Hell, it was hard to come by any day.
This was where things started getting bad, that wintry spring, when our guards were down the most. It was understandable—stupid but understandable—because we’d been living in a bubble; most of the citizens in the City were.
Unless you were a Scav, you almost never saw the dark skies or the gray snowflakes thrown down from above; you never felt the icy wind and what you heard of it was more of a sigh than a scream, so it never had a chance to cut through your ears and into your brain; and, most importantly, you never saw the monsters.
The wraiths had become hazy in my mind, like a fading nightmare. Forgetting about them was dangerous, I knew this, but I couldn’t help myself.
Things were just going so well. Eleanor and I were in love; Monica was smiling and laughing; I rarely, if ever, saw John Berretti or the buffoon brothers; Stone was getting shredded in the gym, working out there four or five times a week; and the book club had brought on a smattering of new friends.
After word got around about how much fun the club was, a few others joined. We followed Frankenstein up with Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, which we liked so much, we read another of hers, this one a short novella called The Grownup. From there we dipped our toes back into the classics. To Kill a Mockingbird, a novel I could—and have—read countless times; The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway; The Catcher in the Rye, which almost everyone in the club hated due to Holden Caulfield’s whiny narration; and a few more after that.
I even tried convincing Stone to join. He refused. Obviously.
“Now if you guys start a movie club, or even a comic book club, I’ll consider it,” he had said, which sparked an idea in my head. So the next time I saw George, I asked him if it was possible for him to grab some comics on a future supply run.
“I’ll keep my eye peeled,” George answered. “But no promises.”
Three weeks later, along with a fresh supply of antibiotics, food, and bottled water, George and the Scavs dumped a bag full of Spider-Man and Batman graphic novels on a table in front of me.
Ayden picked up a copy of The Dark Knight Returns written by Frank Miller. It was a special edition hardcover. “This one’s a hell of a ride. Old ass Bruce Wayne comes outta retirement and fights some weird-lookin’ mutant motherfuckers.”
“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never read it,” I said, examining the cover. “Mutant motherfuckers?”
“Yessir.”
“Hm, I think I’ll give it a go.”
“Yeah, do yourself a favor and read it ASAP.” He passed it to me and continued going through the pile. Most of the books were beat up. The hardcovers were wrapped in dingy cellophane with stickers and barcodes on them that read MASON COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY.
“You guys got these from a library?” I asked.
Ayden shrugged his coat off, turned, and hung it over the back of a chair. It dripped with melted snow. I was surprised to see the lack of layers he wore beneath. I guess when you had a wall of solid muscle covering your body, you kept yourself warm that way.
Zoe Quintrell, the only female Scavenger, was unlacing her heavy boots in the same chair Ayden had draped his coat over. She looked up. I wasn’t sure if it was melted snow or sweat running down her brow. “Yep. George wanted to go. Guess it’s for that little book club you lames got going on.”
“Was it out of the way?” I asked, already feeling bad. Thank goodness no one had been hurt, but if they had gone on account of me and someone had died, I’d never forgive myself.
“Eh, not really,” Ayden said. “Besides, we got some good flicks too. Buncha comedies and shit. We’re gonna be heroes once the others get wind of that.”
“Funny,” Zoe said. “Heroes because we grabbed a few Adam Sandler movies, not because we restocked our supply of Keflex. Talk about priorities.”
Later, I walked into our barracks with a few of the comic books in a brown paper bag. Stone was sprawled out on his mattress, hands behind his head, eyes closed. He opened one eye when he heard me coming, focusing on what I held in my hands. He arched an eyebrow.
“Porn?”
“What?” I said, surprised.
“What’s with the brown paper bag? Looks like the kinda stuff they used to slip Playboy and Penthouse mags in at Borders. Remember that one time we paid that homeless dude to score us the one with Jessica Alba on the cover?”
I stopped dead in my tracks and peered over my shoulder, looking for any signs of Ell. I knew she was working at the hospital, but you can never be too careful. “Hey, keep your voice down, dude.”
“What? You afraid your girlfriend’s gonna find out you tried to sneak a few peeks at a nudie mag when you were younger, like every other teenage boy in the world?”
“Hey, better safe than sorry.”
Stone scowled. “What is it, then? And if it’s not a Brazilian G.I.L.F. mag, I’m gonna be seriously disappointed.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“G.I.L.F. stands for grandmother I’d like to fu—”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. You’re still disgusting.”
“Relax, Grady. I only joke.”
I passed him the bag. He tilted it back and forth in his hands, as if weighing it. “Well, if it’s not sexy grandmas in precarious positions, then what is it?” His face lit up. “Oooh, is it a new puppy?”
Chewy, who was half asleep at the end of the bed, cocked an ear and scowled almost as well
