Page 2 of Anarchy

ChapterOne

MAVERICK

The creak of the cage door sounds in the room for the second time in the last few hours. Aspen made it back around two in the morning when she finished her lengthy list of chores. She tossed and turned in there all night long; I don’t think she actually slept. I watch her lanky figure crawl from the cage while glancing sideways at the clock blinking five am in bright red. She stumbles a bit when she reaches back to close the cage door, and I catch a glimpse of her splotchy red face and the dark bags under her eyes. I debate on telling her to stop and go back to sleep because what good is she if she looks like she’s on the verge of death? However, since we have guests in the home, I let her shuffle out of the dark room instead.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed as the sound of clinking dishes comes from the kitchen down the hall. Smirking to myself that no matter how shitty Aspen feels, she will still do what she’s told, or at least do her best to. Padding over to the bathroom, I switch on the shower, waiting for the steam to billow over the top of the glass door. I strip out of my flannel pajama pants, tossing them into the wicker basket in the corner. Yanking the shower door open, I step in and relish at the feeling of the hot water beating down on my body and sore muscles. I swear the older I get, the worse my body hurts, no matter how healthy I eat or how much I work out. The perks of spending your twenties as a hired killer, your body getting beat to shit on a weekly basis. Dropping my head under the spray, I run my fingers through my dark brown hair before slathering it in the cheap shampoo we grabbed from the store. It smells like shit, but our options were limited this time.

Finishing in the shower, I step out and wrap a black towel around my waist. Swiping my hand through the condensation on the mirror, my rugged reflection staring back at me. These years in solitude have done a number on me. The permanent bags under my eyes, a reminder of all the sleepless nights, my thoughts the only thing to occupy my mind. Bracing my hands on the countertop, I hang my head between my shoulders to release the tension building there. When I left my previous life behind two years ago, I thought all I wanted and needed was a wife to build a home with. But I was wrong. I thought she was perfect when we stole her away in the night, but there’s something missing. I have no idea what it is, but it’s like my heart is vacant, and she’s trying so hard to fit into it.

Shaking my head, I lean back up and walk out of the bathroom towards my closet. I fling the door open to snag a pair of black cargo pants from the shelf along with a black T-shirt. Aspen has yet to do laundry this week, which makes me let out an exasperated sigh. I shove my feet into the legs of the pants before hiking them up over my ass, noticing the residual stains that still don the legs from my past work. Zipping them up, I grab a belt from the hook on the back of the door and slide it through the loops before buckling. I toss the shirt over my muscular frame before sliding my socks and boots onto my feet. I grab my watch and laptop off the bedside table, before heading towards the kitchen.

Aspen is hard at work making breakfast per usual. As soon as she sees me walk through the threshold, she’s pulling my favorite mug out of the cabinet and filling it to the brim with coffee before setting it in front of my usual spot at the island. The steaming cup of joe awakens my senses, the bitter taste zinging through my taste buds and burning the tip of my tongue as I take a large gulp. I’ve always loved the taste of plain black coffee. It was convenient, in the past when I had jobs, needing to snag a quick cup of joe from a gas station in the early mornings. Sitting the cup back onto the island, I open my laptop even though the shit doesn’t work with the grid collapsing, it’s a habit that I have to itch anyway.

The clomping of boots echos down the stairs before Ghost rounds the corner into the kitchen. We nod at each other, and I direct him to take a seat across from me. Aspen sets two heaping plates full of eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit in front of us, as well as passing Ghost a cup of coffee. He takes a hearty gulp and nearly chokes on the shit before swallowing it, which has me chuckling into my own cup. He may be a badass, but he’s a pussy when it comes to coffee.

“Damn, that shit is nasty. You got any creamer or sugar?” He directs the question towards me, knowing how I feel about people talking directly to Aspen. I nod before asking Aspen to grab the creamer from the fridge. She leans over and pours some into his mug until he says stop and then returns it to the fridge and goes back to what she was doing. Ghost picks the mug back up and downs half of it in one gulp before setting it back down and picking up his fork. “You know that thing doesn’t work right?” He points the fork at my laptop with an eyebrow raised. Rolling my eyes, I shut the lid and pick up my own fork, spearing a bite of eggs and shoving it into my mouth.

“How’d you and Rue meet?” I ask, trying to make light conversation. He goes still for a moment and then takes a bite out of some bacon before responding.

“Oh, you know, just around. Does it really matter, Mav?” He tilts his head, his eyes flicking to Aspen in a silent “you have no right to judge” kind of way.

“Guess not.” My shoulders shrug with my words, and we continue to eat breakfast until the forks are scraping the last bit of food from our plates.

“Hey man, can we talk? Outside.” Ghost says as he picks his plate up, starting to carry it to the sink. I stop him with my hand on his chest, grab the plate from his hands, and set it back onto the island. His brows scrunch together in the middle with a question blaring through his eyes.

