We finished the bottle last night. We drank an entire litre of dirt-cheap vodka between the four of us, and now the aftermath is thumping around my head like a peg-legged pirate doing an Irish jig.
My eyes open to the garish brightness of midday sun. It feels like the sunbeams are stabbing me in the retinas. I groan, throwing an arm over my bleary eyes and mentally curse the light of day. As I move, I notice a weight holding pressing my shirt to my sticky skin. I glance down.
There's an arm thrown across my chest. The palm is facing up, the fingertips stained with grey pencil and twitching as he dreams. Noah is curved towards me, asleep his glasses askew. One of his legs is overlapping mine, soft points of contact at our ankles. His sandy hair is curling lightly, soft against his cheeks, strands highlighted in fine gold strands by the light. A constellation of freckles smatters his cheeks and nose, she same light brown as his hair. Dark brows arch over his eyes and the shadows underneath are faded, his lashes as dark as paint. His eyelids move with dreams, and I'm holding my breath, waiting for them to open and show the brown and green hidden underneath.
Rolling to the side, I let the arm flop against the wood. I think I'm still drunk.
I feel like I'm looking around the church through a layer of cling wrap. The world is blurry and tilting, and my skin feels too tight on my face. I bat at it with my fingers. A shadow fell across my face, blotting out the horrible sun. A silver communion bowl is shoved into my hands.
"If you're going to throw up, do it in there. Or, better yet, do it where I can't hear you." Hazel says, closing my fingers around the filigree. I squint at her, hair lit from behind like a halo.
She meets my eyes, smiles like the devil, and steps to the side. The sun hits my face and I feel my eyes shrivel.
"You are a cruel, cruel girl." I cringe, pulling my blanket over my head. I might need to use the bowl after all.
"And you look like you've returned from the dead." Hazel tugs my blanket away, trailing it behind her like the body of her last victim. A string of curse words that would make the try to exorcise her and a trill of laughter from Hazel accompanies Thea's return to the waking world.
Josh rolls to his feet with his hand over his eyes and hurried towards the bathroom. I hand him the communion ball as he passes, and he takes it with a grunt of acknowledgement. A few moments later, the shower curtain swings shut and I hear retching noises.
Hazel is grinning like a queen surveying the destruction she's caused.
Noah sits up without a sound, fist pressed tight against his mouth. He blinks, trying to wipe the fog from his eyes. Without a thought, I lean over and push his glasses back up his nose. He closes his eyes, raises a hand faintly in acceptance. He turns his head to the side, notices the flattened blanket, still warm, right next to him. He blinks at it. Then at me.
I stand and stumble away, clutching at a little statue of the Virgin Mary to keep myself upright. Wondering if that counted as blasphemy, I pat her little sculpted shoulder in thanks.
I decide that a little exercise might sober me up. So, I let go of the wall and only trip a little bit as I do a lap around the pews. And another. And another. By my sixth lap, I'm feeling slightly more alive and Josh has emerged from behind the shower curtain. The ends of his hair are dark with water and his face is dripping. He leans a broad shoulder against the doorway, grinning.
"Morning, all."
Noah picks his head up off his knees, staring at him with the bleary eyes of a cursed man. "I feel as if we have made a terrible mistake."
"Naw, you just need to drink more. Build up the ol' immune system.' Josh stretches walking in a steady line towards us.
"Says the guy who was just chucking up his protein bar."
Josh's grin freezes in place, caught. Then, he walks over to Thea, a spring in his step. "Wake up, sleeping beauty." He pokes her with the toe of his Chucks.
"Touch me again and I will tear you apart, mix your still-warm remains with breadcrumbs and feed you to the Insomniacs as chum."
Josh frowns. "You only do that when you want to attract the fish."
Thea throws her boot at him.
Hazel walks over with a bottle of water. I think she's just going to hand it over, but instead Hazel unscrews the cap and slashes a little on Thea's face. Thea splutters, coughing and swearing in equal measure. Upon regaining her breath, she levels her dark eyes on the pair of them. She starts on Josh and ends her sentence with her glare on Hazel.
