Razor Girl (10 page)

Molly had been busy comforting the crying children and cleaning off her razors when she heard the scream. More danger? But no, this wasn’t a cry of pain. More like a cry of anguish, amplified to a shocking decibel level. And it sounded like Chase.

“Stay here,” she instructed the children. Then she ran to investigate.

Around a corner she found Chase crouched over Tank’s blood-soaked body, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. “Oh God,” she murmured. Tank wasn’t moving and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t move ever again. Spud must have gotten him before going after the children. This was not good. Not good at all. Tank was the one who had saved all these children. Set up the shelter. Run the group. What would they do without him? And how was Chase going to deal with losing yet another member of his family? It was like Tara all over again.

Chase turned to look at Molly, his eyes wild and unfocused, his face a storm of rage. She took a step back, frightened suddenly of what he might do. Remembering how little she knew him now. Remembering how much he’d changed.

“Oh, Chase, I’m so sorry,” she said, feeling useless and stupid. What could she say? What should she do? There seemed no practical way to provide comfort at this point. No words were going to help ease this pain. She felt saliva fill her mouth.

“You,” he growled, his lips curled back. “This is
your
fault.”

Her heart plummeted as she realized what was going on. He needed someone to blame for his brother’s death, and she was the only one left who wasn’t a child or a monster. She was the interloper here. Everything had been going fine until she returned to their lives.

The logic was ridiculous, of course, but Chase didn’t exactly appear at his best.

“No, Chase, I—”

“If I hadn’t been forced to help you gather your stupid supplies, I would have been here,” he raged, not listening to her attempted protests. “I could have gotten to Spud before…” He made a sweeping gesture over his brother’s corpse. “Before he did
this
.” He slammed a fist against the floor. “I could have saved him. I could have stopped this!”

Part of her wanted to remind him it had been his idea to play basketball, but that seemed counterproductive. Why make him feel worse than he already did? His brother had just died; there was no need to play the blame game. And, besides, there was no way to predict alternate scenarios had there been no basketball. If Chase had been guarding Spud like he was supposed to, Spud might have killed him
and
Tank.

Still, it hurt to see the rage in his eyes. He was blaming her for everything. And there were things in the past that she was guilty about.

“Chase…” she began. She should have never come here, never have allowed herself to be distracted from her mission. But it had been so good to see him. She’d missed him over the years. Wondered what had happened to him. If he had survived. If he was okay. If they could ever be what they had once seemed destined to be. And then, to find him alive and well…Well, she was only human, after all. And it had seemed so harmless to indulge in one night. To go and see what might have been, had she made a different decision six years ago.

Now she was paying for that indulgence with the knowledge that Chase would probably hate her for the rest of his
life. She was no longer able to pretend that maybe, just maybe, he had forgiven her and understood deep down why she had made the choice she had.

“Get the hell out of here,” he growled; then he turned back to his brother.

She paused for a moment before turning and walking away. What else could she do? Tank was dead, and nothing she did or said could change that. It was better to just leave. She would just walk out of their lives forever and get on with her mission. After all, she had so little time to make it to Disney. She couldn’t afford any more distractions.

She almost made it out. She walked through the aisles to the front doors of Wal-Mart into the night, never looking back, but then, like Lot’s wife in Biblical times, she turned and glanced back into the store. She thought about the faces of the children she was leaving behind, the already homeless orphans who were now robbed of their finest protector as well, clinging to one another, frightened, lost, and alone. They’d need someone to comfort them to night, to help them get past this latest tragedy. And Chase, cocooned in his own grief, didn’t look like he was going to be that person.

She squared her shoulders and resolved herself. One night. She’d stay to night as she’d originally planned, then she’d start her pilgrimage in the morning. This way she could make sure the kids had everything they needed and she could get Chase back on track. Tomorrow she’d set off to find her father.

Pain wrenched at Chase’s gut until he couldn’t even think; a vise of grief was crushing his chest. This was like Tara all over again, but this time he had no older brother to share his sadness. Half of him wanted to just curl up and die. That would make the pain end. After all, what did he have left to live for? The world was a nightmare, the last of his family and friends had been killed, and he and these few children were living day to day, like sitting ducks, waiting for the next Spud to pick them off.

