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,
