Lost and Found (16 page)

With a soft clank of metal against ceramic, I set my fork down and stared at the sheer
curtains that obscured my view of the backyard. Having something to stare at while
talking made it so much easier. It was hard to look at Drake. Something about his
thick, arched eyebrows unnerved me. And his smile...it tweaked at the corner of his
mouth, exposing his canine teeth, reminding me of a cougar.

"I need to know where the closest department store is," I said.

His silverware made a similar clanking sound on his plate before he spoke, "Why?"

I finally looked at him and shrugged nonchalantly. "I need stuff. Especially clothes
that fit."

"Oh. Okay, before dinner we can go then," he said. I watched him shove a large mouthful
of oily bread between his lips and chase it with canned pear.

"No, I can shop by myself. Just need to know where to go, is all."

With a sigh, he pushed away from the table, gathering up his dishes though he wasn’t
finished eating and said over his shoulder on the way into the kitchen. "I'll be ready
at sunset. Maybe you should put a bra on or something."

***

My hands stayed shoved into my pockets as we walked. The night was overcast, hiding
the early autumn moon from us as we took the sidewalk through the ritzy neighborhoods
that bordered the Riverview Golf Course. I quietly followed Drake, irritated as hell
at the fact that he wouldn't just point me in the direction I needed to go.

With no map, I didn't know where we were or what was nearby. But I
did
know that it wasn't safe to travel through the area during the day, as I found out
the hard way after being shot off Foxy a few weeks before. The little information
Drake did share was that there were lookouts placed atop the tallest buildings flanking
the 22 freeway in an effort to regulate who gained access to the 5. It was smart on
behalf of the thugs - placing snipers along the Santa Ana River. The only reason why
I hadn't snuck out of Drake's place already was because he knew where the assholes
hid out. He had spent the last two months watching them and following them around
parts of Orange County. Twice he saw them take down a random survivor. And that was
all he told me. I knew he was hiding a lot more information and for some reason, he
didn't feel comfortable sharing it yet. So I stayed, waiting for the day when I could
pry the info I needed out of him to enact my bloody revenge.

But first, I needed clothes that stayed on my hips and didn't slide off my bony shoulders.
It took less than half an hour to walk to the closest mall. After picking my way through
a handful of stores, I changed right there in the aisles while Drake wandered off
with a flashlight to find his own supplies. We both hit the sidewalk again with backpacks
full of miscellaneous items. Plus a treat or two.

Halfway back to the house, the clouds parted above us and moon rays hit the sidewalk,
lighting the concrete up with a pale blue glow. Most of the streets were empty but
trash blew across the ground everywhere. Papers, plastic bags, cardboard and clothing
filled the gutters. Most of the homes that faced the main streets had broken windows
and busted doors on account of being pilfered over the last year. There weren't any
signs of recent life on the streets, but obviously others had picked the area clean
at some point.

"How long have you been here?" I asked, not looking at Drake.

A momentary pause went by before he spoke over his shoulder at me, "Long enough to
know not to cross the river."

"What do you mean?"

"That's where they seem to pass through a lot. I don't get close enough to see what
they're doing, just to see where they go." He shrugged and kicked at an empty milk
jug that rested on its side in the center of the street.

"Then why do you stay if you don't care what they're doing?" I asked angrily. His
lack of interest pissed me off. I wanted to chuck something at the back of his head.
The visual image of my shoe bouncing off his buzzed and brown hair almost made me
grin.

He whirled around to face me so quickly that I bumped into his chest. "I've seen them
kill. I know what they can do, and I know they run all over this City like they own
it. I'm adapting, just like you. Why is that any different than what
you've
done this year?" His eyes were dark and squinted as he glared at me.

With an uplifted tilt of my chin, I steadied my breath despite how close he stood
to me. "It's not the same thing at all. You're hiding from them and from anyone else
you could find out there," I threw my arm out beside me and gestured down the street.
"If you aren't here to bring them down, then what's the point of staying and watching?"

Only an inch of space separated his nose from mine as he leaned forward and said in
a low voice, "I
never
said there wasn't a point."

I gawked at his back as he spun away and continued down the street as if the conversation
never happened. Fidgeting with the strap of my pack, I walked quietly behind him,
lost in my thoughts.

What was he planning? And why wouldn't he tell me what it was?

The wind howled like a dying wolf outside the windows and rattled the solar panels
on the roof. It had a ferocity so intense I figured it was only a matter of time before
they slid off the top of the terracotta tiles and landed with a crash on the driveway
and back patio. They were what kept the house running, just as if the power had never
been lost. Except for those few days where a storm ripped through California with
one goal only - destroy anything and everything in its path.

I turned away from the moisture-clouded glass and readjusted my feet beneath me as
I pushed deeper into the chair. Drake was lounged on the sectional, his feet propped
on a pair of matching cushions with Swarovski crystals sewn delicately onto the silk
fabric. I think he used the lavish throw pillows as foot props on purpose as a way
to spite the previous owners who spent money on things that had no true worth. The
house was full of valuable items from all around the world that meant absolutely nothing
anymore. Value had a different meaning. Fresh water and food had become our gold and
silver.