He fingered the knife he’d taken from Tank’s boot and
thought about how easy it’d be. One single cut down his wrist—or maybe something less girly, like a stab to the gut as those samurai used to do in Japan. Either way, he could off himself. A few minutes of physical pain and it’d be over forever. He could do that.

He lifted the knife then stopped, hand frozen by the memory of his promise to Tank. He’d sworn to stay and take care of the children. His brother would hold him to that. If there was an afterlife and the two ever saw each other again, he didn’t want to be ashamed. He wanted his brother to respect him.

Kneeling beside the corpse, Chase lifted his brother’s heavy, lifeless frame. He cradled Tank in his arms like a baby then staggered toward the front of the store, barely able to direct his flashlight. First he would find a place to bury his brother; he’d worry about the rest later.

Grabbing a shovel out of the Garden and Patio section, he managed to make it outside. A moon shone down in the night sky overhead. His mind was racing, filled with thoughts of self-recrimination. If only he hadn’t been so distracted, had thought with his brain instead of his dick. If only he’d relieved Rocky like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened. Tank would still be alive. But, no. Once again he had failed. Just like with Tara. He remembered her broken, bruised body lying lifeless on that stage like it was yesterday. He hadn’t been able to save her. He hadn’t been able to save Tank or Rocky. He hadn’t been able to save anyone. He was utterly worthless.

And now he had eight children depending on him, eight children more helpless and defenseless than Tara or Tank had ever been. What was he going to do?

Pushing all thoughts from his mind, he scanned the parking lot for zombies. Just after dusk was usually the quiet time—when they napped after gorging themselves with meat from the noon hunt. And sure enough, the coast seemed clear. He crossed the lot and entered the small adjacent field strewn with garbage and broken bottles. He stuck his shovel into the ground and stepped on it. Burial seemed a bit silly in some
ways, what with the piles of skeletons everywhere you looked, but Chase couldn’t bear to leave his brother’s body exposed to the elements or to be ripped apart by feral dogs. Tank had been a good man. Noble, kind, true. He had taken good care of them all with no thought for himself. He deserved some dignity in death.

Sweat beaded on Chase’s forehead as he dug. Thank goodness it wasn’t winter, and the ground was soft. Even so, it took forever to create a hole big enough to inhume a large man like Tank. He finished at last, though, and wiped the sweat away with his sleeve, mumbling a little prayer to whichever god was left to listen. Then Chase dropped his brother in and started covering him over with dirt.

At first his brain entertained a wild notion that Tank would suddenly leap from the grave, claim he was just joking and he’d never leave his little brother alone in the world. But of course that didn’t happen, and eventually he filled in the hole. Tank—or Trey Griffin as he’d once been known—was gone forever.

Chase dropped his shovel and sank to the ground, head in his hands. What was he going to do? Everyone his age was gone. Well, everyone except Molly, and she’d be leaving for Disney World soon. If she hadn’t already. He felt horrible about yelling at her. After all, this wasn’t her fault. She’d just caught him at the wrong moment, when rage had welled up inside and captured his every sense. He’d needed someone separate to blame—someone,
any
one—for the senselessness that had robbed him of his family. He now knew he was the one in the wrong.

Molly probably hated him. She’d probably wasted no time grabbing her supplies and heading out on her mission, leaving him alone with eight children for whom he had no idea how to care. He wouldn’t blame her if she’d left, but it hurt to consider it nonetheless.

He sighed. What was he going to do—hole back up in Wal-Mart, wait for the next person to get bitten, the next person to die? How would he provide food for all of the kids? As much as he’d teased Tank about being a superior hunter, his brother
had done quite a bit of the work himself. As had Rocky. And Spud had tended the garden. Chase didn’t know the first thing about farming, and what if something laid him low?

