SLIPPERY SLOPE — PART 6
Nick sat on the bed, then lowered on his back, staring at the ceiling. There was some bad aftertaste, a residue from talking to Troy that he couldn't get rid of. Otto wasn't exactly speaking his mind, which meant he didn't trust Nick with it.
Maybe they just weren't compatible. When it came to choices including violence, Troy was always in favor of it. He could be right at times, but there were also other cases he didn't want to consider. Nick didn't know if he could ever change. Troy didn't seem to want to. He wanted Nick to change.
Nick hated to be thinking that. But at this rate, they were having more arguments. Back at the trading post, they had nothing to argue about. But now… Now there was Alicia to consider, as well. Her safety, her own perspective on things. It was more complicated.
Nick rubbed his face, heaving a tired sigh. He wished the damn reverie was washed from his head that was already feeling heavy. He wanted to go back to simpler terms and choices.
He missed El Bazar.
Once Alicia had finished transferring all the cans and dry goods, she grabbed yet another empty box and headed upstairs. She stopped by the bedroom they had yet to use first, sorting through the clothes in the wardrobe and packing away the items that could be of use to them in the future.
She stopped outside Nick and Troy's rooms next. Both doors were open. Nick was lying atop his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. Troy was in a similar position, only his gaze was focused on a book. Deciding neither were doing anything that required complete privacy, she continued her sorting of the clothing, choosing Troy's room first since it also had closets she had yet to examine.
Alicia entered the bedroom but didn't say anything, immediately going for the cupboard to help herself to whatever she was looking for. Troy arched a brow and refrained from interrupting or asking what she was doing when it was clearly decipherable, taking a moment to watch her before concentrating on the book again.
There wasn't as much in this closet as there had been in the other, but she still managed to find a few tee-shirts that might fit the boys. There were also a disturbingly large number of shiny short-shorts looking like they belonged to a competitor at a '70s roller disco. Her lips quirked in a smile as she held up one of them for inspection. "If I remember correctly, Nick prefers his shorts longer. What about you? They of any use?"
Troy looked up from his page, half confused that she was asking him something so casual and amused at the pair of pants she'd produced. "That's way too fancy for my taste. Also, I feel it might make me stand out in a fight – my legs haven't been in anything but long pants since I turned twelve. Could be a handy rag though."
Alicia smirked at that, throwing the shorts back where she found them. "I don't think that fabric will absorb anything."
She grabbed the box and carried it through to Nick's room, glancing over to ensure he wasn't sleeping before she made to search the dresser over by the window. It had socks. Not to be scoffed at.
Nick glanced at her, then closed his eyes, relaxing. "You're packing?"
"Preparing. Just in case," she said, throwing a few pairs of socks into the box. "Doesn't hurt to have all this stuff ready if we need to make a quick getaway."
He didn't see any point in arguing. Maybe they were right and those people were more dangerous than they seemed to him. In that case, they would have to flee sooner rather than later. Especially if they considered these houses and supplies their own.
Alicia finished quietly and left Nick to rest, hauling the box downstairs and leaving it by the locked front door. The food would still remain in the kitchen for convenience. The medical equipment upstairs for the same reason.
She hoped they didn't have to flee, she really did. This house was perfect for them at the moment. But she wasn't willing to get Nick injured further or herself captured for other nefarious reasons that seemed to have become the norm these days. She wanted to stay, but she wasn't letting her guard down.
Troy read threw a few more pages, finished off his can of sausages, and then slid off the bed. He bundled up his dirty dishes and carried them downstairs, observed the new boxes in the room and how they'd been stacked close to the door in anticipation of a quick escape.
He rinsed his bowls and plates, tossed the can, and went in search of something else to eat. There were still snack foods left but he wanted something with more sustenance.
Noodles. Tomato noodles.
He opened the can and made himself at home on the couch with a spoon, contemplating extra security measures for the outside, perhaps a booby-trap like old man Henry had had at Jake's place. But where to get all the stuff needed for that? There was a store across the road and the garage seemed pretty well-ordered.
It was rare to see Troy without food these days, and though Alicia couldn't exactly judge him for relishing in finally having a good stock of supplies again, she wondered if he was eating more out of boredom than actual hunger.
"Any ideas on how we can fortify this place?" she asked, cleaning her knife under the stream of the kitchen sink.
Troy hadn't even heard Alicia come back down, he'd been that focused on trying to mentally give this place a once-over.
"We can use the spare battery from the car left in the garage—if there's juice in it—and add a bit more oomph to the front door and be assured that its covered. We'll nail the ground floor windows shut, prevent them from being opened easily, and then we use the courtyard doors as our main entrance. We can cover the outside with homemade bombs, nails in wood boards that we can bury… if we have any, I have to check the garage."
