Roadtrip Z (Season 3): Pocalypse Road, Page 4

  Gee, I’ll have to ask my chaperone. “There’s no need for discussion; I think Mr French should go his own way.” That, Ginny decided, was putting it mildly. Maybe that was all she’d have to say and by morning the problem would be solved.

  Was it just the tiniest bit lazy or cowardly of her to hope so? Frankly, with the headache, she didn’t care. She didn’t even care about Lee’s gun in plain sight, and that was a new, worrisome development. So many troubling things were getting to be usual.

  “No stickin together?” Lee ducked his head a little, maybe surprised she didn’t want to discuss the damn issue.

  “Not if he’s going to threaten one of us.” Another funny thing, how she could delineate one of us from not one of us, and who was on which side of the line. One of those things you learned in a disaster, maybe.

  Or maybe she was simply tired of all the bullshit.

  It was downright disconcerting when Lee’s eyes lightened up and he looked so intensely at something. That gaze could burn holes in concrete, especially when his eyebrows came together a little and his jaw hardened. “I thought you’d need convincin.”

  Steph closed the bathroom door, which meant the only light was from the pair of emergency candles in heavy glass holders on the room’s flimsy table, pulled away from the window and its long, buff-colored drapes.

  Ginny restrained the urge to pinch at the bridge of her nose or start swearing. Or possibly both. The very idea was wonderfully therapeutic. “I’m not stupid, Lee.”

  “Indeed you are not.” He rubbed a his cheek, fingertips scraping on that six o’clock shadow, before recrossing his arms firmly. He looked deceptively lean, but standing this close she was very aware of his wide shoulders and the amount of leashed strength in that rangy frame. “But I was gonna ask about movin him on his way tonight or in the morning.”

  “Oh.” God, wouldn’t today ever end? All she wanted was to crawl into the tightly made bed, close her eyes, and pretend that something, anything about this was okay. Or normal. Or sane.

  “At night’s when the critters seem more active,” Lee continued. “Maybe lettin him go in the morning and gettin some distance would be best.”

  “You’re right.” Still…what if Brandon tried something tonight? Her headache intensified, something she hadn’t thought possible until that very moment. Even her hair hurt. “Maybe you lock your door too, and don’t go downstairs to, you know, keep watch? If you do, someone’s alone. That’s not good.” Besides, the stairwell doors were blocked, in defiance of the fire codes.

  Not that there would be an inspector around anytime soon.

  “Don’t like it either way.” His eyes narrowed, and it occurred to her that he probably had his own headache. Nobody asked him how he was doing, or visibly worried over his state of mind. They piled decisions on him, all day, and he didn’t seem to mind much…but still.

  Ginny touched the back of his left wrist, damp fingertips on his warm skin. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Honestly baffled, he peered at her. Traveller sat down and leaned against his leg, gazing at her too; Lee didn’t push the dog away. Instead, he shifted his weight slightly, answering the pressure, letting Traveller know he was welcome.

  Such a little thing, to tell you everything you needed to know about Lee Quartine. Just like this latest incident told you everything you needed to know about Brandon. Ginny balled up the washcloth. It would be satisfying to pitch it across the room, but not very mature. “If I hadn’t invited him along, none of this would have happened.”

  “You did the decent thing, Ginny.” Quiet and level, meaning every word.

  Of course, Lee Quartine didn’t say things he didn’t mean. One more thing to like about him, when you could get him to talk.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have.” Good Lord. Had that really come out of her mouth? A zombie apocalypse was really bad for your ethics.

  “Nah. That bit’s my job, darlin. Get some rest.” He paused at the door. “Make sure you use the deadbolt, now.”

  “Yes, sir.” She didn’t salute, but it was close, and his brief, tight smile was a reward. She did lock the deadbolt, and wondered if he waited outside the door to make sure.

  Probably. He was like that.

  Steph peered out of the bathroom, a gleam of suppressed cheer in her blue eyes. “He really likes you, Miss Ginny.”