He’d promised Tank he’d take care of them. He also had a fleeting premonition that if they stayed here, they’d die. But what was the alternative? What else could they do, and where could they go that was safe?

A light bulb went off above his head.

Disney World.

It was both a destination and hope. Molly had claimed that her father and his cronies were making it the last human outpost, a place where people could meet and rebuild the world. It was defensible, she’d said, and they would have beds enough for everyone. There’d probably be a lot of adults, too—meaning there would be people who’d know how to take care of children.

Of course, this plan would involve tagging along with Molly, the woman who’d betrayed him all those years ago, left him standing in the rain, cold and alone, risking his life for nothing. He still had feelings for her, wanted her to like him, but he didn’t want to be indebted to her or ask her for any favors. He wanted to be the one in control this time. However, he didn’t see any alternative. They could stay here and die or head for the one place where there might be hope.

He’d have to swallow his pride. But he’d be doing it for the children. For his brother.

“I think it’s the right thing to do, Tank,” he said to his brother’s grave. “If we make it, we’ll have a new future. The children will grow up safe. If not…well, maybe it’s better to die on your feet than sitting on your ass.”

Tank didn’t reply, but Chase nonetheless felt a certainty growing inside him. This was definitely the right move. He just had to find Molly and convince her.

He felt tears welling up in his eyes again; once more he was reminded that no matter how far he’d come, he was still weak. He was still the stupid geek no one ever took seriously. Well, they’d have to now. There was no one else left.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the pill bottles he’d scored just that afternoon. He was just going to take one, he decided as he messed with the stupid childproof cap. After all, he’d had a horrible day. Drugs, he’d found, did the trick of melting all the pain away.

Just a few moments of mindlessness, that was all. Then he’d go back to the Wal-Mart. He’d find Molly and convince her to take him and the kids to Disney World.

He could only hope she’d say yes.

“Was that one of the Griffin boys from down the street?” her mom asked as Molly walked back into the house. She was still fussing with her cookies. Not surprising. Every other woman in the world would have used a Smart Oven for perfect crispiness and flavor. Ashley Anderson did it the old-fashioned way.

Molly grabbed another cookie off the rack. “Yeah,” she said, her mouth wonderfully full of chocolaty goodness. “He was just…helping me with some homework.”

“He seems like such a
nice
boy,” her mother remarked.

“I guess.” Molly wasn’t going to take the bait. Ashley had probably been spying on them out the window. She’d likely seen her daughter almost lose her head and make out with the school geek in the front yard. Bleh. It was bad enough that Molly could still feel Chris’s fingers on the back of her hands, bad enough she still had a weird ache in her stomach, her traitorous body wanting to see where things might have led. She didn’t need to hear Mom’s encouragement on top of it.

But her mother wasn’t the type to be dissuaded by vague answers. She continued, “His family is nice, too. They adopted that little African girl. She was an orphan, you know. We had a fundraiser for her.”

“Yes, her name’s Tara. I know,” Molly snapped, a little exasperated. All she’d wanted was a cookie, and now she had to go see what her dad wanted. “Look, if there’s something you want to say, why don’t you come right out and say it?”

Her mom looked at her. “How’s Drew?”

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” No, her mom didn’t miss a trick. “Let’s just say that Drew’s no longer in the picture,” she said. “Not that Chris is,” she added quickly, lest Ashley get the wrong idea. “He was just comforting me about the whole thing.”

“Oh, honey.” Her mom rose from the kitchen table and walked over to give her a hug. But Molly suddenly realized she didn’t need one.

“No, it’s cool,” she said, waving her mother off and surprised at just how okay she felt about things. “It’s better this way, actually.”

“Are you sure?” her mom asked, studying her. “The way you looked earlier, I was worried. I was waiting for the right moment to bring it up.”

It was nice to know her mom cared, even if in this case she couldn’t change anything. Molly fingered the diamond Chris had given her under the table, thinking about what he’d said. “You know what, Mom? I think it really is.”

“Molly!” her dad called from the basement. “Are you up there?”

She groaned. “Gotta go,” she told her mom. “Gotta see what Admiral Armageddon wants.”

