SLIPPERY SLOPE — PART 7
When Troy disappeared around the corner with his tank, Nick leaned onto the porch railing, enjoying the feeling of the sun's warmth on his face. It shone at him, declining gradually toward the ground. His side was throbbing more persuasively, but he still had the luxury of ignoring it. Unlike with the images that ran through his head. Some of them left him wishing he could erase them.
By the time Troy hit the front yard, Nick was still outside, appearing to enjoy the sun as if he were basking in the last of its heat before it would disappear for the night. "Afraid I wasn't going to make it back?" Otto asked jokingly, approaching.
Nick looked at him with a studying eye; an idea occurred to him. "You think I'm trying to babysit you? Or control you? Is that what pisses you off when we discuss what to do over this or that? Is that it, Troy?"
The slew of questions took Troy by surprise as he stopped in front of Nick, studying him in return. "No, I think you're trying to manage me, not control me – that was your mother's thing. What I think you're trying to do is what Jake did, keep me from hurting the innocent fairies in the world because you view me as a rabid dog in need of a leash." It was the only explanation he could give to what he was feeling every time they ran into conflict with their views and ways of handling things. And he could be honest with Nick.
It wasn't utterly wrong and off-course. It wasn't an absolute truth, either. And as he said it, Nick felt a pang of hurt.
He exhaled slowly and fished the crumpled cigarette pack from the back pocket of his jeans along with the lighter. There were two smokes left. He lit one, hoping it would distract him from his side better. He wanted a clearer head. Nick didn't want to hurt him. That, apparently, he had already been doing for a while.
"It's exactly how I viewed you when I came to the ranch, and you know it. I never hid the way I felt for you. Nor do I do it now. So if that's what you read into things I say or ask of you… Gee, I dunno what you're doing around me, then. Why do you bother, Troy? Why didn't you shoot me back at your place when I told you it was me who shot him?"
"Because despite it all you stuck with me anyway. And I like you. I view you as extended family – a brother. I know the labels have limitations and enormous expectations, the same ones that Jake had for me growing up, and Jeremiah: 'cast one out to protect the many', but it is what it is and I am who I am. You know that about me, you know what I did and what I will do again if I'm put in the same position, and I also know why I'm here – with you. What you really should be doing is asking yourself that question and figuring out why you're still with me." Troy cast a look over his shoulder and stepped toward Nick as if to hug him, gently squeezing past him into the house, hopeful he'd follow so Otto could set the charge back in place.
Nick didn't stop him or try to respond when he went for the front door. He looked at the smoldering tip of his smoke as if it contained some answers and insights, and if he stared hard enough, they'd come popping out and right into his brain to bloom there like flowers.
He couldn't even come up with what he would have said to all that speech right from the top of his head. Nick didn't really feel that his head was all that clear. There was a dome over him that he could see and hear through, but it somehow dulled his thoughts. A dome of white noise.
He sighed and took a drag, looking at the sun, squinting against the brightness, then closed his eyes for a moment. The insides of his eyelids glared red. When he put the butt out against the railing and flicked it to the ground, he noticed his fingers were still covered in dried blood. He remembered his side but didn't care to dwell on the problem. He lit another cigarette and hid the lighter back in his pocket.
(I know why I'm here)
(why you're still with me)
(you're not really here… are you)
He winced, rubbing the bridge of his nose, feeling like a robot with broken programming. His mind was shuffling through images like a strong wind tearing at an open album's pages. He couldn't stop it. Not on his own, anymore. It was getting bad, like it had been months ago when he indulged fervently in things that helped to calm it all down.
He took a drag, suddenly dismayed at yet another proof of how he was back to square one of his shitty story. Like someone had wiped out the path he'd managed from there to here but forgotten to wipe out his memory so that he had some vigor to start from scratch.
Alicia turned on the faucet and splashed some water on her face, trying to wash away the residue of sweat and tears, secretly hoping she could do the same with her thoughts.
Nick was safe. She had to remind herself of that. Crazy Lady hadn't gotten to him again. He was here and he was safe. That was all that mattered.
And yet she couldn't push away the memory of the trucker's face, nor his voice as he pleaded with them not to leave him at that diner. It echoed in her head over and over until she felt that telltale tickle in her nose, a sure sign she was about to burst into tears.
No. Not again.
She scrubbed a hand over her face, grabbed the radio off the counter, and headed downstairs to return it to its charger. She just needed to keep busy.
Nick didn't follow Troy inside and Troy wasn't inclined to pull him despite his reservations about hanging around longer than was necessary in the line of imaginary fire.
Troy'd given him a stumper. All the wheels in his head were turning at once.
Otto gripped the front door and leaned against the edge, observing him in all his brooding glory, choosing to intervene only when he'd lit up another cigarette and a bout of discomfort washed over his face.
"You feeling that stifled by this house that you don't want to come in or are you planning to bleed out on the porch?"
His voice pulled Nick back from his hazy reverie. He glanced at Troy over his shoulder, exhaling the smoke. "Don't think it's that bad. Just a little blood. Nothing new."
"You could have pulled your stitches," Troy retorted to combat his indifference. "Have you eaten anything?"
"I don't have stitches. And I'm not hungry yet." He took the last drag and put the butt out against the railing, flicking it to the ground afterward.
