In The Ruins Read online

  If there were any of them left to be overjoyed. And really, they weren’t horrible people. Just enthusiastic. You couldn’t wish bad things on anyone for that. “God,” she muttered, pushing an escaped curl back up into her braids and returning to scrubbing Traveller dry.

  “You all right?” Juju backed away from the door, one-two, quick graceful steps, placing his damp, Army-issue boots just so. He managed to make carrying a gun look natural instead of awkward, and moved lightly even though those thick-soled green clodhoppers probably weighed a ton apiece.

  “I keep thinking about unpleasant things.” Ginny whisked the towel away. “Okay, little fellow, let’s get you some dinner.”

  “Man, me too.” Juju held out a warm, strong hand, bracing her as she rose. The hound capered around their feet, sensing the magic food-time was near.

  “Dinner, or uncomfortable things?”

  Juju’s half-wry smile stretched into a downright grin. “Both.”

  “Which ones are you thinking?” Ginny folded the towel. Maybe she should leave it near the door? It would mildew, but that couldn’t be helped.

  There was so much that couldn’t be helped right now. But at least Juju was smiling. Her own mouth corner-tilted in response.

  He tugged at the hem of his black-and-yellow sweater, settling it under the rifle strap. “Well, if those critters folla their ears, the dog’s gonna bring ’em like flies to…uh, well, like flies to dog doo.”

  Maybe Ginny would eventually come to find the don’t swear around a lady thing charming instead of irritating. Today, however, was not that day. She brushed at her own clothing, wishing for a lint roller. Another thing that couldn’t be helped, along with the whole virgin-whore dichotomy the patriarchy labored under. When they decided they could swear around her, what would happen? “We can muzzle him, Lee said.”

  “Ayuh.” Juju’s tone said he didn’t think much of the idea. “But a hound don’t take kindly to that, specially a bluetick. Your turn.”

  What a gruesome game. Still, there was a certain amount of comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only one being morbid. “I was thinking that with so many people gone, there’s less pollution.” She draped the towel over an ancient exercise bike so it could air-dry. That was better, she decided. “Coast-to-coast, the man on the TV said, and possibly worldwide. Your turn.”

  “How many left you think might be bad apples, Miss Ginny?”

  “Quite a few, Mr Juju.” Yes, she decided, hearing someone else say it out loud was both comfort and a fresh worry. Like tearing a scab free, a momentary relief. “If they weren’t before, all this might make them that way.” Her own jacket, sleet-spotted, wasn’t nearly warm enough.

  Or maybe her shivers had nothing to do with the temperature.

  “Yeah.” Juju peered through the door, checking the hall. “Lots of folk don’t need a reason, but when they got one, look out.”

  That was certainly one way to put it. “You’re a scholar of human nature, sir.”

  “I know a thing or two about folk gettin nasty.” He swept the door open and nodded her through. His smile had vanished.

  So had hers. I’m pretty sure you do. Whether he meant the Army or bigots—or both—wasn’t quite clear. Probably both. Traveller nosed at Ginny’s calves before prancing ahead, stopping to look back and dance in place every little bit. Both Lee and Juju seemed to take it for granted that they had to test every hall and doorway now. Was this what living in a war zone was like?

  No, a war zone was probably louder. And there might not be many wars now. Small-scale engagements, but humanity would have to rebuild before it started killing itself again, right?

  She suspected she was wrong.

  “Your turn,” Juju said.

  She picked the least grim idea parading through her overworked brain. “All the machines have stopped. In all the factories. No more packaged goods.” She followed him, meekly enough. Her own boots—the new ones Lee had picked out—were uncomfortably stiff, and squeaked on uncarpeted surfaces. “No more deliveries of anything.”

  “Bet someone’s still makin whiskey, though.”

  “Well, yeah. If it can ferment, people will drink it.” Come to think of it, a bottle of wine—or even something harder—sounded powerfully appealing right now. So did loosening her braids and rubbing at her scalp while drinking. “History’s full of that.”

  Juju made a short huffing sound, half disbelief, half amusement. “Didn’t teach me that in school.”

