Page 100 of Chaos

“Yeah.” I take a long, lingering look at George and the magenta rubber chicken he’ll be holding until the paint falls off, and then at this teenager who managed to move a corpse. “How’d you move him?”

Tani’s dark eyes lower to the water. “He was on a room service cart when I found him.”

“Jesus,” Shasta breathes. “In the freezer?”

Tani nods.

I stand up slowly, feeling very very tired of the post-plague world. Somehow, if you’d asked me to describe the apocalypse, I don’t think I’d have said murder, let alone bodies on delivery carts.

I’ve just gotten to the door when she says, “I wish I’d said hello to Ruby.”

I pause, one foot out the door. “Me too. She liked your graffiti.”

I DIDN’T PACK POISON so Shasta and I head to the greenhouse, hair still dripping wet.

“Keep lookout.”

“Yeah,” she says in ayou’re stupidvoice, but parks herself readily in the door while I root around in the shelves for a box of poison. “I’ll keep my eyes out.”

The box feels light as I shake some of the powder into a small jar for transport. Maybe I used more than I remember?

“Are you stressed about doing this again?” she asks me as we leave.

“No. You?”

“Just checking. You’re quiet.”

I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “I’m okay. Thanks for checking. You seem happier yourself?”

She shrugs. “It’s nice to have a mission. Who doesn’t want to be included in a murder here and there?”

I snort.

In the kitchen, Shasta checks in on Plumberger as he and the sous chefs work on prepping the evening meal, distracting him while I shake poison onto the plate set aside on a tray for Ben.

No cooking it near other food.

No chance of getting Cain.

I double the dosage. This should kill Ben tonight. Long before Colleen gets a chance to trade him to Roanoke. We don’t need their cows or their grain seeds. We’ll figure out another way.

Tomorrow, Yorke will go out on his mission, and he’ll come back from the factory with bullets.

We will make this world safe for our family.

And tonight, Yorke and I will find a way to sync up on the nirvana plane inthisuniverse, which is the most important one.

If the darkness of the cellar closes in, I’ll face it.

No more hiding away.

WHEN SHASTA AND I ENTERThe Tastemaker that night for the White Winter celebration, the fairy lights on the fir trees are twinkling, and the canary walls and pineapple drapes are glowing. Tea candles are on all the tables, and the room is packed with people dressed in the color of whatever holiday they’re celebrating.

Some wear royal blue for Hanukkah, scarlet for Chinese New Year, burgundy or green for Christmas, jewel tones for general festivity.

Even the soldiers wear dress uniforms, all slicked and polished and painted. For once no olive green. Some of them hold beer bottles or wine glasses, but their COs will have told them to take it easy.

Someone must have found an old Christmas CD somewhere.Jingle Bell Rockblasts away.

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