“But what if it isn’t my best?”
“Then figure it out,” she said, and before he knew what was happening, her mouth was on his.
Greg was so startled he gasped. His heart began to bang and he thought he might faint, this felt so good. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, couldn’t catch his breath, wasn’t really thinking anymore. They came up for air at the same moment, and he said, “T-Tori—”
“Shh,” she said.
So they stopped talking for a while, and that was fine. That was good.
At least, there were a couple moments where Greg didn’t have to think about what a terrible person he was, heading out to kill some grandma’s poor old cat.
41
An hour later:
“Go rest,” Tori whispered, laying a light hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
“I’ll sit with Caleb.”
“No. It’s all right.” Sarah tried a smile, but her muscles felt frozen,
a feeling that reminded her of when her dad repaired their driveway
and she’d tested just how long you could stick your sneaker into wet
cement. A million years from now, an archaeologist would discover a
little pink sneaker and wonder where the rest of the body was. “What’s so funny?”
“Huh?” Sarah actually had to put a hand to her face. Her lips
were so stiff they would’ve been at home on a corpse. “Nothing. I
was just remembering something.” By her feet, she felt Jet whimper.
Normally calm, Jet had been restless ever since Greg and Pru left.
“I’m sorry about earlier, with Greg. It wasn’t fair.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Tori draped a moist cloth over the little boy’s forehead. “You’ve got to stop this self-pity crap. We all miss Peter. I keep
expecting Chris to walk in any second.”
“To rescue us?” She marveled at how easily the bitterness oozed
back. When had she gotten so mean? All this moaning and woe-is-me
. . . Still whining, Jet had clambered to his feet. She ruffled his ears to
quiet the animal—and herself—down. “I’m sorry. That was nasty. I
just can’t seem to find a balance, like I’m on this emotional teetertotter.”
“You’re not the only person having a hard time. Greg is trying,
and he’s got feelings to hurt. You think I’m always so cheerful and
understanding? Most of the time, I’m faking it. Otherwise I’d spend
half the day crying and the other half daydreaming about food I can’t
have. I’m going to be eighteen in two months. I should be thinking
about college and driving my mom crazy and if I’ll be a blimp in a
prom dress.” Tori squeezed out a small, bleak laugh. “Wish my mom
could see me. She was always on me about my weight.” “So were you faking it before? Talking about getting away, I mean.” “No. We better do it soon. Pru’s right. You can feel it in the air,
how angry everyone is. The food went so fast, and so did the rest of
the supplies. We’ve got plenty of guns but no bullets and no game
left to hunt anyway. We’ll be lucky the Council doesn’t get lynched.
Things are starting to get out of control.” Tori paused. “Remember I
mentioned unlocking the choir door? What I didn’t say was . . . Cutter
was waiting, right outside, hours before he was scheduled to show.” “What?” Of their two night guards, she most disliked the shaggy,
thickset old man who’d wandered into Rule with Lang and Weller.
Other oldsters darted a quick glance, but Cutter actually stared. “Why
didn’t you say anything?”
“Because he didn’t exactly do anything. He pretended he needed
to check the door. You know how small that landing is?” She did. The stairs were narrow, meant for the choir to access the
chancel. The landing between the basement and sanctuary was a
square no larger than a couple doormats placed side by side. “Did he
. . . you know . . .” She didn’t want to say touch you.
“Pretty much. He was inside so fast he copped a pretty good feel.
His face was . . . dangerous. Like I’d better not scream or fight.” “You really think he would’ve hurt you?”
“I honestly didn’t want to find out. But there are the littler kids,
and I thought, all of a sudden, well . . . better me than one of them.
How sick is that?”
“That’s not sick. You were protecting the kids.” Sarah took Tori’s
chilled hands in hers. “Something else happened, though. I can tell.
What was it?”
“He said that if I didn’t want Pru or Greg to end up in trouble,
I might want to be nice. So I . . . I let him get in a good, long, dirty
little grope.” When Sarah pulled in a breath, Tori said, “Don’t, okay?
I already feel like I’ve crawled through a sewer. But you know those
beans Pru gave him? Cutter offered the can to me, like payment. He
said he didn’t expect something for nothing. That . . . that the kids
might like more food if I would, you know, do more. And what’s horrible?” Tori’s eyes dropped to her lap. “For a second, I thought . . .
okay.”
