11.
'What can I do to help?' Annie asked.
Eric pointed with his screwdriver. 'Hand me that piece of rubber hose over there.'
Annie followed the line of the screwdriver, picked up the short length of hose from the bed, and dropped it on the small oak desk where Eric was tinkering. 'Hey, look,' she said, snatching up one of the items scattered across the desk. 'You know what this looks like?'
'A sardine key,' Eric said.
'Yeah. Just like a sardine key.'
'That's because it is a sardine key. We picked up a couple dozen of them last week when we toured the Dead Zone.'
Annie frowned, tossed the key back on the desk. 'You mean eight of you risked your lives sneaking through that godforsaken Dead Zone just for a handful of sardine keys?'
'Of course not,' Eric grinned. 'We also got a bunch of these nifty mousetraps.'
'Swell.'
Eric gestured with his chin. 'Slide over that spool of monofilament fishline, would you?'
Annie nudged the spool over, picked up an orange flare, hefted it. 'What're you making, some kind of gun?'
'Trip flares. We hide these all around the perimeters of University Camp and hopefully anybody trying to sneak up on us will set one off. Then we know right where to look for them.'
'Hmmm. Clever little devil.' She stood behind Eric and kissed the top of his head, nuzzling her nose in his hair. 'You smell funny.'
He continued fastening the mousetrap to the wooden stake, tightening the screws. 'Gee, I can't understand why. We just washed this shirt two weeks ago and I've only worn it ten times since.'
'It's not just you. It's me, you, the kids. Everybody. And it's not a bad smell. It's just, you know,' she shrugged, 'funny.'
'You mean earthy.'
'I prefer 'natural.' It sounds cleaner.'
Eric chuckled. 'Well, whatever you call it, better get used to it. Considering the water shortage and our changed diet, we're all going to be smelling a lot more 'natural.' '
'I kind of like it. It's certainly a hell of a lot better than that sterile sanitized way we all used to smell. Yesterday I was working in the garden with Gertie Potts when she dug up half a bottle of Ralph Lauren cologne. She sprayed some on faster than a starving man will eat a stew. It smelled so sweet I thought I'd puke.'
'Ah ha,' Eric nodded. 'That explains it.'
'Explains what?'
'Why you smelled that way last night.'
'What smell? That was just my natural scent.'
'Yeah, you and Ralph Lauren.'
Annie grabbed a single strand of hair from atop Eric's head and yanked it out.
'Owww!' Eric dropped the screwdriver and rubbed his head.
'That should teach you not to make fun of me when your hands are full.'
Eric scraped his chair back and jumped to his feet. 'Now you've had it. I warned you.' He spun around, hands out, fingers wiggling in the air.
'Oh Jesus, no,' Annie pleaded, backing away. 'No tickling, Eric. Please. I'm sorry.'
'Too late for that now.' He came toward her, herding her across the tiny room into a corner.
'It was an accident, Eric. I swear. Here,' she held out the strand of his hair like a flower. 'We'll put it back.'
He stepped closer, his arms outstretched to prevent her breaking for the door.
'Stop it, Eric, this is childish.' She straightened herself, adopting her stern parental expression. 'I will not permit you to bully me.'
Eric wiggled his fingers.
Annie collapsed in the corner, her arms pressed to her sides, her hands covering her hips, her most ticklish spot. 'Please, I didn't mean it. I forgot.'
Eric leapt forward, dropping to his knees and bundling her up in his arms. He pressed his lips against hers. She kissed back, touching her tongue to his. When they broke, he lifted her to her feet. 'Let that be a warning, young lady. There's plenty more where that came from.'
'Yeah? Then I might just have to pluck you bald.'
He laughed, wiggled his fingers at her.
'Use those itchy fingers for something more productive,' she grinned, pointing at the desk. 'After all, you're the Security Chief of the whole University Camp. You have responsibilities, duties, a calling.'
He gave her a look. 'You're asking for it. Have fingers, will tickle.'
She giggled.
Eric pulled up his chair and hunched over the desk – again, twisting eye screws into the base of the mousetrap. 'Can you give me more light, honey?'
Annie walked over to the single window and slid another 2x4 board out of its brackets. Yellowish-orange light stabbed into the tiny room. It was the only kind of light they got anymore, a hazy amber so popular in motel paintings of sunsets. Through the gap, she could see the clear plastic cover over the swimming pool glazed with orange light like a slab of Jell-0. She leaned the board against the wall and returned to the mattress, where she was cutting a vinyl seat cover into 'feathers' to be glued onto wooden shafts, eventually becoming arrows for long bows or bolts for crossbows. When she finished another dozen shafts, she and Eric would go over to the basement of the library, which was now the hospital, to see how Jennifer was doing. She'd picked up some kind of summer cold last week, but the doctor wanted to keep her isolated, just to be safe. With their limited medical supplies, they had to be careful about epidemics. There was too much to do, too many walls to defend against the Dead Zone.
The Dead Zone.
It had gotten its name from Jennifer, who'd read a Stephen King novel of the same name. All the kids at school had been reading those spooky novels, the ones with children threatened by vampires, ghouls, zombies. Annie sometimes wondered if that's how they saw adults, as sinister monsters terrorizing them. It made her want to hug her kids more, everybody's kids. In King's novel, the Dead Zone referred to a psychic state, a place in the recesses of the mind. But here their Dead Zone was literal. It meant every place outside University Camp.
At first it had been called Dead Zone because of the mass burnings of dead bodies that took place to prevent disease. But later, as the survivors began establishing their own groups, their own laws, it became a threatening description. Wandering through the Dead Zone could mean death-or worse-from a hundred different tribes or individuals that prowled the ruins. Some of the other camps out there were like University Camp, generally benevolent. But others were less enlightened. They existed only to prey on others. To take what they wanted and destroy the rest.
Annie glanced around the room, smiled. It was hard to believe this same tiny room that had served as Coach Ryder's office for eighteen years now housed the entire Ravensmith family. Coach Ryder used to sit behind that same scarred desk where Eric was making trip flares, smoke his Dutch Masters cigars, and watch his water polo team practice, practice, practice. 'I want you guys in the water until you grow fins on your ass,' he'd tell them, then retreat to this room and watch as Jim McDonald, his assistant coach, put them through the drills. They were on their way to their fourth consecutive state championship when the quake hit. Coach Ryder had been taking the shortcut around the pool to the locker room to borrow twenty bucks from Jim McDonald to take the women's volleyball coach out for a drink. Then the world started shaking. The lifeguard stand toppled over, knocking him unconscious and into the pool. He drowned very quickly.
During the Reorganization, when University Camp was established, Eric had claimed this room for his family. It
