Roadtrip Z_Season 2_In The Ruins Read online

  Not on her, at least. She shouldn’t have to look that way.

  “Ginny?” He tried again. “Virginia?” There was a clatter from the kitchen, and Steph’s bright young laughter escaped through the swinging door.

  It would have been easier if she was crying. Instead, Ginny stared, dry-eyed, her jaw working a little bit. Grinding her teeth? Or maybe trying to keep something shoved down.

  He couldn’t think of anything else to do, so Lee cupped a hand over her shoulder. Her coat wasn’t thick enough to keep her warm, not with the way she was shivering. It was a subtle movement, a thin hummingbird tremor, invisible until you got close.

  Real close.

  “Ginny.” He searched for the right tone. Soft, but firm. “Sweetheart?” It just slipped out. Not like he hadn’t already made himself plain, but still. There was always that moment you broke cover, even when there wasn’t likely to be any shootin, that made a man nervous.

  Got her attention, though. She focused on him, big dark eyes swimming through the thousand-yard stare to focus. “How long?” She blinked, and came back home. “What I mean is, did you ever come into the library when I wasn’t working there?”

  It probably wasn’t what she really wanted to ask, but he answered anyway. “Some.” When I needed me a Chilton’s. Or to suss out a diagram.

  “When did you…” Maybe she didn’t even know what she wanted to ask. He didn’t have a clue why she was asking him now, but if it got that dull, fixed expression off her pretty face, he would give whatever answer she wanted to hear.

  “Saw you at Landy’s. Kept my ears open and heard you were in town on Sundays. Decided I could do more readin.” It sounded simple, and in the beginning, it had been. Just once, he’d told himself the first time. Then, when he was in the library, he felt like a fool and couldn’t very well walk out empty-handed, now could he? After that first time, there were always the books to take back, punctual, every week.

  It had taken him a month or two to begin reading any of them, because he felt damn ridiculous just ferrying them around.

  “Oh.” Ginny nodded, slowly, as if he’d said something profound. “I wondered.”

  Probably wasn’t all she was wondering. “I ain’t a stalker, Miss Virginia.” Well, maybe he was, a little. But he had good intentions, right? All the way down to hell, Nonna would have said. Lord, but he wished Nonna was on hand to give him a few pointers. Of course, she’d just tell him he was being a fool, which was nothing Lee Quartine didn’t already know.

  “No.” Ginny’s dark gaze sharpened even more. “I believe you.”

  Good. Slow and steady was called for here. “I told you, I ain’t gonna push, neither. You don’t have to do a damn thing about it. I just let you know so you could…know.” Well, didn’t that sound ridiculous, too. He was all but dressing up in clown-shoes and a funny hat.

  Amazingly, she smiled. Just like sunrise, lighting first in her eyes, then dimpling her cheeks and pulling up the corners of her mouth. Her lips looked glossy with ChapStick. Was that what girls used nowadays? Hers was probably some expensive brand. “I do know. I’m grateful for it, too. I’d probably be dead by now, if you hadn’t been there.”

  He didn’t want her thinking like that. “You’re a smart girl, Ginny. You’d’ve done fine.”

  She shook her head. “I keep reaching for my phone, and being reminded there’s no service, and in a little while I probably won’t be able to charge the damn thing, either. There go most of my smarts. Everyone offloaded them into phones and pads, and now? They’re about as useful as bricks, except for whatever I downloaded.”

  Well, if that was a problem, he could fix it. “They got solar chargers. Any outdoors store’ll have ’em.”

  “You planning on breaking into one or two?” Ginny relaxed a little, then a little more.

  Lee realized she was teasing him, gently, and had to swallow twice before his voice would work. “If the occasion calls for it.” Looking at her braids made him think of seeing her hair down, the curl to it and its rippling length. That wasn’t an image guaranteed to keep him focused. “Not sure it’s breakin in anymore, though.”

  “Yeah.” She leaned into his hand. “Coast to coast, the television said. While we were having community meetings and drinking punch, the whole world was falling apart.” The words bounced off painted concrete walls, fell flat.

  “Then we spit and balin’ wire it back up. Easy enough.” In reality, it was never easy, but he wanted her to relax. Badly. “We’re alive right now. I aim to keep it that way.”

