Whiteout (Book 5): The Feeding Page 2

  “About time, Grady. Come over here and help me get this up.”

  “How?”

  She frowned at me. “Uh…hold one side and stick the thumbtack in the wall. Don’t worry, Nick said we could. And tape won’t cut it, I tried.”

  “How the hell did you do all of this in an hour? Are you on Adderall? Speed?” I gasped. “Meth?”

  She offered a fake chuckle. “Hilarious.”

  I stepped over, kicking balloons out of the way with my shoes—white and beige Nikes, not heavy winter boots. If I never had to wear those again, it would’ve been too soon.

  Instead of going to the other side of the banner, I stopped behind Ell and gave her a playful tap on the backside. She squealed and slapped my hand away.

  “Behave, Grady!”

  “Make me,” I teased. The playful taps turned to playful pinches. Ell wobbled and let out a gleeful yelp. I caught her in my arms, dipped, and kissed her.

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “Save it for later. There’s work to be done—”

  Someone cleared their throat at the room’s entrance, and a high voice said, “Easy, guys. There’s enough cream on this cake already.” This woman burst out in laughter.

  Ell and I parted, color rising in both of our cheeks. I shifted to the side and hoped this new arrival hadn’t noticed where all the blood in my body had gone. If she did, she didn’t give any inclination, and I was grateful for that. Don’t worry, a quick mental recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance helped things below the belt return to normal.

  The woman’s name was Debbie; she was the City’s head chef. Some people around here called her Little Debbie—a play on her occupation and name. She told me this when I first met her, patting her thighs. “As you can see, I’m anything but little. I like what I cook too much, and what chef doesn’t sneak a few bites here and there? None, I’ll tell ya. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m quite good at my job.” She had then laid a plate in the middle of the table and winked. On it was a double chocolate brownie with the creamiest vanilla ice cream I’ve ever tasted next to it. “This is for the new arrivals. We’re so glad to have you here.”

  I remember as the four of us dug into this dessert, I thought—despite getting my ass kicked by Berretti’s henchmen—that I was glad to be here. I liked Debbie from the outset. She reminded me of a more vulgar version of my grandmother.

  Debbie’s cheeks, unlike ours, weren’t red. She wore a heavy layer of makeup, but she didn’t need it. She was seventy years old with the face of a much younger woman and the sense of humor of a frat boy.

  “Is that—?” Ell began, her voice choking up. “Is that for Mia?”

  Debbie smiled. “Word spreads faster around here than my legs at a Billy Joel concert.”

  “Yikes,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t you ‘yikes’ me. We’re all adults here.” She winked. “Anyway, it’s a chocolate cream cake with peanut butter icing. Enjoy.” Debbie set the cake on the nearest table and went toward the door.

  “Wait,” I said, “aren’t you gonna stay?”

  A smile erupted across Debbie’s face. “Y-you mean it?”

  “Of course,” Eleanor said.

  “Would she want me here?”

  “Well,” I said, “she most likely doesn’t want anyone here, you know, because that’s just Mia for you, but the more the merrier, right?”

  Ell went at the cake with a plastic spoon. She scraped off a bit of icing and gave it a taste. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she exclaimed, “Mmm, oh my God!”

  “Hey, isn’t that bad luck or something?” I said. “You can’t eat someone’s cake before them—”

  Ignoring my remark, Ell said, “After she gets a taste of that cake, Debbie, you’re gonna be Mia’s best friend. Trust me.”

  Debbie beamed.

  Like many others, Debbie had suffered great tragedy, but hers was newer than most. Her husband, her grown daughter, and her two grandchildren were among the victims of the recent massacre. At the snap of a finger, everyone she loved was gone. The grandchildren, a boy and a girl, were both under five years old. She hid it well; that is, if you never looked her in the eye. If you did, you’d see how much sadness she carried.