  “Maybe he’s just a gentleman.” Good breeding, Brandon had said. The English teacher would probably be a lot happier on his own, or he’d find other survivors. People like him always landed on their feet, right? “I don’t think we’ll be traveling with Mr French for much longer.”

  The girl let out a long, soft breath. “Ain’t that a relief.” She shook out her small, fine hands, every trace of anxiety washed away.

  It must be nice to be able to turn off the worry-tap like that. “Yes.” Ginny’s head hurt too badly to feel anything but the deep desire to crawl into bed. “Brush your teeth, sweetie.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Ginny thought she’d have no trouble passing out. Instead, she lay in the dark, watching the shadows from the candle in the bathroom and listening to Steph’s deep breathing from the other bed. Traveller twitched as he dreamed his doggie dreams near her knees, sprawled with supreme unconcern. Shadows danced, the eerie silence closing around their tiny island of sanity was large, and for the first time in a very long time, Ginny Mills felt very, very small.

  Cutting Deadweight

  The previous night’s snow and spatters of sleet hadn’t amounted to much; the clouds had decided to warm up a little instead of dumping their cargos, so morning was full of the slithering of melt and larger patches of wet but clear concrete in the parking lot. Good traveling weather, though he didn’t like the way the wind tasted when it veered northward. At least Lee got a cup of coffee and a reasonable breakfast before the disagreeableness started in the hotel’s busted foyer.

  “I don’t believe this.” Brandon puffed up in front of the elevators, the bruise up his face garish-colored and his blue eyes blazing, and for a moment Lee thought the college boy was going to cause even more problems. “You can’t make me leave.” It didn’t look like French had slept much, between the tangle of his unwashed hair to the bags under his unwounded eye. His coat still showed marks from his ridiculous backpack, and the scruffy-unshaven made him look a little older than he was.

  Older. Not more mature. It was a damn good thing he’d told the college boy to bunk alone last night, even if Juju’s baked beans had been doing their work with a vengeance.

  “Ain’t no need for fuss, Mr French.” Lee stood, loose and easy, his right hand close to his hip just in case. “You can find yourself a car and be on your way.” There wasn’t any shortage of vehicles lying around, that was for damn sure.

  “But why?” Injured innocence shone from the man’s swell-distorted face. He glanced past Lee—the others, in a tight knot around a Coleman lantern in the cavernous dark foyer and occupied with their own breakfasts, were uneasily quiet except for Traveller, who was begging hard for the remains of whatever Juju had in his bowl. Mark kept glancing over, perplexity written across his beaky face. Steph huddled on the other side of Ginny, finishing the steady consumption of a whole box of strawberry-frosted toaster pastries. Girl had a sweet tooth. “What’s going on?”

  For Christ’s sake. How much clearer did Lee have to be? “You’re not travelin with us anymore. That’s all.”

  “Well, where the hell do you expect me to go?” The English teacher—if that’s what he really was—started getting loud, maybe thinking volume would change Lee’s mind or somehow overwhelm him.

  Lee forced himself not to shrug. He’d been yelled at by the best, and this chickenshit was nowhere in that league. “Ain’t my problem.”

  Brandon glanced past him again, and it became obvious why a few moments later. Ginny, twin braids hanging down her back and her coat unzipped, halted next to Lee, her hands wrapped around her travel mug. A paper slip flutte
red—the teabag-tag, a fancy heavy one, hanging outside the screw-on top. Earl Grey. Smelled like perfume, but she seemed to like it. Maybe it was a girl thing? They liked frilly stuff, strange smells, different tastes.

  Mysteries, every damn one of them. At least this jumped-up jackass was something Lee knew how to handle.

  “Ginny?” Brandon turned the charm on, smiling like a man whose credit card was no longer working. Spreading his hands a little, tilting his head. “He’s saying I can’t travel with you anymore. What’s going on?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Do you really not know?” Dead level, her mouth set, she might have been back in the library, dealing with someone who had Ideas, as Lee’s Nonna would have said. She lifted her mug, took a decorous sip.

  Lee was glad she’d never unleashed that look on him. Very little stung like a woman measuring you and visibly finding you short.