  “That’s good.” She nodded again, thoughtfully. Her thin gold hoop earrings glittered. “That’s really good. But listen, Lee. What happens when one of us gets sick? Juju? Me? Or, God forbid, you start running a high fever? What happens then?”

  Just because she’d been quiet didn’t mean she wasn’t chewing over the absolute worst that could happen. Lee was thinking she excelled at it. “If it ain’t happened by now it ain’t likely to.” When she stiffened a little, he knew it was the wrong answer. “If it does—”

  “When,” she corrected. At least she wasn’t leaning away from him.

  “If it does, I’ll do what needs doin, and if it’s me, Juju will. You can trust him.” That was a rare damn thing in the world, and he hoped she knew what he was trying to express.

  Maybe she did, but it didn’t stop the worry train. Looked like it was an express. “Great. What if it’s me?”

  He weighed the advisability of telling her about Grandon in his living room before all this started, about the paperwork and the syringes in their little foam-filled hardcase. Or telling her he had a good idea what was in them, and that her parents were most likely gone already, unless they were damn tough, damn smart, and damn lucky too. There was no way to say anything that wouldn’t bring up even more questions, and the last thing she needed right now was another helping of uncertainty.

  Everything would go a lot easier if Miss Virginia Mills just learned she could trust him, too. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you,” he managed. There was something in his throat. Felt like a rock coated with peanut butter, and Lee realized he was hungry. “I promise.”

  “That’s really nice, but you can’t promise that, Lee.”

  Oh, yes I can. And if you come down with the creaking fever, I’ll send Juju on with the kids and… He stopped right there, not willing to follow the thought all the way down.

  It went quietly. He suspected it would come back, while he stood watch or tried to sleep, to keep him company.

  “Yes, I can,” he said, and pulled at her shoulder, gently. She was reluctant, and he knew he was pushing it, but he got his arms around her, and it was exactly as he’d imagined, only better. Small and soft, and the smell of her shampoo on clean, dark, braided hair. He could curl up around her like a shell on a turtle’s back, or a snail’s hard, protective home. Make himself a wall, shut his eyes, and anything that came would go through him first. Ginny relaxed, abruptly, her cheek against the chest of his shearling. He wished it was unbuttoned, and the flannel underneath. That would be right comfortable. “You got to quit worryin like that, Ginny. I need you to help run herd on the kids, and you can’t do that if you’re wastin yourself on dry frettin. All right? You leave the rest of it to me, you hear?” Mostly, people settled right down when they had a clear-cut job in front of them, and she was already a dab hand at calming Steph down.

  It was over too soon. Mark let out a sharp bark of surprise, Steph laughed, and Ginny, reminded of their presence, pulled away. He wanted to keep hold of her, but that wasn’t the right thing to do. And maybe because he didn’t, because he let her go, she tipped her chin back and examined his face, not quite as far away as she would be if she didn’t like him at least a little. Right inside the invisible line that edged a man’s personal space. And one thing was for sure, Lee was going to need a cold shower, sometime soon. Jesus.

  “Okay.” A small, pale little word. “We’re a team now, right? All of us.”


  “Includin you, darlin.”

  For some reason, that brought up another smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling and dimples beginning on her soft cheeks. Lee stood, helpless, and let it wash over him.

  “Thank you, Lee.” And with that, she was on her way down the hallway again, moving with a bounce that hadn’t been in her step before. Like the weight had lifted, like she believed him. Like he’d made it better, and for once hadn’t put his foot so far down his own throat he was chewin on kneecaps.

  Lee exhaled, a long, drawn-out sound that wasn’t quite a whistle or a word.

  Yeah. Definitely a cold shower. Goddamn.

  Wonder of the World

  “They had some lettuce left over.” Steph plonked down what she hoped was a respectable-looking salad in front of Miz Mills, and studied the older woman’s expression with wide, anxious eyes. The tomatoes were mealy because of the cold, and the iceberg was practically blanched, and the only thing she could think of was to put olives and grated cheese on for color, and a couple cut-up apples she’d brought from home. She knew enough to rub lemon juice on apple slices so they wouldn’t get brown, at least. “Used what I had, so…”

  “Perfect!” The lady librarian smiled, and it looked genuine. Of course, everything on her looked that way—solid wood instead of plastic, real silver instead of the cheap bright junk you got from the spinner at the drugstore with nasty old Maye Cooper watching you like a hawk to make sure you didn’t take off with it. “It’s so nicely arranged. You have an eye for this, Steph.”