  A young woman named Scarlett came up with the idea of painting murals on the interior tunnel walls before we arrived to offset some of the gloom. The tunnels had no windows, and even if it was safe enough for them to have windows, all that would lie beyond them was more gloom. Cheering up was much needed. The people of the City found Scarlett’s idea a good one, but she didn’t do all the drawings herself. Most everyone had chipped in over the course of a few weeks.

  Red and yellow and green flowers, trees, sunsets, houses and stick figure families, dogs and cats and birds and all types of animals—all these brightened the City up more than any light could.

  On a more somber note, among these paintings were memorials to those who were lost. I had seen the one honoring Debbie’s family, and it was so realistic, I almost mistook the painting for real people.

  The paintings did well in cheering me up for a time—but the more I thought about them, the more sadness they brought, because they represented a time that was forever gone. These depictions of the old world were just a reminder of all the things we’d forever miss. Even if the snow somehow miraculously melted and the monsters vanished, I knew things would never be the same. And that broke the remainder of my already shattered heart.

  The party officially began sometime around seven p.m.

  The music playing from the stereo grew louder, the room became more crowded, and the cake was gone in about three minutes.

  Mia held Monica in a sling over her chest. She was asleep, oblivious to the raucous conversation and the singing voices of John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

  After a little persuasion, Nick had granted us permission to have alcohol: a few bottles of vodka and plenty of beer. When it came to birthdays in the City, they apparently pulled out all the stops.

  “It’s important, Grady,” Nick had told me when I went to his office to talk to him about the drinks. “We don’t have much else going for us, do we?”

  Sadly, that was true.

  When it was time for birthday shots, I took the baby, sat back with her in my arms, and enjoyed the show. Ell, Stone, and Mia nearly drained an entire bottle of vodka by themselves. Me, I just sipped a beer. I was never a big fan of Budweiser, but right then, surrounded by my friends and family in a heated place with lots of light, I was pretty much in heaven.

  Many, if not all, the citizens of the City dropped in and made an appearance. They rarely missed parties. The modest-sized entertainment room pushed its capacity, and the party eventually spilled into the hallway. The Beatles were replaced by a playlist of pop songs from the 2000s. Nick and a man named George, a former Marine with a chest that’d put any barrel to shame, cleared the tables and chairs and made a tiny dance floor. People were hesitant to dance at first, but then an Usher song came on and Stone crutched his way to the middle of the floor and started, as Debbie called it, grooving.

  “Oh, please, make it stop!” I joked, covering both mine and Monica’s eyes.

  “This is my jam, a-hole, Grady! Lighten up!”

  His antics broke the ice more than alcohol ever could, and a lot more people started grooving too. Ayden Peck, a large African-American guy, and a woman named Zoe Quintrell, both part of the Scavs, were bumping hips and hopping; Lee, the skinny Kermit-sounding fella who gave us the tour of our barracks, was raising the roof; and Nina and her timid sister, the head doctor Sharon Hart, were doing the Sprinkler. I watched as Debbie grabbed Ell’s hands and together the two of them spun around a few times, faces red, smiles large, Chewy nipping at their ankles, his tail a blur.

  The few children in the City, none older than fourteen, were huddled in the far corner. A little blonde girl ran by me with a red balloon sticking to her head via static electricity, yelling “Mommy, Mommy! Look what Pete showed me!”
The girl’s mother, a woman in her thirties named Fatima, laughed and flashed a thumbs-up across the room at Pete, a boy of about thirteen.

  Nick appeared on my left. He was looking out at all the goofiness like a proud father. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “It is.”

  There were a few people missing among the crowd. Then again, I hadn’t expected them to show up: John Berretti, Gas Mask (Ray), and Tinted Visor (Larry). On the subject of said trio, Nick told me I should bury the hatchet and chalk Berretti’s rude behavior up to him having a bad day.

  I found that idea laughable. I didn’t tell him that, but when I told Ell and Stone about it, I was honest: “Yeah, I’d like to bury the hatchet…I’d like to bury it right in his—”

  Ell had cut me off, but I’m sure you get the idea.

