Page 96 of Chaos

I already have. “What’s wrong—”

The doors blast open at the same time she throws herself onto the pillows beside me.

I whip the covers up on pure instinct.

Auden comes stampeding into the room. “It’s White Winter Christmas.”

If they’d been the Butcher and his Gray Caps we’d all be dead.

“Santa came!” Auden shouts.

“Holy fuck.” I cover my face with my arms.

She makes a strangled choking sound, rustling under the covers to right her clothes, dashing her hands across her eyes.

Beast catapults onto the bed, followed a second later by Auden, still talking a mile a minute. I have no idea what he’s saying. Beast pants hot air at me, his paws prancing dangerously close to my metallic fucking dick and churning balls.

I push him away, and sit up.

Shane lounges against the door jamb behind them, an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Can we open presents now?” Auden asks. “Please!”

When Frankie hesitates, he clambers up the covers so he’s half sitting on top of her, leans over her and cups her cheek with his chubby hands. “Pretty,” he whispers. “Like a Christmas princess.”

It’s true.

She laughs, her hands, I’m sure, working their way up her buttons to put the long johns back to rights. “You little charmer—trying to butter me up.”

He chortles. “It worked?”

“Yes.”

WE SIT ON THE FLOOR around a tiny tree decorated in paper snowflakes and pinecones as Auden roots around under it and Shane lounges against a chair’s legs, too old to be excited by presents, but happy to watch Auden’s glee.

We did our best gathering presents for them—but supplies are starting to run down as whole towns are claimed by various settlements.

We found Auden a new coat since he’s too tall for his old one. A set of books since his reading has gotten so good. Candy canes. Socks. A set of playing cards. Chocolate.

For Shane, pretty much the same thing, just aged up, older kid books, and a new watch instead of a new coat.

Colleen traded with Duffy before he left with the ammunition, pecans for oranges all the way from Florida. Every kid at Thornewood got one, and the boys generously share slices around.

Frankie sucks on her slice, savoring it, and hoarding all the peels away. And I swear she muttersduck a l’orange.

Beast spits his slice out onto the floor with a splat like it’s toxic, making Auden giggle.

After a year without a citrus fruit and months without fresh fruit at all, an orange is a wild experience—violently tart.

The rest of the day passes in snapshots that blur together just like that.

Breakfast in the Tastemaker where Plumberger barks at us all to take our plates and silverware and wash it ourselves, and everyone’s buzzing about how Ben’s been vomiting all night, and how it must be the same stomach bug Cain has.

Cain shows up looking sick, but wanting to be a part of things anyway.

We go sledding on the back lawn, May and Lyle whipping past us, then Gus with a few of the school kids, Ty pullingAlice’s baby Sella on a tiny sled, her cheeks pink, smile gummy, Hank and Pearl sitting in chairs in the sunshine, draped with blankets, sipping from hot thermoses, Church dragging a shrieking Shasta into a saucer as she clings to his shoulders.

For once, the soldiers integrate easily with Thorneys, though they mostly avoid looking directly at me, as do most of the ex-townees. It feels like a glimpse into the future we’ve been working toward.

---