He scooped another mouthful of noodles into his mouth and shuffled over to the door to stare out. Thankfully they had power and weren't limited to working just during the day if they really had to.
"We have explosives?" Alicia asked, one brow raised as she shut off the water and dried her knife on a dishtowel.
Troy swallowed and shook his head, wiping at his mouth before he spoke. "No, but if we have to we can make it. It isn't too complicated. You ever been good at chemistry?"
"Yeah, I was decent, but I never made anything explode. On purpose." She was willing to learn, though. Come to think of it, Troy probably knew all sorts of tricks she and Nick could make use of.
"No better time to practice than in the apocalypse," Troy teased, finishing off his latest can, tossing it and the spoon toward the garbage bin as if shooting hoops. The first one hit dead center and the other went scattering in the opposite direction to land against the bottom of the counter. Oh, well, he'd get it later. "Is Nick sleeping?"
Alicia eyed the spoon he tossed onto the floor with a hint of annoyance but didn't move to pick it up. "Last I saw he was awake, resting. Why?"
"I know he doesn't want me going out to snoop, but maybe he wants to help oversee some security measures so he knows what's going on."
It was just a thought since Nick was the one advocating to stay more obviously. Troy gave a slight shrug, headed for the door, and slipped out into the courtyard to cut across toward the garage.
Alicia followed Troy outside, assuming there's still be work for Nick if he wanted it when he woke. To be honest, though, the more rest he got, the quicker he would heal and get back on his feet.
Troy ran a hand along the walls in search of the light and eventually found it next to one of the perfectly tacked shelves. The garage was stacked with tools, screws, and nails in colorful honey jars and numerous other additions that would be useful. There was even a mower, an extra gas canister, and a leaf blower. He rifled through a couple of boxes, found working gloves, a saw, and some two in one combination adhesive glue for wood and another for steel.
He kept hunting, kept calculating, and then started toward the second vehicle in the garage, finding the doors open but the keys to be nowhere in sight.
Considering the order of the house, it might be in there somewhere.
"Don't suppose you saw any car keys lying around while you were shopping?"
"I didn't," she said, leaning against the Jeep while watching Troy explore. "Can't you just hotwire it?" It seemed like a skill he'd have.
"I could, I have a fair idea how, but I don't intend to use it – I just want to check if there's juice without getting too crazy." Troy popped the hood, eased around the front, and raised the steel panel so that he could set the metal bar in place to keep it up and then undid all the little trimmings inside to free it up.
"What can I do to help? Need me to carry some of that inside?" she asked, gesturing to the items he had already unboxed and gathered on the workbench.
"No, need," he supplied, removing the battery from inside, setting it down on the floor beside him. "You said Nick is resting, there's no need to take the noise inside. Find wood, multiple pieces of plank if you can, and a hammer and we'll get started on the nails." He undid the metal bar and shut the hood, going in search of the jumper cables.
She wasn't exactly sure how he meant for this all to work, but assumed he had a plan in mind. She shifted away from the jeep to examine the workbench and all its materials, locating a hammer at once, as well as a jar of nails and screws in various sizes.
She crouched to search the mess beneath the bench, finding wood shavings and discarded bits of wood. All of them were too small for what Troy needed.
Getting back on her feet, she took a step back to survey the garage itself, noticing several large planks resting across beams close to the ceiling. She moved over to them and stood on her tiptoes to reach, the process awkward and difficult as she tried to lower the planks one by one as carefully as possible. One slipped from her grasp on the way down and scratched the side of the jeep as she caught it. She threw a shifty glance over at Troy but he didn't seem to have noticed. All good.
Troy set the battery and the two sets of jumper cables down at the back door leading off into the courtyard and walked over to Alicia while she struggled with the planks. He stepped behind her, reaching up to take control of the next plank she'd tried to navigate to the floor and claimed it for himself, letting her tend to the rest as he moved toward the jar of nails.
He set the plank down on the workbench, letting it hang over the side, and briefly returned to the door for the battery. He set it on the other side of the wood to weigh it down while Alicia was busy and steadily got to work hammering random nails into it, putting little effort into the spacing.
Alicia eventually got all the planks down and sat them on the concrete floor next to where Troy was occupied nailing the wood. She brushed some hair out of her face, redid her ponytail, and paused to watch him work. "How are you gonna cover it? Leaves?"
"No, we're going to bury them partially."
He finished with the first plant, the nails spread out the length of it like a whacky hedgehog. He eased it off the workbench and rested it against the side of the wall out of the way.