"I will kill you both."
"You can kill us outside. We need to go get more toothpaste."
"Is that really a necessity right now?"
"I am not dealing with your morning-after breath all day."
Josh chokes on a laugh. "Do you even know what that means, Hazel?"
Her face is perfectly still as her left eyebrow goes up.
"And why am I being enlisted for this task?" Thea grinds her teeth.
Hazel looks over at me, and then shifts her gaze to Noah, blankets twisted around his legs. She turns back to Thea, who sighs.
"Fair enough. Well, let's go, then. I'll see if we can find some coffee on the way." Thea climbs to her feet, the least shaky of all of us. She grabs a pair of sunglasses out of her bag and snaps them onto her face. "God, I would kill for some Starbucks right now."
Thea follows Hazel out into the bright, letting in a wide spray of sun. I only cringe a little bit. Josh is right behind them, stopping to pick up a pistol and a clip of bullets, far too chipper for one who drank more than a quarter bottle of vodka by himself. "Have fun, you two!" He chirps, waggles his eyebrows and swings the door shut behind him. Blessed dark, how I love you.
Quiet descends over the church, and for once it feels like hallowed ground. The soft sounds from outside are all but drowned out by the think walls, and sun filters through the dusty air. I stick my hand out in front of me, let the light paint it gold.
Noah watches me, eyes on the little circle of light. I smile at him, let my arm drop to my side, and he blushes in the way that his fair skin is prone to. "Were we...?" He leaves the question to hang.
"You were using me as your teddy bear."
The flush reaches his neck.
"Yup, I was your cuddle bunny. Your bed bud. You were latched onto me the way a baby koala–"
He laughs; a sweet, low sound. It echoes around the church like a prayer. "Do all Australians reference their native wildlife so often?"
"Only the best ones. We like to rub your American noses in the fact that our animals are cooler than your ...squirrels."
"We have more native animals than squirrels, you know."
"Oh, yeah? Like what?"
"...raccoons."
"What an improvement."
We grin at each other, until the distance between us becomes obvious. I'm over the other side of the room, and he's still on the dais, raised two feet higher than me. With a breath, I cross the space. It's just Noah. No need to feel nervous.
"So, what do you want to do today?" He asks, a little too nonchalantly. I smirk.
Out of the five games of chess that we play, he wins four. In truth, he's not that great of a player, I'm just really awful. When I take his king, we both get up for a tiny victory dance, which quickly morphs into an off-key rendition of 'We are the Champions'.
The church feels a little less serene with our tuneless attempts at harmony shaking the spiders out of their webs.
By mid-afternoon, we've played nine games of chess, four rounds of checkers, attempted to finish a game of Monopoly and tried to commune with the dead via séance. Needless to say, we're going a little bit stir crazy.
When I emerge from the bathroom, hair wet from trying to wash it in the sink with dish soap, Noah is sitting in the aisle, leaning against a pew. He has a notebook in his hand; his pencil is a flurry of motion against the page. I sneak up behind him, ready to shout, but then decide against scaring him, zombie apocalypse and all. I tap him on the shoulder.
He slams the book shut and pivots around, bracing himself against the ground with his forearms. I'm above him, leaning over the pew, wide-eyed with sopping hair. A drop of water lands on his nose, and it crinkles with a smile.
"You know, usually when you want to scare someone, you sneak up and yell 'BOO!' instead of grabbing their shoulder in your claws."
I snort. "Please, it was not more than a caress."
"I'm pretty sure you were going for my neck. Your eyes are still brown, right?"
"Oh, so they're not the colour of topaz on a velvet pillow anymore? Don't remind you of gold glistening in the sunlight?"
His face goes red, again. "I think we drank a little too much last night."
"And I think your sympathetic nervous system is overactive. Do you always blush so much?"
"That would be your influence. You don't seem to blush at all, so I'm picking up the slack."
I pat my cheek. "Cool as a cucumber."
"Now, that saying we do use in America."
I climb off the pew and settle down next to him. He shuffles to the side to make room, and our knees and shoulders are pressed together. "Whatcha got there?"
