Burnout (The Invasion Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

“You think Caleb’s right.” 

It was not a question.

Lydia pretended to concentrate on the pair of jeans she was folding until she heard her friend huff softly behind her.  When she looked over her shoulder, Ava had stretched out on the floor and was doing crunches.              `

They had decided to take advantage of yesterday’s rainfall (and the fact that Grandpa was not in the house to see their bras and underwear hanging from every available surface) and spent the afternoon washing their clothes.  “Washing” was perhaps an optimistic description.  Mostly they were just throwing their clothes into a couple of plastic storage bins filled with rainwater and a little soap, and trying to soak the sweat and dirt out of them.  It didn’t work too well.  Lydia had no idea how people managed to keep their things clean before the advent of automatic laundry machines. God, she missed just being able to throw her dirty clothes down a chute to the basement.  Her grandparents’ machines were older models, but they were still fully automatic—she didn’t even have to sort her own socks.  

“Lyds?” Ava sounded impatient, now, and Lydia finally gave up the pretense.  She turned around and cocked an eyebrow at her friend.  Ava glared at her, pausing in the middle of a crunch. 

Lydia rolled up the pink sweatpants that Ava usually slept in and tossed them in the basket, before pushing herself off the floor.  She stepped over her friend’s body, and flopped down into an oversized armchair—the only piece of furniture in Grandpa’s living room that had not been cannibalized into the barricades.  Ava rolled over onto her stomach so she could switch from crunches to pushups. 

“Well?” Ava prompted after a few repetitions.

“Well, what?”

Without breaking her rhythm, Ava switched to one-arm pushups long enough to smack Lydia’s knee. 

“Hey!  I don’t know, okay?  Maybe,” Lydia said. 

Ava sighed, nodding to herself as she went back to a two arm position.  Lydia turned over in the chair, resting the back of her head against the arm and flinging her legs over the opposite one. 

“I don’t know,” she repeated.  “They’ve been out there for a long time; I mean, the broadcasts don’t really tell us anything about how the Burnouts act.  Caleb and Zack would probably know more about them than we do, wouldn’t they?” 

Lydia trusted her grandfather.  That was one unshakeable truth in this new world she found herself in.  She knew without question that Grandpa’s number one priority was keeping everyone safe, her and Ava especially.  He was smart, and brave, and the strongest person she’d ever known.  If he said they needed to wait and see what the Burnouts did, then that should have been enough for her.

No matter how hard she tried, though, she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.  It was creeping, cold and shivery in her gut, uneasiness settling over her like a wet blanket.  She couldn’t explain it.  She wasn’t sure she trusted the Reed brothers entirely...they’d only had a grand total of three conversations.  However, she couldn’t let go of the thought that they might be right. 

Ava finished her pushups, and rolled to her knees with easy grace, crouching on the floor in front of Lydia.  She propped her chin up next to Lydia’s head.  “You were really willing to go out there with him,” she said quietly.  Again, it was not a question. 

Lydia shrugged one shoulder, rolling her head to look her friend in the eye.  “It was all I could think of,” she said carefully.  It was
still
all she could think of, still the only plan that made even a little bit of sense to her—even if the idea of actually putting it into motion was terrifying. 

Ava stared at her, her jaw working for a moment.  “Lyds,” she started, before breaking off.  She rocked back on her heels, her fingers tightening on the edge of the cushion.  Lydia sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. 

“It’s not like I
want
to,” she mumbled.  “I’m not, like, itching to go one on one with a bunch of Burnouts,” she said, picking at a small hole in the knee of her jeans. 

“You better not be,” Ava replied with a choked laugh.  “I’d hate to have to run out there behind you.” 

Lydia smiled wanly.  “Back me up?”

“I think you mean save your ass.  Pendeja.” Ava blew on her nails and pretended to buff them on her shirt.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!  No reason to get personal,” Lydia giggled. Ava’s answering smile wasn’t nearly as confident as her words, and Lydia didn’t miss the fear dancing in her friend’s eyes.  It never really seemed to leave Ava. 