"Right." The bleeding, Troy supposed, was just part and parcel of his overexertion. "You should go talk to your sister, you definitely scared her." And since she wasn't downstairs here waiting to ream him, Otto assumed she was upstairs crying or seething.
More like upset. But there was nothing Nick could do about it. They made their choice and it killed a man. He couldn't sugarcoat it for either of them. "When she wants to talk, she'll talk."
"That's kind of harsh, Nick. You realize that you up and disappeared again and that she was practically losing her mind when she couldn't get a hold of you. You really worried her."
How did he not see that? Troy walked to the fridge since Nick wasn't in any hurry to come inside, and helped himself to a bottle of water.
"You want any?"
"I left a note and I came back. I cannot sit pinned down at a house so everybody would be happy. That's why I haven't been home for months, why I didn't wanna go back to the dam. She knows me. She can't be upset every time I wanna go somewhere. It won't work."
The boys were still lingering close to the door, one outside, one in the kitchen. Alicia didn't announce her presence, moving to put the radio back in its charger, nearly tripping over an empty sausage can.
She swallowed the desire to hurl the damn tin at Troy's head, instead picking it up and disposing of it in the trash with another she found on her way.
Troy shut the fridge door and screwed off the cap on the water, setting it down on the counter, catching sight of Alicia as she silently joined them.
"No one is contesting your rights to get out and get free air," Troy began, leaning onto the counter to stare at him. "You're missing the point. Completely. The last time you went out and there was no contact, we wound up in Texas and you with a hole in your abdomen. I don't know about you, but clearly, neither of us is eager to repeat that scenario. And given that you didn't just go for a stroll and ended up driving around on the highway, I definitely wouldn't have known where to find you. That's a two-time strike, Nick, let's clear the air so the third will be better."
Leaning into the railing on his forearms, Nick was scrutinizing his bloodied hand wistfully. "What do you want me to say, Troy? I took the radio. It was quiet. I wasn't gone for long. End of story."
Alicia headed for the fridge and grabbed a cold drink, trying not to pay too much attention to their conversation as she knew it would only rile her up again. And yet she couldn't help but let the words seep in. She took a sip of the water and gestured to the garden as if the current topic of conversation hadn't fazed her at all. "Don't step too close to the rocks. Nails," she warned her brother in case he should step off the porch. She didn't wait for their acknowledgment, making her way back upstairs again with the distinct urge to be alone.
"You did," Troy argued, briefly glancing after Alicia walking away, "but you also didn't go for a stroll, you drove, you put yourself at added risk, and came home with a trophy. How are you not seeing what you did here? How wrong it is?" Alicia was not herself and Troy got the distinct impression that her brother's final escapade had broken her even more than the whole thing with the drugs.
He straightened up and walked back toward the door, perching against the side.
Nick heaved a tired sigh, hiding a wince from Troy before he turned to face Otto. "I needed time alone. However, I called it doesn't matter. You want me to apologize for who I am? Or for bringing a trophy? What exactly is the problem? That I put myself in danger? This world is full of it. I can die in my bed. There's no hiding place from what the world is. So what do you want from me?"
"Consideration," Troy added, opting to keep from fighting this topic when clearly he refused to acknowledge that he'd concerned them and that what he'd brought back only made it worse. He'd gotten within the spectrum of Crazy Lady and put himself at risk. Troy sipped at his water and decided to let go of the discourse.
Nick was right about one thing – he was here.
"We've added more security to the house. Like your sister warned you, there are some hidden nail boards between here and the garage marked with rocks out back. I'm planning to add a charge to this door, so… if you're done, let's get inside, lock up and get some rest."
Nick gave him an Are you for real look. "Charge the door? I'd rather pick another house to rest in, then. Gee, Troy, you take it all to some extremes that'd rather end up hurting us. Is the back door gonna be fucked, too? You're making it into a prison. The one I don't wanna be in."
"What are you even talking about? It's called security. Nothing here is going to hurt you, you're both aware of it and it isn't a bomb, Nick, it's an electrical current. Anyone who touches the doorknob is going to get a shock. What exactly is it you feel is tying you down so much?"
Nick peered at him, smiling but void of amusement. "We used to sleep in the car out in the open, the only security being a gun and a knife. And now you're charging doorknobs in the area where even dead ones are a rare encounter. Why? Is it that woman that fucked you both up so bad? Don't you think there are worse people than even her out there? So what, we need to be afraid shitless and surround ourselves with nailed boards and electrifying doors? It's like locking oneself in a cage because of fear of something that might not happen. I don't wanna live in fear. I don't wanna be afraid of being taken, Troy, because it'll drive me nuts. If I let it get any deeper under my skin, I'll go insane."
Troy got that he didn't want to be dictated by fear, but the entire premise of his outlook was reckless. They had to play it smart or they'd pay for it – they already had. Troy was beginning to wonder if it was something Nick perhaps wanted, if he was intentionally tempting fate just to see if he could shoot her the middle finger and prove he'd be fine. "It's only a cage if you can't get out, Nick, and you can. There's nothing to prevent that, it's just to stop anyone with any ill intent of getting in. Like at the ranch. The fencing… the militia. You're telling me you felt caged there? That you didn't enjoy the privilege of feeling safe where you slept? I know it isn't a perfect setup, but it's something."