  “They never do teach the good stuff.” Blank faces on either side—the rooms wearing proud, neat little numbers, maintenance doors tucked away blank and featureless. The sheer amount of people necessary to run a hotel—cleaning the rooms, walking the halls, answering the phones, dealing with guests, landscapers…all gone. “It’s your turn, Juju.”

  “Ain’t no hospitals. No vaccines.” He motioned her to wait before checking around the corner, turning them into another hall.

  Or antibiotics. Did anyone alive know how to actually make penicillin? “No more Snickers bars.”

  “Or Twinkies.”

  Even the pigeons in New York wouldn’t eat Twinkies. She decided not to mention that. “I think we’re both hungry.”

  He nodded, holding up a hand while he checked the next hallway. “I could eat some more of your fried rice.”

  “Glad you liked it.” I’m going to have to learn to cook over a fire. They’d been transported back to the Stone Age. How soon would it take for everyone to forget science and rationalism? Or, there was another grim thought, the worst one of all. “What if people die out? Like, humanity?”

  Juju shrugged. “Can’t say as I’d miss ’em.”

  Ginny restrained a sigh. He was probably right.

  Traveller looped back to prance in front of her, already lobbying for an early dinner. The loss of his former owner didn’t seem to upset him at all. Dogs were creatures of the Now, and right now Traveller had a pack to yodel around and a steady supply of kibble and clean water. There was nothing more for him to want, except ear-rubs. And plenty of smelly things to stick his snout in.

  “God.” She shivered. “What if this thing jumps the species barrier?” Rats, pigeons—they’re just flying rats, really. What if it gets into dogs? Cats? Anything larger?

  “Huh.” He considered this, his rifle slung easily and his full lips drawn tight. “Now that’s a bad thought, Miss Ginny.”

  She was just getting warmed up. “Can you imagine?”

  “Not sure I want to.” He sped up a little, using his longer legs to good account. “You win this round.”

  Ginny didn’t mind letting him put distance between them. She couldn’t help it, she just thought of these things. It was her burden, as her mother would say with a shake of her well-coiffed head and a pained grimace.

  At least that hadn’t changed; at least nobody else really wanted to hear about the consequences she could all too easily—and vividly—forecast. She was still the outsider here.

  “The more things stay the same,” she murmured, and Traveller yipped in reply.

  Great. So I won. She frowned at another maintenance door, and sped up a little, willing to lag but not to be left behind.

  Why don’t I feel good about it?

  Brandon French

  A dripping, slushy grey morning rose grudgingly over the hotel, cold mist exhaling from slop-melting snow, visibility down and damp chill biting deep. Ginny and the kids took turns carrying loads to the vehicles, Lee and Juju alternated between lifting the heavies and standing guard. No sign of the critters in the grey vapor, and Lee was hoping it stayed that way.

  Wish in one hand, shit in the other, as his daddy used to say during prison visits. See which fills up first.

  “Hello!” Floating over the parking lot, a resonant cry lifting above the splish-splashing of fat raindrops. “Hey! Hey there! Hello!”

  “What the hell’s that?” Lee muttered, straightening from the bed of the truck and reaching for his rifle. His b
ack ached a little—he was too damn old for keeping watch in one of the foyer chairs.

  “We got movement,” Juju said, softly, already drawing a bead. Under the blue pompom hat, his face turned into a statue’s, the thoughtful look of a soldier getting ready to let training take over. “Looks like a single, can’t be sure.”

  Lee’s skin roughened into pre-combat gooseflesh. He hopped down and brought his rifle around—funny, how a man could get used to carrying one again. It didn’t take long at all. Wouldn’t take long to get used to using it on anything that moved again, either.

  Juju was right. It was a single, now hurry-wading across the lot. Male, looked like, in a blue jacket. He had a big, high-prowed camping backpack on, and Lee was powerfully tempted to put a slug in him just on principle. Ginny wouldn’t take kindly to that, but strange men during an apocalypse were question marks at best. Not to mention, if Lee was being strictly honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else tagging along to take care of.

  The melt running off the driveway’s cover was a silver curtain, blurring the man’s outline. “Do I drop ’em?” Juju had his rifle socked and tracking. “Or give ’em a warning?”