  Steph’s cheeks turned hot, and not from the grill. “Thank you, ma’am. Now, there’s fried chicken and fries and cheeseburgers too.” She didn’t dare glance at Mark, who was nursing a bad burn on the pad of his left thumb. “We got orange juice, apple juice—the pop ain’t workin, but—”

  “Now look at that.” Mr Thurgood grinned as he finished settling his belt, his damp hair curling up tighter and tighter and his teeth startlingly white compared to his dusky cheeks. “Steph, you could run your own diner, put Mayburn’s to shame.”

  “That’s right good, Steph,” Mr Quartine chimed in. He’d just been outside, and his face was raw and a little flushed. Both he and Mr Thurgood were carrying open, as Daddy would have said, pistols at their belts. It was comforting, like a police officer at an elementary school crosswalk, watching over little ducklings. “Tuck in now, don’t say grace.”

  The cheeseburgers were a little overdone, and the fries a little soggy, but it was hot food so nobody complained. Mark hopped around refilling everyone’s glasses so Steph didn’t have to, mostly because he’d already eaten most of the first batch of fries. She’d burned the first batch of patties, but nobody noticed the smell—or if they did, they didn’t mention it. Miz Mills even asked for a helping of fries, with lots of ketchup, which was surprising. You wouldn’t think someone so, well, city, would like plain old ketchup. Steph even showed Miz Mills the patting-trick to getting a glass bottle of Heinz to pour out with no fuss, and the smile she got in return made her heart blow up like a balloon.

  Traveller was more than happy with the burnt patties and some of his dry kibble, and made a game out of hunting dropped fries. His tail blurred, whacking shins with painful vigor. Balancing their plates on the short counter for employees to rest covered trays on was crowded and scrambled, but all the same…it was good. For the first time since leaving the diner after it got all shot-up, Steph felt warm.

  And…yes, maybe safe was the word. Or at least, safer.

  Mr Thurgood swallowed three cheeseburgers almost whole before he slowed down, Mr Quartine went through the fried chicken like it was goin out of style, and Miz Mills got up to help Steph make another batch of burgers. It was almost like being in the kitchen with her mama, except there was no yell of close the fridge door or good-natured hip-bumping. Neat, dainty, and smart, Miz Mills figured out the grill and got to work, flipping the meat pucks with an authority that seemed kind of, well…

  Well, adult. She was a librarian, yeah, which was just like a teacher, but she looked so young it was hard to remember. Especially when she pushed a few curls back, her braids all thick and pretty and the escaped hair looking planned instead of messy, and grinned at Steph. “This takes me back.” A little sweat gleamed on her pale throat, her cheeks brightening from the heat. “I did a summer working for the college cafeteria, a long time ago.”

  College. That magical word, the thing Mama and Daddy were saving up for. Things had been tight a few years ago, and there had been fights over Steph’s college fund. Bull, we’re gonna lose the house, for God’s sweet sake, her mother had yelled, but Bull Meacham was immovable when he set his chin on something. We’ll find a way. Our girl is goin to college, Mama, and that’s that.

  A shiver ran through Steph, heels to scalp. Mama wasn’t gonna be yelling anymore. Neither was Daddy. She’d managed to go for a little while without thinking about the horrible, rattling, growling sounds they made, and how Mama had tried to get her teeth in Steph’s arm and then her neck, the sound the skillet from the morning’s eggs made when Mark swung it at Mama’s head…

  “Steph? Plate.” Miz Mills elbowed her, but gently, a polite movement. “Here. Take this to the table.”

  It was a very mother-y thing to say. Did Miz Mills have kids? Steph didn’t know. Teachers and librarians were just kind of there; she used to think they hung them up in a closet over the summer, and only dusted off the year’s necessary ones when September came around. She even had nightmares about it when she was younger—racks of teachers hung in the broom closet or boiler room at Cotton Crossing Elementary-and-Middle. Upside down, like vampires.