Nick thought about it, a sad smile touching his lips. "Last time I enjoyed feeling safe something was before the ranch, before Luciana's colony. I was on my own, in the open, and nothing could touch me. I felt safe. Maybe not completely, not perfectly. But it was the best I felt in a very long time. Because I was free. And I wasn't afraid."
"Then why are you here, Nick? Why'd you stay with me? Why didn't you send your sister back to your mother? She'd be at risk but she'd be safer than what you're doing to her right now in your continued attempts to be free. Maybe even a little saner."
Nick gave a weakly amused hem. "I couldn't force her to stay with Mom if she didn't want to. And I'm not doing anything to her. She has to find her own balance with worry and fear, I can't do anything about it. I had to do the same when we left her all alone and went back to the Bazaar. Think I wasn't worried? But I had to let her do it. It wasn't my choice to make. And I can't blame her for making me insane with worry. It doesn't work. Look at me – I'm the walking proof of how fucked up that scenario is."
"To be fair, she wasn't kidnapped a couple of days ago and returning to the scene of the crime for kicks. So, to say that you can't do anything about it is a bit selfish, Nick. You could take a stroll for fresh air and not wander around the highway. The next time you decide to go for a walk, talk to us face to face and we'll make sure everyone's radios are on the right frequency."
Troy downed the rest of his water, walked the empty bottle over the dustbin, and tossed it inside before lowering himself on the chair.
Anger spiked in Nick, so sharp it pricked his nerves. "What goddam scene of the crime are you talking about? I didn't drive back to the church to hang around waiting to be knocked out again. I can't remember shit about where and when she took me, let alone return there. I was just driving to vent my head. What the fuck is wrong with you assuming I'm chasing her? Why would I do that?"
"That's because the church is hundreds of miles away," Troy pointed out idly. Why was he even trying to argue that? "Did I say you were chasing her? No, I merely stated that you didn't take a stroll like your note said and that if anything had happened – I wouldn't know where you are. Or is that the point? You're so desperate to get away that you can't even think about the consequences your actions might have? Not just for you, but for all of us."
Nick sighed heavily, refraining from rolling his eyes. He yearned for something strong to drink. It would have helped a lot before Troy started riding him about how he spelled things. "In fact, yes, I was desperate to get away. So desperate, that when I found that Humvee at the airport and fueled it up, I went for a drive around just to not have to return at once. I needed my time away. And then I saw that box on the road, and I could no longer return before I checked another highway. I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't just turn back and forget. I needed to check it out further, and I did. I didn't want either of you to worry and go crazy looking for me. It wasn't my intention. But hell, I'd do it all over again exactly the way I did it."
"And you're free to do that, no one is begrudging you the freedom to get yourself into trouble, Nick. It's what happens after and when it comes time to save your butt. Next time, just make sure your radio is correct instead of slinking out in the middle of the night like a teenager fearing a grounding. I know you don't really give a shit about your life – but we do. I do."
Nick winced. "Please, Troy, don't save my butt next time. I don't need any rescue missions and protocol lectures. They're pouring out of my ears." However many times he could repeat that he wasn't looking into getting himself killed wasn't going to stick. It was hopeless. Troy was riding his militia-security horse and wasn't going off it any time soon. Nick wasn't playing along anymore.
He turned back to oversee the neighborhood, watching the sun crawl lower.
Troy rolled his eyes and closed them, exhausted by the circles they'd been running around one another. "Did you see anything noteworthy at the airport? A plane, maybe?"
"I wasn't looking for a plane. The parking lot is almost full, all cars have gas. There was a military cordon when it all started, so one Humvee was left behind. The airport is locked down. Seems like they… they've killed everyone inside when they were ordered to leave."
"You mean they sealed them in and shot them? Gassed them? Incinerated them? What was the state of the building itself? Damaged overtime or just damaged period?"
"I didn't stare too long and hard, Troy. The building is locked from the outside, and the people inside are dead. Dead-dead. No walking kind. I suppose they were shot."
"All of them? I thought you said you didn't get that good a look. I guess we'll have to take a look and see when we go there tomorrow."
Nick nodded slowly, eyeing the sun getting redder as it lowered. "Okay. We'll need tools to break in."
"We have that. A lot," Troy stated. He opened his eyes, sat up, and stretched. "I'm going to watch a movie, read… enjoy your peace."
He helped himself to another bottle of water from the fridge and headed for the stairs.
Nick made no response and waited until his footfalls dimmed upstairs as he entered his chosen bedroom. Nick stood for another few minutes until the pains became too much to bear easily. He closed the front door, going for the fridge, pulling a bottle of water, pondering a snack, then went for the bathroom. He picked a fresh bandage from the box in the corridor on his way.
The bleeding had stopped, from the looks of it, but it was still bad. It didn't seem to be healing any time soon. Nick cleaned it with tap water the best he could after chewing down two pills from his secret stash. He put on a fresh bandage, took a leak, then went straight to bed.
It was nice to lie down, but it didn't help to ease his mind. Not until the pills fully kicked in and allowed him to doze off.
It wasn't too long until Alicia heard footsteps on the stairs. She identified them as belonging to Troy and therefore didn't get up, closing her eyes and resting against the headboard until she recognized that Nick had eventually followed him upstairs.
The sound of the bathroom door closing had her lingering in her place for a while longer, respecting her brother's need for privacy until he emerged sometime later and likely headed for his bed.
