Whiteout (Book 5): The Feeding Page 4

  Acclimation

  Stone didn’t much like the job either.

  “I’d pass out if I was by myself,” he said. We were sitting in the cafeteria, gobbling down Cajun fries made special by Debbie, and by golly were they good! Chewy sat beneath our table, begging silently. Surprisingly, most people didn’t care about a dog in the cafeteria. He was so well-behaved, however, that I sometimes forgot Chewy was a dog at all. I mean, the way he grinned and expressed happiness was eerily humanlike.

  “Which is precisely why we aren’t alone,” I told Stone.

  “Yeah, I could do worse in the partner department. Lee is pretty cool. So is Ayden. Dude knows his stuff. They’re definitely way cooler than you, bro.”

  “I bet.”

  Stone’s eyes rose and looked behind my shoulder.

  “What—?” I began, turning around. A woman was standing there. I hadn’t noticed her before. In fact, I had never seen this woman at all. Despite there only being seventy-odd people here, it was easier to keep yourself under the radar in a place like the City.

  She moved lithely. She was young, thin, and pretty. Her hair shined a platinum blonde. It looked natural, but it was such an odd color, I doubted that was the case. Then I really focused on her face. Still pretty, but suffering in a way that went beyond living during the end of the world. Her eyes drooped and purple-blue rings were tattooed beneath them over pale cheeks.

  “Are you Grady?” she asked.

  “I am.” I stuck my hand out. She took it, barely gripping hard enough for me to feel it. “And you are?”

  “I’m Liz. Liz Cobb.”

  At the time, the name failed to ring any bells, but I knew it was significant.

  Stone cleared his throat. “Ramsey’s wife, yeah?”

  Cobb, of course. How could I forget Ramsey’s last name? He had saved our skin just outside of the City by taking us into his theater shelter (albeit, he did shoot at us first, but he can’t be blamed for that).

  Liz’s lips puckered. The skin around her mouth looked like an old balloon. “Far as I’m concerned, I’m his ex-wife. Unfortunately, I can’t go down to the courthouse and file for divorce right now. But in my eyes, as soon as he slept—” She waved her hands. “Never mind, forget it. None of y’all’s business, anyway.”

  I squinted, unsure of why she would come over here in the first place. Eleanor always said I didn’t have a clue, and maybe she was right.

  The conversation appeared to be dead. Stone and I exchanged a glance at one another across the table and then our eyes drifted up to the woman. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned deeper, believe it or not. I could tell she was struggling to say something. She was a prideful woman, and if she said whatever nagged at the back of her mind it would surely damage that pride.

  Unable to watch any longer, I said, “Yeah, he’s fine. He’s holed up in a movie theater not far from here. He’s got a whole trailer full of batteries that can power about a million lights.”

  “Plus, you know, he’s kinda badass,” Stone added. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.”

  The relief on Liz Cobb’s face was evident enough, however her expression betrayed what she said next. “Whatever.” She spun around, leaving.

  Before she got out of earshot, I called her name.

  She turned back and sneered at me. “What?”

  “He saved our lives, you know.”

  “Almost killed us first…” Stone mumbled, but Liz hadn’t heard, and I did what I did best when it came to Stone’s catty remarks—I ignored him.

  “He saved our lives, and without him, my friend Mia and her baby would’ve died. Hell, we all would’ve died. We never would’ve gotten here; we would’ve either froze to death or been killed by the monsters.”

  “Geez, Grady, I think she gets the picture,” Stone said.

  But did she? I wasn’t defending Ramsey’s actions. What he'd done was pretty shitty, but I do believe we humans are not perfect. Like I said earlier, I am no exception. We do things we shouldn’t do. We say hurtful things to the ones we love. We fuck up. It’s just in our nature. Sometimes we learn from it, sometimes we don’t. But I believe, no matter what, that we deserve a second chance—Ramsey included.

  I guess maybe I felt gratitude and more than a little pity for the guy who'd saved my life, or maybe he’d just grown on me. But it was the end of the world, for crying out loud. You shouldn’t have to spend it alone.