"How long are you going to stare at me?" he asked without looking up from his book.

I inwardly chastised myself for blushing but since he had yet to glance up at me,
the embarrassment faded quickly. "I'm not staring. I was thinking," I said a bit too
rough.

"Thinking…and
staring
." Again, he didn't look up but I thought I caught a hint of a smile playing at the
corners of his mouth.

With an exasperated sigh, I glanced back outside at the cold wind that had the tropical
plants in the backyard thrashing around wildly. Even after hearing the sound of paper
rustle and the hardcover book snap shut, I didn't look at Drake. The feel of his eyes
burned into the back of my neck and I wiped at the sensation on my skin nervously.

Eventually he spoke, "What's wrong? You're more pouty than usual."

"And you're just as rude, I see."

"You think I'm rude?" he laughed.

"Unpleasantly rude and not very thoughtful," I grumbled under my breath, finally looking
at him.

His smile fell immediately. "If I was either of those things, I would have just left
you bleeding out in the mud."

"Then why didn't you?" I snapped.

Drake's hands flew up in front of his face like he wanted to strangle something. "I'm
not as much of an ass as you think. Have I proved otherwise?"

"Yes!" I nearly shouted the answer. "You seem to want to keep me here but won't tell
me why! I know nothing about you, your story, or how you got here. You just expect
me to sit here like some weak woman and eat the food that
you
provide and treat
you
like the master. That's not how I work!"

He kicked the crystal pillows to the ground and stood from the couch, crossing the
sitting room in four strides, tugging at his shirt as he walked. I flinched away from
him as he pulled the black top over his head and threw it into my face, standing before
me bare-chested. The shirt smelled subtly of soap but it wasn't the clean smell that
had me distracted, or by Drake's sudden and aggressive approach. It was the scars
that streaked across his chest like an amateur landscape drawing.

With a yank, he snatched my hand and pulled me out of the chair so roughly I came
up on my toes. Slowly, and almost as if he thought the touch might be painful, he
placed my palm on one of the scars just between his pectoral muscles. His gaze settled
on something over my head and he began to talk in a hushed voice, like he didn't want
the walls of the house to hear his words.

"I came through this area with another survivor, hiking on the same trail you used.
He went down after the first series of shots but I ran and I would have made it if
my fucking boot laces didn't get tangled in a stray piece of wire fencing." As he
talked, he moved my hand gently along the scars but didn't seem to feel it; his eyes
were detached and hollow. "They were on me in seconds. Three men, all with guns,"
he paused and blinked slowly before looking down at me, "I think it's obvious one
of them likes to use a knife."

When he let go of my hand, it lingered on his skin until he stepped back. I sucked
my lower lip in before inhaling. The severe arch of his eyebrows relaxed slightly
and for the first time, I saw him as a regular person just like me - a survivor.

"How did you live through that?" I tried not to stare at the series of scars that
broke apart the fine spattering of his chest hair.

"Well, there wasn't anyone there to drag me out of the mud, if that's what you mean."
He walked away, leaving me standing alone in the open sitting area, clutching his
still warm shirt, stunned into a humble silence.

***

For the rest of that evening Drake stayed upstairs, locked away in his room, just
two doors down from mine. No movement came from the end of the hall. There was no
sound. A few times I found myself stepping out onto the highly polished wood to check
on him, but my bare feet never made it more than two steps from my door frame.

As the brutal wind picked up speed and the storm drenched the house from all possible
angles, my time was spent propped on the bed in positions that didn't aggravate my
wounds. Wood logs popped and sizzled in the fireplace that took up most of the lower
part of the wall separating the sleeping room from the bathroom. The smell of the
burning wood filled the entire upper level. Any other circumstances and I would have
loved the home, especially after roughing it through town on horseback with Connor
and Kris for almost a week. But a house with a glass and marble fireplace in the master
suite didn't bring joy or happiness or even excitement - only sadness that I couldn't
share it with them.

Every time the house creaked I would peek into the hall, expecting to see Drake passing
by my room on his way to the stairs but he never appeared. It was clear he only told
me how he ended up in that part of town because he was angry and not because he suddenly
felt comfortable speaking with me openly. Guilt plagued me for doubting his intentions
but a question nagged inside my head like a leech - refusing to let go until it was
sated with an answer.

Where could I find this man with the knife?

***

Drake hovered over his cereal bowl like he was afraid someone would snatch it out
from under his mouth. After having skipped dinner the night before, he was working
on his second serving of cinnamon oatmeal. He stirred a spoonful of raisins into the
slop until I couldn't see them anymore.

"Hungry?" I asked, sipping orange juice.

Pulp settled at the bottom of the glass while I watched Drake eat. Our supply of fresh
oranges was almost gone after making juice every morning that week. The great thing
about Southern California wis that every neighborhood had a fruit tree of some kind.
The trick was finding the ripe ones.

