Whiteout (Book 4): The City of Light, page 5
part #4 of Whiteout Series
I backed away from the sled, said, “Wait up a minute while I get him, and follow us,” and then I closed the door before Stone grew even sassier. To Ell, I told her to ride with them, that I could handle the short walk by myself.
She laughed. “Yeah, like you handled being alone earlier.”
“Oh boy, I’ll never hear the end of that one, will I?”
Whirling the crutch like a master swordsman, she shook her head. “Not a chance, babe.”
I sighed. Oh well, it beat the hell out of dying.
The man was on his best behavior throughout the small trek to the movie theater. As we approached it, the snowmobile’s light illuminated the chains on the double doors. Was this guy actually crazy? Had he lied to distract us long enough to notify someone else? I wasn’t sure, but the chains weren’t going anywhere without a buzzsaw or a stick of dynamite. So it was only natural that I thought this guy had led us on.
I adjusted my grip on the rifle, letting my finger slip down to the trigger. Still, though, I had no bad feelings at this point, but that meant nothing—I am no clairvoyant, after all.
The man turned around and raised his hands. He no longer wore his ski mask, and the gash on his forehead wasn’t bleeding, but it looked gnarly. Much worse than Ell’s had after our run-in with the wolves at Avery’s Mills. She survived without stitches, but I wasn’t sure if this man would have the same luck.
“I need to get my keys outta my back pocket,” the guy said, “and unlock these chains. I won’t make no sudden movements or nothin’ like that. If I do, put a slug in my thigh.” I nodded, and he did as he said. A few seconds later, the doors swung open. He stepped back and waved toward the dark interior. “Welcome to mi castle, or whatever the saying is.”
“You first,” I said.
The man frowned. “All right.”
Once inside, he flipped a few switches, which made a heavy thunk-thunk-thunk echo throughout the lobby. Lights came on, brighter than any I had seen since the storms started.
Standing just past the threshold, he said, “There. Is that better?”
Stone killed the engine behind us. I exchanged a look with Ell; she was smiling at all the brightness. I couldn’t blame her. When light conquers the darkness, you can’t help but feel hopeful.
“Park that snowmobile right on in here if it’ll ease your mind. The snow might bury it before we head out again,” the man said.
Good point. I waved Stone forward. Squinting, I saw his face screw up in confusion. “Inside!” I shouted.
He raised a hand to his ear. Mia said something to him I didn’t catch, which resulted in a quick back-and-forth before Stone finally drove it forward and cut the engine in front of the concession stand.
Eleanor and I stepped in, and as soon as the guy shut the doors and chained them, the scent of old popcorn replaced the scent of the cold.
Man, talk about nostalgia. What I wouldn’t have given for the kettle to be overflowing, to see a long line at the concession stand (which I would’ve happily waited in), for the booming sounds of special effects rolling out from the auditoriums whenever patrons opened the doors for a quick bathroom or snack break—hell, I would’ve even been okay hearing people spoiling plots as they left if it meant things were back to normal.
The lamps and bulbs on the walls hung in many different ways: duct tape, nails, belts, and shoe strings—the epitome of a DIY job. But hey, it worked. The place was lit up like the Fourth of July—a normal Fourth.
Though the white light lent a sterilized quality to the place, robbing the aesthetics of their warmth (easy enough in these conditions), the retro charm of the theater remained intact. Framed posters of classic movies lined the wall opposite the concession stand: Alien, Gone With the Wind, The Wizard of Oz, Star Wars, Casablanca, Halloween, and The Godfather, among others.
Stone limped to the Star Wars poster—he loved those films—and, leaning on his lone, dented crutch, he wiped away the coating of dust covering the glass with a sleeve, smiling and admiring. He’s a sucker for stuff like that, and I can’t blame him.
“I raided the snack bar pretty much soon as I got here,” the guy said. “Sorry about that. I got a few leftovers y’all can have if you’re hungry. Nothin’ much, and nothin’ healthy, that’s for sure.”
“Good, I’m starving!” Mia said.
“You look full to me,” the man joked, winking.
