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“The fuck?” I drop my hand and squint in the direction that it traveled, finding a flying fucking hen landing on the roof of a plastic playhouse surrounded by chicken wire.
At least six more fat-ass chickens are inside the makeshift coop, staring at me with shifty orange eyes.
“That one’s Asshole.” Q nods toward the ball of feathers that almost took my head off. “We let her out during the day because … well, she’s a fuckin’ asshole if we don’t.”
I look around in disbelief. Q was right. This place is insane. They have rows and rows of blue plastic rain barrels, dozens of containers—everything from old washing machines to tires—spilling over with fruits and vegetables, some of the biggest pot plants I’ve ever seen, and beyond the junk yard of a garden is a giant inflatable pool surrounded by mismatched patio furniture.
“You did all this?” I ask, trying to ignore the chicken staring at me in my peripheral vision.
“Hell nah.” Q snorts, wrinkling up her nose. “I told you, I’m the queen up in here. I don’t do shit. My people did all this.” Q sweeps her hand out over her dominion as she turns and walks down the path separating the water collection area from the garden.
“Where did you guys get all this stuff?” I ask, following a few feet behind her.
Q shrugs. “Walmart.”
I snort out a laugh as she comes to a stop next to a propane camping stove by the water barrels.
“Lysol used to sneak over there with a pair of bolt cutters every few days to steal shit outta the lawn and garden section. Opie used to swipe chickens and tools and shit from a farm somewhere around here. And Pizza Face yanked that pool right outta some kid’s backyard.”
“Those your scouts?”
“Were. Until the Bonys showed up.” Something flashes across Q’s face before she flicks her fingers at the teakettle sitting on top of the single-burner stove. “You gotta boil that shit before you drink it …”
“I thought you said water was for employees.”
“That’s why I brought you up here, Surfer Boy.” Q points off into the distance. “You see that pharmacy, ’bout two blocks down? Now, Bonys already done broke into it, but I know there’s gotta be some good shit left. You scope it out for me; I’ll give you all the water you can drink. Bring me back some tampons and toilet paper …” Q’s catlike eyes drift south as the corner of one angled eyebrow crawls north. “I’ll be ya best muhfuckin’ friend.”
I open my mouth to tell her I’m not staying, but something she said makes me bite my tongue.
There’s a pharmacy.
Right across the fucking street.
I sigh and scrub a hand down my face. “Fine. But I’m gonna need that water up front.”
Wes
Two blocks.
I sling Rain’s empty backpack over my good shoulder and push open the exit door. I might be an asshole, but even I can’t let a guy die on the floor of an abandoned mall without at least checking the pharmacy down the street for meds first.
God, you better be watching. I deserve some serious extra credit for this shit.
The sun is already beginning to slide behind the pines next to the exit ramp, so I pick up the pace as I walk across the parking lot. I listen for the sound of motorcycles, gunshots, dogs barking, anything, but it’s eerily quiet. The road in front of the mall has a few vehicles on it, but they’re still and silent. Instead of engines and car horns, all I hear are birds and broken glass under my feet.
It looks like an urban wasteland out here. It sounds like a goddamn nature preserve. And, for a moment, it feels like I really am the last asshole on earth.
This is exactly how I pictured April 24. No people. No rent. No debate about whether to stay or leave anybody or anyplace. Just me and the shit of the earth.
Only in my head, it felt a hell of a lot better than this.
I step over a section of flattened chain-link fence and look down the street in both directions. The pharmacy is so close that I could be there in about two minutes if I stuck to the road, but considering that the last bastard I saw walk down this highway is still lying on it about fifty yards away, I decide to cross the street and walk behind a strip shopping center instead.
I draw my gun as I slide along the side of the brick building, taking care not to let the gravel crunch too loudly under my boots. The farther away I get from the street, the worse the smell. I dismiss it as just another overflowing dumpster—until I recognize it.
It’s the same way Rain’s house smelled when I found her parents.
My stomach twists and my heart pounds as I take a breath and glance around the corner of the building.