Noah turns the spiral notebook over in his hands. It's smaller than a sheet of paper, thick with bloated pages and thumbed with use. The cover is cheap cardboard, and its entirety is hidden under designs. Abstracts swirls and shapes, a set of elaborate swords befitting a pirate interspersed with light sabres, a group of teens dressed in frilly collars and petticoats like they've wondered out of a sixteenth-century ball and were caught on the notebook's corner. He passes it to me, and I trace whirl that spirals out from the top-left corner, winding around drawings like a vine.
"Can I look inside?" I ask. It feels like he's offering me a secret. Noah nods.
The book opens with the crinkle of old paper. It makes me think of home, being curled up in the den with a novel in my hands and Briony next to me. The first page is inscribed in a hurried, slanting scrawl: property of Noah Hendrickson. If found, please return. Underneath, in a different hand, the letters squished together and hanging over each other like awnings is written: as Noah is a sad, sad man and will cry very much without his precious. Woe be upon you, notebook thief –Eli.
Noah huffs a laugh through his nose, a lost little smile gracing his lips. I flip to the first page, and I'm sent to a different world.
It's a view of a busy street in Manhattan, taken from a table on the street. There's a mug of hot chocolate in the bottom right corner, a marshmallow floating happily on a mountain of whipped cream. The sky is grey and crowded with clouds, not a hint of blue peeking out. People cram the streets, dressed for the weather in thick down coats and beanies. Taxies zip past on the road, cyclist skidding on the wet street. Billboards and signs hang down like spiders on webs, hiding glimpses of old brick buildings and sleek steel towers behind their messages. There are so many people on the streets, heads turned towards each other, huddled together against the rain.
Against the grey, every person is a little spot of brightness. The taxis are flashes of bright yellow pencil against the drab, the signs glowing like club lights. The city street is lit with the warm glow of curling streetlamps, their filigree delicate against the harsh, straight lines of skyscrapers. They cast the picture in shadow with splashes of light reflected in the puddles. Streetlamps the slanted writing names the picture from the bottom left corner. I stare at it for a long time.
This is what we've lost. Thousands of people, thousands of lives snuffed out like a candle flame between wet fingers.
My hand shakes as I turn the page. It's a different view of Manhattan, this one of the skyline. The sunset is caught in smudges of orange and pink oil pastels.
Another page. There's a photo glued in, Noah with the brown-eyed boy I never got to meet and a group of other nerdy-looking guys. They're dressed as the Avengers, Noah holding up a cinderblock-sized hammer and Elijah painted green from head to toe. Surrounding the picture are little doodles of him and his friends fighting crime. I laugh as cartoon-Noah zaps Elijah with his lightning, and runs away when the Hulk comes for revenge.
Noah and I flick through the notebook resting against my legs, speaking in whispers. He tells me that the old woman with the cat's eye glasses and the just-sucked-a-lemon pucker was his school principal, who once told Elijah that 'only a good beating and prayer can save you, boy' when he got out of class by hiding in a cupboard in the science rooms. Coffee rings stain the page. Elijah walks through the pages of this notebook like a ghost, brushing his fingers along the pencil marks,
There's a picture of him with his two older brothers, both easily as muscled as Josh. They enrolled in the military as soon as they graduated, and the man standing behind them is their father, a former (GENERAL?). He hasn't heard from them since the outbreak.
Three quarters of the way through the book, the pictures change drastically. As I turn the page, I shrink back against the wood of the pew, against Noah. These drawings are all in grey lead, thick presses of pencil against the paper capturing shadow next to pale scrapes of dove-coloured pencil.
The house is built of pale wooden slats, gnarled and bending with age. The gutter hangs loosely overhead, clogged with leaves and dangling like a limp hand. The roof tiles are old and worn, some having fallen to decorate the concrete driveway in shards of shadow. An abandoned bike, streamers dangling from the handlebars, lies on its side next to the front door. On the wall, scrawled in as dark a colour as the pencil would allow, reads
The monsters don't sleep, so how can we?
