Night Resurrected (8 page)

inventory of her waning food supplies

when a shadow appeared at the front of

the truck.

“You
are
here.”

She looked up to see Wyatt, bare-

shouldered, suddenly taking up all the

space in the truck as he poked his head

into the back. He sounded surprised and

maybe a little irritated.

“I was just going through some of the

—I mean, I was sewing up my pants.

Why, did you expect me to be watching

for you? I have plenty of things to be

doing besides waiting around for you to

come back.”

His lips flattened into a thin line.

“No. I brought back some wild

asparagus and potatoes. I was going to

cook them up for dinner. For both of us. I

found some cans of beans along with

other canned food—I put them in one of

the cupboards.”

Remy took a calming breath, already

regretting her sharp words. Just because

he was a dick didn’t mean she had to be

one too. And she’d been so distracted by

the sight of his bare chest, she hadn’t

even noticed that he was carrying

anything. “That was nice of you. I’ll be

happy to cook.”

“Deal.” He climbed all the way into

the truck and brushed past her so closely

a droplet of water, warm from his hair,

fell on her arm. “I found something you

might want to see. In the woods.”

“All right.”

He dug through his pack, and to her

relief, pulled out a shirt and shrugged

into it, buttoning it quickly down the

front, leaving a small vee of dark hair

showing at the top. Then he emptied his

pack, dug in the plastic tub and pulled

out several things and shoved them into

the pack.

They both thought Dantès could

accompany them for what Wyatt said

wasn’t a difficult walk, so the three set

out. Instead of going east toward the

dead body, or north to the lake, Wyatt

took her in a western direction. Remy

realized they were traveling along an

overgrown road. The concrete was

hardly noticeable, though, for trees,

bushes, and grass grew up through the

cracks and buckles.

Part of the reason no one traveled by

motorized vehicle any longer was

because of the rough terrain. It was

easier to ride a horse or even to walk

than try and navigate the potholes and

chunks of road or naked ground. Aside

from that, whatever stores of gasoline

might have been available in the years

immediately following the Change had

disappeared: used up, combusted, or

leaked back into the ground. The art of

auto mechanics had died out through lack

of need, so there were few people

familiar with running cars either. And if

anyone dared try to resurrect a vehicle,

they risked being found out by the

Strangers or bounty hunters.

“Here,” Wyatt said after they’d

walked about three miles. He gestured to

an oblong structure, half buried in the

ground, obstructed by a clump of trees

and covered by vines and moss.

“What is it?” she asked. It looked a

little like a train car that had fallen into a

crevice in the earth, but it had a huge tire

sunk into the ground.

“It’s a semi-truck trailer.” When she

looked at him, not quite certain what that

was, he explained, “The thing we’re

staying in is the front part of a semi-

truck. This is what would have been

pulled along behind it on the highway.”

“Oh,” she said, and edged toward it.

“Did you look inside?”

“Of course.” That impatient note was

back in his voice. “That’s why I thought

you’d like to see it. There’s a lot of

salvageable stuff in there. You might

find something you want.”

A spike of enthusiasm shot through

her. She’d kill for some new underwear

and socks, even if they didn’t fit right.

“That would be great.”

“Dantès, stay. Guard,” Wyatt told

him, then navigated his way to the

trailer, pulling a large sapling out of the

way. “This is the best way in. I had to

pry the door open.” He climbed up onto

the narrow exposed side and flung open

a large metal door. It clanged against the

wall, leaving half the back end open.

From where Remy stood, the inside

looked dingy and deep, slanting into

darkness. She glanced at the front of the

trailer, noting that its nose was buried in

the ground. It wasn’t going to slip or

slide down into an abyss.

Wyatt held out his hand. When she

took it, he clasped it around her wrist

then pulled her up quickly and smoothly.

He lowered her just inside the doorway

as if she were no heavier than a child,

then slid in beside her.

“I trust you made sure there weren’t

going to be any surprises in here,” she

said, looking around the dim space. The

floor tilted underfoot, angling down

toward the ravine. “No snakes, no—”

She bit off a shriek as something

skittered over her foot, and then another

herd of creatures took flight, zooming in

a wave of flapping wings over her head

and out. Startled and agitated, she

slipped in something squishy on the

slanted floor and landed on her ass.

“Sorry.” His voice sounded tight, or

maybe just tense. As if he were trying

not to laugh. “I couldn’t clear everything

out. But at least the grumpy bear is

gone.”

“Bear?” Remy froze, then realized he

was teasing her. Which was a first. Or

. . . maybe he wasn’t teasing her. A bear

could have been living in here. And

Wyatt definitely wasn’t the teasing type.