"You pretty up the rest of the planks, use the battery as a weight for now—as I did—and I'll take care of the holes."
She silently obliged, moving to take his space at the workbench and hammering the remaining planks enthusiastically. She tried not to make too much noise, but the activity itself was quite satisfying. Almost like beating on a punching bag, she reckoned.
He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, noting that this place was a bit stuffy and that my throat was beginning to feel itchy. Was he getting a cold? He swallowed, as if he could get rid of the sudden rasp that way, and went in search of a space. After he found it, he headed outside.
Alicia rested the planks along the wall so they wouldn't accidentally step on them, and once finished headed outside to check on Troy's progress.
He was starting to look a little worn, sweat coating his forehead, his skin a little paler than usual. Was it the stress of having discovered people so close to their little hideout?
Thankfully the grass wasn't healthy green due to a lack of rainfall and care and the soil was easy to shovel through. Troy had completed six shallow channels by the time Alicia returned, from the garage door and was busy tending to the seventh close to the entrance by the kitchen. They were going to need markers to make sure they didn't end up injuring themselves.
"Done with the planks," she said. "You okay?"
He took her appearance as a chance for a break, raising the shovel and adding a bit more pressure to pierce it into the earth where it could keep itself vertical. "I'm fine, I just… I think I'm getting the flu or something—it'll pass, it usually does."
God, she hoped not. An epidemic of the flu was the last thing they needed. But it made her feel their choice to stay had been a wise one. If he did get sick, he could at the very least get some decent rest. Like Nick.
He swiped at his brow, rolled his head on his aching shoulders, and glanced at the garage. "How many planks are there in total?"
"Nine," she said, pushing out of the doorway and back into the garage. "I'll get 'em."
Troy gave a nod at the number and what she'd said, and mentally calculated the spacing needed for the rest of the holes to do fair enough damage. While she brought the decorated wood out of the garage and laid them down outside, he tackled the remaining four holes and made quick work of them. As much as he could, anyway.
When he was done with his self-assigned task, he helped her lay the wood out in each channel and used the shovel to cover them with grass and dirt.
It's was all a bit taxing and by the time they finished, and he was satisfied with what they'd done, he eased onto the ground by the door and observed their handiwork.
You couldn't see the nails or the wood but the ground itself looked as if it had taken a beating, thankfully, in this new age, no one was going to question that or second guess it. Who knew what kind of animal might have gotten to it?
"We need to mark out where they are… without making it noticeable."
She stood back to examine the results of their efforts, angling her head to the side, humming in acknowledgment at what he said about markers.
"Will those nails go through combat boots?" She doubted their potential enemies would be attacking barefoot or in sneakers. Boots seemed the be the new popular footwear these days. "The flowerbeds are lined with rocks," she pointed out, musing aloud. "Big enough for us to notice since we know to look for them. Might not do anyone else any good."
"It'll get the job done," he said in response. It wasn't exactly an idyllic thing but it was enough to act as a prevention and injure someone seriously. He glanced at the flowerbeds she was talking about, saw the rocks, and gave a nod. "Do your thing," he suggested, pushing up off the ground, leaving her to it as he headed into the garage to retrieve the battery and the jumper cables. He went about wiring the battery to the front door, hopeful that it would provide enough of a charge to deter anyone from trying to come in there.
It's dark outside when Nick opens his eyes, reluctant to let go of sleep and wondering what has woken him up. Something's shielding the windows from him. A huge dark spot, like a void that has suddenly opened in front of him.
A huge shape of a… mane of dreadlocks.
He makes to suck in a breath and scream, but can't. Her hand covers his mouth, he can impossibly, crazily sense her smiling. He can't see any of her features – it's pitch black – but he can swear she is smiling.
"I know you missed me," she says, the huge black shape-shifting a bit as she leans in slightly. "I missed you, too. We haven't finished with you, now, have we? I didn't feel that way. Have you?"
He can't breathe, can't make any sound, or even move. He just lies there, helplessly praying she doesn't get to Alicia. That maybe Troy walks in and shoots her. Nick knows it's hardly going to happen. Otto must be busy in his room, and Alicia is somewhere else, if she's lucky, and no one will hear her leave. Just like no one heard her come in.
She's a fucking ghost. A ghost of Future Christmas that is here to make sure Nick has none.
"Aw, but you know it, don't you? You can feel it in your bones, Nicky," she whispers as if it's a secret only she and Nick share. "You're not… really here… are you? Haven't been for a while. But I find you. I always find you. Just like you always find the path you know the best…"
He can feel it now: something pressing into the bandage. He knows what it is. It's that knife, and it's red-hot again.