  “You’re a liability.” Lee stepped forward—not much, just a bit, to keep himself on the front line. “There ain’t no need for anything other than goin your way.”

  “I don’t believe this,” the man repeated. His face probably hurt, the way he was working it. Like a rubber mask, trying to squinch itself into the right expression. “For what? Seriously, what is wrong with you people?”

  “Please.” Ginny, soft but inflexible. “Just go, Brandon. We’re done.”

  “Ginny. Come on. Please. What did I do?” French looked honestly perplexed. Still, Lee would bet cash he at least suspected, and was hoping to gut his way out of it.

  If Ginny was traveling alone, how much would she have put up with from this fellow? He didn’t want to think about that.

  “Do you really think you could threaten one of us and still ride with us all day?” Ginny’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Really?”

  “Threaten? Threaten who?” But the man’s expression changed by a critical few degrees.

  Lee wished Ginny wasn’t standing so close, and further wished she’d just let him handle this. There was no use talking about it. The longer French had to work himself up, the worse he’d get.

  “You’ve been nasty and dismissive to Mr Thurgood all along.” Soft but relentless, Ginny’s look hadn’t changed at all. “And yesterday, you threatened him. That’s unacceptable, Brandon.”

  “What? No way.” Hands up now, lines of grime under his fingernails. It was hard to keep clean in the apocalypse, but it didn’t look like he was trying too hard, either. Brandon shook his head, his hair flopping. “He threatened me, Ginny. He called me a cracker.”

  Hard to tell which upset him more. “And called the sky blue, too.” Lee’s fingertips touched the butt of his sidearm. If Ginny would step back a bit, he’d feel a lot better. “It’s settled. You ain’t comin with us. Best bet would probably be to stay here a couple nights until you get yourself a car, and move on.” Since you already know it’s safe here.

  Brandon straightened, dropping his hands. Behind him, the dead elevators gleamed, their blank faces watching without much interest. “Like hell.” Now it was beginning to sink in, apparently. “Ginny, you’re not gonna let him do this, right? You can see what’s happening, can’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.” Ginny lifted her mug and took another dainty sip. Her gaze never left his. “Very clearly.”

  Whatever Brandon was expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. His mouth actually fell open slightly, and as much as Lee disliked the man, he could relate. Lord, how on earth did she sound so…Lee searched for a word. Like she wouldn’t spit on him to put him out, but polite at the same time. They probably taught her that at college, or her mama passed it down. Lord, Ginny’s mama must be a firecracker.

  Brandon recovered quickly, though. He shifted to back to injured, righteous pride like putting on an old pair of socks. “He’s gonna do this to you, too, Ginny. I told you.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” Then, deliberately, Ginny turned her slim, pretty back, and walked away. Lee had to force himself not to turn and look.

  That deflated Mr French. His shoulders sagged, and for a moment Lee almost felt sorry for the fucker.

  But not quite. “Juju? We about packed up?”

  “Yessir,” Juju called from the breakfast circle. Ginny rejoined them, and both the kids, probably reading something on her face, hurried into motion. The garbage bag was tied off—don’t leave a campsite dirty was a good rule. It wouldn’t take long to get moving.

  Especially since they were cutting deadweight loose. Lee backed up a step, two, and kept “Mark, you and Steph get loaded. Ginny, you wanta ride with me?” Oh, it probably wasn’t kind of him to rub it in, but Lee didn’t care at the moment. Now he was the one holding Brandon French’s gaze.

  A deadly ratlike gleam lit itself far back in those blue eyes, and all of a sudden Lee felt strangely comfortable again. Women were a mystery, but a bastard too big for his educated britches was something any Quartine could handle.

  “Sure. Come on, Traveller.” Ginny clicked her tongue and the dog scurried after her, nails clicking on hard flooring. The kids followed her out the door. Juju lingered, picking up the Coleman lantern, waiting.

  Watchful.

  Ginny’s shadow danced in the doorway. She paused, making sure the parking lot was clear, and beckoned the kids out.

  Which freed Lee up to deal with this in his own way, if it was necessary.

