Flesh Ravenous (Book 1) Page 6

  It was probably seven or eight a.m. when Lawrence decided to push aside three layers of blanket and lift himself off from the family room couch. Usually he slept until eleven, but on this day, his housemates seemed to be in good spirits. Half of them were already up and in the kitchen, greeting one another with “Happy Turkey Day” and “Happy Thanksgiving everyone.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Lawrence,” Charlene said very loudly. She lounged on the other family room couch, an old CD player on her lap and headphones over her ears, which explained her much louder than usual voice.

  Lawrence stretched out his arms. “Happy Thanksgiving, Charlene,” he said with a yawn.

  “What? What’d you say?” She lifted one side of the headphones to free an ear.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Charlene,” he repeated louder.

  “Oh, that’s nice.” Charlene readjusted the headphones on her head. She then picked up the CD player and started slapping the bottom of it.

  “Why are you spanking that?”

  “It’s running out of batteries.”

  “Spanking it doesn’t help. Just get new batteries, we have a lot upstairs.”

  “Mind your own business.” Charlene continued to slap the device.

  Joni came out of the kitchen and went over to Charlene. “Charlene, have you seen Therese?”

  “No I haven’t, sweetie-poops.” Charlene pinched the little girl’s cheek. “She’s probably in the bathroom taking a dump.”

  Joni looked at Lawrence, as if about to ask the same question. Lawrence looked back at her and tried to make a smile out of his lips. He still felt ashamed about what he had to do to her father. He didn’t know whether to apologize to her or try to justify his actions. Joni seemed to sense his uneasiness. She turned around and went back to the kitchen. Well, she won’t be inviting me to play hide-and-seek anytime soon.

  Lawrence noticed that Tristan didn’t sleep on the other couch for the second night in a row. Lawrence hadn’t spoken to him since telling him to seppuku himself. Tristan now spent most his time in his old bedroom, either drawing or crying. It was the room previously occupied by Helena and France. The mother and daughter chose to stay in the living room with Miles, since the view of the dead horde outside the window of Tristan’s room made the two girls lose sleep.

  Lawrence decided it was time for him to see Tristan. He got up, went through the kitchen, and greeted Miles and family, Kasey, and Joni “Happy Thanksgiving.” The four greeted back with smiles and bubbly attitudes. For Lawrence, that was a good start to much anticipated day. He walked through the living room and stopped for a second, noticing the quietness outside the house. There were ticking knocks of hail pellets and no vicious poundings of undead cannibals. Maybe those things finally got bored and moved on. He made his way upstairs, then down the hall of the second floor toward Tristan’s room.

  “Tristan, you in there?” Lawrence said, knocking on the door. “You awake?”

  “Yeah, I’m up,” Tristan replied.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, you can. But I got morning wood and it’s huge, so don’t look below my waist. I don’t want you getting too excited.”

  Lawrence laughed. “No promises.” He turned the knob and entered.

  Inside, Tristan sat at his desk with pencil in hand, markers and printer papers scattered before him. He had a black eye, a fat lower lip, and bruises on his cheeks, a few small scabs dotted his face and neck. His brown mop of hair was scattered on his head, messier than normal, a look of someone who tossed and turned during sleep.

  Lawrence studied Tristan. Tristan didn’t look up from his drawing. “How have you been feeling?” Lawrence asked.

  Tristan looked at Lawrence briefly, then returned to his sketching. “Okay, I guess. Kind of bruised up as you can see. I didn’t lose any teeth. Helena said I have no broken bones or anything major.”

  Lawrence nodded and smiled slightly, pleased to hear that his friend was okay. “That’s good.”

  “How’s Ally doing?”

  “Well, Sonya had a talk with her. She told Ally not to hate you. But, Ally’s okay, considerably, she’s just been in her own thoughts lately.”

  Tristan stopped drawing and looked at Lawrence again. This time he stayed facing him. “Do you think she’ll keep hating me?”

  Lawrence couldn’t be sure. He knew Ally well enough personally but not privately. She and Charlene bickered a lot, argued occasionally, and even had a few terrifying screaming matches. During those times, Lawrence, Kyle, and Tristan would hide in their rooms. But thank God for Sonya, who always mediated between the two emotionally-powered teenagers. No matter how bad the fight, the two always forgave each other. Generally, Ally was a forgiving person, though her situation with Tristan could be different.