I expected Mia to come back viciously, but she ended up laughing instead. “Not bad, not bad,” she replied, and then snapped at Stone. “Listen up, bro, this guy knows comedy. He could probably give you some pointers, and God knows you need ‘em.”
Stone flipped her off, and she showed no hesitation in returning the favor.
The guy laughed too. When he stopped, he stuck a hand out to me. “We ain’t had our proper introductions, have we? I’m Ramsey Cobb. It’s nice to meet y’all.”
The others introduced themselves, except for Stone.
I cleared my throat. “I’m Grady, and the pouty guy over there is Stone.” Stone nodded his head halfheartedly and glared at me. I ignored it, for the most part. “And last but not least, that dog who’s currently lifting his leg and marking his territory over there is Chewy.”
“Chewy!” Ell snapped. “Not polite! Bad dog! Bad!”
Ramsey waved his hands, chuckling. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I don’t spend much of my time in here. Besides, that little guy probably don’t have much in his bladder and I ain’t expectin’ any health inspectors…or company, for that matter.”
Ell grabbed a wad of napkins from a dispenser by the cash register and mopped up the accident. Chewy, oblivious to most of this, got busy sniffing around the snack bar. He lucked out a few times, finding pieces of old popcorn behind the counter. Ell scooped him off the ground before he either peed again or ate something that would upset his stomach.
Ramsey pointed at the rifle. I kept it slightly raised so I could aim at him if I needed to, better safe than sorry, but my finger no longer rested on the trigger.
“Think you could ease up there, partner?”
I contemplated that for a second, and seeing as how I felt safe in here, I lowered the weapon.
“Thanks, Grady. I appreciate it. Now”—he motioned ahead to a room by Auditorium One—“just over there is where I spend most of my time. A little cafe. Cozy, full of movie memorabilia and what have you, plus there’s a fireplace. Y’all wanna see?”
“As long as there’s food,” Mia said. Chewy barked, letting us know he felt the same way, and it was pretty difficult to say no to Chewy. So we followed Ramsey Cobb. Hell, even Stone, the perpetual pessimist, tagged along.
The cafe was cozy. A dozen or so tables dotted the main dining area, and parked on each side were canvas directors’ chairs. They looked cool, but I doubted they were comfortable. The booths running along the left and back wall seemed a safer bet for both lumbar and butt support. Above these booths were more film posters and Ramsey’s DIY lights, though not as many as in the lobby due to the smaller size of the room.
On my immediate left stood an old-timey jukebox, like something out of a fifties themed diner. This, however, remained dark and most likely would for the foreseeable future. Ramsey ambled along the carpet, designed with pastel colored movie reels and cameras, toward the middle of the room. He pushed two tables together. I offered to help, about to hand Ell the rifle, in case things turned bad, but he waved me away.
“Nah, you’re my guests—not to mention I probably had y’all close to shittin’ your britches when I ran at you with that gun there—so it’s the least I can do.”
“That’s an understatement,” Stone mumbled. He held his lone crutch in his right hand while his left elbow rested on the hostess’ stand.
Ramsey obviously heard this, but instead of retorting or making a big deal of it, he pointed by Stone and said, “Hey man, there’s a first-aid kid under that table there. Could you grab it for me?”
Stone laughed. “Wait, you serious?”
“Yeah, man, my head is killin’ me. Wanna clean this up before we start eatin’. Y’all probably don’t wanna stare at somethin’ this ugly while you’re shoveling down candy and beef jerky. It’ll make ya lose your appetite.”
“I’ve got an iron stomach after looking at Stone over so many meals,” I joked. Stone rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. No chance of laughter there. A swing and a miss, Grady. “Oh, I see how it is,” I continued, “you can make fun of me all day, but when I get in on the action, you get pouty. Dish it, but can’t take it.” I shook my head.
“That’s because you’re such an easy target, Grady,” he replied.
“Wait a second,” Mia interrupted, face alight with excitement as she looked at Ramsey. “Did you say candy and beef jerky?”
Now we all rolled our eyes
“I did,” Ramsey answered. He smirked slightly and tilted his head. “Not exactly a five-star dining experience, I know, but—”
“Do you have Skittles?”