RUN LITTLE RABBIT THE WOLVES ARE OUT TO PLAY
The rustle of paper is the only sound between us. With a flick of my wrist, I cast away the picture. An Insomniac stares back at me from the next page. In the low light of the picture, it's a gaunt thing, fingers twisted into claws and black, black eyes looking over its shoulder. There's a smile on her lips, the thing that use to be a person. Her teeth are chipped, the grin skeletal as she locks onto my gaze like an ancient predator that used to roam the woods. Added as almost an afterthought, is an arm half-hidden behind the Insomniac's feet. The fingers curl into themselves like a flower bud. It's too small to belong to an adult.
Drawing after drawing shows me scenes pulled from nightmares: the flash of black-pupils covering the expanse of blue; a small body lying amongst trash in an alley like it's no more than waste; the hallway of a school, lockers thrown open, not a soul in sight and blood staining the walls, pulling on the floor. Then, a few pages from the end, I find a familiar face smiling at me.
Josh is grinning like a fool, looking over my shoulder through the pages of the book. His hair is in the cultivated disarray that he favours, blond locks sticking up like he just ran a hand through them. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners, the irises flecked with a lighter colour like wisps of smoke. His dimples wink at me across the page. I laugh. The picture is perfect; Josh facing the artist head on, grinning like a fool, like a challenge, like he's so very alive that he can give some of that brightness away.
It's Thea on the next page. She's turned away from Noah, her profile caught instead of her portrait. She's sitting on a couch in an old house, sunlight streaming cracks in a boarded window behind her. Thea is looking at something off the side, a soft smile curving her lips. Her arms are around her knees, relaxed, and her toes are pointed. Long arms, long neck, hair like ink falling down her back –fluidity even in stillness. She looks like what she is; a dancer without a stage. Poised and light and a little sad.
Hazel's ancient grey eyes meet mine next. She gazes calmly out of the page, as if she knew that she was being drawn. Her brow is creases a little, like she doesn't really see the point of this exercise but is going to smile anyway. She's cross-legged on a worn rug, the tassels frayed into string, leaning against cracked, yellowed plaster. She has an open in her hands, and I can just make out the title through the careful shading –Alice in Wonderland. A girl who fell through a hole and into a strange and deadly world.
As I move to turn onto the final used page of the notebook, Noah presses his hand to the page, a hesitation. I look at him; see the anxiety in his eyes, creased onto his brow.
"We can stop here, if you want." I say softly.
Noah pauses for a breath, still as a deer, then lifts his hand. "It's fine. Keep going. Just..." Noah breathes out a laugh, shakes his head. He turns the page for me.
This picture is only half-finished. A myriad of messy, waving curls brush shoulders dense with white sun spots. Brown eyes ringed with dark lashes, the stars playing games and making look lighter. Her face is turning towards the viewer, hair caught in the swing of motion, a smile dancing across lips like a riddle. The cheeks are hollower than I remember, collar bones more prominent, but it's still me. The roof top stretches out behind me, the moon painting the scenery in shadow and white. I can see the church, steeples cutting the sky like knives.
"I'm sorry that I didn't ask." Noah says quietly. I brush my fingers over the paper curls. "I started it yesterday when you and Thea were out. I just wanted to... I can tear it out if you want. I shouldn't have–"
I cut him off, voice little more than a whisper. "Why do you draw us?"
There's a pause, a slight hesitation before answering. "Because there's no other record. No one knows who we are, that we're here, that we survived. If we don't write it down, leave proof, if something happens to us we're lost. Gone. Ashes to ashes. So I want the memory left where others can find it."
"Sounds like tempting fate, to me." I smooth my hand across the page
"I just thought it was better safe than sorry. I can stop, if you want."
"You can keep drawing me. I don't mind."
Noah smiles, a kind that quietly curls into brightness like the sun rising, and it hurts my heart a little, makes my own lips curve into a response.