  I studied Liz’s face for a moment. Her upper lip twitched into what I believed to be the beginnings of a smile—possibly of relief, although that was debatable. Then her lips puckered again. Back to frowning. I guess my words hadn’t gotten through to her. But hey, it was worth a try.

  The book club started around four on a day so cold that the central heating seemed to do nothing. George had Lee cover my shift that night. So I had to go no matter what. Clever guy. Although, I wanted to go regardless. Hanging out with people who liked books was right up my alley.

  “Bring your dog too,” George had said. “He’ll definitely win over some points with the others.”

  “He’s not much of a reader,” I replied. “And he may get a little bored…unless there’s snacks.”

  “Lucky for him, there is. Cheese and crackers and some punch. Nothing crazy, but enough to hold us over until dinner. We always have to beg Debbie for the grub, but between you and me, she wasn’t too hard to convince this week. I think it’s got something to do with you, Miller.” George winked. “I mentioned your name and she perked right up. You got yourself an admirer.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Not a chance.”

  “Eh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” He elbowed me. It hurt more than he meant it to. “Ah, I’m just joking. Debbie, she’s a sweetheart.”

  “And a hell of a good cook.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “And a hell of a good cook,” I repeated. George rolled his eyes.

  We walked down to the library, which, like most everything else in the City, wasn’t much. Just a single room with three metal book racks and two tables. The snacks were on one of these tables, and two women stood around it, picking at the cheese and crackers.

  Wendy, who was probably in her early forties, with hair not just red but a shocking red-orange; and Scarlett, the artist who was probably closer to my age and whose work decorated the interior tunnel walls.

  Wendy turned around and smiled at George, Chewy, and me. I gawked at her hair. I was in awe of its color. Where it might look ridiculous on most people, she pulled it off marvelously.

  “Yes, it’s real,” Wendy said. “No dye job here.”

  “You can close your mouth now, Miller,” George said. “I’d like to say you’ll get used to it, but I haven’t so far, and I’m thinking I probably never will.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Wendy waved a hand. “Oh, don’t be, I’m used to it. People have been staring at me like that my entire life.”

  Scarlett turned around, her hands full of food. “I’m totally jealous.” She took a bite out of a triple-stacker and spoke with a stuffed mouth. Crumbs fell down her chin and dusted the tabletop. Chewy found this particularly enjoyable. He wandered over to Scarlett and began licking up the fallen cracker pieces. You can believe that for the duration of the club meeting, he kept very close to Scarlett. In my limited experience with them, dogs are partial to messy eaters.

  “Hey, Grady, nice to see you here.” Scarlett raised a hand toward me. She wore gemstone rings on nearly every finger. Ell had once described Scarlett’s style as “fortune teller chic.” Long skirts and tops with winged sleeves, always a dark red or a deep blue; bright gold hoop earrings; and a rhinestone-riddled headband holding her hair back.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “It’s going—”

  “Scar, what did I tell you about talking with your mouth full?” Wendy chastised, a hand on her hip.

  “That it’s not polite
.”

  “Exactly.”

  Scarlett then proceeded to open her mouth in Wendy’s direction, which was full of half-chewed cracker and cheese mush, and said, “Ahhhhh.”

  Wendy scowled, looked at George, and said, “Is it too late to revoke her membership?”

  George was grinning. “Aw, lighten up, Wend.”

  Wendy’s eye roll almost put Ell’s to shame. I nearly got whiplash just looking at it.

  “Sure, sure,” Wendy said. “Let’s get down to business. I assume you’ve all brought your copy of Frankenstein by the fabulous Mary Shelley.

  “Grady and me are sharing one, if you don’t mind. We each made our own highlights—in different colors, don’t worry.”

  That was true, but I did most of the highlighting. My color was blue, his was yellow. I hadn’t read Frankenstein since high school, a time when I’d have much rather shot computer-generated aliens all night on Xbox than ever crack open a book. No video games here. I was okay with that; reading Frankenstein was quite a treat, and I wasn’t stingy with my highlighter.