She hauled herself off the mattress after another few minutes of mentally bracing herself and sought him out. But when she found him he was already asleep. She watched him for a moment just to assure herself he was really here and okay, then slowly retreated for her own chosen bedroom. Her confessions would have to wait until morning.
Sometime in the middle of the night Troy woke up, helped himself to another bottle of water, set the charge on the front door, and popped in on Nick's bedroom to check he hadn't disappeared. Troy did the same with Alicia. Satisfied no one had snuck in and stolen them away, he returned to his own bedroom, setting aside the book he'd almost finished, and curled up beneath the blankets in an attempt to sleep.
He didn't wake up until the sun was straining behind the curtains and began to heat the room. He lay beneath the covers as he woke like he used to do back in the day when all he had was the ranch and nothing else and as if he had all the time in the world.
It wasn't as if they were going anywhere today and if Troy could help it the war aspect would be minimized. At least until Nick was able to hold his own.
He waited another few minutes, pushed the blankets off, and scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair as he got up and strolled across the hallway to make use of the bathroom.
Nick's dreams were vague and dissonant, a shuffle of images and scenes. He could barely remember most of it, but he felt the same painfully familiar thing through all of those. He felt she was near. He felt her signature in everything that swept before his inner eye during his uneasy slumber.
He woke up in a turmoil of pains, certain he would open his eyes and see her smiling face while her blade digs deeper into his side.
She wasn't there, but the pain got stronger, sharpening its teeth. Cursing Alicia's need to control him by keeping the Oxy with her, Nick went to the bathroom and chewed down two pills from his stash. He needed to find more someplace, and soon. Unless he wanted to confront his sister about that pain management.
He washed his face, sought through the drawers, and found a couple of new toothbrushes, still sealed. The paste was already in the glass on the sink, so that was fortunate. Felt nice to brush his teeth; it distracted him from the pain while it was easing its grip on him.
He strolled downstairs, yearning for a smoke, but as far as he recalled, the cigarettes were in the Jeep. Hardly Troy considered them an important enough item to take into the house.
Alicia slept on and off throughout the night, spending equal amounts of time tossing and turning as she did resting. When morning came, she felt relieved.
She got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She looked in on Nick when she finished, but his bed was already empty. As was Troy's.
She found her brother downstairs and intercepted his path to the kitchen. "Can we talk?" She paused briefly, listening for the sounds of the house and coming to the conclusion Troy was already in the kitchen. "Alone." Something inside her still balked at the idea of being vulnerable in Troy's presence.
"Sure," he regarded her, trying to gauge what he could expect. Nothing good, that was a certainty. "Where?"
Alicia took quick stock of their surroundings and gestured for the front room, the one walled off from the kitchen at the back of the house. She settled on the couch and waited until Nick was seated, as well, before speaking, elbows on her thighs, hands wringing themselves.
The whole preparation felt dreadful. Like there was something horrible to be revealed and she wanted him to sit down for it. His pulse picked up as he did, waiting for the blow, whatever it could be.
What came was more confusing.
"I did something stupid," she confessed, for some reason unable to meet his gaze. "When you were… When she had you… I did something stupid."
"What do you mean? You managed to find me. I couldn't hope for it. I didn't, actually. I was hoping you wouldn't give her what she wanted. I was hoping against all odds that you wouldn't find anyone to trade."
Alicia blinked, taken aback by that revelation until she realized it's exactly what she would have felt in his place. Or at least, she hoped she would. "We did give her what she wanted," she admitted. "But I also almost screwed up the deal. I couldn't just… leave that poor man defenseless knowing what would most likely happen to him. I gave him a knife. She found out. And she told me…" Alicia inhaled, trying to get the words out. "She told me because of it, she'd take you again if your paths ever crossed. I'm sorry, Nick. I really messed up."
Nick regarded her face, processing. The knife in the boy's head – it was hers, after all. Now that he knew, it did seem familiar. Her further dipping in guilt made his heart ache for her, and for both of them. They weren't getting it off their shoulders until they died. But the fuck-up itself made him feel better. However tiny a spark that better was.
"Oh, Lisha." Nick looked at her, smiling subtly. "Messing up was giving him away like that, like he's cattle. It was bad, very bad, and I swear I wouldn't know what to do if I were in your shoes. But what you did – or tried to do – it can't be a fuck-up. You tried to help him. You think I'd blame you for it? You think I can be mad about it? You can't be sorry about trying to save someone. Do you understand that?"
Tears welled in her eyes as he spoke, something that seemed to happen more frequently ever since the dam. As if that whole event had opened something inside her that refused to close. It was annoying as hell but couldn't be helped. Relief swept over her at Nick's reaction, though she couldn't quite let herself believe it. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, inhaling shakily.
"When she took you, when we couldn't find you, I've never been so scared," she confessed. "Everything else we've been through, it just paled in comparison. And I'm terrified it'll happen again. Because of me, no less."
He pulled her into a hug, planting a kiss to her head and holding her. There was barely anything else he could do to console her or aid with her fear. The same fear still lived in him, like a poisonous, pulsating lump, and he didn't know how to get rid of it.
Alicia let him hug her. It's what she'd wanted to do ever since they'd been reunited, but had been too afraid to due to the extent of his injuries. She wrapped one arm around his uninjured side and held him to her, feeling the thrum of his pulse against her cheek as he briefly rested his chin atop her head.