  “I don’t know.” Lawrence chose to be honest with Tristan, and not give him an everything-will-be-okay talk. “I’ll try to convince her not to. What you did was really bad, man.”

  “I know.” Tristan closed his eyes and hung his head down. “God damn it, man. If Kyle were alive, he’d hate me for this. This place, the threats all around us, make me think about death all the time. I just wanted to be close to her, but I ended up losing control.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Do you? Since this disaster happened, I never seen you lose it—freak out, yes—but I never seen you—”

  “No,” Lawrence interrupted, “you’re wrong about that. The stuff I said to you that night, implying that you should kill yourself. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. I was fucking out of line and I’m sorry.”

  Tristan made a stop motion with his palm. “Forget about that. That’s seriously nothing. I was the one out of line and it made sense for you to react that way. You’re here right now, talking to me, and I’m glad. I’m glad you’re still my friend after what I did.”

  “I’m glad, too. Happy Thanksgiving, by the way, and I love you, Tristan.” Lawrence had never told his parents, his older brothers, or any of his past girlfriends that he loved them, but he was saying it now to Tristan, and he meant it.

  Tristan snickered. “You’re so gay. But, seriously, I really love you too, man. I do.”

  Lawrence smiled, and then chuckled at the embarrassment he felt. “Your sensual words give me goosebumps and makes my body feel good.”

  “Maybe I should be groping and forcing myself on you instead.”

  They both laughed.

  After the laughter, seconds of silence passed between them.

  “I want to be out there,” Tristan said, making a head gesture toward the window. “When we head out for more supplies, I volunteer to go. Let me redeem myself.” It sounded as though Tristan was asking permission.

  “If you’re going,” said Lawrence, “I’m going, too.”

  Ally

  Ally lay fetal-like in her comforter, troubled by the nightmare she had awakened from minutes ago. She dreamt Charlene stabbed her in the chest repeatedly. Though there wasn’t any pain of numerous knife thrusts to her heart, the sudden action, the betrayal was what was most shocking. Ally interpreted Charlene’s presence in the dream as a symbol of closeness and trust, as she was Ally’s closest friend. That was Ally’s latest fear after the Tristan incident, the loss of trust.

  Ally could here Sonya rustling about on the carpet, folding up her blankets and fluffing her pillows. That was what usually woke Ally in the mornings, Sonya’s need to tidy up. Sonya once mentioned, that an organized surrounding meant an organized mind.

  Ally and Charlene’s downstairs bedroom became what was now considered the girls’ room. Ally and Charlene had a bunk bed, Charlene the top, and Ally the bottom. Sonya and Kasey later moved in and occupied the floor. Everyone felt safer at night sleeping in groups.

  “Ally-girl, you up?” Sonya said, once the sounds of her tidying stopped.

  “Yeah, I’m up,” Ally mumbled beneath her covers.

  “Bad dream?”

  Ally pushed away the blankets covering
her head. “Bad dream.”

  Bad dreams were common in the house. Nobody really slept easy. It seemed everyone had developed an intuition to sense someone else’s dreadful awakening.

  “Was it about Tristan?” Sonya whispered.

  “Not exactly.” Ally rubbed her moistened eyes with her palms. “It was about Charlene.”

  Sonya crawled over to Ally’s bedside and settled on her knees. “Yeah, I have nightmares about her, too. She’s a maniac in my dreams.”

  “I’m serious, Sonya.”

  “I’m serious, too, Ally.”

  “I dreamt I was having a conversation with her about which would make a better pet, a turtle or a koala bear, and, all of the sudden, she started stabbing me.”

  “It was only a dream,” said Sonya. That was the response Ally expected from Sonya. “This isn’t about Charlene, is it? It’s still about Tristan?”

  “I guess so. I guess I trusted him.”

  Sonya lightly ran her fingers through Ally’s hair. “Do you hate him for what he did to you?” She had asked Ally that already. Ally hadn’t responded that time, only sulked in silence.

