“Sorry,” Cole said.
He offered a chagrined smile. Murray muttered something, turned and pushed his own way through the crowd, stalking out.
Cole watched him go. Then he glanced down at the paw in his hand. He smiled, shoved it deep into his pocket, and made his way out.
Tylerwas in a foul mood, which was rare. It was usually Cole who grumbled while Tyler soldiered through. Today was different. Cole knew that as soon as he saw the candle burning.
Tyler often joked that they had a penthouse apartment. Not only was it on the top floor, but they even had a second story. The roof had been blasted off, so their upper floor was four walls with no ceiling. Those walls, though, cut most of the wind and they could spend the daylight hours up there and save their candles and lantern oil. If Tyler was staying on the first floor and burning a candle mid-afternoon, something was wrong.
“Where were you?” Tyler demanded as Cole crawled in.
His brother was sitting on a chair—actually a crate, but they called them chairs. He was playing solitaire with a worn deck, slapping them down onto another crate, this one known as “the dining room table.”
“Just walking. Getting some air.”
“Did you finish your work?”
“I read three chapters in history and two ofMoby Dick. I also swept and emptied the piss bucket, as you can see—and smell.”
Tyler sighed and gathered up the cards. “Sorry, bud. Rough day.”
“I see that. Catch.”
He tossed Tyler the remaining apple. The corners of his brother’s mouth quirked. “Thanks.” He started to take a bite and stopped. “Do you have one?”
“Already ate it.”
“Are you sure? You know you need more fruits and vegetables. I?—”
“I ate one, Ty. Go ahead.”
His brother worried that poor diet was the reason Cole was so small. He doubted it. He remembered kindergarten—his only year of school before the world went to hell. He’d been the smallest kid there, too. But Tyler still worried. Some days, Cole thought that was the only thing keeping his brother going—worries and problems and the faint hope that he could fix them.
Tyler didn’t ask where the apple came from. Cole was in charge of the money and the shopping. Tyler considered it a practical application of his math lessons, which made it easy for Cole to sneak extra cash in the kitty and put extra food on the table.
Tyler took a bite of the apple, snuffed out the candle and waved for them to go upstairs, where they pulled pillows and thick old blankets out of a box. Cushioned and bundled against the cold, they rested, enjoying the faint warmth of the late-day sun.
“So what happened at work?” Cole asked.
“Same shit, different day.” Tyler paused and then looked over. “When you were out, did you hear anything? Rumors? News?”
“Like what?”
Another pause, longer now, until Cole pressed.
“They say one of the infected got in,” Tyler said.
“Again? What’s that? Third time this month?”
“Yeah. It’s getting worse. They always catch them, but the fact that they’re getting in…” Tyler shook his head. “Just…be careful, okay? When you’re out?”
“I always am.”
After a moment, Tyler asked, “So, how much do we have?”
He said it casually, just an offhand question, but Cole knew it wasn’t offhand at all. This was what was really bothering his brother—that the situation in New Chicago seemed to worsen so much faster than their stash grew.
“Four hundred and sixty-eight dollars to go,” Cole said.