"You got nothing to do with whatever she does," he reasoned. "It's her choice. She decides what to do, not you. Okay? It's not on you. You can't regret helping someone just because it annoyed her. She still killed him. And she will kill more of them unless we find a way to warn them somehow."
"I don't know what I'd do if I ever lose you." It was a frightening thought that coursed through her mind on the daily, and the mere prospect made her feel sick to her stomach. Some part of her would like to think she could persevere in some way, that she'd make it through the heartache eventually. But a bigger, more realistic part, doubted that. She'd break. It'd be the final straw.
Nick had nothing to say to calm her fears. He had no idea if he could promise not to die – it felt stupid, given the way things were these days.
"I meant to tell you sooner," she added. "But I got distracted. How's the pain? You need Oxy?"
"As a matter of fact, yeah, because the pain doesn't really get off my back, and we can't keep it up with you being the dealer. Let me handle my own shit."
Alicia pulled away to look at him, eyes narrowed in mild concern. "Think you'll be able to stop once your wound has healed?"
He peered at her with mild amusement that he didn't truly feel beyond the looks of it. "I did it once. I can do it again. But right now, I can't be running after you every time it hurts."
Alicia regarded him a moment longer, then stood, slipping her hand into her pocket and pulling out the bag of pills, handing it over. "Don't make me chase you either. Please," she said, barely refraining from hugging him again. "Just tell me next time you leave. Face to face. Save me from going crazy."
He took the baggie, opened it, and fished one out, popping into his mouth to swallow in the wake of the two he took before. It should work nicely. "Would you be less worried if I left after telling you face to face? It woulda been the same."
"You think I'm asking it of you just to be inconvenient? It would have been better. You've no idea the amount of paranoia I've managed to accumulate lately," she said calmly, slowly making her way towards the kitchen to find some breakfast. "Want something to eat?"
"You mean there's something left after Troy's snacking hobby?" Nick chuckled, following in her wake. "Sure, I'd eat something."
"Let's hope," she smirked, briefly glancing back at him over her shoulder as they walked. The kitchen was empty. She had expected Troy to be here, chowing down on whatever he could come across, but she guessed he was elsewhere. "See? Free pickings."
"Unless they're in a locked safe, it's all temporary pickings. He seems to be working through the rations every time he's bored, which is every other five minutes. He needs a better hobby." Nick settled at the table and stuffed the baggie into his pocket.
"What are you in the mood for?" she asked, opening the cupboard to eye their selection. "There's noodles, soup, peaches, some sort of beef stew…"
After making use of the bathroom, Troy emerged, cleanly dressed in a fresh button-up shirt and the jeans he'd been wearing for the last week. He headed downstairs, offering the two siblings a mute greeting while they scanned through their choices on what to eat. "There any bacon and eggs? A waffle, perhaps?"
"Let's go with that beef stew." Nick turned to regard Troy humorously upon his requests. "Sure, Troy, if you'll find a fast-food chain here somewhere around the corner. They might even serve you a burger."
Alicia decided not to comment on Troy's questions, assuming he was joking anyway. He knew their current food supply better than any of them. She pulled the tin of beef stew off the shelf and opened it, heating it on the stove in an actual casserole.
Troy had been joking and happy to see both of them in good spirits despite yesterday's drama. He doubted the initial issue was over or that it wouldn't crop up again (considering their contrasting views) but it was happier news that nothing had happened last night to feed his paranoia or fuel the arguments.
The battery was still on the doorknob (a device he'd come down later in the night to attach) and from what Otto could see of their burned nail planks through the glass panels in the double doors, they hadn't been disturbed either.
He walked around the kitchen island and scanned the shelves, observing that a lot was missing and that Alicia had packed most into boxes. "Anyone up to returning to the airport today?"
"Sure," Nick said. "But we'll have to bury that body first. And there's his truck with boxes, still on the road. Might be wrong to just leave it out there?"
"I agree on the trunk, we can hold off on the other thing – it isn't going anywhere," Troy countered. He plucked free a can of noodles for himself, opened it, and dropped a fork into the top, moving to sit down beside Nick.
Alicia flinched at the mention of 'the body' but with her back turned to the both of them as she prepared their food, neither Nick nor Troy noticed. Once the stew was sufficiently heated, she scooped a decent amount onto a plate and served it to her brother with a spoon. "What's at the airport?"
"Your brother says that the airport has fuel," Troy said. "There might also be other things we can find depending on how big it is. Luggage. If one of the planes work, I might even be able to get us back in the direction of home… or elsewhere. You guys want to travel, right?"
Getting on a plane smelled to Nick a bit ambitious, but he left it alone as he shot a wistful look at Troy. "And where is home, exactly?"
"San Diego," Troy replied, barely needing to think about the answer. He'd done a harsh number on the Ranch and knew that returning or managing to recreate what he and his family had had there before would be difficult, but he'd lived in the area his whole life. "Neither of you ever dream of going back to Los Angeles?"
"I think Los Angeles is pretty much done with us," Nick muttered, dragging his spoon lazily around the stew to work up some appetite.
Troy helped himself to one of the remaining cans of spaghetti, curious if Alicia felt the same way.
