Hollow Men (7 page)

“They want my van.”

“What’s in it?”

Evan shrugged. “Nothing really. Nothing that can’t be replaced. Clothes, some food, some money, but—”

We watched them surround it. Looking in the windows. Giving it an experimental rock. They glanced around to see if anyone was watching. If anyone would stop them. I sighed. “Want to go shoot their asses?”

He looked as though he was considering it. One of them took a big survival knife from his belt and then glanced at Mrs. Delaney’s house. Then at my house. He angled the handle end of the knife to the window.

“Here’s the thing,” Evan said, stepping back a bit from the window. I didn’t think they’d be able to spot us from the street given the sun’s angle on the glass, but I wasn’t sure. I stepped back, as well. “He came back with more of them. What if we go out there and make a big fuss over an old van and let on the we’re here. And your neighbor lady becomes known.”

“Her son’s coming to get her today,” I sighed. “I wouldn’t want that to go down bad.”

The driver’s side window seemed to disintegrate, looking like a pale, glittery waterfall as it went form a solid sheet of safety glass to a million little pieces. “Glass breaker,” Evan said. “They’re in.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing in there you—”

“Nothing worth tangling with them over. I have pictures of my family in my wallet.” He tugged it out to show me. And there they were. His dad, mom, brother and sister. All had moved to Vermont a few years ago from what I’d heard. He’d chosen to stay, obviously. “And I’m going to see them anyway.”

I pushed the small accordion slip of photos open a bit further and grunted. There was me. My senior portrait. “What the fuck was with my hair?” I asked, instead of letting it really hit me that he was carrying around a picture of me.

He moved his thumb, and I saw it wasn’t just one picture, but two. A picture someone had snapped of us at a picnic. Me riding him piggyback. His arms hitched up under my legs, me with wild summer hair and a sunburned nose grinning over his shoulder as I clung to his back. My throat locked up.

“You carried that around dating other girls?” I asked. It was a stupid question but the first thing that came into my head.

“I covered you up.” He grinned. “I’d put a picture of other stuff over it. Or my library card or something. But…” He shook his head, his face suddenly growing sober. “You were always in there.”

The noise of his van firing to life broke the moment, and I was free to turn to the window. “There they go, Ev. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He took my hand and squeezed. That showed me he was more upset than he was letting on. Then: “It’s not safe in your neighborhood anymore, Eleanor. There are hollows walking around suddenly and obviously…” He nodded to the window. “The fucked-up ones who take advantage and see what they can get away with are moving in, too.”

I knew he was right, but my stomach rolled sickly at the thought of having to leave my home.

“I don’t want to leave,” I said.

“I know.” He didn’t look at me. Just squeezed my hand again. The room smelled like sex. It smelled warm and close and comforting. It smelled like me and Evan combined.

“But it’s time, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“What if I say no?” I asked. Just because I wanted to know the answer.

“Then I’ll stay here with you until you change your mind.”

An idea was already coming to me. An idea I’d stored away for a rainy day in my mind. It was an idea that when I turned it over in my mind, often when I couldn’t sleep because my brain was full of what-ifs, I knew my dad would approve of. He’d be proud of me.

I turned to Evan. “Let’s go eat something. I’m starving. And we’ll need the energy.”

He waggled an eyebrow at me. Comic relief. I knew because his face still looked too serious for his personality. “Yeah?”

“To help Mrs. Delaney and her son!” I said, giving him a playful punch to the arm.

He nodded. “Okay.” We didn’t watch them drive his van away. But we heard it. “Needs new spark plugs,” he said.

“While we eat, we can brainstorm.” I spent a lot of time brainstorming.

He agreed. He held my hand all the way down to the kitchen. And I let him because it felt good.

* * * *

The street was quiet once the poachers—that’s what I called them—had driven off. I couldn’t imagine how Evan wasn’t more upset. If someone drove off with everything I owned, I’d be livid. Then again, I held on too much because what my father had built here when he was still alive—right around his beloved family—was a survival nest. But I realized, what good was it to just survive if I was the only one here? Mrs. Delaney was leaving. Mrs. Riggs was dead. The rest of the area from what I’d seen had been deserted long ago. I’d be utterly alone in my safe house. But when would my house become my tomb?