Her mother handed her a napkin full of cookies. “Take these down with you,” she suggested. “Even the admiral himself has a weakness for chocolate chips. Maybe he’ll go easy on you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Molly grinned. She grabbed the cookies and headed downstairs.

Her dad was standing at the bottom, arms crossed over his chest, not looking at all pleased.

“Uh, I brought you some cookies?” Molly said, holding them out.

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked. He looked really annoyed. What had she done to piss him off? Her training was going as
well as could be expected, and she’d have more time to devote to it now that Drew was out of the picture.

“Molly, what was the meaning of you bringing that boy down here to talk to me?” her father asked. He spat the word
boy
as if attempting to expel poison. This was certainly a one-eighty from her mom’s reaction.

“Er, what do you mean?” she asked. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal, as you call it, is the end of the world. The apocalypse is almost upon us.” Ian Anderson uncrossed his arms then crossed them again. She got a whiff of whisky on his breath. Great. Things were going to get better. “The government has spies everywhere. And we don’t have the first clue regarding whom to trust.”

“Uh, Dad? Chris is just a kid from school, not to mention our neighbor. He’s lived down the street since he was six years old. He’s definitely no government agent.”

“And you know this, how? What if he was just recruited? You say he’s lived down the street for years, yet I’ve never seen him in our house until today. Don’t you think that’s a bit convenient, especially when he’s asking what he’s asking about the government?”

“Well…” She sighed. “I used to think he was a bit of a geek, if you must know. I didn’t want him here. But that’s not ’cause he’s suddenly turned James Bond. He’s not a government plant. Trust me.”

“You brought him down to my lab!” her dad continued, obviously not listening. “What if he saw something I was working on and is now off to report back?”

“Report back?” Molly cried, exasperated. “He’s a high school kid, for God’s sake! Who’s he going to report to, the electro shop prof?”

“Molly, you’re obviously not taking me very seriously,” Ian scolded, walking back to his lab bench. “I would have expected more from you—especially now that you’ve seen the first signs.”

Oh God, where was he going with this? Had he drunk
more whiskey than usual? Normally he only got a bit tipsy, and then only when he was working his hardest. “First signs?” she asked, knowing she should resist the urge to encourage him.

“Of the apocalypse. You know, disease. Plague. Your Mrs. McCormick is obviously one of the first to fall. And the government’s scared. They know as well as I do that more will come. God will sweep down on this world and smite those who deny His name.”

“Uh, okay.” Molly let out a big sigh. Thank goodness Chris wasn’t still around to hear this. She loved her dad but his conclusions were sketchy to say the least. There were a lot of problems in the world, yes. There might be government cover-ups, yes. But one sick old lady, weird government van-collection or no, did not an apocalypse make.

But it was better not to argue. “Sorry,” she said. “I won’t bring anyone down here again.”

“Actually, I think it would be better if you never saw that boy again, either.”

“
What?
” She wasn’t prepared for her stomach’s strong reaction to that mandate. It wasn’t as if she’d made plans to hang out with Chris Griffin in the near future. But it was ridiculous for her dad to forbid it. “That’s stupid.”

“Is it?” Her dad peered over his black-rimmed glasses at her. “He wanted to come down to the lab. He wanted to ask questions.”

“He was concerned about Mrs. McCormick!”

“So he told you.”

“Oh God, Dad, I can’t listen to this anymore.” Molly started up the stairs. “I’m going to help Mom bake her cookies.”

“Fine. But remember what I told you, Molly. More will fall. And we don’t know whom we can trust.”

“Right. Plague, famine, badness. Trust no one,” she muttered. “And the truth is out there, and I want to believe.” She couldn’t resist adding the old
X-Files
joke. That was another old series she and Erin had downloaded. Fox Mulder, the FBI agent, was remarkably similar to her dad in some respects. Though the actor, David Duchovny, was a lot cuter.

A shout echoed up the stairs. “The end is near, Molly. I’m the only one who can save us!”

Yes, there were times she really wished she had a normal father.