"What would be the point of going back?" she said eventually, poking at her food with a fork. "There's nothing there for us anymore."
"Last we saw, LA was burning," Nick added. "As well as most big cities, as we were told."
Troy concluded that meant most of the dead would have been cleansed from the cities. Their problem would be food, medical supplies, and survivors. There was also constructional damage to take into account and whether it would be worth it, but with a plane in their pocket, he knew from past experience that it wasn't impossible to find out. Unfortunately, Troy didn't want the quiet life, he liked the dead – almost more than the living. "Then what's the plan? We keep following the highway? Live inside of cars? As much food as this is that we've got in these pretty boxes – they will run out." Troy stuffed a spoonful of the cold spaghetti into his mouth, demonstrating his point.
"We did all that for a while before we met you," Alicia told him. "We also intended to make permanent homes in several of the places we settled. Never worked out that way. The ranch included." Troy had made sure of that.
"It's naive to hope that a place like that will just fall into our laps."
"What is your plan, Troy?" Nick inquired, looking up at him from the plate of stew. "You sound like you have one and our answers don't really hit it, so enlighten us, what would you have us do?"
"I would have us survive," Troy answered breezily. He shrugged as he ate and walked toward the windows, pulling aside the curtains slightly with a single finger to see if anything had changed or if any of his security had been disturbed outside. "Realistically," he continued, turning back to the two, "being on the run and relentlessly exposed is asking to die quickly. The militia and I traveled a lot, but if we didn't have the Ranch as a base to go back to, to rest on, and recuperate, it—we… wouldn't have lasted as long as we did. So yeah, I do have a plan - something that I want to achieve. It doesn't necessarily mean it needs to be a widespread community." He stuffed more spaghetti into his mouth, averting his gaze to the ceiling, checking it for cracks. The house wasn't perfect or what he would have picked, but in an apocalypse where things were scarce and buildings were falling apart at the seams, they'd gotten pretty lucky so far. "Take this place for example. We build a fence – add more security, find solar panels… our only real issue would be water."
Alicia followed Troy with her gaze. "I'm not saying what you're offering isn't tempting. I'd love to wake up in the same place every morning. To have a specific goal to work towards. Predictability. But we've–" She gestured to her brother. "–already tried this several times and it always ended in death and mayhem. What would be different this time?"
"Our own rules," Troy replied, shoving another spoonful of food into his mouth. He wasn't giving the topic much importance. He knew this debate was a lost one. Nick was set on living a nomadic lifestyle. Troy, of course, hoped in time he'd be able to convince him otherwise. Alicia, too. "No Indians trying to rehash history or a bunch of extra mouths to feed." Troy gestured to the boxes Alicia had packed. "Given the amount boxed - between us – that could last us a couple weeks." And that wasn't all. There was one major glaring difference. No Madison. If what their mother did at the Ranch was anything to go by, it came as no surprise that every other place they'd tried went to shit as well.
"There's always someone who wants what you have," Nick said, having swallowed his first spoonful. "Sooner or later they come to your doorstep. That doesn't change."
"They'll come for us on the road, too," Alicia pointed out. Neither situations were without danger and risk. "Personally I'd like to get as far away from Crazy Lady as possible."
"They'll come anywhere, but it doesn't mean all we should do is run," Nick winced, glancing between them. "It's impossible to find a safe hole and bury our asses there. Easier to just lie down and die."
"Spoken like a defeatist, Poet," Troy replied, flashing his friend a good-natured smile as he finished off his can of spaghetti.
"I'm not saying we run," Alicia interjected. "Doesn't mean we have to put ourselves in her path when we can try to avoid it."
Nick got another spoon in and looked between the two expectantly. "Meaning we leave those truckers to their fate and skip the state altogether?"
Troy by no means pretended to be a hero, nor did he like to play it for anyone other than his people. He had Nick, and as far as he was concerned, the job was done and they could move on. "Is that a serious question?"
Nick's eyes lingered on Troy and bored into him, narrowing. "Absolutely. One of them died because of me, and I'm not going anywhere before I warn them. The least I can try to do. He had friends, family, just like I did. I bet you two would want to know if I were him."
"So we leave them a note in one of those boxes," Troy added helpfully, dismissing his hero complex with a shrug. He was throwing Nick's words back in his face. "What more can you be expected to do?"
"A note." Nick perked up his eyebrow with irony he didn't feel. "Is that a serious proposal? Leave a note in the boxes she sees out there while tracking them?"
A note," Troy repeated with the same nonchalance Nick had bestowed on them earlier. "You don't know she is tracking every box." Maybe Nick did, but Troy still didn't care. "You need to let go of guilt complex. It makes you suicidal."
Alicia put her empty plate in the sink, conflicted between doing what was right and what was safe. "Are we really in a good position to confront anyone right now?" she asked, shooting a glance at Nick's injured side. "You've only just gotten back on your feet."
Nick heaved a long sigh, letting the spoon drop from his hand; it clanged against the plate. "It's like I'm speaking Chinese or something. I didn't mean to confront. I want to warn. Find at least one of them alive and warn."
"And how do you know these people that you find aren't with her? Aren't part of whatever psycho community of kidnappers she's with? You know it's never that straightforward."
"She was alone all the time I spent with her," Nick said. "I never heard nor seen any other living soul. And she is after that group because they want to help people. It's her crazy vendetta, that much I gathered. Hell, you got her that guy, Troy!"
