The Risen: Remnants (5 page)

“Is she…” Genny trails off her thought, letting her voice carry the question when her words cannot.

“She’s dead.” I tell her, exhaling the breath I was not aware of holding.

“They all
look
dead.” She tells me this as if I have not been with her this whole time, watching and learning right along with her.

“She’s dead.” I tell her again. A little more firmly this time, praying she won’t push the matter.

“How-” She starts and I sigh, letting the beam of my flashlight travel the length of the wall behind the woman. The new red layer of dried paint tells the truth of what has happened in the back of this supply closet. There are a thousand reasons why someone would take this way out. I only have one reason to keep going.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to leave Ginjer alone too long.” With our bags loaded, and with food now for at least another month, we make our way past the woman to the exit.

“Go on,” I tell Genny, waiting until she is out of sight to kneel down and pry the revolver from the woman’s hand. Her fingers are stiff and the snapping sounds make me gag with each pop of her knuckles. If you had asked me three months ago if I could ever picture myself surviving the end of the world, I would have laughed at the thought. Right now after stealing a gun from a corpse’s hand and toting bags of dog food, this shit isn’t so funny.

The sunlight blinds me for a moment when I exit the building. The smell of death and decay follows me like a cloud to the car where they are packing the bags already. Genny is still coughing as she tries to fight back the nausea, and when our eyes meet, all I have to offer her is a pat on the shoulder and another layer of guilt to my soul.

“I think I saw one of those quickie mart pharmacy things on our way here. We should stop in.” Ginjer smiles as if this is a “girl’s day out” and she is adding another shopping detour to our plans.

“No, we got what we came for. We should go back before our luck runs out.” I hold the same tone I use when Genny is asking for the moon and she knows it’s not possible. I hope that the same subtle message will work for Ginjer.

“There is no one for miles. We’ll be fine. You’re just being paranoid, again.” She actually smiles and winks at me. My grandmother used to have a saying for women like her, “Bless her heart because her minds done gone.”

“Ginjer, we are not going to risk it. One trip a day. It has always been the rule.” I settle into the seat of the car leaving no room for debate, but I didn’t anticipate who would join in on the argument.

“Mom, let’s just check it out. I could use a few things, too.” I would have left Ginjer on the side of the road before giving in to her demands, but the fragile voice of my daughter throws all of the rules right out the window.

She sits in the back seat, hugging herself, staring at her feet intently as if they have suddenly become very interesting. Another layer of guilt and another rule broken, but what can I do?

“Alright,” I sigh. “Alright, but in and out. No lingering.” At least I will try to pretend to hold on to the illusion that I am still in charge.

Chapter
6

T
he store Ginjer had spotted was once a mom-and-pop deal that supplied the basics of prescriptions, the basics of needs and the basics of accessories. Basically, the basics of hopes for nice retirement checks and maybe a family legacy. I don’t suppose either of those really matter anymore.

The store lot is covered with the litter of past lootings. It swirls with the leaves in the wind when the fall weather blows across the asphalt. There are no other cars parked near the store. There is no movement signaling we have alerted anything or that there is anything to alert. Still, something just doesn’t sit right with any of it. Maybe I am too paranoid.

“So..?” I hear Genny’s annoyed voice behind me. She has gone from sullen to full frustration while she waited. I know she is looking for someone to be angry with about what happened to the animals. I’m just the lucky one to be near her.

“Just stay close,” I say to her, with hopes that she will listen; high, sinking hopes.

My knees almost shake as we enter the store. The little brass bell that was once the owners’ idea of security softly chimes refusing any attempts to enter unnoticed. As our eyes adjust, the scene before us is depressing in a different manner. Litter from discarded items is strewn about, layering the once pristine shop with trash. Shelves are knocked askew, if not completely turned over, spilling what they once held around them. Registers are broken and smashed, robbed of their contents as if cash holds any value now. I can only hope that the owners never had to see their “baby” in such a disarray.

“So what are we looking for?” I ask, as if finding anything in this place will be possible.

Genny grumbles something under her breath and heads off into what once served as the feminine hygiene section.
Good to know that we can stake monsters in the head but we still can’t hold a conversation about your period, Genny girl.
I smile with the thought. No matter how things change, some things will always be the same.

Ginjer strolls along the destruction, smiling like she is cruising a designer shop. Her fingertips tap along the items left on the shelves as she tilts her head side-to-side comparing items before tossing them into her purse. A part of me has to wonder what freedom she is now enjoying with society’s rules thrown to the wind.
Bless her heart…

I leave Ginjer to her afternoon clepto-fest to check on Genny. The store being small and a basic rectangle makes it easy to keep the whole view in sight. There are no corners to hide around and with most of the shelves being knocked down, it is even easier to spot any dangers. Unless something is crawling on its belly towards you, there is really no risk of being ambushed. The thought pulls my head down to my feet with mental panic and I have to laugh at my foolishness. Just call me the Queen of Paranoia Land.

“Find everything?” Genny jumps with my voice and turns hostel eyes to me.

“Really, Mom?” She quickly shoves the remaining boxes of products into her bag while glaring at me. The pretty shade of pink she is turning robs her of the full effect of her annoyance. Any other day I would have had a little fun teasing her about her “purchases”, but with her anxiety already a full ten on the scale, I give her a little breathing room.

“You ready?” Ginjer stands behind me with a smile that a lipstick company would covet. “Let’s go.”

Her eyes are a little too wide. Her voice is a little too happy. My stomach just became a little too anxious.

I arch an eyebrow, asking for a hint or a clue for her behavior. Keeping her smile frozen on her face, she shakes her head with a subtle movement.