Ava was one of the most confident and self-assured people Lydia had ever known. Growing up, it had been Lydia following her lead more often than not.  Ava had navigated their way through middle school and high school, plowing through the pitfalls and politics of growing up.  She’d been the leader—friendly, outgoing, popular.  She was going to be the student-council president, the homecoming queen, the straight A valedictorian of their class.  Everyone knew it.  Ava was used to overcoming any challenge and making it look effortless.

Now though?

This was a challenge Ava just wasn’t equipped to deal with.  Grandpa was an ex-Marine who liked to hunt and Lydia’s mom had served in the National Guard since she was five.  Even if she
hadn’t
had her abilities, Lydia had grown up around weaponry.  Her family’s military record and Mom’s active-duty status meant they had been allowed to keep post-Invasion model small arms in their home under the Royall Act of 1950, designed to ensure a population could leap to Earth’s defense if the Invaders ever returned. They could protect themselves in ways Ava couldn’t.  It didn’t matter to her friend that there were other people on Meadowbrook who needed just as much protection as she did.  She was used to being able to handle anything that was thrown her way. 

Lydia didn’t think that being thrown by the freaking collapse of world society was anything to be ashamed of, but she knew that the constant fear grated on her best friend worse than almost anything.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Lydia’s smile widened into a grin.  “Dork.” She kicked Ava’s shoulder lightly, sending her friend toppling to the floor. 

Ava giggled and flopped backwards.  She held her hands up, examining her nails critically.  They were far shorter than she’d ever kept them, but still filed neatly, and painted a pale, glossy lavender.  Ava had always been meticulous about things like that.  She still carefully applied at least lip gloss every morning, stubbornly clinging to these small bits of normalcy.  Not that Lydia was judging.  They all needed whatever normalcy they could find…Lydia sure wasn’t giving up her strawberry body spray.

“I think I’m gonna re-do these, tonight,” Ava remarked.  “Want me to do yours, too?”

Lydia glanced down at her own hands.  The precisely applied French manicure Ava had given her a few days ago still looked fine, but she shrugged anyway. 

“Sure.”  It would make Ava happy, and give them both something to do besides sit and worry. 

Ava rolled to her feet, stretching for a moment, before straightening.  “I’m gonna go do some laps on the stairs…you coming?”

Lydia grimaced.  “Yeah, fun as that sounds, think I’ll pass.” 

“Uh-huh, keep judging; let’s see who’s faster when…”  Ava broke off, a stricken look flashing on her face.  Lydia caught her breath at the same moment. 

When Ava came to stay, before, they usually went out running every night. They’d dubbed it training (Lydia had been playing soccer and softball even longer than Ava had been running track), but really it had just been friendly competition.  But there would be no more soccer games or softball matches.  No more track meets.  Chances were, their teammates were all dead.

“Av,” Lydia started, but Ava just shook her head with a sharp breath. 

“I’m gonna go do laps.  I’ll take the clothes with me,” she said, a tremble under her words.  “Come up after a while, and I’ll do your nails, okay?”  She didn’t ask Lydia to leave her alone, but Lydia heard the request loud and clear.  She nodded, sinking back down into the armchair as Ava turned on her heel and dashed out of the living room, pausing only to scoop the laundry basket up. 

Lydia listened to her friend’s footsteps race up the stairs to their room, and then turn right back around. She thudded down the stairs to the front door, before turning around and dashing back up, her shoes squeaking on the hardwood floors before she hit the carpet on the stairs.  She would keep up a punishing pace as long as she could, running up and down the stairs until she exhausted herself.  She’d seen Ava do it dozens of times over the summer—head out onto the sidewalk that ringed the court, or dash out into the backyards, and just
run
.  Run and run until there was no room for anything other than the burn in her muscles. 

Most times, Lydia joined her.