Troy didn't feel anything for the guy in question. He was a means to an end. Troy got his end, and now the end was being difficult about it. "Right. I got that guy for her. I handed him over." He kept stressing each I spoken. If Nick wanted to channel his energy somewhere, then he might as well be angry at Troy, Troy could take it, was used to the ever opposing opinions from people – only a select few in his militia had been able to see his views, but even those were, managed and somewhat manipulated.
Alicia flinched. "In theory, I'm with you," she told her brother. "But we know that she's hunting them. She's watching. What if she's there?"
"She is there, Alicia," Nick said. "We all know she's out there somewhere, but she's not the only dangerous person in the world, and knowing there are lots of people like that out there has never stopped us from moving around. So why is she so special? She's human like everybody else. She is mortal. She gets tired. She needs food. She sleeps. She's not unstoppable."
"She hurt you. That's the difference." Alicia didn't think Nick fully understood how it had been for her and Troy when he'd been missing.
Nick nearly rolled his eyes. "So did Troy's men, a dog out in the desert, a bunch of people with guns, and so Proctor John was gonna do, and so did the cultists in the woods. She is not that special. It's nothing new."
"You're missing the point," Troy stated mildly annoyed with Nick's insistence that the Crazy Lady was like anyone else. She was. She also had fucked with him recently - very recently. He picked up a couch cushion, throwing it at Nick's head, expecting that if he deflected it, the moment would jar him back into reality with a bit of pain. "You're in no condition to play hero." Troy conceded though. "If you're that worried, then I'll go out."
"No," Alicia objected without hesitation. "We shouldn't split up. When we're alone, that's when we get hurt."
Nick chucked the cushion back at Troy. "You won't go anywhere alone. No one will." He picked up the spoon and scooped more stew, eager to get it over with. His appetite was nowhere near the wanted levels.
"Look… if all this is a reconnaissance mission, then I'm your best bet. You two can stay together—heal up, and then when you're ready… we leave."
"Or she knocks you out and calls us to ask for hunting favors." Nick swallowed another spoon, glad to see the bottom of the plate. "Better if we're together."
"Agreed." Alicia grabbed Nick's empty plate and dropped it in the sink with her own. "If we're doing this, we do it together."
"Safety in numbers, Troy," Nick added. "One man has no eyes on his back. And she gets you from the back."
"Safety in numbers?" Troy retorted, scoffing. "That's rich. Yesterday you were trying to convince me that your 'walk' was safe. You're a hypocrite, Nick."
Troy cleaned the can until there was nothing left in it anymore, not even a scrap of the noodle or sauce, walking over to the trashcan to throw it away.
Nick chortled and winced subtly. "I've been walking with the dead for days, and there was no one alive to have my back, but the safety in numbers still worked for me. Now, the three of us are all we got. We can't afford to split up unless we do it for good. Because if we're together - we are stronger together. If we're apart, then we're each other's weakness. Someone picks one of us off the road, and more people suffer."
"How long?" Alicia braced her hands on the countertop, eyeing Nick. "How long do we search? What if we don't find any of them? If we are going to do this, we need to plan it out as much as it'll allow. Need to make sure we're armed, have enough supplies to last us, and a rendezvous point in case we get separated."
Nick turned to Alicia, wistful. "I don't know how long it takes, but I gotta do this. I don't think I can live with myself if I just drop him into a hole in the ground and leave. I owe him. We can debate morality here until we're all blue in the face, but it's just that fucking simple to me now: I owe him."
Troy doubled over, resting his elbows on the counter, shaking his head as he listened to one Clark speak logic and the other dive deeper into his self-deprecating hero complex. "How long until that debt's paid, Nick? And to who? The man's dead, rotting in the trunk. I doubt he cares about anything you think you owe him." He pushed away from the counter, walking back over to Nick. "Are you going to put her down?"
"He's dead, but people close to him are not, and they deserve to know what happened to him. And I'm not putting anyone down - I merely want them to know about her and watch each other's backs, is all."
"When do you want to start this mission?"
"You wanted to sweep the airport first. We'll do that and then we think of what comes next. One thing at a time is a good pace."
"Okay. You guys up for that now or—?"
"I'll take a leak, take a pill and I'm good to go." Nick got up and headed for the stairs. "Give me two minutes."
Alicia stared after Nick in his wake, then rubbed a hand over her face, frustrated. She turned back to Troy eventually, somewhat defeated. "How are we on ammo?"
Troy dropped down onto the couch armrest, leveling himself out with Alicia, looking up at her slightly as he considered her question. "We're in the gutters. I'd say we have about half a box between us." That was a total of fifty bullets – if that much. "Do you have anything of use hidden away?"
She shook her head. "Just my knife. I'll reserve my bullets for the woman." Should she ever return. Hopefully, it wouldn't get to that. Alicia was silent for a moment, contemplating. "Troy, I want you to teach me to fight," she said eventually. "Some self-defense or something that could help me next time I'm facing someone stronger than me." She knew he was capable of it. Had seen him fight. He didn't go off pure instinct the same way she did. He was all tactics and planned moves. He'd been trained. "Will you? Whenever we have some free time?"
