Xombies: Apocalypse Blues Read Free Page A

they’re making it out to be. And what the hell do they mean, women may change ? Change into what? It all sounds fishy.”
    “Don’t swear,” my mother said, stirring her Sanka.
    “Well, it makes me nuts.”
    “I know. I feel there’s something we should be doing, but I can’t imagine what.”
    “We can’t sit here forever, that’s for sure.”
    “Where can we go? I don’t want somebody taking pot-shots at us.”
    “I know,” I said. “But we’re going to have to let somebody know we’re here. We don’t even have a phone. What about that old guy, Cowper, or even those guys over at Stoner Central? As long as we don’t sneak up on them, I think they’d at least talk to us. We could take them a couple of MREs.”
    “We might need those. And if they were home, don’t you think we’d have seen them by now? We haven’t seen a soul in weeks. And by the way, Lulu, he’s not some ‘old guy,’ he’s your father.”
    “Whatever, but it’s worth a try. I’ve seen his car there. Besides, even if nobody’s home, they might at least have some food or something.”
    “You mean break in? Good heavens no!” My mother—paragon of virtue.
    “Oh please.”
    “And be caught looting? Uh-uh, thanks but no thanks.”
    “Well, can we at least see if they’re home?”
    “I don’t like the idea. What if some of that Agent X is floating around? I think we should stay put, like the radio says.”
    “Mum, if Agent X is as bad as they say, we’d have it by now. That is, if there was anyone to catch it from. I bet this whole area’s deserted—all you have to do is look out the window.” I flipped up the curtain. The view was like an overexposed photo of bleak suburbia. “We’re like people in the Middle Ages who went to the countryside to escape the Black Death. Maybe we lucked out, but we can’t just sit here forever. There may be help out there.” I wasn’t sure if I believed that myself.
    But my mother thought about it, bit her lip, and nodded.
     
     
    Bringing her chrome handcuffs and diecast toy Luger made Mum feel less vulnerable, so I didn’t say anything. We drove to the cabin of my “father” first, a private little place tucked in its own cul-de-sac. He had a reinforced steel mailbox to ward off bat-wielding joyriders, and it was made quaint with an old lobster trap, buoys, and a jigsawed wooden sign that read, COWPER’S REST.
    The cottage looked all shut up, but his big utility vehicle was parked in the driveway. I wondered if it might be possible to siphon gas out of it.
    “Let’s just sit in the car for a few minutes,” I said. “Give him a chance to look us over.”
    “Okay,” Mum said, turning off the motor.
    We sat watching the house for any sign of activity, but no one peeked back at us through the blinds.
    After a few minutes, my mother said, “I don’t think there’s anybody there.”
    “I know.”
    “I feel funny lurking out here.”
    “Well, let’s go knock.”
    “You think so?”
    “Sure, why not?” As we got out, I added, “But I think you should leave the gun in the car.”
    “I’ll put it in my purse.”
    We cautiously climbed the porch and rang the bell, listening to the faint chimes within.
    “Hello?” my mother called hopefully.
    There was nothing. It was kind of a relief. I’d been tricked into meeting Mr. Cowper during one of my mother’s confrontations, and to his credit, he was cordial, but chilly. What was odd was how desperately coquettish she had been, flattering him and making her painstaking pursuit seem like a casual visit. It was pathetic. He went along with the small talk, humoring her like a doctor in an asylum, and I could feel his sympathy for me like a chintzy gift from a rich relative. When he started asking me how I was doing in school, and Mum began to boast about what a genius I was, I felt physically ill—it was the sensation that he and I were watching her with the same pity.
    In the distance I could see the bulbous water tower by