  “I guess to start us off, I’d like to know your thoughts on it,” Wendy said. She riffled through her battered copy; George and Scarlett did the same.

  “I loved it,” Scarlett said. “Expected it to be kinda boring since it was written, like, a thousand years ago, but it was quite a cracker.”

  “Agreed,” George said.

  They all looked to me. “Exactly.”

  Wendy smiled. “I’m glad, because it was my choice.”

  “I wanted to read Twilight,” Scarlett said, “but apparently it wasn’t spooky enough.”

  “Vampires don’t sparkle,” George grumbled, frowning.

  Scarlett shrugged. “Maybe not, but it’s still about vampires. It doesn’t get more Halloween-y than that.”

  Tapping his copy of Frankenstein, George shook his head. “Uh, yes, it does.”

  “A lot of people call this book the first science-fiction novel,” I added. “It’s not just horror.”

  “Thanks for the backup, Grady,” Scarlett said.

  “Just furthering the discussion.”

  “The fact that it’s still immensely readable at over two hundred years old,” Wendy began, shaking her head, “is…well, I don’t know what to say. Ninety-nine percent of the books published before the storms couldn’t hold a candle to this classic.”

  “You know,” Scarlett said, “I found it kinda sad. Victor created life, and he just abandoned his creation because it was—what, ugly?”

  “Pretty much,” George said.

  “How about the irony in the story?” Wendy said.

  I cleared my throat. “The whole ordeal was sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy, wasn’t it?” The others stared, their eyes urging me on. I had their attention. “Victor wanted to create life, beautiful life, but when his creation didn’t live up to his standards, he, along with others, started referring to the creation as a monster. And then what happened?”

  George crossed his arms. “The creation became a monster. Wow, good point, Grady.” He clapped me on the shoulder, a gesture that almost knocked my arm from its socket. “See, I told you he’s more than good looks!”

  “So you’re saying,” Wendy said, her brow knitted in concentration, “that if the monster was treated like a human, then it wouldn’t have turned out to be a monster?”

  I nodded. “I think so, but that’d make for a pretty boring story, wouldn’t it?”

  “Wish it’d work for the monsters outside our walls,” George muttered. “We be nice to them, they don’t kill us. That sort of thing.”

  “With Victor’s monster, it at least wanted to be human,” Wendy said. “I don’t think we can say the same for the monsters outside.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  In tandem, we all turned toward Scarlett, expecting a reply. She had crammed more cheese and crackers into her mouth. Chewy was perched at her feet with his ears perked up, his tail going like clockwork as he awaited crumbs.

  “Oh,” Scarlett mumbled. “Wait a second, you guys actually read the book?”

  “You didn’t?” Wendy said. She looked unamused, and she was the kind of person you didn’t want to disappoint.

  “Honestly? I’m just here for the free food.” Scarlett shrugged. Once she realized Wendy’s glare was serious, she threw up her hands. “Joking! Take a chill pill, Wend.”

  During the last shift Lee “supervised” me, he slept for five and a half of the seven hours, only waking during the last thirty minutes to smoke a few cigarettes and tell me how badly he needed a beer.

  Then, when it was time to clock out, he did a little something that made me like him a bit more—not that I disliked him, that is; I just, for the first time since the blizzards began, would’ve rather been alone.

  Lee stood from his chair. He was nothing but a beanpole, a clattering of bones painted over with perpetually suntanned skin (probably from years upon years of sitting out in the backyard and guzzling down six-packs of Bud). He stretched his arms above his head and twisted. His spine crackled sickeningly loud. I cringed, gritting my teeth at the sound. Either he had just slipped multiple discs or he was superhuman. Then Lee proceeded with the crackling affair by grabbing hold of his jutting chin, rotating his neck first to the right and then to the left. A deep crack followed each movement. If that wasn’t enough, he then laced his fingers together and popped eight before working on the thumbs. The sound was like a package of firecrackers going off all at once. Not only was I still gritting my teeth at this point, but I thought I was going to be nauseous too.