  “I don’t.”

  “You’re just afraid of him now, aren’t you?” Sonya could be surprisingly empathetic toward people she cared about. To anyone else, she was seemingly a petulant grouch. A real cunt. Most had been wrong about her. “That’s usually the source of nightmares, being afraid.” Sonya lifted the blankets off Ally. “Scoot over, will you?” Ally did so, and Sonya slipped into the covers and lied next to her.

  Ally pulled the blankets up to her neck and rested her head on Sonya’s shoulder. “If Tristan could lose himself like that, then it could happen to anybody, Lawrence, Kasey, and even me.” Ally stopped to think of what she just said. She had already lost it when she pummeled Tristan. During that time, she had felt a strange detachment from her own mind. “I’m afraid of what could happen if we stay here, trapped in this house.”

  “I’m afraid, too,” Sonya said. “I’m sure everyone is. That’s why we’re gonna make a move out of here soon. Right now, Tristan isn’t your enemy. We all lose ourselves sometimes. Do you regret hurting him, making him bleed, and bruising him up?”

  “Yes,” Ally admitted. She had never caused so much harm to anyone before.

  “Then I’m sure he regrets his actions, too. I know him, Ally. I know he’s really sorry for what he did.”

  “Then why don’t you stop blaming Lawrence for what happened to Kyle?” Ally’s words came out impetuously. She didn’t intend it to be a challenge to Sonya, but that’s what it was. “Lawrence had to do it and it was Kyle’s own decision to head out that night. Don’t blame Lawrence, Sonya, I don’t.”

  “I know I’ve made that mistake.” Sonya’s voice was soft with surrender, and Ally knew there’d be no argument with her. “Lawrence and I never really got along, and that’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been.”

  “You two never got along because you’ve always looked down on him,” Ally’s tone was still challenging. “You’ve always implied that he was a failure. Kyle noticed that, too.”

  “You know what, Ally?”

  “What?”

  “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Ally giggled. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sonya.”

  Sonya

  Rather than be a hypocrite to Ally, Sonya decided to pay Lawrence a visit. If he wasn’t visible downstairs, the likely place to find him was the master bedroom, his new thinking spot. It was Kyle and Sonya’s room before and after the global disaster. After Kyle’s death, Sonya moved in with the girls downstairs, refusing to sleep alone. Everyone neglected the largest room over the months. No one spent much time in there or stored any supplies or belongings within. The only real use for the master bedroom was to set empty gallon bottles out in the balcony to obtain rainwater. Now it was Lawrence’s alone-time space, considerably. Ally had Kyle’s Mustang and Tristan had recently taken his old room back. Sonya’s housemates were starting to lean toward isolation, and it made her a little nervous.

  Sonya rapped loudly on the master bedroom door. She had the tendency to handle things with vigor. Maybe it was a habit. “Hey, Lawrence, you there?” she spoke politely to make up for the obtrusive knock.

  “I’m not here, Sonya.” Lawrence said from within the closed room.

  “Oh, you’re not in there. Well, Lawrence, have you seen Lawrence around?”

  “Sonya, I’m not in the mood to see you or hear you right now,” He spoke indifferently but not angrily. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he were actually angry.

  “I really just wanna talk.” She maintained her politeness. It sounded blatantly false to her. “Please, Lawrence.”

  “Why are you nice to me all of the sudden? I don’t think I like it very much.”

  Sonya lost patience. “You know what? I’m just gonna fucking come in anyway. If you don’t like it, that’s too bad.” She turned the knob with her usual, almost uncontrollable, vigor and entered the room.

  Lawrence sat on one of two armchairs with a quilted blanket wrapped over his shoulders, his head laid back, and his arms hung lazily off the armrests. He didn’t regard Sonya or move from his position. He almost looked asleep with his eyes open.

  Sonya walked tentatively toward Lawrence. When he said he didn’t want to see her or hear her, he must’ve meant it, judging by his unresponsiveness.

  “Just wish me a happy Thanksgiving and leave,” said Lawrence. “Don’t stress me out. I told you I’m not in the mood.”

  Sonya took the empty armchair and sat with a stiff posture, not intending to stay beside him long. “Give me a chance to be nice to you right now. I think you owe me for saving your life outside.”