  “Just cover me.” Lee headed for the edge of the dry patch, squinting against the almost-glare. “Keep a sharp eye for friends, if he’s bringing ’em.” When he stepped away from the protective canopy, cold little kisses spattering his head and shoulders, his back prickled. Breaking cover, again, but this time his heart didn’t want to jump around anywhere it shouldn’t.

  This, he knew how to do.

  The new arrival was a broad-shouldered blondish man, early thirties, breathing heavily as he plowed through the melting slush. New boots with orange laces, Lee saw, and a broad youngish face shaved close and sharp. His backpack was good rig, expensive and quality. A shiny new carbine hung at his chest. Lee halted a good distance away and raised his hands, working for “peaceful” and “stop right there.”

  Blond Man didn’t get the clue. “Good God, am I glad to see you! At first I thought you were more of those things, but…” Finally, he translated Lee’s body language and waded to a halt. High blush of cold on his stubbled-up cheeks, he’d been outside for a while. Blond hair stiff, darkened and flattened by a lack of showering and the knit cap he was mashing in his broad hands. He had the musclebound look of a gymrat—the kind that lost most of his mass and a great deal of his cockiness in basic training before he regained the latter when it came time to haze the newcomers. “Hi. I’m Brandon, Brandon French. God, it’s so good to see another person, I can’t even tell you.” His accent had the rolling of Kentucky behind it, but a laborious crispness, and the expensive watch, told Lee this was a college boy.

  “Pleasure,” Lee said, even though it was anything but. He dropped his hands, carefully. “You from Kentucky, Mr French?”

  “Yessir.” The stranger put his manners on, bloodshot blue eyes gleaming, but kept mashing that cap like it felt good. Stress did funny things to people. “I’m so happy to see someone else. Someone alive, I mean.”

  “Hm.” A noncommittal noise. Lee kept his weight easy, let his right hand dangle. He could clear leather on his sidearm and take the bastard before he could unlimber that carbine, if he needed to. “You been bit?”

  The man blinked owlishly at him. Bloodshot blue eyes. Had he been drinking? “What?”

  “Bit.” I’m usin English, goddammit. Lee’s fingers tingled. He wanted to clear leather, by God, did he ever. “By one of those things.”

  “Oh. Christ, no.” Brandon shook his head, frantically, and almost dropped his hat. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Lee?” Ginny’s voice, behind him. Juju trying to shush her, but not getting anywhere. Stubborn girl. “Lee!”

  “Wow, there’s more of you? This is great!” Brandon sloshed forward, but Lee stepped in front of him, this time with shoulders set and his expression hardening. “Uh. Okay.”

  Lee took his time, measuring the man from head to toe. The blue jacket was expensive but already showing signs of wear, especially where the backpack straps rubbed. The boots were fine-looking, too, but not waterproof. A show pony, then. The quality of the rig was an accident, and the carbine looked too damn shiny.

  More splashing behind him, drawing closer. Lee all but flinched. God damn it.

  It was Ginny, out of breath, roses in her cheeks, her chestnut hair curling stubbornly out of the braids wrapped around her pretty head. Juju trailed behind her, keeping an eye out for movement in the misty distance, looking unhappy as hell. Lee could relate—it was a fool’s move, running out into the open.

  “I can’t believe it!” Ginny skidded to a stop. At least she had the new hiking boots, with orange laces. Good ones, the ones he’d picked out for her. “You’re—you’re alive! I mean, you’re alive-alive! Oh, my God.”

  “Yes ma’am.” A big, easy grin bloomed on the man’s face, smug and grateful at once. “I was pretty much saying the same. I haven’t seen anyone for a week. I mean, nobody living.”

  Lee’s chest deflated, a bicycle tire with a hidden leak. There it was, the subtle, silent signals of city-rich, flashing between them. It was something in the way they talked, and a million other things, like Ginny’s earrings and the expensive diver’s watch on Brandon’s wrist. The man’s faintly orange undertone from tanning in a machine had worked off by actual time spent outside, and whatever was backwoods about him had been laboriously clipped away.

  It took time to do that, and money.

