It’s nothing but an illusion. Reality still remains a nightmare curling in on the edges of their brief respite.
At least today, he’ll have the distraction of an overdue mission to a gun range that he spotted on his way into town.
“How is this place untouched?” Addison asks when they find the parking lot empty a few miles outside town.
“Not on the main road. Anyone who knows about it is probably dead already.” He turns to Emma as they approach the door. “What do we do first?”
“Knock on the glass to see if there’s any rotters,” she answers, like she’s speaking in front of the class at school.
“Go on, then.”
If Addison minds that he’s giving her kid orders, she doesn’t show it. She’s letting him steer this boat when it comes to how to stay alive in this mess, and he’s both glad for that and terrified he’ll fuck it up.
Emma taps her fist on the glass and jumps damn near a mile when a runner crashes into the door with a growl. She hides behind him like he’s a safe place to be when the shit hits the fan. There’s that weird, warm feeling in his chest again. He’s rarely been safe for anyone before he met them.
He really needs to get a handle on the nonsense swirling around his head.
“It’s alright,” he says. “That’s why we knock. The good news is there’s only one. Stay by the car. Me and your momma are gonna kill it.”
Addison’s eyes widen, betraying how nervous she is. These runners aren’t as simple as casually stabbing one in the head. They require a team effort when there’s a chance to set one up.
She positions herself on one side of the glass door with a hammer from the shed, and he waits on the other side with his knife.
“On three?” she whispers.
He nods, hating that she’s the bait and hoping his plan isn’t about to get her killed.
In reality, it happens fast. She smashes the glass, and the runner crashes through it, aiming straight for her. That gives him an opening to sink his knife into the back of its head before it takes more than two steps. It feels like forever until it’s motionless on the ground, and Wyatt can breathe a sigh of relief.
“Now that’s some fucking teamwork. Are you good?”
Addison shrugs. “Just one more traumatic experience to add to the list.”
“That’s the spirit!”
They start up the generator out back after finding the rest of the building clear. Then they’re free to pursue a goldmine of rifles and handguns.
What he’s more excited about, though, are the snowballs in the breakroom.
“Heads up,” he calls out, tossing them both packages of sugary desserts. “Did you have these on the compound?”
Emma tears into hers, stuffing half the thing in her mouth at once before her mother can reply.
“Oh, sure, we kept them right next to the…” She picks up an empty wrapper, reading the label. “Nacho-flavored chips?”
“Well, this here is a delicacy. It’ll give you a sugar high that rivals cocaine.”
“What’s cocaine?” Emma mumbles around her mouthful of coconut and chocolate.
Addison sends him a good-natured glare that says she wasn’t so sheltered that she isn’t at least mildly versed on the most common street drugs. “Nothing, baby, finish your snowball.”
He huffs, finishing his own dessert cake and wondering if everyone in her dysfunctional little pack was given a rundown of what to avoid in the modern world should they ever be evicted from the fold. She’s never seen a snowball, but she knows whatcrack is, and once again, he wonders if he’ll ever get a real idea of what her life was like in that place.
“Are these snowballs your favorite dessert?” Addison asks while trying on a pair of boots from the retail section, frowning down at her own feet. “Maybe these are too much…”
“They suit you,” he offers, browsing the gun display. “And no, my favorite dessert is cheesecake. No toppings. Just thick, rich cheesecake.”
She keeps the boots on.