  “You mean from that dead kid with the blonde afro puff? I could’ve easily taken him down myself. I don’t owe you anything, Sonya. I could’ve taken him out with my fists.”

  Sonya so badly wanted to laugh. Taken him out with his fists, he says. Oh my God that’s hilarious. “Would you please, Lawrence?” She begged, even though she was always too prideful to beg. She owed it to Lawrence, from the night he and Kyle had snuck out. Lawrence had to fend off several of the dead things by himself to return to the house safely. That was after he was forced to kill his best friend. It was surely a difficult night for Lawrence, and Sonya never offered him sympathy, only blamed him for Kyle, telling Lawrence he was too weak to protect anyone. She had told Lawrence she wished it was him instead of Kyle laying with a bullet in the brain on Ian David’s bed. She later realized that her words were below cruel, below foolish, and had always been too ashamed and too proud to apologize ever since. Truly she was sorry. Lawrence was never someone she hated.

  “Okay, Sonya,” he smiled, sneeringly and mischievously it looked, “be nice to me.” He sounded maniacally subtle, like a kidnapper flaunting a lollipop in front of a child.

  “I was wrong,” Sonya went straight to the point. “Wrong about what I said and how I acted, I—”

  “Sonya, just apologize,” Lawrence said flatly. “That’s all you have to do.”

  Sonya was unsure of his response. Was he still mad? Was he ready to forgive? “If I do, will you forgive me?”

  Lawrence finally stirred from his indolent stupor and faced her. “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago. I just want an apology because you wounded me with the things you said. I’m not weak and I’m not a failure—at least, I now try hard not to be. Just because I don’t act bitchy, like you, doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything.”

  Sonya relaxed and slowly settled into the armchair, resting her head back. “I’m sorry, Lawrence. I’m really sorry for everything I’ve said.”

  “I forgive you.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving, I guess.”

  Lawrence smiled, and this time it was a normal smile of contentment, not some up-to-no-good grin, which was typical of him. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Sonya considered leaving the room, now that they’d reconciled (It wasn’t really reconciliati
on, the two were never close friends to begin with), but Lawrence became a new person to her, and she felt as if she made a new friend. In the past, she never knew what to call Lawrence, a friend, a housemate, maybe an acquaintance. She used to tell people he was her boyfriend’s friend, even though she had known Lawrence for well over a decade and had lived with him for nearly three years. “You mind if I stay and hang out?” she asked.

  “Are we supposed to be buddies now?” Lawrence said.

  “We’ve never really hung out, I mean, not really. It’s never been just you and me before.”

  “Yeah, you can stick around here, but you have to say something nice about me first.”

  “Do I now?” Sonya suppressed a giggle, fearing it would sound like flirtation. “How about you go first.” She began to feel that she and Lawrence had a close, yet odd, companionship. It was like visiting a long distance relative, you may not see them much, but there’s some comfort in knowing that they’re family.

  “Well…” Lawrence began. “I have a pretty nice set of dark brown eyes, exotic I should say, because my mom was half Chinese. I used to get compliments—”

  “I meant about me, stupid.” Sonya laughed. Lawrence did have a nice set of eyes. It was undeniable. They were almond-shaped, mysterious, and yet full of humor and expression.

  “Oh, about you. Well, let’s see…Um…”

  Sonya stared at Lawrence with eyes unblinking, anticipating his answer. This is kind of exciting, she thought. Damn it, Lawrence, hurry up and answer. “Well?”

  Lawrence finally answered. “You aren’t afraid to take risks. I was never a risk taker, so I guess I admire you for that. In high school, Kyle would make me and Tristan go with him to your stupid volleyball games. You were always diving and jumping from out of nowhere to hit the fucking ball, unafraid of scrapes or bruises or crashing into your teammates. You played like such a badass. Oh, and I remember one time at Florence Park, when you climbed that tall-ass tree when some little girl’s birthday balloons flew away and got snagged on a branch. Kyle couldn’t even do it—he was chicken-shit. We didn’t even know that little girl. You could’ve fallen and died. That was probably the only time I was worried about you.”