“We don’t have to stay long,” Angela said. “We’ll have a few decent meals and see how we feel about it in a couple of days, okay?” The kids didn’t answer. They could see someone standing under the front, pacing slowly back and forth with a rifle in his hands. He was wearing one of those oxygen masks, the kind with the big round reflective eye covers. It was the protective head covering people wore in those post-apocalyptic zombie movies the kids said they’d seen on television, Angela thought. “One meal and one night,” she whispered as they approached the man.
“Hold it right there,” he called out when they were still over forty feet away. “Where are you coming from and what’s your business here?”
Our business? Why we’re travelling sales people and we’ve driven over a thousand miles to attend a shower curtain manufacturing conference. We’re very tired and we would appreciate your quietest room with a view of the planes landing and taking off if possible.
No need to be a smart-ass. The man’s just doing his job.
“A family back down the road said there was a shelter set up here, that there’s food and a place to sleep.”
The man eyed them up and down through those expressionless, flat glass eyes. “Where did the kids get those clothes? We’re they stolen?”
Angela looked at the expensive brand-name jackets and shirts. Michael’s were a good fit, but the hoody Amanda was wearing was a few sizes too big. The bottom of it hung past her bum. There were price tags and materials stickers still attached to most of them. “We’ve been sleeping outdoors and in vehicles for the last few nights. We needed… I wanted the children to stay warm. The clothes came from a shopping center.”
“Meaning you didn’t pay for them.”
The city had been nuked. Ninety per cent of the people living there were already dead. Why were the survivors so obsessed with stolen clothes? “We couldn’t pay for them. There was no one left to attend us, and I left my purse in the crater of what was once my office.”
You be careful, girl. The guy’s holding a rifle and he’s wearing an end-of-the-frigging-world helmet. Keep shooting your mouth off, and he’ll blow your head clean off your shoulders.
Angela didn’t care. She was sick of strange men frightening her, and she was sicker of the one in her brain telling her what to do. “Are you going to let us in or not?”
The man lowered his weapon and removed the oxygen mask. A mop of blond hair fell out and he was grinning widely. “Sorry about that.” He was young, probably not yet twenty, and his eyes were kind. “Marie’s making me ask all the people that come here these stupid questions.” He placed the mask down at his feet and left the rifle laying there as well. “Not even sure why she makes me wear that thing. It’s not like it’s going to keep the radiation from seeping in through my skin.”
Amanda spoke up. “Maybe it’s supposed to make you look scarier, you know, to stop bad people from coming too close.”
“I guess it could be something like that.” He held his hand out and Amanda shook it after a few hesitant moments. “I’m Cory Walker… used to run luggage back and forth from the guest rooms.”
“I’m Angela.” She didn’t see the need to provide last names any more. “This is Amanda and Michael. How many survivors are there inside, and who’s Marie?”
“There’s maybe sixty people down below, and Marie Hodgkin is my boss. She was the hotel manager on duty when it happened. No one’s come to relieve her since, so she’s still in charge. Real hard-ass, too, so the place is in good hands. She told me to watch for folks wearing new clothes and carrying expensive things. Last thing we need is a bunch of looters staying.”
“We’re not looters,” Michael spoke up defensively.
“Nah, of course you aren’t… you know what I mean. We’re not stopping families or kids, or anything like that, just keeping an eye out for gangs and stuff.”
It had been less than a week and already people were preparing for roaming gangs. Angela shouldn’t have been all that surprised. She had already fended off a rape and attempted murder. Civilized society had broken up and vanished at approximately the same rate of speed as the bomb’s destructive wave. “We’re not a gang,” Angela said. “I took the clothes the kids are wearing because we’ve had to keep ahead of a lunatic shooting off handguns, murdering everyone in sight. If I’d had the time I would’ve taken some for myself.” She spread out her arms and showed him the filthy remains of her dress, most of which was missing from the thighs down.
Corey could see something heavy weighing down both front pockets of Angela’s dress. “Speaking of guns…”
She patted the bulge on her right side. “We got away from the guy, took one of his weapons.”
“And the other one?” He pointed at her left side.
“I found that one on my own before I met up with the kids.” She hadn’t told Amanda and Michael about her night spent on a couch with an old woman melted into the fabric of an armchair at her feet. She wasn’t going to share that information with Corey Walker either.
“I see.” The young man held out both hands. “Well I can’t let you in any further unless you hand them both over. Marie’s orders—no weapons past the front doors.”
She glanced at the children. Amanda wanted to go inside. So did Michael, but he didn’t want to surrender the guns any more than Angela did. “I’d feel a lot better if we could hold on to them. I promise to keep them concealed.”
A woman spoke up from the shadows behind the young man. “And I promise I won’t let the three of you in another step if you don’t lay those guns on the ground at your feet right now.”
Corey bent down quickly and picked his rifle up. “Uuhh, this is Marie… my boss.”
Marie Hodgkin gave him a look that said they would be talking more about this later. “Your choice, lady. Give up the guns, or you carry on down to the next hotel.”
Angela had already made her mind up. She didn’t look back at the twins for approval. “We can have them back when we leave?”
“Of course, but I can’t imagine where you’d want to go. We have everything here you could possibly want. The parkade has been secured and is constantly guarded.” She shot Corey another dirty sideways glance. “The hotel has enough food and stored water to last the fifty-seven guests below for two or three months.”
Angela’s hands slowly slipped into her pockets. The woman in front of her stared into her eyes, challenging her to try something stupid. She was small, at least six inches shorter than Angela, but her presence was commandingly large. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, and her thin lips were only a slit sitting above her pointy little chin. Her legs were spread apart slightly, and her hands were planted on her hips. The hotel uniform she was wearing—a neatly pressed black suit with white shirt—fit perfectly, and could’ve have probably fit Amanda perfectly as well. Her green tie was pulled up tightly into the collar of the shirt.
Small in stature, but huge in presence. Angela heard Michael groan as she handed the guns to Corey. Marie took Angela by the elbow. “Smart decision.” They went into the hotel lobby and walked through the spacious area. There was a second Armageddon-oxygen-mask-wearing guard stationed behind the front desk. He waved at them with the tip of his rifle. There was a third guard at the back entrance, and a fourth standing at the vehicle ramp leading down into the underground parking lot.
Marie’s little black shoes clicked along the pavement and her voice echoed off the walls. “The hotel was almost at full capacity when the bomb hit… over two-hundred guests.” Angela noted the word guests for a second time. She had referred to the survivors as guests, as if they were still checking in and out on a regular basis. Marie Hodgkin either took her position very seriously, or she was suffering from the biggest case of denial Angela had ever seen. “Three quarters of them up and left. They jumped in their cars and drove away, leaving most of their belongings in the rooms above. Not sure where the hell they thought they were going.”
Читать дальше