“I think so…I’ll have to check, and they’re probably a tad on the expired side—”
“You son of a bitch, you’ve just become my favorite person.”
This time, we all laughed—Stone included.
There were Skittles and a little beef jerky. I followed Ramsey into the kitchen of the cafe. It was smaller than the dining area, and towers of boxes stood on a stainless steel table. This was his store of food, which mostly consisted of junk: candy, small bags of chips, and twenty-ounce bottles of pop. Watching as he pulled Snickers and Butterfingers out, I could almost feel the cavities eating away at my enamel.
“Ah, here we go,” Ramsey said. He set a big bag of Skittles next to a couple bags of off-brand jerky. Last I remembered, Mia had wrapped her Skittles in Jack Links, but I didn’t think she’d mind the change.
Ramsey said, “Help yourself, Grady.”
“Got any Reese’s?”
“I see you’re a fella with good taste.” He winked. “Box right there. There ain’t much left, because I fuckin’ love ‘em, but there should be enough for a taste.”
“A taste is all I need.” I blinked a few times, realizing how addicted I’d become to sweets. “Geez, I sound like a drug addict.”
“You ain’t far off, I think. My momma always said sugar was neck-and-neck with meth. Both keep you awake a while and rot your teeth. ‘Course, sugar’s legal.”
I chuckled. “Your mom’s a smart lady.”
“Was a smart lady, yeah.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t sweat it. She died when I was a kiddo. I barely remember her.”
“So did my mom,” I said.
“Sorry to hear that, pal.” He grabbed an empty box and started loading it with various snacks, and then he motioned to a freezer behind me. “If you wanna save your teeth some trouble, there’s other junk in the ice chest. Don’t know why I keep it in there, seeing how it’s about thirty degrees in the cafe. Guess it’s just a habit. Anyway, there’s some hot dogs and pretzel nuggets you can microwave. Ain’t no nacho cheese, but I got packets of mustard I can thaw out.”
“You have a microwave?” The word sounded almost alien as it left my lips and reached my ears. Microwaves were one of the old world luxuries I’d nearly forgotten about. When we mostly ate prepackaged food and warmed stuff up over the fire, it was easy to forget.
Ramsey nodded. “Runs same way all the lights do. On car batteries and a couple of gas generators. Kinda funny, actually. When people started freakin’ out and hoardin’ food, it never crossed their minds on how they was gonna cook once the power went off—seeing as how most people can’t even roast a marshmallow over a campfire the right way. So I raided a Walmart on my way out here, and most of the shelves were empty—except Fig Newtons because nobody likes those—but I ain’t let that get me down. I moseyed on over to the car and tire section and loaded up a cart full of batteries. It was a helluva job draggin’ those heavy bastards through the snow, and I was sore for about five days after, but shit, it was worth it.”
“I guess so.” I grabbed one of the plastic packages of salted pretzel bites. “If it’s any consolation, you’re pretty much my hero. I don’t know if I have the patience to warm any more food up over a tiny fire. How our ancestors did it, I’ll never know.”
He tapped his temple on the side where the cut, now cleaned and coated with super glue instead of stitched, was. “Smarter than I look. But I don’t know if that’s a blessin’ or a curse.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I survived this long on my wits and a little bit of luck, but maybe you and me and all your friends out there are actually the dumb ones, since we got to put up with this supernatural shit now.”
“Maybe.” Wanting to change the subject away from the monsters, I pointed to the insignia on his coat. “Were you in the military?”
“Still am.” He grinned. “I know that probably sounds odd to a civvy like you, but once a soldier, always a soldier.”
I nodded. “That’s good. If we’re gonna survive this, we’ll need a few soldiers.”
3
A Dinner Party
We gathered around the table in the middle of the cafe, and we started eating. It was quiet at first, a little awkward too, probably because I refused to let the rifle leave my side, but after a moment the conversation picked up. Largely thanks to Ell.