She sank back into the cushions, her thoughts swarming like angry insects.  Grandpa had made up his mind and whether or not Lydia agreed with him, there was nothing that could be done right now.  Maybe they would get lucky and the Burnouts would lose interest if there was another quiet night on Meadowbrook.  With another sigh, she heaved herself up. 

With another sigh, she heaved herself up.  The sun was starting to set, throwing deep orange light through the cracks in the window coverings, and she thought of trying to find something to read. She gave it up quickly, though, well aware she wouldn’t be able to concentrate.  Instead, she headed for the kitchen, intent on dipping out a glass of boiled rainwater from the bucket Grandpa kept in their fridge (for storage space or just out of habit, Lydia wasn’t sure).

Her eyes tracked automatically to the large window over the sink as she entered the kitchen.  One of Grandpa’s old dress shirts was tacked over the window—thick, dark material that wasn’t as careful and tight as the coverings on the windows that faced the street.  They hardly ever had lamps or candles lit in the kitchen after dark, though, and you had to practically be standing in the back yard to see anything in the window anyway.  

A few last, stubborn blooms were clinging to Grandma’s lavender bushes by the back, barely visible in the fading light.  Lydia leaned against the sink, tilted her head to peer out through the gap in the window coverings at the flowers...and nearly had a heart attack as a figure unexpectedly lurched into view.

She lunged backwards, catching her back hard against the edge of the island behind her.  A high, choked gasp burst from her throat before she clamped down on the instinct to scream.  The contents of the drawers and cabinets shook ominously before she clamped down on her other instinct.  

Burnout.  

A Burnout.

A Burnout, a Burnout, a Burnout, BurnoutBurnoutBurnout... 

She fumbled at the island’s drawers, searching for a knife or a pan—something to defend herself with.  Weapons...there were weapons in the house.  Pistol in the living room windowsill.  Rifle up in Grandpa’s bedroom.  Her softball bat in her bedroom.  She had to get one of them.  Or use her power to throw the Burnout over the fence.  The pounding of her heart drowned out

the thumps of Ava’s footsteps; cold sweat sprang out on the back of her neck. 

Ava.  She had to call Ava, warn her...she had to—

She forced herself to take a step forward, her mouth desert-dry.  She exhaled shakily and curled her fingers around the shirt, pulling it aside a fraction of an inch.  Just for an instant, just enough to see what they were dealing with.  Her hand trembled.  She peeked out into the yard, steeling herself.  

Then she flicked the covering back over the window, covered the distance between the sink and the back door in three long strides, and jerked the door open.  

“What the hell are you doing?!”  She barely remembered not to shout at the last moment. 

Caught in the act of reaching for the doorknob, Caleb jerked backwards, slamming into his brother just behind him.  Zack let out a startled yelp, windmilling his arms in a wild effort to keep his balance.  Lydia watched dispassionately, arms crossed over her chest, as the two went down in a tangle of limbs.

“Told you we shoulda gone to the front,” Zack wheezed, as most of Caleb’s bulk came to rest on his stomach. 

“Shut up,” Caleb grumbled, rolling off of his brother and getting to his knees.  He glanced up at Lydia with a sheepish expression.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said as he got back to his feet and grabbed his brother’s hand.  Lydia stepped to one side as he helped Zack up, opening the door further and gesturing the two inside. 

“I repeat, what the hell are you doing?” she asked, though some of the heat was gone from her words. 

“That’s kind of…complicated.” Caleb rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he offered his other elbow for Zack to take hold of. 

“Complicated?” Lydia repeated, raising an eyebrow.  “You mean
more
complicated than they are now?”

Caleb led Zack into the kitchen, depositing him at one of the stools set up at the island in the center.  Zack immediately started drumming him fingers on the crystal countertop, his mouth pressed into a thin, grim line.  Caleb shifted from foot to foot for a moment, looking as though he was groping for words.  Lydia watched them for a few silent moments, before huffing to herself.