She pulled herself to her feet, her

hand smashing down on something soft

and damp in the process. Her enthusiasm

waned. It was filthy in here, with lots of

rubble, rubbish, and animal leavings and

remains. “This is like that scene where

Luke and Leia and Han Solo are trapped

in the trash compactor,” she muttered.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she

wanted to start digging through the mess,

and in the semidarkness. Who knew

what she might put her hand into . . . or

what might grab back at her, or slither

out . . .

“Here.” Wyatt slapped something

floppy at her. “Rubber gloves. Found

’em in the first aid kit.”

Remy pulled them on, stretching her

fingers inside the elastic gloves. Huh. So

this is what they felt like. She’d seen

people

wearing

them

in

DVDs,

especially shows with doctors or

detectives, but never in real life. And

she’d definitely never worn them. They

felt odd. Hot and tight, and a little sticky.

But she loved the idea of protecting

herself this way. How handy.

“They’ll tear easily, so watch for

sharp edges,” Wyatt warned, already

digging through some of the rubble. “But

they’ll keep you clean if you’re careful.”

“You have any light?” she asked,

feeling a lot more confident.

“You

have

any

patience,

sweetheart?” he said, and suddenly a

match flared. He lit two candles and

wedged them into some metal ribbing

along the inside of the trailer. Now a

soft glow illuminated the space, and

Remy could see all sorts of lumps buried

under moss, rotting debris, and even a

pile of white bones in the corner. She

didn’t mind the bones. It was rotting

flesh and animal dung she’d prefer to

avoid.

“The shipping boxes will have long

rotted away,” Wyatt was saying, digging

through some of the mess. “But anything

wrapped in plastic that’s still intact will

be salvageable. From what I can tell,

this truck was probably taking a load of

orders from a warehouse or courier to

the shipping company. So there could be

some good stuff here.”

How did he know all this? Remy

shrugged and began to sift through the

debris, happy to have her hands

protected and hopeful that she might find

some real treasures.

Wyatt was right. There were a lot of

items here. Many of the plastic bags had

been slit open by animal teeth or claws,

so the contents were destroyed, rotted

away or mildewed. But she found

several that weren’t, and by the

candlelight, used a pair of scissors from

Wyatt’s pack to cut open any airtight

plastic. She was particularly interested

in soft bags that could contain clothing.

“We won’t be able to take everything

back, but we can make a few trips and

store the good things in the truck,” Wyatt

said, rummaging deep in the bowels of

the trailer. “Once I get you to Envy, I’ll

come back with Quent and Zoë. Oh, hot

damn!”

He must have found something

worthwhile. Filled with hope and

delight, Remy slit open a flat plastic bag.

Inside were articles of clothing wrapped

in clear plastic, as pristine as the day

they were packed up, fifty-some years

ago.

As she carefully pulled out the

contents, Remy wondered what it would

have been like back then: to have

clothing,

whatever

you

wanted,

delivered to your house. She couldn’t

imagine not to have to go to a seamstress

and be fitted for something to wear—or

to sew something herself. Sometimes the

clothing she wore was made new, but

other times it was made from scraps or

refitted

from

original

pieces.

Occasionally, a peddler or salvager

would come through a settlement with a

cart of discovered, traded, or retailored

items. About ten years ago she’d

traveled with one such peddler for a few

months. Everyone would rummage

through the peddler’s wares, looking for

something that had been repaired or was

otherwise usable.

She wasn’t surprised that this

particular treasure trove had remained

unnoticed for half a century. There were

stories about people finding such caches,

so she knew they existed—just like the

buried treasures of old. One of her

friends in Redlo had found an old

suitcase inside the trunk of a car and

salvaged a pair of black boots and a

leather coat. But she’d never come upon

a collection herself, and certainly not

one this large.

Remy stifled a gasp of delight as she

pulled a midnight-blue lacy thing from a

small plastic bag. Impractical, but

lovely.
Please let it fit me. Please let it

fit me.

She held it up and saw that it was a

very revealing shirt or a nightgown.

Regardless, it was much too large for

her frame. Damn. But she could alter it,

so she set it aside. A little while later

she found a package of socks and

crowed with delight. Clean socks.

Without holes!

The deeper she dug, the more damp

and disgusting was the debris. Not a

surprise, for the top layer would have

disintegrated sooner over the last

decades, slowly exposing the bottom

items to the air and damp. But she found

a thick plastic package with four tank

tops that looked as if they’d fit—and in

great colors too: sky blue, red, white,

and black. And . . . she almost cried

when she found two bras that were the

right size. And panties! Pink leopard-

skin design, blue diamonds and black

and white stripes. A fourth was the

weirdest pair of panties—at least she

thought they were panties—she’d ever

seen: there was no fabric covering the

butt. Just a sort of T-strap. It looked

uncomfortable, but she decided to keep

it anyway because it was black and lacy.

Salvagers couldn’t be choosy, and

someday there might be a reason for her

to wear something so pretty under her

clothes.

“Wonder who Victoria was,” she

said aloud, looking at the packing slip

that was inside the plastic bag that had