She slides it in, through the bandages, and under his ribs. The seething heat hisses inside him, slicing through his flesh as if it were melting butter. He can't make a sound, but tears of pain well up in his eyes and roll down his temples, soaking into the pillow beneath his head.
And her eyes glow in the dark as she cackles quietly… like her knife…
He jerked awake, gasping. His hand pressed against the bandage. It was fine. All was fine. Only he still felt the blade scorching him. He still felt her hand on his face. He shivered, feeling sick.
When he got to the bathroom, the urge to vomit passed. He drank from the tap, washed his face with cold water, and stood there while the water ran, listening to it as he tried to get his heart to stop racing. The pain eased a little, but it was getting stronger. The gaps between his fixes became shorter.
He took two pills from the drawer, bit one apart, and slipped two more into his pocket. There were hardly a dozen left in the bottle when he hid it back.
There was no one downstairs and in the kitchen. He heard them talk outside. Something about nails and boards. Troy had one of his ideas, no doubt.
Three radios rested on the table. He took one, then found a notepad with a pencil and left a note next to the remaining two: 'Went for a stroll, needed to vent. Be back shortly.' When they started hammering, he slipped out the back, fastening the belt with the gun and knife holsters on his waist, and went across the road to another house, eventually disappearing behind it. Neither saw him go. Soon enough, the sound of the hammer dimmed away. There were a few hours of daylight left in the sky. It was good. He wasn't intending to get lost in the dark. He just needed to breathe a little.
Alicia carried the medium-sized rocks from the flowerbeds to the lawn, careful to navigate around their traps. She put a rock next to each one, always on the right side, so they'd be able to maneuver their way outside without accidentally impaling their feet.
When she finished, she headed back to the front porch where Troy was still busy.
"I'll go warn Nick so he doesn't electrocute or stab himself the next time he needs some air."
Avoiding the temptation of brushing her dirty hands on her jeans, she made her way to the back door and into the kitchen, quickly washing herself in the sink there before climbing the stairs to the second floor.
Nick wasn't in his bedroom, so she stepped back to check the bathroom. The door was open and the room empty.
"Nick?"
He wasn't in Troy's room, nor the third bedroom they'd not really made much use of. Had she walked past him downstairs?
After Troy finished setting his new security system on the front door, he moved to the windows, pulled the curtains aside, and checked to see how they were going to nail them shut – it was the last thing to do on the list.
Alicia's tension wasn't unnoticed when she came back but she didn't say anything, rushing directly to the basement, calling Nick's name.
She went to check, even opened the basement door to holler his name, but there was no sign of him anywhere.
The crazy lady's promise she'd take him again should she ever find him echoed in her head, and fear flared. It took her another minute to find the note on the kitchen counter. She exhaled shakily as she read, relieved he had not been taken, but worried he'd run into trouble wherever he currently was.
Troy hovered at her shoulder, peering at the message scrawled. "That son of a bitch," he cursed.
All this effort to put in place a security measure in case whoever is out there suddenly came running this way and he's out there? Exactly where he asked Troy not to be?
Otto stormed toward the front door, undid the charge on the handle, and practically kicked it aside on his way out, striding across what little yard covered the front to ease onto the sidewalk in search of him.
Alicia watched his progress for all of two seconds before her attention returned to the note. It was Nick's handwriting, of that she was sure, so she had to believe he had gone of his own free volition this time, and that like he had written, would be back shortly.
That didn't stop the fear from festering in the pit of her stomach. She looked to the radios, noticed one was missing, and took one for herself, leaving it on the channel Troy had tuned it to earlier.
"All good?" she asked, holding the button in to ensure her message would be heard. She didn't use Nick's name but knew he would recognize her voice and would answer her if he was able.
The fact that there was an airport just north of that small town was surprising, unlike the signs of a military cordon on the approach to it. It looked abandoned. Aside from one stray infected, there was nothing that moved around as Nick strolled for the main building. There were many cars on the parking lot behind it; the main entrance closed. He considered the doors, then peeked through the dusty windows. What he saw inside made him sick.
Nothing was moving in there, either.
A single army-edition Hummer was parked in front of the airport. It had an empty tank, which probably was the reason it was still here, covered with three months' worth of desert dust. Nick checked about a dozen parked cars. They had plenty of gas left, and one of the trunks contained a canister. He filled the Hummer, then hopped in, chewed up a pill, and started the car. The key had been sticking out of the ignition all these months. No one came around to claim the prizes of the small abandoned (cleaned out) airport in the middle of Texas. Even though the town sat on literal crossroads.
The highway was empty. He suspected the army could have taken care of it while they had been here. Some abandoned cars still sat on the shoulders, some with dead inside. Some dead moved. Some didn't.