  “That’s how it is?” Brandon had turned the volume down. Now would come the nasty. “Just toss me out, on his say-so?” He had more to say, Lee could see it boiling behind bloodshot blue eyes and a prettyboy mouth. Before the world went to hell, he probably got everything he wanted. Must be quite a shock, to have something not go his way. “On the say-so of a goddamn ni—”

  “Shut up.” It felt good to say, Lee decided, and even better to have the bark cut right through Brandon’s nastiness. That was one thing about the Army, it taught you how to stop a jackass—if he was wearing a lower stripe-count, that was. “Nobody here wants to hear a damn word you have to say.”

  “Sonofabitch—” And then, as expected, Brandon took a swing.

  Lee leaned aside, barely having to move his feet. The boy was no brawler, despite his size. Lee dropped his hip, got a fist going, and socked French one in the gut about half-strength; that dumped the younger man onto the hard, cold fake stone. No carpet in front of the elevators, no sir, the entire lobby was floored with something that was supposed to be marble but didn’t quite have the heft or look of real quality.

  “Lee?” Juju, taut and ready, hurrying forward. Lee held up a hand, and considered kicking the collapsed, moaning mess of said-he-was-a-teacher.

  Looked like he’d learned a lesson, all right.

  “…get you,” Brandon wheezed, curled up like a worm with a hook in its belly.

  Yeah, Lee wanted to say. Sure you will. You killed a rattler when you could, and with things the way they were now, well, what was to stop him from solving a problem permanent-like?

  In the end, though, he simply stepped back, turned on his heel, and left the man there.

  Later, he wondered. But all he felt at that particular moment was relief.

  Mandy and Carline

  Lunch was at another rest area, a bowl of dense pines surrounded by ugly clearcut slopes fading under a white blanket. Ginny, pale but composed, flinched when Juju slammed the driver’s door; it was a miracle none of the four-by’s windows were broken. The spare tire was a goner until they could find another one to hook on there, but auto dealerships weren’t marked in the atlas. It was extremely lucky neither of their remaining vehicles were leaking anything vital, either.

  They could stop for another RV, but Lee hadn’t suggested it. It would probably take some convincing to get Ginny behind the wheel again.

  Without Brandon, the stop took less than twenty minutes, and plenty of that was leg-stretching time with Traveller amid a snow flurry, thick white feathers melting almost in midair before the temperature plunged. The sky turned depthless later that afternoon, and it bega
n snowing in earnest as they bumped along unplowed and melt-freed roads. At first the flakes vanished when they touched bare concrete, but soon enough they spread tiny lacework over every surface, clotting quickly. By four o’clock it was already dusky, daylight struggling through iron-colored clouds and snow turning to harder, ice-ridged pellets.

  Finally, during a check-in at the edge of a small town—the sign said Simonson, pop 7498, and it looked like an even smaller dead end than Cotton Crossing—Juju suggested waiting out whatever this was. There was a brand new blue-and-yellow Bargain Zone box store on the outskirts, with acres of parking lot, but Lee was uneasy seeing the number of cars in the parking lot. Plenty of them were drawn into a circle in defiance of neatly painted lines, all blurring under fresh snow.

  “Are you sure…” Ginny didn’t finish the sentence. He glanced at her over Traveller’s perked ears. The dog sat between them, staring out the windshield like the snow had a message for him.

  Maybe it did.

  “Juju and me’ll check it first.” He gave the lot another going-over. No footprints, but with the melt, there wouldn’t be a bunch of tracks. The cars had to have been in place before it first snowed. “Don’t worry. We’re old hands.”

  “I know.” Still, her hands clutched at each other again, those pretty grey gloves developing a hole near her left thumb. “I just…”

  He waited, but she simply shook her head. She hadn’t put her braids up, and though he liked her dark curls coming free, it was a little…disturbing…to see her disheveled. Welcome, yes, and powerfully attractive, but at the same time, almost uncomfortable. Especially when added to her uncharacteristic quiet. She wasn’t a talker like Brandon, by any means, but he missed her occasional observations.