He didn't answer, only continued to eat as if I wasn't there. It had rained off and
on throughout the night and even with all four fireplaces in the house lit and roaring,
it was still chilly inside. I thought I had heard Drake walk down the hall twice sometime
before dawn, but I was too tired to slip out from under the blankets to see what he
was doing.

"What time did you get up this morning?" I figured small talk would warm him up a
bit.

He licked brown sugar off his spoon and set it aside before gulping down half a cup
of juice. "When you did. I heard your door. Why?"

I set the glass down and looked at him curiously. "You didn't get up early this morning?"

"No, I was passed out." He looked at me clearly annoyed. "What?"

"Nothing. I thought I heard you walk down the hall a few hours ago. Must have been
the house settling…or something." I stared at the orange pulp and picked a small seed
out of my cup before glancing back up at Drake. He was watching me carefully.

"Or something," he repeated.

"Can I ask you a question?" I didn't pause to wait for his reply, "I'm just curious
if this place was empty before you…you know…moved in." I met his eyes and stared at
him.

"No."

Lifting an eyebrow, I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, I tilted my head
and raised a hand in a gesture that meant I was eager for more information. My hand
stayed suspended in the space between us, propped up by my elbow, until he finally
gave in and exhaled an irritated sigh.

"No, the house wasn't empty. There was a rich couple in a car parked in the garage.
My guess is they gassed themselves before the bug had a chance to take them out."

"Oh. Well, where are they now?"

"What do you mean? It's not like I left them there."

"I meant, how did you…dispose of the bodies?" My chest heaved as I attempted to regulate
my breathing.

"What the hell kind of a question is
that
?" The kitchen stool scraped along the floor as he pushed away from the bar counter
and snatched up his bowl and spoon before walking around me to the sink. It was rare
to see him in a short-sleeved top and the t-shirt clung to his upper body like it
was half a size too small. I knew how many push-up's he did a day, it was probably
hard for him to fit his arms into
any
shirt that didn't hang around the waist.

"I'm just curious, is all," I said, picking up my own dishes and setting them beside
his in the metal drop down sink.

He groaned before facing me with a look of displeasure seeded deep in his eyes. "I
buried them - kind of. Happy?"

"No," I muttered.

Buried, not burned. This meant they could still be hanging around the property. Most
likely, they were and that's who I heard walking down the hallway earlier. I sighed
and cleaned my dishes, ignoring the questionable looks that Drake shot in my direction
every few seconds. He was hiding things from me, so it seemed only natural to hold
my own secrets close to my chest for the time being. It wouldn't be the first time
I was guarded with Drake. No doubt, it wouldn't be the last either.

***

A little alcohol was all it took to loosen Drake up and get him talking. And once
he did, he wouldn't shut up. We sat on the sectional - me tucked under a throw blanket,
half-buried beneath a mound of different shaped pillows and him in the opposite corner
of the sofa. His feet propped up on the delicate coffee table, a large glass of wine
in one hand. The rain had stopped but the wind made it seem even colder. There was
only enough dry wood in the garage to last maybe two more fires. The next day we would
have to bring home some more, or the week would end up with one or both of us freezing
in the night.

"So you left your
dog
there? Why'd you do that?"

"Well, it didn't make sense to bring her when we would be on horseback. I don't know
if she could walk that far." I sipped slowly from my own glass.

"Shit. If my dog lived, I wouldn't let her out of my sight."

"There are others at the lodge that need her."

I almost believed that to be true. The real reason I didn't bring Zoey with us was
because in my heart, I was worried one or none of us would make it back. At least
she was safe at the lodge with everyone else.

"Right. And this lodge, you think it's safe up there, tucked away in the mountains?"

He lifted one of his arms and propped it behind his head before leaning back into
it. I was almost certain the gesture was done to show off his bicep. Impressive at
it was, it wasn't enough for me to forget about Connor and the last time I saw him
sitting in that same position.

"It's been safe there for the most part. No one else has found it. And we have solar
power too, plus the lake."

"Huh."

"What?" I asked.

"It's just…what if there's a fire or some other natural disaster. You really want
to be stuck on the top of a mountain for that?" He took a large swallow of wine.

"Where else should we go? Into the city, with all the-" I abruptly bit down on my
lower lip, then tried to hide my slip by bringing the wine glass to my mouth, but
Drake wasn't drunk enough to miss what I almost said.

"You mean, with all the
dead
people?"

I nodded. And sipped wine.

"In the city with the bodies…or the shadows?" He wasn't teasing me, he was waiting
for me to confirm that he wasn't the only one that had seen or heard something paranormal.

I shrugged, trying to play off my reaction like neither option bothered me, "Both,
I guess."

"Right," he huffed, "Something tells me it would take more than a dead body to spook
you."

"I guess that's true now. It wasn't nine months ago."

The day I found my mother dead in her apartment flashed through my memory. And the
baby still strapped into the stroller inside the bus depot. That day brought me face
to face with enough death to last one hundred life times.