It was nice to drive. It helped to vent his head. His thoughts were still a jumble, dashing between the stupidly real dream and the stillness of the carnage behind the airport doors. He tried not to linger on either, just drive and look at the plain and boring landscapes until something on the curb made him stomp on the breaks.
He slowly approached the carton box, his right hand reaching to rest on the gun handle on instinct. The box was closed. The insides of the folds said TAKE WHAT YOU NEED, LEAVE WHAT YOU DON'T in black marker. Inside, there was a couple of bottles of water and snacks: chips, candy, energy bars. The sight of the box gave him chills. On the other hand, he was on the right path.
He was absent for more than an hour, as far as he guessed, but he was too tempted to pursue that little thread, so he went further up the highway, heading west, then took the first turn he found, trying to remember the way so he could come back to Sonora. After another twenty minutes or so, he saw a big lump of the truck parked on the shoulder. He slowed down to a crawl, barely trusting his eyes. It just stood there, its rear to Nick, the doors opened a crack.
It had been a crazy hunch – much like searching the dead junkies at the church before the woman snatched him – but he wasn't feeling like driving back without looking into it. He pulled over, killed the engine, pocketed the key, and started toward the truck.
If Nick had, in fact, gone for a stroll, then he had to be close, around the corner possible, doing a circle around the block – still it made Troy angry.
Did he sit and wait for Nick to get back or did he continue to look for him and hope to find him?
He craved to do the latter but at the same time, Troy knew that once he caught up to that idiot, he'd tell Troy he was being overprotective, that he'd left a message, and that Otto was smothering him.
Troy craved to punch something – to kill. He stopped looking for Nick and sought the dead. He found two stragglers in another yard a few houses down and took care of them, leaving them where they were, and headed back to the house in case Nick was already there and waiting.
He wasn't, and Alicia was looking slightly more worn-out, clutching one of the radios.
She waited but there was no answer. She tried again, relaying the same message with the same result.
Fuck. Did that mean he was out of range? That he couldn't hear her? Or that he couldn't answer?
"Nick!?" she called, a bit more desperate now and temporarily forgetting Troy's insistence they play it safe with the radios. Still, no answer.
"He answer you on that thing?"
"No. There's nothing," she said, looking up from the radio to see one half of his face spattered with drops of blood. Not his. "Dead?" she asked, hopeful it was, and that their new 'friends' hadn't decided to seek them out.
"Yeah," he muttered and swiped at his face, feeling the evidence of what she'd seen sticking to his skin. He kicked the door closed behind him, forgoing putting the battery back, and walked over to the box of food, flipping open the lid so that he could peer in at the labels.
He extracted another can of sausages, opened them, and headed out the backdoor in search of the hammer and nails so that he could start on the windows.
She eyed him until the back door slammed shut, then returned her attention to the radio, clutching it like with the same ferocity she had when Nick had last gone missing. She prayed she would never hear Crazy Lady's voice again.
There was nothing. Not a single sound. So Alicia changed channels and tried again. "You there?"
She waited. Nothing. She repeated the process, changing channels, calling out. Waiting.
Troy had the jar of nails tucked in the crook of his arm, the hammer in one hand and the can in the other, finishing off the last of the sausages as he entered the house again.
The look Alicia was wearing he'd seen before and liked nothing about it.
He tossed the can toward the bin, missed, and moved on to the window. He started on those at the front door.
The clang of the can hitting the side of the bin grabbed her focus, and the fact he didn't even pause to pick it up filled her with the bizarre desire to slap him. She clenched her jaw and turned to keep her back to him, trying to ignore the sound of the hammer hitting the nails, continuing her task of trying to find Nick over the radio.
Alicia was still standing in the middle of the room when he finished with the first window and considered the second.
Why was he even bothering, though?
"How long do you think he has been gone?"
"Less than two hours." That was the only timeframe she could give him because it was the last time she'd seen her brother.
There was no response from any of the channels she attempted, nor did she hear anyone else. She smacked it against her other palm as if that would somehow extend the connection and tried again.
With his heart thudding in the base of his throat, Nick approached the truck. No sound came from inside or around it. He pulled the gun out of its holster, nonetheless, before pulling at one of the trunk doors.
Inside, there were piles of boxes. Seemed like there used to be more, but now only five were left. A few boxes just sat on the floor around the stacks. He peeked into one and found all items intact. Didn't seem like anything had been taken. He wondered how long that truck had been standing here like that.
There was no one in the driver's cabin, the door wasn't closed. Like the driver had just stepped outside to take a leak. Only there was nothing around here but the desert. He checked a box on the shoulder of the highway. It was full, untouched. The flaps revealed the same message.