I’d heard of neighborhoods where rough characters moved in, and their noise and fires drew the hollows. They didn’t care; they treated it as if it were target practice. Communities that had once boasted families and pools and big barbeques at sunset in the summer were now burned-out danger zones. Then the military would move in, roust the poachers and clean out the hollows. But the mess just moved on. Now that scenario seemed to have come to my home turf.

I wanted to go. I wanted to stay. My heart was breaking.

I heard a vehicle and went to the side window to look. I pressed my face to the wrought iron cage on the inside. I wasn’t a fool. Should someone want to get in—really want to—they could breach the windows. But they’d have to take their time, and that was the whole point of my jury-rigged security.

“It’s Mrs. Delaney’s son. He’s pulled his truck right up to the porch. Good thinking. Ready?”

Evan stood, wiped his mouth and we both grabbed our guns. “Back door,” I said. It was easier to lock up and less conspicuous. Once he was out, I locked just the two main locks, making it easier to get back in fast.

The thought hit me: this rush to be able to get back in my home was new. Just a few weeks ago I’d felt relatively safe here. Now I felt as if I was under siege.

“You okay?” Evan eyed me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Let’s go. I want to help them and then get going. We might be able to hit the road before dark.”

He frowned. “Not sure if that’s such a good idea.”

He was right. But as with any of my decisions in life, once I make it I want to act immediately. Patience is a virtue, but I never claimed to be virtuous.

“Eleanor!” Mrs. Delaney came rushing to me. I saw her son—Todd, if I remembered correctly—glance around nervously. He was trying very hard not to let his mother see his worry.

“We came to help,” I said, keeping my voice low, hoping she’d take the hint.

Todd threw me a grateful glance, and I nodded. Best to get them loaded up and out of here fast judging by the last 24 hours. With any luck, they’d reach a patrolled haven before nightfall.

She hugged me, and I hugged her back, realizing suddenly how much I’d miss her. We’d bonded these last six months. “Who’s this?” she asked, looking very pleased.

I blushed. “This is Evan Blackwood, Mrs. Delaney.”

“Evan from high school, Evan? You two were quite the item back—”

I blushed harder. “I…um, yes, we dated. Let’s get you moved,” I blurted. “We don’t want you on the road in the dark.”

Another grateful glance from Todd, so my rush wasn’t entirely self-serving.

“Good save,” Evan murmured in my ear as he grabbed some boxes. He was grinning. “But we were quite the item—”

“Shut up!” I hissed, picking up a milk crate full of picture albums.

I loaded a few more things in the truck. Between the four of us, we made quick work of it. Todd still gave a sigh as Mrs. Delaney put Belvedere in the cab of the truck. “Ma, too much stuff.”

She blinked at him. “There’s a lifetime in this house Todd Allen Delaney. This is good considering what’s in there.”

He nodded. “I suppose so.” Another nervous glance and he said, “Say your goodbyes, Ma. The kids and Julie are dying for us to get back.”

She came at me with spread arms, and I returned the hug with a tight throat. Todd and I shook then he shook hands with Evan. Mrs. Delaney said, “Oh, come here, boy!” and grabbed Evan in a death grip. I heard her whisper “take good care of my girl” but pretended not to.

I watched her drive away with her son, happy she was going to be safe. Sad to see her go.

“Come on, El,” Evan said, taking my hand. “Best not to stand here like sitting ducks.”

“That would be sitting.”

He snorted. “Always the smart ass.”

“Better than a dumb ass,” I laughed.

“Still? You’re still saying that?” He groaned.

“Why not? Did something give you the impression I’d actually grow up? Silly boy. Maturity is highly overrated.”

“Let’s get you inside,” he said. The way he said it made me think of him entering me. His body sliding into mine with extremely pleasurable ease. My body grew hot, and I tried to draw a deep breath.

“I want to show you my plan. I told you…once she was gone we’d move forward.”

Evan glanced at his watch. “Okay. Show me but we’re not getting on the road tonight. Not now. First thing in the morning.”

“Fine.” I wasn’t happy about it, but I knew he was right. Getting on the road too late would make a spectacle out of us. There were recommended hours for traffic nowadays. Folks tried to travel between nine a.m. and five p.m. In the winter, when the sun went down earlier, the roads, barring official vehicles, were deserted before five.