Troy was unable to control his surprise. Of everything he'd expected Alicia to ask, something personal outside of everyday zombie survival, was not it. He'd have figured any free time she did have or she'd manage to get would be spent as far away from him as possible. "If you want to learn, I'll teach you what I can." As the days wore on and the longer they took to find somewhere to lay some roots, all that knowledge would only work in her favor – in their favor. Unfortunately, Troy doubted he'd be able to convince her brother to join in on that lesson. "Don't suppose while you were packing up all our food you came across any spare canteens?"
"Not the fancy kinds," she answered, pushing away from the counter to dig into one of the boxes on the kitchen table. "But there were a few reusable plastic bottles." She pulled one out and threw it to him. Pink hard plastic. The kind kids brought to school or sports.
He caught the bottle, a smile of amusement twisted onto his lips. "My color. Thanks." He raised it as if they were sharing a drink and got to his feet, going in search of something to fill it. "About Nick—" Troy started, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear. "How much do I have to worry about his guilt twisting his judgment and him doing something stupider than normal?" The only other situation Troy had to compare it with was his father's murder.
Alicia paused to consider. Honestly, Nick could go either way. And it was usually not in the direction she expected. But Nick now? With an injury that was in no way insignificant and pills that would not only mask his pain, but that could also make him drowsy and weaker than usual? "Keep an eye on him," she concluded. "I'll rather have him alive and guilty than dead."
"Ditto."
With that agreement between them, he headed for the door, disconnecting the charge cables, pushing the car battery aside for later when they returned.
"I'm going to grab the shovel from the garage and then head over to the gas station." There was the body to consider. If the two were that determined to bury their guilt, they might as well do it at the same time. Even if Troy saw it as a waste of time. "I'll meet you two out front with the jeep in ten minutes."
"Alright."
Alicia made for the stairs, jogging upstairs to grab her knife from the nightstand. She wanted to give it a cleaning before they headed out, hopeful it would dim her own guilty conscience of the whole affair.
"You ready, Nick?"
"Sure am." He leaned in the doorway, considering her a moment. "You share Troy's opinion?"
"That it's dangerous and reckless?" She wiped the knife thoroughly with a discarded sweater, deciding it wouldn't be enough. Water was needed. Bathroom. She slipped past Nick. "Yeah, I do."
"Not about that." He turned after her but stayed behind to give her privacy. "About what is the right thing to do in this mess. What do you think?"
Alicia held the knife under the tap, rinsing and using the same rag to dry it off. "Look, I understand that the right thing to do, the ethical thing to do, is to help those people. Help anyone who is in need," she said, slipping the clean knife into its empty holster. "I'm just not sure now is the right time. I want to save people. I don't want to sacrifice you in the process."
He huffed, leaning against the wall facing the bathroom doorway. "Why is it that you're all always so ready to believe I'm out to off myself in some new creative ways? Like I'm on the constant search of any possibility to get myself killed?"
"Because it feels a lot like that's what you're doing. You're too reckless, Nick." Alicia leveled him with a look. "I know you're feeling relatively good now with all that Oxy in your system, but you and I both know that very soon you'll have to taper back. And when that comes, you'll feel like shit. You got stabbed, Nick! If that wound isn't gonna bother you, the potential withdrawals might. It's painful enough to watch you suffer through that without worrying your wound will re-open every time you vomit." Harsh, but the truth. She swallowed, meeting his gaze again, her eyes softening. "I just want you to take better care of yourself. You're not expendable. Not to me."
As she spoke, he found – not without a little flavor of surprise, and not the pleasant kind – that it cut him. Some things in there, all those reasonable things that were meant to explain how she cared and worried about him, made him feel as if the room around got a bit smaller with less air to breathe. He didn't like the feeling, but he nearly heard Madison's notes there.
"After that pantry that still haunts you," he said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, staring her right in the eye, "you decided to be on your own and no one could talk you out of it, regardless of how crazy reckless it was. Do you regret it? You feel we had a point, or you just didn't care to cave to us because it was something you had to do for yourself that no one else understood? You think I let you go because you were expendable to me?"
"Would you have let me go so easily if I had just been seriously injured?" she countered. "Or would you have made me wait until I had healed up? Until a punch to the stomach wouldn't have been able to make me keel over? I'm not saying you're wrong, Nick. I understand what you want to do and why. But I'm not gonna pretend that I'm not terrified."
"If you were injured, I wouldn't let you go right away, true. But you were soul-searching. And this – other people's lives depend on it. It's not my personal quest to end mine." He detached from the wall and started for the stairs.
"Troy's waiting at the car. Watch out for the spikes outside," Alicia warned as her brother left. There was no point in arguing with him anymore. She would never sway his mind. Nick was stubborn that way. Always had been.
Maybe that was why siblings weren't meant to stay under the same roof forever? Too much baggage. Too many arguments to arise.
It didn't matter at the moment, so Alicia shoved those contemplations aside, closed the bathroom door behind her, and followed Nick outside.
As Nick counted the steps down and all those to carry him out, he tried to squelch the irritation. It was like a mild heartburn in the back of his mind that had been looking back to El Bazaar with longing more and more often in the last couple of days. He needed to stop mourning the spilled milk, but it was getting harder recently.
He thought of the woman who got him in this mess and wondered whether he'd have hesitated before putting a bullet or a knife in her head. In his reverie, he strolled past the car heading north.