  “Are you all right—?” I started to say before he laid a hand on my shoulder. He couldn’t have been more than a hundred and twenty pounds—I mean, I could’ve sneezed in his direction and sent him halfway across the country—but his grip, even despite seemingly breaking his fingers beforehand, was strong. My collarbone bent inward at his touch.

  “You sure you’re gonna be able to do this without my guidance?”

  I nodded, thinking he was being a little condescending. Anyone with a functioning brain could’ve performed these tasks.

  “Good, good,” Lee replied. “I know you can, but I needed to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.” He grinned, but the grin didn’t last for long. It wavered the way your reflection does in a lake if you reach out and touch it. Then it fell completely into a worried grimace.

  “What is it?”

  He sucked in a breath through his teeth and blew out, causing a lock of his greasy hair to lift from his brow. He looked agonized, like what he might say next would bring about physical pain to him.

  “Go on. Whatever you’re gonna say, I can take it.”

  “Just wanna warn you, that’s all…”

  “About what?”

  “Well…after a while you might start seein’ things on the monitors. Things that ain’t there.”

  “Wraiths?”

  Lee shook his head and shrugged. “Maybe. Most likely. I don’t know for sure. All I do know is that they don’t show up on the tapes when we go back through ‘em. You know Paul, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He was the one who…well, you know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

  I nodded again. Paul Ellis was the man who’d let Berretti’s locked-up experiment free from its cage. Security camera footage showed him first getting on his knees and bowing to the monster before destroying the locking mechanism. As soon as it was free, the thing eviscerated him. Nick told me how Ellis wore a deep look of satisfaction on his face when the wraith consumed his life-force.

  “He was seein’ the things on the monitors before you came along. Talkin’ about ‘em all the time. No one else saw that shit,” Lee went on. “Either they had taken a liking to Paulie and were a little shy about it, or Paulie was riding the train to Crazy Town.” He lowered his voice. “You ask me, I think he was crazy from the get-go, but you can’t never be too sure. I dunno. Me, I’ve been fine whenever I’m on watch—�
�

  Probably because Lee was always sleeping.

  “—but you might have it different, my friend.”

  It was one of the few times I felt true fear behind the walls of the City. It stole the warmth from my body, made me feel like I was back outside, right in the middle of the endless blizzards. And you know what? I didn’t like it one bit.

  Monica’s first laugh occurred sometime in what would’ve been the spring of 2021, right around Stone’s birthday. Mia was passed out in bed with a snoring Chewy snuggled up next to her; Eleanor could barely hold her eyes open; Stone was in a sour mood because he'd burned his mouth on some coffee (I don’t know, don’t ask); and I was lost in my thoughts. Monica lay in the crook of my left arm, drinking a bottle.

  It was a quiet night off for me—then again, most nights in the City were. One thing I loved about the place was how you could barely hear the wind blowing outside whenever you walked through the tunnels. As for the barracks, that wasn’t the case. Despite being made of brick, when the wind shrieked, you heard it not only in your ears, but in your mind too. It was shrieking that night, the way it always was, and like always, I was doing my best to ignore it.

  “This is gonna be the weirdest birthday ever,” Stone mumbled during one of the quiet spells.

  “You’re usually in Tokyo or Berlin around now, huh?” I replied. “So I bet it is gonna be weird actually being home.”

  This was the truth. Stone never paid much attention to his birthday. He instead opted to bury himself in his work. Once, while we were both pretty drunk, I asked why that was. I told him he could come back to Ohio and spend his birthday with my dad and I. It certainly wasn’t Tokyo, but it beat being alone. Stone had leaned forward, pushed his glass of whiskey away, and looked up at me. His eyes shined with tears.

  “I can’t be home. If I don’t stay busy, Grady, I start thinking about my mom and dad. So I take on a few extra projects. The corporate bigwigs love me for it and I get a nice bonus check, plus I don’t have to think about missing another year without my parents. It’s a win-win.”