A crackle of static startled him; Nick jumped, veering around. It came from the unlocked door of his car.
The radio. Alicia's voice called from it, then disappeared. He didn't make out what she said but had a fair guess. He was about to head for the Hammer and respond to her call, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed something that rooted him in place.
A pair of boots on the ground, peeking from behind the truck's wheel.
Slowly, he strolled around the front, and bit by bit, a body was revealed. It was a man lying on his side. There was caked blood in his hair around a knife handle sticking out of his head. When Nick got closer, his knees got weak, and, shakily, he lowered into a squat.
TAKE WHO YOU NEED, TRADE WHO YOU OWN was written on his face with black marker. His dead eyes stared right at Nick as if they shared some exclusive joke.
Nick's heart went racing, blood flushing in his ears. He whirled around, scanning his surroundings, straining to keep from panicking while expecting to see the woman behind him grinning before she knocked him out again.
There was no one.
Shaking with both anxiety and weariness, he dragged the dead man to the Hummer and loaded him in the trunk. He left the knife lodged in his head, unwilling to pull it out. He knew it would make him sick. He didn't know if his hunch was right, but, deep down, he felt he had already decided on it. After a minute's thought, he took one of the boxes from the trunk and put it next to the body before climbing back behind the wheel.
He took the radio in his hand, his thumb touching the button while he considered, then put it back on the dashboard and started the car. He turned it around and accelerated down the highway.
Troy set the hammer down on the windowsill and walked over to Alicia, snatching the radio from her hand before she could unemotionally break it. "Could be less."
Neither of them knew when Nick left and he hadn't given them a timestamp on his message.
Alicia glared as he took the radio from my hand, inhaling sharply, pushing down the urge to fight him for it. She knew it would be silly to do so, but still… the desire was there. Some lingering residue from the last time this happened.
"Let's just finish tweaking the security and give him a little time. I might not have seen him because he was checking out one of the houses… he did mention doing that."
"Fine," she said calmly, holding her hand out for the radio. "Give it."
He ignored her hand and gestured to the hammer he'd left on the windowsill. She needed the outlet more than he did. "I'll take the next one," he stated, walking toward the kitchen counter, hoisting himself onto it to observe her while she worked.
Alicia didn't start hammering, staring daggers at him as she liked to do in times of stress. If Troy made the offer for her to hit him now, she probably would.
Alicia narrowed her eyes dangerously, briefly considering trying to take the radio back, but before she could act he was already out of her reach. Seething, she headed in the direction he had pointed out, grabbing the third radio off the table, giving Troy a mental fuck you as she tuned between channels on her way over to the window.
She didn't bother with the nails before attempting to contact Nick again, her heart beating so rapidly she felt like it would soon burst from her ribcage. "Please answer me," she murmured into the receiver after yet another unanswered call, forehead resting against the cool glass, eyes briefly closing.
It wasn't hard to find his way back to the airport, and from there, it was a clear way.
Nick chewed down another pill as he drove into the town and down the street that led to the house they were occupying. The sun was getting lower across the sky. He estimated he could have been gone for around three hours. Maybe a bit less. It was less and less important the more his mind kept spinning around the truck left on the road like a big dead animal. He pulled over next to the garage, killed the engine, and leaned back in the seat, listening to the white noise in his head.
Troy set the radio down on the counter, darting toward her, and nudged her into a crouch beside the window, the sound of tires enough to set him in motion.
An indignant squeak left her as Troy suddenly pulled her down with him to the floor, confused and pissed off until she heard what had set him off. A car.
He peered out between the curtains and automatically freed his gun, snapping the safety off as he went for the front door. Alicia stayed down until he moved, then followed, a few paces behind him.
He didn't bother with the back and sneaking as whoever had arrived wasn't all that stealthy. He slipped the gun holding hand behind his back, unable to see who was in the driver's seat as he approached with the sun glaring off the windshield and remained close to the wall.
When no one immediately got out, Troy continued and paused when Nick materialized in part the closer he got.
"Where the hell have you been?" Troy snapped as soon as he was at the window. "Where'd you get this?"
Alicia exhaled a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding, relief and anger swirling together in a mind-numbing cacophony that had tears prick the back of her eyes and heat flush her skin.
Troy's voice weakly came seeping through the white noise veil around Nick, had him open his eyes and focus on him. It helped; the noise subsided. "At the airport," he said, peering at Troy tiredly. "I found something else. In the trunk."
Troy took a step back to admire the ride and smirked returning the gun to his waistband. "It's called a flatbed, Nick, these things don't have trunks."