“Tori.” Sara could taste the acid boil from her empty stomach.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I don’t know.” Tori gave a hopeless shrug. “Maybe I do. The kids
are hungry, and what if Cutter threatens to hurt Greg? Or Pru? None
of us are safe.”
“Look, let’s just take a step back, okay? Nothing’s happened yet.
We’ll talk to Greg and Pru. We’ll think of something. Know what? I’d
like some tea. Want tea?” Sarah stood up so quickly her heart couldn’t
keep up, and a sweep of vertigo blacked her vision. She gulped back
a shaky breath, then another. “You want chamomile or chamomile?” “Chamomile’d be great.” Tori managed a wobbly smile. “Look, I
already put Daisy and Ghost with the girls. Would you drop off Jet
with the boys? That dog goes crazy when you’re not around.” Not as crazy as I feel right now. “Sure.” She turned to go, Jet on her
heels. “It’ll be okay, Tori.”
“It’s nice,” Tori said, “that you think so.”
God, the thought of Cutter hitting on Tori . . . Sarah shuddered as she walked the breezeway connecting the school to the church. The idea made her want to take a cup of bleach to her brain and hit rinse. The thought of his creepy old hands on her, or his mouth . . .
“Gag me with a fork.” Frosty air palmed her face as she pushed through double doors and into the west vestibule. Directly ahead were two sets of stairs. Bear left and you had a choice: either up three steps to a cloakroom or down twelve to the basement. Choose the right set of steps, however, and you accessed a circular stone stair coiling up to the bell tower.
She flicked on a flashlight and took the left stairs. The church was not her favorite place. The place creeped her out, day or night. Constructed entirely of off-white, native limestone, the church was a soundproofed ice cube that held onto a deep gloom and a stone-cold chill. Following her light, she descended into the midnight gloaming of the windowless basement. Grit crackled like cap guns under her shoes. The gelid air was fiery on her skin. The basement was dominated by the inky cave of a common room that seemed only blacker with the cold. Shivering, she hung a left for the kitchen, a long, narrow throat of a room designed on the cheap. The cupboards were puke-yellow, vintage plywood. The floor and counters were stained Formica. The industrial-sized stainless-steel sink sported two spigots, not that she’d ever known water to run from either. All their water came from snowmelt, and they always kept an aluminum camp pot, with a plug of ice, at the ready.
It was when she fumbled out a match that she heard it: a very small but crisp crunch like sand under a heavy boot. What? Her heart cramped. She went completely still, unlit match in hand, then eased right to peer down the long throat of the kitchen’s one aisle and toward a closed storage room where they kept their meager rations under lock and key. As her weight shifted, she caught the snap and crackle again: grit under her feet. You heard yourself, silly. Touching off the Coleman, she squared the pot of ice over the burner. Just freaking yourself out.
Shaking out her keys, she walked to the storage room, socked in a key, turned it, and heard the thunk as the lock didn’t release . . . but engaged. Huh? She frowned. The door was open? That wasn’t right.
Then she recalled what Tori said: When I went to sweep out the basement . . . Tori had used the chore as an excuse to open the side door, so Greg and Pru could slip inside. But now there’s sand. She thought about how much colder the vestibule seemed, and her pulse ramped just a little higher. Always icy, the church had been frigid because the side door was open? Would she know? No, not if she didn’t stop to check or feel a draft. And the basement’s freezing, which follows because if the door is open, the air has two ways to go, up into the sanctuary . . .
Or down here, into the basement, with her.
But hold on, hold on. Tori had gone after Greg. Had she mentioned locking up once the boys left? Sarah hadn’t asked. It wasn’t something she’d have checked anyway, because Tori had enough common sense to realize that you always locked doors.
Even if she did lock it, something could have come in earlier, and be here now.
No, that was silly. Why hang out in a frigid basement? What was here that was nowhere else? Well, food. Duh. And that made her think of something else Tori said: when she opened the side door, Cutter had been there.
Oh God. What if Tori had jumped to the wrong conclusion? Cutter had keys. So maybe he was really there to steal food. A spoonful of peanut butter here, a few crackers there—who’s to know? It wasn’t like they counted every bean.