  Well, there were zombies now, so why not? All those books and movies had been onto something. Maybe she should get herself a cross necklace. Like Mama’s prize gold one, on its real fourteen-carrot chain. Why they named it after a root vegetable was beyond Steph, but she knew it meant real gold, not a fake that would leave green on your skin.

  “Steph.” Miz Mills pushed her, gently. The grill sizzled, sending up heat-shimmers. The lady librarian flushed prettily and her gold earrings twinkled; it didn’t take much to see Lee Quartine was head-over-heels for her. It was just the way he looked at her, giving Steph a funny stomach-feeling when she caught him at it. There was something about a guy looking that way, really. Something special.

  Did Mark ever watch her like that? She took a good look at him, while she walked the plate of cheeseburgers to the counter.

  Mark had pushed his hands back through his dark hair to make it stand up, and he chewed slow and thoughtful as Mr Thurgood leaned forward, making a point. “—bigger kick than what you’re used to. So you got to make sure you got it tight against your shoulder, son. You got that?”

  “Yessir.” Mark’s nose was a wonder of the world, Mama would have said. He was scrawny, but his shoulders were wide, and he didn’t laugh all goony, like a lot of the other guys at school did. No, Mark was serious, you could tell from the line between his eyebrows and the way he looked at things. Quietly, kind of like Mr Quartine.

  Steph's daddy respected the Quartines. Don’t say much, but they ain’t fools, was the prevailing sentiment. Even Margie at the diner liked Lee, and she had no use for most, even town customers. Little Lee’s good folk, she said.

  But it was Mark who had gone rounds with Carter Shellack after school once, when Carter went around telling everyone Steph was a hoor just because she’d had two beers at that one party while his parents were out of town and laughed at him when he tried to kiss her. Sober Steph might have let him put his tongue in her mouth to be polite, but tipsy Steph found goggle-eyed Carty the most pathetic thing in the world.

  Mark, much to everyone’s surprise, hadn’t folded the first time the youngest Shellack boy hit him. Instead, he’d grinned, bright red blood dripping from his beaky nose, and proceeded to beat Carty into the dirt.

  He don’t even hit as hard as my daddy, Mark had said about the whole thing, and only that. Nothing els
e. But after that, the whispers stopped, and she could walk through the halls without getting tripped, or whispered about, or laughed at much.

  “More burgers,” she said, leaning in on Mark’s free side. He turned crimson, like he generally did when she got close, and she liked that.

  It was Mark with the frying pan from the Sunday morning eggs who beat her mama away, bashing her out the door and barking at Steph to get something to block it, quick! And Mark who curled around her in her bedroom but didn’t try any roaming hands or funny stuff, just held her while she shook and cried like a little girl. It probably hadn’t even occurred to him to leave her behind. No, as far as Mark Kasprak was concerned, they were in this mess together, and that was another thing to like about him. Steph was under no illusion that any of the girls she called friends at school would do the same, or God forbid any of the boys she knew.

  “Thanks, Steph.” Mr Quartine reached for a burger, tendons prominent on the back of his hand. He’d taken off his fatigue jacket, and his tan sweater clung to a pair of broad shoulders. It was funny, she’d never really noticed how big he was, he was so quiet. “Hey, there any pickles?”

  “I’ll look.” She should have thought of that. Lord, what a ninny, Mama would say.

  Mama had tried to bite her. Rip her girl’s throat out. Mama had…

  “That jar, right there.” Miz Mills pointed with a spatula. “Maybe you can help me, Steph?”

  “Oh, sure.” Her throat was full, and the words sounded funny, like she was underwater. “Yeah. Just…just a second.”

  Miz Mills halted, looking at her. Wide dark eyes, her pretty nose, and that thread-thin gold chain at her throat, holding one of those teensy crystal-things. Swarovskis, they were called. Or maybe it was gosh-for-real diamond. She was just so city. Probably knew the name of every fancy mustard, too. “I’ll get the pickles. You mind flipping these?”

  Steph searched for any indication that the librarian lady was angry, or even irritated, at having to tell a stupid teenager what to do. None seemed apparent.