  “We’re lucky,” Ginny said. “This is Lee—I mean, Mr Quartine, he’s kept us alive. And Mr Thurgood here, too.” Ginny clasped her grey-gloved hands, a girlish motion; she wasn’t wearing the ones Lee had picked out for her yet. Just the boots. “We haven’t seen anyone else for a while, either. I was wondering how many…I mean…” Her quick sideways glance at Lee cut right through him, because she immediately dropped her gaze and rocked back on her heels.

  Like he’d shouted, or given her a filthy look.

  “Jesus Christ, Miss Ginny.” Juju said it, maybe so Lee didn’t have to. “Bad apples, remember?”

  Brandon stepped back too, maybe to make himself a little less threatening. His heel slid, but he just jabbed down sharply, regaining his balance with quick, trained instinct. Football, given his size. “I don’t blame you. It’s good to be cautious. I’ve seen a lot of looting. Well, evidence of looting.”

  Not to mention he'd probably done a bit. Lee throttled a heavy rasp of irritation.

  “It is best to be cautious, we’ve been talking about that.” Ginny glanced nervously at Lee again. Why? God damn it. “And, well.” She indicated Mr French’s carbine with a graceful motion of her chin. “Especially with people carrying those around.”

  “This?” The Kentucky boy looked down at his chest like he’d forgotten he was carrying the thing. “Oh. I don’t even have any ammo. It’s just so…well, you know, people are kind of nuts.”

  “So how do you fight off the, the things?” Her eyebrows drew together, and Lee was happy to see she wasn’t taking everything about this newcomer for granted.

  “Haven’t seen many.” Brandon’s eyelids flickered. A breath of sugary used-up alcohol came off him; the man had spent last night drinking. It was a wonder he hadn’t been bit, if he was telling the truth. “Discretion and valor, and all that.”

  Liar. Discretion and what, though? Lee studied the carbine. Never fired, that much might be true, but he’d bet his VA bennies and his mama’s name this man had seen plenty of the critters, and killed a few too. Even Ginny looked dubious, but any further questions would have to wait.

  “Lee?” Juju, warning. Lee’s head jerked up, and he glanced over the newcomer’s shoulder. Shambling shadows filled the fog.

  “Shit,” he breathed, and the cold was all through him, not just from the slush. “Uh, sorry, Ginny. We got company. Move.”

  The kids had finished the loading; Juju hustled them into his black four-by-four, trying to close the doors
quietly.

  Lee hopped into the truck bed to make sure the load was tied down enough. His heart was in his throat, dry and nasty-tasting, throbbing like a bad infection. “Get on in the truck, Ginny.” Shit, goddammit, shitfuck. “Please.”

  “Traveller!” She took off for the open glass door, her boots leaving dainty wet prints on dry concrete. Lee swallowed a cascade of colorful words, snapping a glance at the parking lot. Half a dozen shamble-weaving, head-cocked forms, in varying bits of soggy clothing, making a beeline for the front of the hotel. They were a good distance away at the edge of the lot, but they were moving purposefully, in a slow steady staggering. Looked like they’d been clocking Mr French the gymrat.

  When they heard the engines, or the slamming doors, or the damn dog yapping, they would put on a burst of that scary speed, and maybe start that deep grind-growling. Then things were gonna get interesting.

  “Lee?” With the kids safely stowed, Juju stepped to the side of the truck, taking cover instinctively as his rifle rose again, picking out a target. A faint sheen of sweat gleamed on his broad dark forehead, and Lee had seen that look on him before, trained calm edging out fear. “What’s the word?”

  Responsibility, like killin’, followed a man. Lee ran down the rest of the list in his head, shuffling priorities. “Get in and start up. They start movin fast, you head for the freeway and we’ll catch up.”

  “Don’t wanna leave ya.” Juju’s chin thrust out a little.

  Come to think of it, Lee found out he was sweating, too. “Orders, Thurgood.” We ain’t in the Army no more, but dammit, I don’t wanna lose nobody here.

  “Bite yo’ass, Lieutenant.” Juju’s drawl turned it into Loot-nent, and for a moment the past rose to strangle Lee. Dust and sweat instead of slush and cold, but the pulse pounding in his wrists and throat was just the same, the taste of metal and the clear copper-smelling certainty of danger, too. It was damn good to have backup, but he didn’t want to lose anyone.