“Stop enabling him,” Kate warned.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. This is a serious question, though. No more joking. What are your thoughts…on Slipknot?”
Kate playfully punched Nick’s arm, and he reared back, trying to look pained despite his laughter. Ryan’s gaze pivoted back and forth between the couple with a wary expression.
“At this point, I’m afraid to answer,” Ryan said.
Nick’s laughter was contagious, and the entire table was in an uproar. Even those who were unaware of their inside joke. Though their cheeks ached and their abs were sore, the humor was a revival they all needed.
The world sat so heavy on each of their shoulders at every moment. Everything bore a risk: finding food, exiting the front door, traveling from one place to another. The simple things people did without a second thought had become steeped in paranoia and fear. Though all the torments of the world outside still pressed on the outskirts of their minds, threatening to break through, the light-hearted moments allowed them to pretend, even if just for a little while, that the pain was bearable and temporary.
Nick and Kate cleaned the dishes while Ryan organized supplies near the front door. Tatum and Phoenix sat on the couch, talking about movies and video games. After a while, Ryan and Grace retired to their bedroom. Kate and Tatum cozied up on the couch, leaving Nick and Phoenix to sleep on the floor. After a night of rest, the group would mobilize toward Fort Vanguard.
Chapter 30
“Anyone hungry?” Ryan asked, gesturing to a row of townhouses that were a glistening picture of suburbia. Though the shrubbery was fat and tufted, and the small patches of grass were shriveled into dried spires, it was apparent the area was once well-kempt. The townhouses were new constructions, their white-paneled siding hardly stained with the daily drivel of life.
The cars abandoned in the lot were no more than five years old. Models like Prius and BMW labeled the vehicles and were especially eco-friendly now that their engines never started.
“I amstarving!” Tatum shouted, and Grace shushed her without forethought. Tatum narrowed her eyes at her, looking as though she might have something snarky to say.
Nick looked the homes over. The front doors nearly kissed, with small metal railings flanking two steps as though they posed a fall risk.
Veering off course in any manner ramped up the chances of danger. The Infected were challenging enough to deal with. Yet,so far, they had not learned how to use a gun. It was people Nick feared. Always people.
Still, the group had already started toward the townhouses. Their stomachs were nearing empty, and they were only halfway to their destination.
“We can poke around for a bit, but we need to stay together. Open every door with purpose and caution.” Nick’s words came out strong and clear, yet no one responded, and he was not sure they heard him.
As they walked across the threshold of the first townhouse, Nick focused his efforts to put the group’s safety at the forefront of his mind. The modest home smelled of dust, and the furniture was typical particle board. Modern and unremarkable. It all fell away to Nick’s memories.
Instead of his ragtag group of survivors stepping with care down the hall, a phantom of his younger self raced down the stairs and into the dining room.
Nick saw his father sitting at his throne at the dinner table. He was eating a meal and scrolling through the country’s headline news on a tablet. Stocks were falling, war was rising, and the economy was crumbling. The news made Nick’s father irritable.
Usually, Nick knew better than to approach him during these times. However, Nick had just learned that it takes over a million years for the light from stars to reach Earth, and he was fascinated. How could he look up at the sky and see something created millions of years ago? He had to tell someone about it.
Nick’s mother would have been his first option. Even when she was juggling many tasks at one time, Nick’s mother stopped to listen to him ramble about his day at school, look at his childish drawings, or laugh at a joke he made up on the spot that made no sense. She knew the importance of making Nick feel worthwhile.
On this day, though, Nick’s mother was working late, and his father had to suffice.
Nick recalled the way his seven-year-old self skipped into the dining area and tried to get his father’s attention. After many attempts, his father looked up at him, his face drawn and dull. The pang of excitement buzzing in his heart sank as he rattled off his newly discovered fact. Nick’s father blinked at him, offered a bland flavor of interest, and chided Nick for not being enthusiastic about matters that affected him.
At seven years old, a boy has not yet learned about adults like Nick’s father. Painfully stubborn, the man had built a story in his head about who Nick would become before he was even born.
And so, despite his father’s disinterest, Nick barrelled on with his facts about space. Then the yelling began.
“Are you okay?” Kate’s voice broke through Nick’s recollections of his youth. The gentle, warm tones brought him back to life, heating his core and reestablishing his purpose. The dread in the pit of his stomach swam deeper without leaving entirely.
“Yeah,” Nick answered. “I’m okay.”
Though she did not believe him, Kate would pester him later. Now was not the time for a deep conversation.
The group was in the kitchen now scrounging for any items that might be fit for consumption. Tatum tore through the pantry tossing snack foods into Phoenix’s pack while Ryan and Grace inspected canned goods. Kate sifted through the drawers, occasionally picking up something to add to their supplies. A screwdriver. A can opener.
The counters, albeit covered with a layer of dust, looked immaculate. Nick’s mother hustled about the kitchen with a wash rag—another ghostly apparition borne from his past. If a speck of dirt reached the surfaces in the home, the yelling would begin.
Each townhouse the group entered was identical save for slight variations of furniture and the faces in the familyportraits. Even the memories that accosted Nick were repetitive retellings of an eggshell family living in an eggshell home. On the outside, things were stable and sturdy. Clean and shiny. But the inside was a sloppy mess, and the whole thing was one wrong move from cracking.