We sit there, backs against a pew on the floor of a church, and watch each other. Neither of us are holy, pure things without fault or flaw, but it feels like it. Noah's eyes are more green than brown as they drop to my mouth, as his throat bobs in a shallow swallow. They meet mine again, a slow drag away, and they ask a question. My answer is to lean in.
His lips are a fraction from mine, his breath tickling my cheek when the crash of a boot against the door jars us. Noah's jerks up, spine straightening suddenly and his chin slams into my nose. With a help I roll back, hand flying to my face. Noah looks horrified as blood starts to run, dribbling between my fingers and onto the wooden floor. I pinch my nose shut, head tilted back, and try not to laugh as I wave Noah's hand away. I am definitely blushing now.
Thea and Hazel burst into the church like a snow storm. They're chattering about something in low, excited tones, grabbing their things scattered around the room and stuffing them in bags. Hazel picks up a stack of books, Anna Karenina sitting primly on top, and dumbs the into the now-empty noodle briefcase. She then gives me and Noah a cursory glance, sprawled as we are on the floor, me with blood streaming down my arm. She wanders over and silently offers me a packet of tissues from her pocket.
Josh walks in next, grinning like he's just won the lottery. Behind him is a girl.
Bubble-gum pink hair falls to her waist like a mermaid's, thick and waving. There's a month's worth of blond regrowth cropping her scalp, but its light enough to blend into the colour. She's tall and svelte, her head held high and her back straight. Josh's arm is around her waist, and he's speaking quietly into her ear. She tilts her head towards him with a smile, and a row of piercings glitter from her ear. In her black jeans and pastel shirt, she looks like a Disney princess gone punk.
She sets her blue gaze on me –is she wearing eyeliner?– and her eyes widen in horror. "What on earth happened to your nose?"
And the twanging cowgirl just joined my newly-founded accent club. I squint at her through my watering eyes. "I'm sorry, but who exactly are you?"
Josh steps forward and she's forced to come closer to the horrible bleeding girl. "I'm pleased to introduce you to Caroline Pillar." He hesitates when neither Noah nor I smile. "Um, we're friends from before."
"By that, he means that we used to date. And it's Caro." She gives me a prom-queen smile from the entranceway, still not willing to come closer to the blood.
Josh glances down at me, sprawled on the floor, then at the speckles of blood on Noah's shirt. "Can I get you guys something? Like, a towel, maybe?"
I hold up the handful of bloody tissues that aren't occupied keeping the good stuff inside of me. "I'm right, thanks. Hazel's got me covered."
"Ask him why she's here!" Thea storms out of the bathroom, towelling mud off of herself.
I take a cue from Hazel and raise my eyebrow. Owl-eyes is watching the proceedings like a tennis match.
"Come on, Thea, I thought that you got over the whole 'outsiders bad' hang up when we adopted Avery."
"We never 'adopted' Avery. She wheedled her way into my side like a thorn. Or a bacterial infection." I give her the thumbs up instead of my middle finger. "And just answer the question."
Josh shrugs. "We were driving back from the seven-eleven, and she flagged us down for a ride. I pulled over, she got it. Didn't expect it to be her at all, though," he grins at Caroline, "I probably should have guessed by the pink hair."
"Always so astute, Josh." Caroline slides a little bit closer to him. Josh looks like he's won the lottery.
Thea speaks through gritted teeth. "You let a stranger climb into the back of our van with Hazel. You didn't even stop to think about what could happen to her."
"Look, Caro isn't a stranger, okay? We've known each other for years. She's cool."
"You didn't know who she was when you pulled over! She could have been –"
Caroline cuts her off. "What's with all the trust issues? It's not like I'm an Insomniac, and the kid is fine. Just chill for a second."
"I will not chill for a second," Thea mimics, scathing/voice like acid. "You shouldn't be here, and I trust you about as far as I can throw you."
"Maybe you should have a little more faith then, sugar. Your biceps are looking pretty big at the moment."
Thea prickles like a cat.
"Look, we can pick up this conversation later, maybe over some real food." Josh squeezes Caroline around the waist, then turns to Noah and I. His dimples are out and the grin is on full-beam. "Wait 'til you guys see what Caro showed us."