Xombies: Apocalypse Blues Read Free Page B

the highway. It made me wonder how long we’d have water pressure . . . and electricity, for that matter. A lump rose in my throat. My anxiety was interrupted by Mum’s plopping down on the steps.
    “I can’t take this,” she said. “I just can’t take it.”
    Trying to sound reassuring, I said, “It’ll be okay. I’m sure there are other people like us around.” I could tell she was on the verge of one of her meltdowns. It was something I didn’t think I could handle just then, as I was barely keeping it together myself. Give her a few minutes to cool down, I thought. “Listen, you take it easy for a little while,” I said. “I’m just going to run over to the stoner house and take a look. I’ll come right back.”
    “No! By yourself? No way, buster, we’ll drive.”
    “Mum, it’s twice as long to drive. From here I can just cut across the field, and I’ll be back in five minutes. You know how careful I am.”
    She was wavering, not sure what to do. With her graying hair and her housecoat, she suddenly looked very old and sad.
    Trying to clinch it, I said, “You know nobody’s even going to be there. I mean, look around!” I waved at the ranks of empty cottages. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”
    With a worn-out nod, she said, “Okay, but don’t scare me.”
    “I won’t.” I bolted from the porch.
    Cutting across backyards and sparse woods, I felt exhilarated, free. At times my mother was a planet unto herself, with a dense, claustrophobic atmosphere and heavy gravity. She needed company, and it was my lot to provide it. Being alone never bothered me; I often thought I would do well in solitary confinement, as long as I had access to books. Of course, being cooped up in that cabin with her for more than a month didn’t help. As my head cleared I even began to wonder if the whole Agent X business wasn’t pure delirium. Not that I could believe that, but it was so unreal.
    I stopped to pee beside a vine-covered stone wall, listening to the trickle in the silence. It was so damn peaceful—yes, maybe there was nothing to be afraid of.
    Crossing the meadow under the power lines, I found Hull Street. It was a narrow dirt lane with more summer houses on either side. My feet crunched on the gravel, and I found myself treading lightly without quite knowing why. If there was no one around, why did I care? And if there was someone, shouldn’t I make myself heard?
    Stoner Central lay at the end of the street, a double-wide trailer strung with Christmas lights. I had seen it at night, all lit up and booming vapid technomusic to a throng of future tin nitus cases. Now the place was quiet, and nearly invisible, set far back under the trees and surrounded by a low chain-link fence. Drifts of unraked pine needles covered the property. Whitewashed tires that might have been taken off the stripped car in the driveway served as planters. Around back, a decrepit patio set was visible under the pines, where there was a lingering icy crust from the last time it snowed.
    Worried about dogs, I made a racket opening the gate and waited. Just as before, there was zero response. I looked back down the road to see if anyone was watching, but nothing stirred except the trees. Standing still was the worst thing to do—it makes you imagine all kinds of things. Never being one to let my imagination get the best of me, I mentally slapped myself and went up the walk.
    A cold gust of wind swept through, slamming a screen door somewhere and making me turn my face away. It had been a very mild winter, but in the afternoons the wind always picked up. I entered the zone of shade around the house and climbed to the front door, kicking pinecones off the step. There were cigarette butts everywhere. We’re all friends here —that was what I tried to communicate with my spritely knock.
    Once more there was nothing. The sunlit street looked a long way off, and I was ready to call it quits. I turned to go but, while turning,