“Basically,” he said with a disarming smile.
For a moment, I was caught off-guard by how different he looked when he smiled, happy and almost… fun. But this was the same asshole who killed my mother just yesterday, then burned her body in the woods. We stared at each other, neither of us saying a word, and I remembered why I’d come up here in the first place. “Dinner’s ready, and then we’re leaving. There’s a bucket of fresh water in the upstairs bathroom if you want to wash up.”
“Thanks for your hospitality, Kitten,” he said with a wink. The way he said my nickname made my stomach squirm. Probably just hunger pains.
“Hey,” he said as I turned to go. He held out a Ziploc bag for me to take.
“What’s this for?”
“Pictures of your family. Put them in here so they’ll stay dry.”
Was this a trick? His attempt at an apology?
“Thanks,” I said cautiously.
“You’re welcome.”
FIVE
CIPHER
Fuck,was I just… flirting?
I blamed it on the residual effects of the painkillers I smoked to go to sleep. That was the only reason for my behavior. I shouldn’t be doing drugs around him if I was going to act like…that. How embarrassing. But it wasn’t as if I’d be able to get away from him any time soon either.
Fuck.
I made my way to the bathroom down the hall and found a five-gallon bucket of water sitting in the tub, just as Kitten promised, along with a sliver of soap, a washrag, and a towel. It was the fucking Four Seasons around here, and if we hadn’t already agreed as a group to go to Atlanta, I might have even considered staying for a while.
I stripped, then sat on the side of the tub to remove my prosthesis before swinging my legs over the ledge. The water was cold but clean, and it felt good to scrub the dirt and grime from my body. I scoured myself from head to foot, then noticed a small scrub brush on the tub’s ledge and used that to get the caked-up blood and dirt from underneath my fingernails. I wondered if Kitten might have a few Q-tips to spare. What I wouldn’t give to clean the wax out of my ears. For now, I twisted up the corner of the washrag and did my best.
Once my body was clean, and with half the water left, I lowered myself into the tub to wet my hair using a plastic cup. Working up a lather, I rubbed the soap into my scalp, scraping away the dead skin and oil that had accumulated in the weeks I’d gone without a real bath. Christ, it felt good to wash. I had no regrets about leaving the hellscape of D.C. I didn’t even mind sleeping on the ground and scavenging for meals, but I did miss bathing.
Dressed in fresh clothing—thank you, Kitten’s bro—and with my leg and weapons secured to my person, I felt like a new man. I was practically grinning as I descended the stairs and made my way to the dining room where everyone else had already started eating. My plate had been laid out for me, and I dug into it with gusto.
“Delicious,” I remarked. “Is this rabbit?”
“Racoon,” Artemis said. “Got him right behind the ear.”
“It was a beautiful shot,” Macon said, grinning at her with admiration. “Good-sized one too.”
Artemis used a metal crossbow for hunting, one that Gizmo had customized to accommodate her prosthetic arm. She had steady hands and great aim, and she was the most skilled at stalking prey. Well, besides me of course.
You might think we’d be terrified of eating animals, what with the fever and all, but if you cooked the carcass well enough, the virus couldn’t survive, and I did love the taste of well-seasoned meat. Animals could be carriers of the disease but didn’t seem to suffer from it, nor did they develop the same compulsion to feast on human flesh. Thank fucking Christ.
Everyone seemed to be enjoying their meal, and for the moment, I took pride in the fact that my crew was safe and well-fed. That was the goal after all, and not an easy one to accomplish. Then I noticed Kitten peeling off strips of his meat and hiding it under the table. The fuck was he doing? Saving it for later? A demanding meow floated up from below, and I realized he was feeding his damned cat.
“You should eat that yourself,” I said to him. “You’re thin enough as it is.”
“Whatever you say, dad,” he clapped back, which must mean we were back to sniping at each other. Whatever. I’d rather him be pissy with me than whatever was happening between us upstairs.
“We’ve got lemon juice from concentrate and four Double-A batteries,” Artemis said, giving me the highlights of our scavenging efforts. The lemon juice was to ward off scurvy. The batteries were to power Gizmo’s various electronics, including our two-way radios, which we used sparingly.
“Any Ziplocs?” I asked.
She shook her head, smirking at my obsession with Ziploc baggies, but there was really nothing better for keeping things dry, essentials like gunpowder and painkillers.
“We’ll camp near where we were before,” she continued. “Should only take about an hour or so to hike in. It’ll give Joshua a chance to get acclimated.”