“Yes, we can, but leave the plate. Aspen will take care of it.” The look on his face tells me he’s about to argue with me, but he raises his hands in surrender and walks toward the back doors with me following closely behind. Once we clear the doorway and it shuts behind us, I feel a whack to the back of my head. “Dude, what the fuck!” I turn glaring at him, but mine is no match for the one he’s giving me right now.

“You know what. She looks like death, Mav. Worse than she looked when we rescued her skinny ass!” His whisper yelling makes me feel like a child due to the fact that he is a few inches taller than me.

“You have no room to judge, Ghost. I saw the collar around Rue’s neck last night. What I do with mine is none of your concern.” He glares at me for a moment before sighing, and relenting. “Look, if it makes you feel better, she didn’t always look like that. Yesterday she started looking sickly, but when I asked her about it, she said she was fine. Hasn’t complained once.”

“She doesn’t look good, man, but fine, I’ll take your word for it. We need gas before we can head out. Got any?”

“Nah, but I know where we can get some. Come on.” He follows me down the back steps and across the yard to the small shed in the corner. I grab a five-gallon gas tank, rubber tubing, and a funnel. “There’s some abandoned cars out this way.”

We trek our way down the street to the line of abandoned cars from previous neighbors, and people who were trying to drive as far as they could until the vehicle sputtered out. The first car we come across is a small Honda that we manage to siphon less than a gallon of gas out of. The second one is a large Suburban that we almost overflow the five-gallon gas tank with, which has me curious. If they had this much gas left, then why did they abandon the car here? Doesn’t make much sense to me, then again, nowadays nothing makes much sense.

“Why don’t you want Aspen to know what’s going on?” Ghost finally speaks up on our walk back to the house. It makes me pause and really think about that question, but I never really had an answer for thewhy.

“Honestly, there’s no real reason. I just don’t want her to panic. She’s been through a lot of shit, as you very well know. We’ve finally gotten into a somewhat good spot.”

“Yeah, but she’s going to find out, Mav. What are you going to do when the zombies show up at your fucking front door some day?” He says as he tosses his hands up in the air with exasperation.

“I didn’t fucking think about that, okay? We exist in our own little world, and I plan to keep it that way for as long as I can.” I finish off not even waiting for him to respond before I walk off towards the house, and he follows behind silently.

When we return to the house, Aspen is elbows deep in soapy dishwater. She doesn’t even look our way when we enter the kitchen. Ghost looks around the kitchen before tramping through the dining room and foyer, coming up empty. Aspen clears her throat before speaking softly to me, “She’s still asleep,” then continues what she’s doing.

“Rue is still asleep, Ghost. You want some more coffee? We can sit out on the back deck.” He nods as he makes his way. Aspen dries her hands on a dish towel before grabbing the same mugs, now clean, from the dish rack and filling them back up with coffee. She steps to the fridge, pulling out the creamer, and putting a heaping splash into Ghost’s mug before handing us both our coffee. Turning towards the back door, she pushes it open and holds it for Ghost to make his way through, then shuts it behind us. We take a seat on the wooden rockers and talk about mundane shit. Mostly reminiscing on the good old days, previous kills, and how civilian life has changed us; mostly me.

Eventually, we make our way back inside and find Rue chowing down on leftover breakfast, and Aspen standing in front of the sink where she was earlier. I notice her face is more red and blotchy than this morning, and her breathing seems a bit labored, but I chalk that up to her working hard to finish her chores. Once Rue is done eating, and they are all packed up, I walk them to the foyer to say my good-byes.

“Good luck, Ghost. Try not to die out there, man.” I say as we clasp hands, our eyes meeting with understanding as he reaches down and grabs Rue’s hand, tugging her towards the door.

“Stay safe, bastard.” He says gruffly as he tugs the door open and pushes them both out, shutting it behind them softly.

I stare at the closed wooden door, worry gnaws at my chest with how serious he was earlier when he told me just how shitty the outside world is right now. I run my fingers through my hair, tilting my head back, and closing my eyes. It does no good for me to stress out about shit that I can’t fucking change. Once I’m centered again, I hear a loud thump coming from the kitchen, which snaps me out of everything. I dart over there as quickly as I can. I round the island and see Aspen crumbled up on the floor in front of the sink. Her chest rising up and down rapidly, sweat pouring down her splotchy face.

“Aspen! Wake up.” I gently shake her, but she doesn’t move. Fear courses through me, because she’s never been sick like this before. I don’t love her, but I don’t want her to die either. Scooping her up in my arms, I head towards our room, depositing her onto the bed and grabbing a wet washcloth from the bathroom. My fingers reach out to swipe her stringy, sweaty hair from her forehead before laying the wet cloth over it. She’s burning up, which concerns me, but I decide to leave her there and let her sleep it off. I give her one last look before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind me before heading towards my office.

---