  The music continued playing, and the dance floor became more and more crowded while the supply of alcoholic beverages dwindled. Chewy zigzagged between Ell and Mia’s legs, moving the way he did before Bob Ballard had kicked him around. He grew tired after a few minutes and settled beneath my chair and was soon snoozing softly. I’ll tell ya, I wish I had the ability to sleep at a moment’s notice, the way Chewy and the baby could.

  Speaking of the baby, she had only woke once, and that was only because a little boy had popped a balloon nearby. The sound brought the party to a grinding halt. Really, if the music was playing on an old turntable, you would’ve heard the needle scratch. Once everyone realized little Alex was the cause of the noise, the party continued on, but Monica didn’t go back to sleep. Mia rocked her a bit, saying, “We should probably put her down for the night. Give her a bottle and get her away from all this.”

  “I can do it,” I said.

  “What? Grady, no, it’s good. I’ll do it—”

  “Hey, just enjoy your party, Mia.”

  A smile lit up her face. “You sure?”

  “One-thousand percent. Besides, I think I’ve listened to as much Lil Jon as I can stomach tonight.”

  “Thanks, Grady.”

  She passed Monica back to me. I looked down at her, and an explosion of love swelled in my heart. Although Monica and I shared no DNA, I would always consider her family. I mean, I had helped bring her into this world. That type of thing creates an unbreakable bond.

  So, Monica, Chewy, and I retired to the barracks. I took my shoes off, warmed up some formula, sat on the bed with the baby in my arms and with Chewy lying next to me, and watched Monica down the bottle. She passed out shortly after. “Milk-drunk” is what Ell called it. I got up and walked her around until I was sure she was in a deep sleep. Then, when her little eyelids started twitching, I put her in the bassinet for the night. It had a mobile attached to it that spun and played soft music. I flicked the switch, and out came “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

  I yawned, and believe it or not, I, too, slept like a baby that night.

  You had to pull your own weight if you stayed in the City. It was one of the requirements for living there. I understood and agreed with that. Nothing is free. Nick’s logic was that people needed something of the old world to hold onto. Something to distract them from the horrors that lay beyond our ice-crusted fences. As much as I used to mentally complain about going to work before the blizzards, I now welcomed this kind of normalcy. And if nothing else, a job helped balance out the chaos. It really did make you forget, for a little while, that the world had ended.

  A few days after Mia’s party, Nick Rider showed us a list of available work. When it came to what you could and couldn’t do, the options were pretty limited. Stone, Ell, Mia, Monica, and I all crammed into a small room and went over these options—Chewy hadn’t tagged along, but was napping back at the barracks in a big comfy dog bed surrounded by about a zillion toys. He was quite partial to a fuzzy penguin whose squeaker he’d already ripped out—but I digress.

  Nick had placed a folder on the table, opened it, riffled through the papers, found one, and then listed off the open positions. I’ll spare you the boring details, but Ell went on to work at the hospital due to her nurse training. Mia was off the hook for now, technically on maternity leave, but I could tell she leaned toward a kitchen job because her and Debbie got along real well. Their relationship seemed on track to become very mother-and-daughter-like.

  When it came to my decision, Nick suggested I join the Scavengers, or Scavs for short. There were six in total, but had originally been seven. It wasn’t a job in high demand, that was for sure. The chance of death was greater than that of, say, working in the library, but then again, the chances of dying were always great during the apocalypse.

  “Dangerous, yeah, but there’s honor in it,” Nick said. “We watch out for one another in the City, you all know that, but the Scavs really have each other’s backs. I just went on a supply run with them not too long ago. Most of the work is conflict-free. In and out, and then back home.”

  Yeah, I thought, but death likes to follow me around. That’s the problem.

  “A guy like you,” Nick went on, “who’s brave, smart, and competent, would be a great asset.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “And between us, you’ll only ever work once or twice a month. We’re pretty well stocked up here.”

  I considered this, but only for the briefest of moments, because of Ell. She had stared daggers at me before, but the stare she hit me with then burned hot enough to melt all the snow within a five-mile radius to boiling water.

