Chapter 7
So… Chase is gone.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. Waking up to an empty bed, knowing that the warmth clinging to the rough sheets tells me that I just missed him… am I relieved? Am I scared? Am I worried that Chase realized he’s in over his head with me and needed some space just like I asked for?
It’s a combination of all three, I think, though there’s a part of me that believes there’s no way in hell that Chase would ever leave me. If he’s gone, he has a reason, and I know that man well enough to hedge a guess on what that could be.
Last night, we arrived at Camp Sunnyside late enough that he could accept everything as it happened to us. This morning? He’ll be a little more proactive. He’ll want to tour the territory himself, really see what we’re getting ourselves into.
Getting up myself, I check the cabin. There’s no sign of Chase left behind.
He must have put his old clothes on to go out because they’re gone, too, as are his boots.
The toilet is running slightly, a sign that he at least used that before he left, and there are dots of water surrounding the bathroom sink.
So he pissed, washed his hands, got dressed, and left. Though I could use another shower this morning, I decide to wait until I can figure out the clothes sitch, maybe see if the trading post has toothbrushes and toothpaste for us.
My teeth are fucking gross. I had a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush in the backpack that I traveled with—because no way in hell was I going a month with dirty, nasty teeth—but, just like Maverick’s duffel bag of explosives, my backpack of supplies was confiscated by Winston and his goons.
Chase lost his taser. Mav… he didn’t just lose his IEDs.
The Men in Black took his gun, and I think that broke him almost as much as the realization that he got so close to blowing up the NRI before we were caught.
My pocketknife was taken, though they did leave me with Rory’s jacket which I’m grateful for, even if I wish I could have the rest of my stuff back.
Ever since David mentioned the trading post, I knew I wanted to head over there first thing this morning.
Breakfast can wait. If Camp Sunnyside is anything like the Grave, news of our arrival will be spreading like wildfire.
I’d rather not face the curious stares on my own.
Chase is missing and who the hell knows where Mav is.
Right now it’s just me, and I plan on loading up on some supplies and returning to the cabin to wait for Chase.
Of course, that just goes to show that the best laid plans can go terribly wrong—or whatever that saying is.
The trading post is the largest cabin at camp. It’s near the entrance, built so it’s facing the cabins instead of the open drive that leads into Sunnyside. Last night, the door was closed and the windows were all shut. This morning? It’s open and inviting.
Instead of allowing patrons in through the front, there’s a small line of two people standing beneath the window on the left side of the cabin.
A woman with short, spiky auburn hair—that I’d say was dyed except no one is dying their hair these days—is standing in front of the window from the inside.
She makes quick work of the two people waiting in front of me before gesturing for me to come to the window.
Up close, I can see that she’s around my mom’s age. She’s thin and wiry, her bearing as tough as someone like David, but she nods reassuringly when I inch over to her.
“You’re new. Holden, right? Welcome to Sunnyside.”
“Thanks. Um. David said I should stop by. He said that you have everything we might need here.”
That she doesn’t react when I say “David” and “we” tells me that she’s as tapped into the gossip circles of Sunnyside as I’d expect. Especially since she already knows the name I gave…
“We call it the ‘trading post’, but don’t let the name fool you. The only thing we expect in return is for anyone on-site to do their part without starting any shit with the other survivors.”
Yes. That’s something else David said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
Her light brown eyes skip over me before she nods in agreement. I know just what she’s thinking. No way that Survivor Barbie over here will ever start any trouble.
Ha. Xandra looks—looked—exactly like me, and anyone who thought she wouldn’t start shit based on her deceptively innocent appearance would be sorely mistaken.
“What about your man?” she asks, proving that she knows Chase exists, too.
“Chase? No. He’s a good hunter. A good man.”
“Glad to hear it. I’m Annie, by the way. Now, what can I get you, dear?”
It really is as easy as that. I request a pair of toothbrushes and some toothpaste first, then explain that we arrived at Sunnyside only wearing the clothes on our back.
And while I’m sure the clothes in the trading post are cast-offs, donations, and scavenged goods, she seems to think she can provide me with a couple of pairs of panties, at least one extra bra, and an extra outfit or two.
She asks my size, then hustles around the inside cabin, humming to herself as she fills a bag for me.