Eleanor Hark, the epitome of strength. She had lost her entire family in a matter of months, yet she still kept her head high, still smiled and laughed and still started and carried on conversations. I loved Mikey like a brother and his death hurt badly, but I couldn’t imagine what it felt like for her.
Jonas, the closest thing I had to a sibling besides Stone, had died, and those few weeks after were extremely hard for me. I barely slept, barely ate, barely talked, and I sure as hell didn’t smile. Anytime I found myself alone, my mind wandered toward all the good times he and I had together. All those laughs the Three Musketeers shared. Jonas wasn’t my blood, but he might as well have been. His death just about killed me. I don’t know if that’s a fair comparison to Eleanor’s situation—probably not, considering she had lost her parents as well—but it’s the best I can do. My father passed away long before the freak snowstorms began, but even though it was sudden, it wasn’t exactly unexpected. I knew how unhealthy he was, how he skipped doctor’s appointments and crushed six-packs of beer while he parked himself in his recliner and watched the Indians every night—and he was in his late fifties, a common age for unhealthy men to have heart attacks.
For Ell, though, her parents vanished in one night, and her little brother followed them to the icy grave not long after. It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Yet here she was, stronger than ever, steering the conversation with a strange soldier in an old movie theater.
I was waiting on the packets of yellow mustard to thaw, picking at my pretzel nuggets, when Eleanor asked Ramsey, “So how long have you been here?”
Stone sat on my left with an untouched, steaming (and smelling delicious, I might add) hotdog in front of him. He mumbled something that sounded like, “I’m getting a strong sense of déjà vu,” which I ignored.
Leaning back in his chair, his spine popping audibly, Ramsey tapped his chin and pondered Ell’s question.
“Been that long, huh?” Mia said. As you could guess, the plate in front of her was covered in jerky and Skittles. She had unwrapped a few beef sticks and then mashed them flat with her knuckles; after doing this, she pressed the Skittles along the meat in a neat row and called it a Sweet Beef Rope. We all gave her flak for this, so she shoved a whole “rope” in her mouth, chewed it up, and showed us the aftermath. It was a pretty disgusting visual, but I somehow kept my appetite.
“That’s…great,” Stone said. “Way to be polite to our gracious host."
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I added.
“I’ve told you before, guys, don’t knock it until you try it.” Mia rolled up another bit of meat around the candy and passed it to Chewy, who had been begging silently at her side. The dog rose on his back legs and gently nibbled the food from her hand, making wet smacking sounds as he chewed. He swallowed eventually—I think to just be done with it—returned to his begging position, and set his front paw on Mia’s leg for more. “See? Chewy likes it. Don’t you, boy?”
“Dogs will eat anything,” Stone argued.
“Not true.”
“Yeah, it is. They’ll even eat their own feces. My cousin had a big fenced-in backyard, but he couldn’t let the dog roam without supervision because it’d go to town on whatever came out its back end. Talk about recycling.”
“Saved them the job of having to scoop it themselves, though, right?” I said, appetite still as strong as ever in spite of the mental images Stone’s anecdote brought to mind.
Ell grimaced, shaking her head.
“Yeah?” Mia said. “If dogs will eat anything then tell me why Chewy won’t even give you a kiss?”
Stone bared his teeth, squinted. “Blah! I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
Mia was starting to get red in the face. Pretty soon this argument would probably somehow circle to Stone’s hatred of Jerry from Tom & Jerry—and once that train left the station…well, good luck. Ell saw this too, and spoke up before it could happen.
“Guys! As enticing as it is to keep the conversation about dogs eating feces going, I asked Ramsey a question, which he hasn’t yet had a chance to answer…”
“Sorry,” Stone mumbled. “Go ahead, Ramsey.”
“Yeah, my bad,” Mia said.
Ramsey laughed. “No worries, I was quite enjoyin’ the distraction. But yeah, to answer the question, it hasn’t been that long. Definitely feels like it sometimes, though. The hours go by real slow when there ain’t nothin’ to do.” His brow wrinkled, as Ramsey was now deep in thought. “I’d say about three weeks, maybe a little longer. Don’t think this whole thing’s been goin’ on more than two months.”
