Justin Cronin - The Twelve

Grey was caught short; he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He hadn’t thought ahead at all, as if the woman’s delusional state were contagious. But of course she’d want him to stay. After so many days alone, there was no way she was letting him get loose now—keeping him here was the point. And besides, where would he go?

“Good. It’s settled then.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I have to say, I’m very relieved. I feel so guilty, dragging you into this, never even asking if you have someplace else to be. And after you’ve been so helpful.”

“It’s okay,” Grey said. “I mean, I’m glad to stay.”

“Don’t mention it.” The conversation seemed over, but at the doorway Lila turned, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “Sorry about the sandwich. I know it probably isn’t very appetizing. I keep meaning to get out to the market. But I’ll make you a nice dinner.”

Grey worked through the afternoon, completing the third coat as the sun was setting in the windows. He had to say, the room didn’t look half bad. He deposited his brushes and rollers in the tray, descended the stairs, and followed the central hallway back to the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the room had a spare, modern appearance, with white cabinets, black granite countertops, and appliances of gleaming chrome, the effect marred only by the garbage bags that were piled everywhere, reeking of old food. Lila was standing at the stove—the gas appeared to be working—and stirring a saucepan by candlelight. The table was set with china, napkins, and silverware, even a tablecloth.

“I hope you like tomato,” said Lila, smiling at him.

Lila directed him to a small room behind the kitchen with a utility sink. There was no water to wash the brushes, so Grey left them in the basin and used a rag to clean his hands as best he could. The idea of tomato soup repelled him, but he would have to do a convincing job of trying to eat—there was simply no way to avoid it. By the time he returned, Lila was ladling the steaming soup into a pair of bowls. These she carried to the table with a plate of Ritz crackers.

“Bon appétit.”

The first spoonful nearly made him gag. It didn’t even seem like food. Against every instinct, he managed to swallow. Lila appeared to take no notice of his distress, breaking the crackers into her soup and spooning it into her mouth. By sheer force of will, Grey took another spoonful, then a third. He could feel the soup lodging at the base of his gut, an inert mass. As he attempted a fourth, something viselike clamped inside him.

“Excuse me a second.”

Trying not to run, he retreated to the utility room, arriving at the sink in the nick of time. Usually he made a racket when he puked, but not now: the soup seemed to fly effortlessly out of his body. Christ, what was the matter with him? He wiped his mouth, took a moment to steady himself, and returned to the table. Lila was looking at him with concern.

“Is the soup all right?” she asked gingerly.

He couldn’t even look at the stuff. He wondered if she could smell the puke on his breath. “It’s fine,” he managed. “I’m just… not very hungry, I guess.”

The answer appeared to satisfy her. She regarded him for a long moment before speaking again. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, Lawrence. But are you looking for work?”

“More painting, you mean?”

“Well, certainly there’s that. But other things, too. Because I have the impression, and forgive me if I’m leaping to conclusions, that you may be a little bit… at loose ends. Which is fine. Don’t get me wrong. Things happen to people.” She squinted across the table. “But you don’t really work at Home Depot, do you?”

Grey shook his head.

“I thought so! Really, you had me going for a while there. And regardless, you’ve done a beautiful job. A beautiful job. Which only proves my point. If you see what I’m saying. Because I’d like to help you get back on your feet. You’ve been so helpful, I’d like to return the favor. God knows there’s plenty that needs doing around here. There’s putting up the border, and of course the problems with the AC, and the yard, well you’ve seen the yard …”

If he didn’t stop her now, Grey knew, he’d never get her out of here. “Lady—”

“Please.” Holding up a hand, she gave him a warm smile. “It’s Lila.”

“Lila, okay.” Grey drew a breath. “Have you noticed anything… strange?”

A puzzled frown. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Best to back in slowly, Grey thought. “Like, take the electricity, for instance.”

“Oh that,” she said, and waved a hand dismissively. “You already mentioned that, at the store.”

“But doesn’t it seem odd that it’s still out? Don’t you think they would have fixed it by now?”

A vague disturbance moved across her face. “I haven’t the foggiest. Honestly, I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“And David, you said he hasn’t called. How long has it been?”

“Well, he’s a busy man. A very busy man.”

“I don’t think that’s the reason he hasn’t called.”

Her voice was absolutely flat. “You don’t.”

“No.”

Lila’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Lawrence, do you know something you’re not telling me? Because if you’re a friend of David’s, I hope you would have the decency to tell me.”

Grey might just as well have tried to snatch a fly out of the air. “No, he’s not a friend of mine. I’m just saying …” There was nothing to do but just come out with it. “Have you noticed there aren’t any people?”

Lila was staring at him intently, arms crossed above her pregnant belly. Her eyes held a look of barely contained rage. She rose abruptly, snatched her bowl from the table, and carried it to the sink.

“Lila—”

She shook her head emphatically, not looking at him. “I won’t have you talk this way.”

“We have to get out of here.”

With a clatter she tossed the bowl into the sink and turned on the tap, violently pumping the lever back and forth, to no avail. “Goddamnit, there’s no water. Why is there no fucking water? ”

Grey got to his feet. She spun to face him, her fists balled with anger.

“Don’t you understand? I can’t lose her again! I can’t!”

Did she mean the baby? And what did she mean by “again”?

“We can’t stay.” He took another cautious step, as if approaching a wary animal. “It’s not safe here.”

Furious tears began to spill down her cheeks. “Why do you have to do this? Why?”

She lurched toward him, fists raised like hammers. Grey was thrust back on his heels. She began to pummel his chest as if she were trying to break down a door. But her attack wasn’t organized; it was an expression of pure panic, of the storm of emotion breaking inside her. As she reared back again, Grey regained his balance and pulled her into him like a boxer into a clinch, encircling her upper body and pinning her arms to her sides. The gesture was reflexive; he didn’t know what else to do. “Don’t say that,” Lila pleaded, thrashing inside his grip. “It isn’t true, it isn’t true.…” Then, with a rush of breath and a whimper of surrender, the air let out of her and she collapsed against him.

For a period that might have been a full minute they stayed that way, locked in an awkward embrace. Grey couldn’t have been more astonished—not by her violent reaction, which he could have foreseen, but by the mere presence of a woman’s body in his arms. How slight she was! How different from himself! How long had it been since Grey had hugged a woman, hugged anyone? Or even been touched by another person? He could feel the hard roundness of Lila’s belly pressed against him, an insistent presence. A baby, Grey thought, and for the first time, the full implications of this fact dawned in his mind. In the midst of the chaos and carnage of a world gone mad, this poor woman was going to have a baby.