Then she asks for Chase’s size, and she does the same for him, pausing only to show me what she’s picking out and making sure that it’ll fit him.
I approve her choices, even though I know Chase might disagree.
See, Chase isn’t big on tanks; for him, I mean, since he seems to enjoy seeing me in a sleeveless tank.
His style has always geared more toward his preppy polos and pressed jeans, and he held onto it for the last ten months.
But we’re living in an apocalypse, and even though it’s October in New Jersey, we’re surrounded by so many flames that he won’t feel the chill when he trades his stained t-shirt for the black muscle tank that Annie stuffs in the bag.
I get lucky when I ask about some sort of conditioner to get the knots out of my hair, and because I haven’t struck out yet, I start to believe that she really does have everything I need in there.
Well, if that’s the case…
“Okay. Anything else?”
Shit. This is so fucking embarassing, but if there’s a chance she has some... “Do you happen to have any Plan B in there?”
I really hope she knows what I’m asking about. If I have to explain to a woman who slightly reminds me of my mother what an emergency contraceptive pill is, I might self-combust on the spot.
To my surprise—and relief—she doesn’t look judgy even as she nods. “Oh, yes. We’ve got a small stash. Would you like one?”
“Yes. Thank you. That would be great.”
“They only do the job when you take ‘em within three days of an oopsie, if you know what I mean.”
My cheeks are on fire. “I know. Thank you.”
Annie nods. She disappears inside the cabin—to grab the Plan B, I hope—and comes back with the stuffed tote bag that’s holding everything she’s giving me.
She passes it through the window. I take it gratefully, hoping like hell I can end this embarrassing conversation before it gets worse.
Nope.
“Now, I’m no pharmacist,” Annie tells me. “I just get bored some days and read the back of the boxes of the shit we got in here. So if you have a question, I can try to help. In fact, if you need one of those, you might have need for some of these.”
Before I can make my excuses and scurry away, she pulls out two boxes of—
Oh.
My.
God.
Condoms. She’s offering me condoms.
“Here. I hope your man doesn’t have a real pork sword because all we have left is regular and small. The larges and extra bigs were claimed by some of the fellas at camp who, between you and me, were doing little more than wishful thinking when they asked for a box.”
Since I’m pretty damn sure there’s no way I can refuse—and it might be better to be prepared in case I lose my head and fuck Chase again—I purposely accept the handful of regular-sized condom packets she’s holding out to me in her right hand.
She smiles a little in approval, then drops the smalls in her left into the clearly still-full box on the window sill while I stifle a snort.
Men, I swear… Even in a post-apocalyptic world, they’ll still lie about their dick size.
I stay at the window long enough to ask the friendly Annie about how laundry works here, and if it’s considered rude to grab a plate at the outdoor dining set-up—that she refers to as the “pavilion”—before thanking her for her help and stepping away in case anyone else needs to stop in at the trading post.
There was no one behind me in line, but as I wrap the handle of the stuffed canvas tote bag around my wrist, I pick up on a moving figure out of the corner of my eye.
I figured they were heading to see Annie.
I’m wrong. Just as I’m about to walk over to cabin 13—home to a man named Ross who Annie assures me will add my dirty clothes to the laundry rotation—they cross at a diagonal to catch up to me.
Hoping I’m wrong, I keep walking. For a moment, it seems as if I am.
And that’s when a voice comes from behind me. “Hey there.”
For one stupid second, I think it’s Chase. I turn to smile at him, maybe ask him where the hell he’s been, but the male voice fooled me. It’s not Chase.
I actually have no idea who it is, either.
I haven’t met many of Veronica’s rebels yet.
Annie mentioned that there are currently sixty-one former rogues—not counting the four of us who arrived last night—that Veronica recruited to come stay at Camp Sunnyside in the days before the Turning and in the months that followed.
Everyone here wants nothing more than to see the lurkers burn, and they created a settlement just like the Grave to survive—but also fight back.
It sounds like just the place for us. I’m sure that, once Maverick gets over his latest setback, he’ll want to attempt another strike against the NRI.
He was determined to make those responsible for Project Phoenix pay for what they did.
After how easily they defeated us—how the Doctor tortured us—I’m probably as hungry as Mav for revenge.