He cast a glance at Alicia who'd been minutes away from cracking and whose eyes were glimmering in what remained of the sunlight as it began to drift and headed to the back. He opened the covering and looked inside, recognizing the body despite the grotesque message written on his face in black marker.
So she had killed him, fantastic, Troy was sure that was going to make Alicia's day and further instill that hatred she was already harboring for him with more evidence physically strewn at her feet.
Alicia listened in on their conversation, all the while deciding whether she wanted to yell at her brother or pull him in for a hug. Both actions were dismissed as Troy rounded the car to examine what Nick had brought home. He stared at whatever was back there, not looking too happy.
Troy shut the canopy and started toward the front, sliding a hand through the window to open the door and help Nick out – if he'd accept that.
Alicia started forward, mirroring the path Troy had taken, and peered inside, briefly confused about what she was seeing. It was a corpse, that was clear. But she didn't recognize him until she pulled the door open and leaned in for closer inspection.
It was the trucker. The one she and Troy had traded for Nick.
There was a knife firmly embedded in his skull, and she recognized it immediately. Her knife. The one she had slipped down his boot in a feeble attempt to help him.
Nick's side was throbbing weakly, and the shirt felt wet. Alicia was going to be pissed or upset or both, but he had to take the guy. Nick needed to know. Or rather, to make sure.
On the second thought, he didn't know what he wanted by bringing him with. He just did.
Nick let Troy help him out, then stood leaning against the side of the hummer. He glimpsed Alicia's face as she checked the back, as well, and it told him everything. His heart sank lower, giving a physical throe that made him wince.
Bile rose in the back of Alicia's throat, and though she managed to swallow it she still felt sick to her stomach. "Why would you…" she began, unable to take her eyes off the dead man. "You went back there?" She stepped away, wrenching her tear-filled gaze off the corpse to fix it on Nick, incredulous and unable to understand. "Why would you go back there? After everything we had to do to get you away from her?"
Nick met Alicia's eyes filled with tears. He wondered if it would have helped him any if he cried. He didn't think he could, though. He had a desert inside him. Everything just dried out for a bit, numbed and covered with dust.
He shook his head once, slowly. "He was next to a huge truck abandoned on the side of a highway not far from here. The truck's loaded with boxes they leave on the roads for people who need help."
Nick looked her in the eye, wanted to ask if it was him, and then didn't. She had just confirmed it. His brain was getting slow. Nick was too tired. He looked down at the road beneath his feet.
Troy's mind was spinning. That meant the crazy bitch was still in the area. What if this man Nick found was bait and the Hummer a beacon? Did she have a tracking device? Was she even that experienced? She'd already proved how resourceful she could be and Troy had no idea of what she did and didn't have to complete her self-assigned operations.
"Why were you even on the highway? You said you were going for a stroll," he chided, observing that Nick looked dead on his feet and that he was having a hard time keeping himself in check. Alicia was hardly keeping it together anymore, either. The Clarks were on meltdown mode for polar opposite reasons.
Troy wanted to get inside as quickly as possible and away from the vulnerability of the open. "Let's continue this chat indoors."
Alicia stared, devastated that Nick didn't seem to understand the severity of him having gone looking for this man when it could very well mean Crazy Lady was still lurking in the vicinity. She probably was, waiting to scoop Nick up again at first opportunity so she could 'make him strong' and feed off Alicia's misery like she had the last time. Troy had been right about that.
And it was Alicia's fault if it happened. Because she couldn't be what this new world needed her to be. She couldn't play by the rules everyone else seemed to – survival of the fittest. She'd given in to her 'weakness' and tried to help the sacrificial lamb. And for that Crazy Lady would make Nick suffer.
But only if she got to him.
Alicia clenched her jaw and reached into the back of the Hummer, one hand pressed to the man's forehead for leverage as she pulled the knife out with the other. Her knife. Surely Troy had seen it, too, knew the significance. It was a visible reminder of the poor choice she had made, and yet if she had been given the same option again she wasn't sure if she would have acted differently. That angered her even more.
She didn't speak, couldn't find the words, scared to even open her mouth in fear of what would escape her. She just slammed the door shut and started back for the house, bloodied knife in hand, face pale, eyes wet.
Troy'd only seen that look on her one other time and somehow it seemed even worse on her now. Nick must have realized what he'd done – or he would.
Alicia retreated to the bedroom neither of the boys had made use of, and shut the door behind her, taking a seat on the foot of the bed, staring down at the knife in her hands. It still had the trucker's blood on it and some of his hair.
