adult tactic was not going to work. Either this kid was a suspicious little fuck, or he’d seen Kyle and Arnie with Greg and assumed they were all part of Keith Jenkins’ murder.

Time to change tactics.

“Buddy, you know this is just a tarp between us, right? If I wanted to barge in and hurt you, I would have done it already. I’m just trying to talk to you, see what the problem is. But if you don’t come out and talk to me…”

The tarp shifted. Then pulled aside.

The kid’s brown face looked up at Greg with a combination of fear and contempt. “What do you want?” he said, almost a harsh whisper.

“It’s Sam, right?” Greg asked. He considered smiling, but decided against it. Faking it wasn’t going to fly. It was time for plain, old honesty. It seemed to be what this kid would react best to.