  I shook my head at Nick. “I’m sorry. What else do you got?”

  He chewed his lower lip and looked down at the table. “Not much else. Nothing as exciting as that, at least.”

  “I don’t need exciting,” I said. “I’ve had enough excitement over the last few months to get me through a hundred lifetimes.”

  “That’s what she said,” Stone muttered, and then promptly zipped his lips when Ell’s burning stare fell on him.

  “Understandable.” Nick went through the pages again, squinting at the small print. “Well, we could always use more watchmen, especially during the late hours. Not too many folks want to switch around their schedules.”

  “That doesn’t matter much anymore,” Stone said. He was leaning on the bookcase on the right-hand wall. “No sun to wake up too. You might as well sleep all the time.”

  Mia yawned, covering her mouth. “Speakin’ of, a nap sounds pretty darn good right about now.”

  “Well,” Nick continued, “sleeping on the job is obviously a big no-no. The watchtowers have heat, but they aren’t too toasty. You work in pairs to combat falling asleep, so you’d never be alone.”

  I thought about it. As far as jobs went, a watchman job didn’t sound too bad. I glanced at Ell. Her eyes had softened, and I took that as a sign of approval, which was a good sign.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Okay, I’ll sign you up,” Nick said. He turned to Stone. “How about you, fella? Anything tickling your fancy?”

  “That’s what—” Stone began. We all let out an annoyed groan and he stopped mid-sentence. “Gosh, you guys got no sense of humor.” He tapped his chin. “Any more open watchman spots? I’d be fine with taking the graveyard shift.”

  A prickle of unease settled in my stomach. I didn’t like that term, especially these days.

  Nick’s eyebrows rose toward his receding hairline, and his eyes drifted toward Stone’s crutches. “Yeah? Stairs won’t be a problem for you?”

  Stone frowned. “You kidding me?” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I trekked through miles of snow to get here, man. You think a few steps are gonna stop me? Get real, Nicky-boy.”

  “All right, my apologies. I’m just making sure.”

  “No sweat, brother. I’ve been dealing with it all my adult life.”

  This was true. Subtly, people always brought attention to his disability. He’d be walking into a store and some Good Samaritan would rush ahead and open the door for him, or someone nearby would see Stone drop something and go out of the
ir way to pick it up. Not rude or anything like that, true, but in the case of the latter, most of these “helpful” people almost always talked down to him like he was a child. He wasn’t completely crippled or helpless, and he didn’t like it when others treated him like it.

  A moment of silence passed, and then Nick cleared his throat. “Okay, Stone, you got it.” He stuffed the papers back in the folder, closed it, and clapped. “It’s settled. I’ll get in touch with the heads of your respective departments.” He stood, his rolling chair squeaking over the linoleum, and he extended a hand. We all shook with him. “I expect you’ll be starting soon. And Mia, I know motherhood is a full-time job in and of itself, but I want you to keep some of the positions we have here in mind. Everyone must pull their own weight.”

  Mia flashed an OK sign, and we left.

  The head of the City security—as well as the head Scav—was George Anderson. I mentioned him being at Mia’s party. The former Marine with the barrel chest. I had only talked with him a few times since we’d been in the City, and he was always polite and kind, but there was something about him that intimidated me. Maybe it was the fact he could rip my head off with his bare hands if he wanted to, or maybe it was just his confidence.

  Whatever the case, when I reported to his office for my first day of work, I found myself wanting not to disappoint him. Despite not being too much my elder, he gave off quite a fatherly vibe, and there weren't many things more disheartening than disappointing a parent.

  I walked in and George held up a finger. He was hunched over his desk, much too small for his large frame, scribbling on a memo pad. I looked around, twiddling my thumbs, and noticed the books on his shelves. There was a Qua’ran, an English translation of the Dao De Jing, something called The Book of Shadows, and various other religious texts. What disturbed me most were the first two books on the shelf: two bibles. One of the Catholic variety (King James Edition) and an old, battered copy of The Satanic Bible by Anton Szandor LaVey.