We needed to wait until morning. Like it or not. I was more afraid of humans than hollows. Hollows were just hungry, propelled by need. The humans were deliberate about their violence.

“Come on. Let’s stop standing here.” I turned away from him, feeling him close by as I wiggled into a thicket of dense shrubs. I glanced around, stopping, listening, hearing very little but the distant sound of cars on the freeway. Hopefully, Mrs. Delaney was already on her way.

When I felt all was clear, I moved back toward the neighbor’s home directly behind me. Mr. Peterson was dead. He’d died at the beginning of the outbreak, actually becoming a hollow. His mother had shot him when he tried to attack her. Then she had died a month later from what some speculated was a broken heart. She’d simply died—as if she’d given up.

“Mr. Peterson was a bus driver for the county school district,” I whispered. We stood on the perimeter of the deserted lawn. Nothing moved. No sound.

I still felt safer going through all the trees and shrubs instead of walking right across the open lawn. I took Evan’s hand and pulled him along after me. “We’ll go in the side door.”

“The side door?”

“Of the garage.” I nodded to a towering cinderblock structure with sagging wooden doors that had been boarded shut.

“That’s a garage?”

“He had a hobby,” I said. The garage had a regular-sized side door with a padlock on it. I knelt by a stack of used tires and fished around inside the bottom one. The key was wet from recent rain but fine. “Voila!” I said triumphantly, waving the key.

“What was his hobby?” Evan asked, smiling.

“You’ll see.” I popped the padlock and turned the rusted doorknob. The door gave a hearty shriek as I opened it, but it made me feel better because it meant no one had opened it in a while. So no one was in there.

I gave one more glance around and tugged Evan inside the structure. I shut the door quickly and caught my breath. “There’s a light switch right by the door,” I whispered.

There were no windows so now that we were in I wasn’t worried. “Hold on.” Evan moved to the wall. Finally, the lights flickered on.

“Holy shit, “he said.

I grinned. “I know! He bought them at auction for a steal, he said, and then this!” I did a Vanna White flourish.

There were two school buses, but neither resembled the old yellow banana buses we rode to school. One was done completely in camouflage. The other was done up close to the American flag. Pristine paint jobs and pimped out, the buses were impressive.

“Thank god it’s this one that appears to be ready.” Evan pulled the door wide on the camo bus. He stepped up as I pulled some dust cloths off the front end. Some of the back windows were blacked out for privacy.

Evan whistled. “Come in here, girl.”

I grinned at the ‘girl’. It was often what he’d call me our senior year of high school. Usually post sex. It was an intimate nickname that sounded ho-hum and common.

“Why? Are you going to do naughty things to me on the bu—” I stopped short. “Holy shit,” I finished weakly.

“Was this man Peterson by any chance friends with your dad?”

I blinked. “Yeah. They would tinker. Drink a few beers together.”

The bus was a prepper’s dream come true. There was a whole wall of shelves that had been stocked with cans and jars and dry goods. Beneath the benches that went to a built-in table rested big plastic-sealed tubs of freeze-dried food. I went to the table, slid two chains down a bracket screwed to the wall, and the top lowered to line up with the benches. I scanned the bus.

“Over there.” Evan pointed.

I found the foam roll, unrolled it and laid it flat over the table and benches. “A bed.”

“Everything is useful,” Evan informed me. “There are bungee cords to keep the cans from rolling off and these…” He unrolled cream-colored fabric from the ceiling to drape over the food units. It blended in with the inside of the bus.

“That’s why these back windows are blacked out. The front ones look in on normal seats. Which makes sense…” I petered off.

“If you’re transporting a bunch of folks at once.” Evan wandered toward me, then stopped when his boots gave off a hollow sound. He chuckled, squatting down. He slipped his fingers in a recess, tugged and pulled the trap door up. “Escape hatch,” he sighed. “Brilliant.”

“He was,” I said. I had the sudden urge to laugh until I cried.

“What?”

“Mr. Peterson! Him and my dad! I guess they did this kind of stuff together. I didn’t know that part. Just that he’d let me come hang out sometimes. He’d shown me some of his bus modifications. But I never knew it went that far.”