“Let’s go,” She repeats, a little more “happy” this time.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” With the sound of the male voice behind me, my stomach drops while my pulse rises.

I pivot to see every mother’s nightmare. The man holds my daughter with a one-arm embrace, pulling her backwards as he walks. Without a thought, I follow them just as he intended. Genny’s eyes are wide and pleading with me silently for any help, her feet slipping over the objects littering the ground and her legs shaking from fear. I am angry at myself for letting my guard down and allowing my daughter to fall target to danger. I in my naivety had thought this place safe while inside I had sensed something was wrong from the start.

“Sit,” He tells me, motioning with his head to the wall beside him. No way, Jose.

“You don’t have to do this. We don-” I begin to explain but he cuts my sentence short with his voice.

“Sit,” He tells me again, jerking Genny tighter against him and letting his threat sink in. Okay, Jose.

Ginjer and I slide down the wall until we are sitting like good little captives. He hands Genny a roll of thick tape, pushing her forward to us. Her hands shake and she stands still, mute and unsure of what he wants.

“He wants you to tape our hands.” I hold my arms out to her, wrists together, praying that if I assist he will leave my daughter alone. I want her closer to me, not him.

“..and feet. Tape their feet, too.” The man sounds as unsure of his plans as Genny is of what to do and I lose a few inches of my apprehension over him.

Genny is sniffling as she winds the tape with uneven circles around my wrists, but she is refusing to cry. With her mind focused on the job, she is no longer looking to me for guidance and I can stare at the man that paces the floor in front of us.

With one hand brought to his mouth to chew a thumbnail and the other rubbing the back of his neck, he holds no weapon that I can see. His head is downcast, heavy with his thoughts. He is dressed in basic jeans and tee-shirt with running shoes on his feet. Markings along his wrists show signs of having just removed a jacket telling me that he has not been inside the store long. This isn’t a kidnapping. This is a botched supply run, just like ours.

Trying to reason with him, I keep my voice calm and an even pitch, “Look, we don’t know you and you don’t know us,” I tell him. His pacing hinting that he is just as nervous about his actions as we are. “We will sit here, count to ….twenty…and we will never see which way you go or remember anything about you. There is no need to hurt anyone.”

He stares at me with dark colored blue eyes. They are a filled with an emotion that contradicts his actions.

“I just need to think…,” His voice trails off as he stares at the ground, seeking answers for questions that only he can hear being whispered in his mind.

Still clutching the tape in her hands, Genny sits beside me trying to avoid his scattered focus. I turn my upper body, placing my taped wrists over her body, attempting to shield her and pull her closer to me.

“My name is Beth. This is my daughter, and this is my friend. What’s your name?” His eyes slowly float to me with confusion over my question. “Normally I prefer dinner and a movie before I let a guy tie me up, but a name would suffice given the circumstances.”

He smiles at me before he catches himself. With that small action, I know that this is not a criminal mastermind at work. Just a guy, in the wrong place at the wrong time, just trying to survive just like us. Our odds just increased by metric tons in my mind.

“Collin?” The man’s head snaps up with the new voice from the back of the store. By his reaction, I guess we have answered the name debate.

He darts his eyes in our direction with almost fear building in them. He points at me before heading towards the voice, keeping his wide eyes on me with another silent threat and message. Unfortunately for him, I don’t take directions well and I am not about to just sit here until he comes back.

“Get it off,” I tell Genny, who is already pulling at the bindings of the tape. Male voices hiss in whispers that carry the conversation to us in disjointed fragments as Genny fights with the tape. Her hands shake with her nerves, making our escape clumsy and frantic.

With my hands free, Genny moves to help Ginjer and I begin to unbind my legs. I keep my attention on the whispered hissing during our escape. I know as long as they are whispering they are not paying attention to what we are doing. My heart thumps at the risk of being discovered. Collin may not be a threat, but his partner might be.

With silent nods we begin to stand, crouching low to keep our heads hidden, as we make our way to the front of the destroyed store where our freedom waits.

“Hey…,” I cringe hearing the new voice take notice of us, but shove Genny forward anyway.

“Go,” I tell her, praying this man also doesn’t have a weapon. There is no longer a need to crouch and we being to run to the door as fast as the obstacle-laden floor allows.

“Wait! Wait, please!” The other man shouts at our backs and I have to laugh at the idea. “We need help…,” His voice trails off, sinking in pitch at our departure. He sounds defeated and saddened, pulling on a cord in me that forces my body to slow against my will.

You have got to be kidding me
, a part of me thinks even as I turn to glance at him. His hands are held in the air, palms out, with either a gesture of pleading or a show of peace. His body language belongs to someone that has taken on a heavy burden and is wearing thin with the duty. His long sleeved shirt is stained with irregular dark patterns with what my mind screams is blood. It’s his eyes though that pull at me with their dark depths of sorrow.
You have got to be kidding me
, I scold myself again, but I already know what is about to happen.

“Mom!” Genny urges me forward sensing my inner debate.

“Please…,” The man calls again and I am torn between the need to get my daughter to safety and the human nature that I still claim. Ginjer stands behind me wearing the same look of shock and incredulousness as Genny over what I am about to do.

“Shit,” I sigh under my breath, hating a part of me. It is a red-letter type of day for breaking rules. Give me a giant red “R” and let’s get it over with.

“What?” My voice holds no offer of friendship and I am ready to run out the door with the slightest hint of trouble.

“It’s my son. He’s just a kid. We need help.” The man may as well have shot me on the spot. His words are just as dooming to my fate. How does a parent turn away from a hurt kid? How can anyone for that matter?