Not for the first time since the whole ordeal had happened, she wondered if he had a family. If people were waiting for him to come home, sick with worry like she had been for Nick. Would they go looking for him only to be caught up in the same shitstorm their trio had? It was a thought able to cripple her with guilt, but she couldn't push it away.
Nick glanced after Alicia as she retreated for the house, knife in hand, then looked back to Troy.
"You can roll it into the garage first. We don't need anyone's attention to a tank in our yard."
With effort, he detached from the Hummer's side and stepped away. With his back to Troy, he touched a hand to his side under the jacket, and it came away bloodied. He sighed, annoyed and tired.
Troy noticed the blood on his hand, and took a hold of his wrist to slide it over the back of his neck, slipped an arm around his waist, and walked him toward the house so that he could tend to himself and get out of harm's way. "The Humvee won't fit in the garage. I'll take it over to the gas station across the street and see if they perhaps have somewhere I can store it."
Nick stopped on the porch, reluctant to return inside just yet. It was starting to feel like a tomb that tried to keep him in. The damn dream was still fresh in the back of his mind.
"I'm fine," he told Troy and waved a hand toward the car. "We should go back to the airport on that thing. Take canisters and drain the cars of gas before someone else ventured there."
"You're bleeding, Nick," Troy stated as if he needed to think of the obvious instead of pushing all the time to remind him that these things weren't to be played with. "If they haven't ventured there in all this time, it'll be fine for a few more days. You need to stop taking unnecessary risks with your life. What were you even doing out on the highway?"
Nick shrugged, observing the neighborhood. "Just driving. Then I saw one of those boxes, drove a bit further, and found the truck. It's been there for days, from the looks of it. She can be anywhere. She got what she wanted. Another one of them."
The fact that he couldn't comprehend how badly he'd put himself at risk and how close he'd come to driving his sister insane again showed how little attention he paid to the details. Troy could lecture him but it wasn't his thing and he wasn't going to start now.
Neither of them liked to be tamed, although, unlike him – Troy didn't mind doing it – if he had to survive and needed to play the game. It's what he'd done most of his life.
"I'm just glad she didn't get you." He took a step off the porch, preparing to head for the Hummer. "Where's your radio?"
"She's got no reason to hunt me down again," Nick said, becoming annoyed with their paranoia. "I'm not a part of her vendetta. They are." He glanced at the hummer. "My radio's in the car."
"Keep telling yourself that, Nick."
Troy had no idea why Nick was so adamant in his refusal to believe that she might have more plans for him – all artists liked to see the end result of their art. Troy gave a nod and strolled across the yard, opening the Hummer door and peered inside in search of the radio. He found it on the dash. He immediately changed the channel to twelve, gave Nick a slight wave, and got in, speaking into it.
"Lock up tight," Troy said, breaking his own rule to make sure the radio was in working order, and expecting as much since Alicia was still holding one and the other was inside on the couch where Nick might hear it.
Nick watched him pull from the curb and turn the huge thing around, thinking over what he said. How certain they seemed to be about the woman's threat. His dream was in agreement with it, but he couldn't be. He couldn't afford to be scared for the next week, months, years. He remembered the uncontrollable terror spearing through him at the sight of the dead guy's face, the black writings made by her hand. He didn't want to give in to that terror because it could destroy him from the inside.
There was no means of being subtle about what Troy was trying to do with the vehicle as the thing rode like a tank. Nick got lucky finding it.
He drove from one side of the street to the other, pulling in at the gas station, searching for a mechanic's shop, and finding none attached to it.
That's unfortunate.
After a quick search of what the rest of the buildings had to offer, Otto found a tire sign marketing 'Leo's tire service' nestled between two electric poles and another for El Torito. The latter being a restaurant or some kind of dingy bar. He rolled the Humvee across the road and directed it into the undercover slot between the two buildings. He climbed out and kept a firm hold of the radio, searching for a way into the small warehouse to see what the space was like before settling on the two roller doors in front. He checked each one, in turn, to see if they were unlocked. Neither were.
He could jimmy them open with a crowbar – if he could find one – but the idea of the extra effort drained him. Troy returned to the Humvee, removed the key from the ignition, and slipped it into hiding between one of the discarded tires so he'd know where to find it if they needed a quick escape.
When he was satisfied it wouldn't be found, he started his way back to the house.
Alicia put the knife down on the nightstand, suddenly unable to watch it any longer, and ran to the bathroom, sweeping the door closed with her leg. She braced her arms on the sink, taking deep breaths, willing the nausea away, hoping it would take the sense of dread with it as well. It didn't, but the urge to vomit slowly passed the steadier her breathing became.
She only now realized she was still clutching the radio. She switched it off and put it on the counter, it too serving as a bad memory.