Bury Me in Black Page 2

  Bang. A single shot in the empty kitchen. Then all was silent.

  ~

  The mug dropped on the tabletop, rolling to a halt, as the biker’s chair plopped back down on all four legs. The kid stood, dusted himself off, and then holstered his pistol. Across the table, Conrad lay back in his seat, mouth agape, having just taken one between the eyes. Behind him, sliding down the wall, was a halo of red.

  The biker’s friend appeared behind him. At first glance, he was abhorred at the sight, but he quickly made his face a mask.

  “Empty,” he said.

  The biker nodded. He grabbed his sunglasses, donning them again. Without a word, he turned and walked out the front door. Behind him, the black pistol was slipping from the dead man’s grasp. It clattered to the floor. The blonde man, one step out the door, halted.

  He turned back, carefully stepping over the coffee spill. He knelt beside the body. The muscular dreg lifted the pistol in two hands. An M9 Beretta, black.

  He took it with him.

  AFTERGLOW

  1

  -COCKTAIL HOUR-

  -Justine-

  SHE’D BEEN BEAUTIFUL ONCE. She’d been neither the platinum goddess nor the unsoiled girl next door, but Justine had been captivating all the same. Even rail-thin and sullen as she was now, she was striking in that enigmatic sort of way. In a room full of monsters, she was surely the handsomest fiend at the ball, but a fiend all the same. She’d been pure once. Picturesque. But, no longer.

  To hell with beauty.

  Before the cloudy oval-shaped mirror she dressed, clasping a bra around her tiny breasts. The dress came next; strapless black that played against her chalk-white skin. Justine donned a pair of silk gloves—black, of course—pulling them up past her elbows.

  The girl took a seat, running a comb through the straight black hair that hung down to her shoulders. It had a certain glossy shimmer to it. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she exhaled. The makeup came next. White, always white, she covered her face, arms, shoulders. White as milk, as powder, as a blue-lipped corpse. She placed a contact lens upon each eye, blinking rapidly as she tried to adjust to the uncomfortable feeling. When she peeled open her eyes once more, she looked half a monster.

  Lately, she’d been well taken care of. The luxury that surrounded her still took some getting used to. The four-post bed with silk sheets, garnished with an assortment of throw pillows. The dressers, that grand mirror and of course, the view. From her room, she could step out onto the short balcony. The property was tucked in amongst the trees, but up here, on high, she could’ve swore she could make out the shady outline of the city. Almost.

  A wrap at the door.

  “Miss Justine?” came the muffled voice behind it.

  “Just a moment!” she called out. She turned in place, watching her reflection: left, then right, to make sure everything was up to snuff. Justine reached forward, opening a long, rectangular jewelry box. She reached out to grab the one furthest to the right, her favorite, but easily the plainest of the assortment, but halted. No. Instead, she selected a much flashier piece: a silver chain with a shimmering ruby that hung at her throat. A jewel to bring out the red in her eyes.

  “Miss Justine!”

  She sighed and walked over to the door, opening it. The butler stood behind it, dressed in a black suit and bowtie. He was tall and thin, likely in his early thirties, with short blonde hair, parted meticulously to one side. An awkward man, truth be told. And annoyed, by the looks of him.

  “I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he said. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  “I bet you don’t,” she said. “Shall we?”

  “Sit. There’s a few things we need to go over first.”

  “Sure,” she said, taking a seat on the bed.

  “I want to talk about the other guests. You’re going to need to be careful how you speak to them.”

  “Uhh-”

  “They aren’t like you. They know very little about the outside.”

  “They all live here?”

  “They do. And they have since the beginning. Master Crowe looks after all of us. He’s like a father to many of the people here.”

  “And there’s how many?”

  “Thirty…seven,” he said, biting his lip. “Enough with the questions for now, please. We have to make this quick.”

  “Okay.”

  “These people, they don’t want to hear about your escapades out in the towns. They don’t want to hear about how you were consorting with that…that horrid man.”

  “You mean Zeke?”

  He shook his head at the mention of the name, gritting his teeth.

  “Yes. Him. We’ve told them some version of the truth. They know you were out there these past two years. But, keep the details sparse. Tell them that it was as horrible as they imagine. Tell them you don’t want to talk about it. It scarred you, obviously. The other residents have been notified that you are Master Crowe’s niece. Where did you say you were from?”

  “Covington.”

  “Covington. That will suffice.” He glanced down at her shoes. “Those, however, will not.”

  “What? My shoes?”

  “Flats won’t do. Heels.” He marched past her, and into the walk-in closet. “It is a celebration tonight in Master Crowe’s honor.” She heard him shuffling around, then he returned with a black pair in hand. Roughly, he shoved them into her arms. “Heels,” he repeated, and sauntered past. “I’ll be in the hall.”

  ~

  Benjamin walked too damned fast. Twice she had to steady herself on her way down the long hall. Damn shoes. On either side of the hallway were portraits of unfamiliar, snobbish looking faces. She limped after the briskly striding butler, halting at the top of the steps. The winding staircase, outfitted with crimson carpeting, led down to a foyer. The ornate front double doors down there were windowless, denying her a peek outside. She took a deep breath. Below, the drapes were all pulled shut, but the inside of this house was alive.

  Some thirty strong were dispersed amongst the spacious trio of downstairs rooms in the west wing of the goliath of a manor. The foyer, living room and dining room were all occupied by this merry crew. All of them appeared a bit sickly, bloodless, and with piercing red eyes. They conversed and laughed and sipped tall glasses of wine. All of them dressed to kill.

  Benjamin led her into the fray. He’d instantly transformed into a different man now that they were out in the open. The butler donned a cheeky smile and a forced, over-the-top laugh that made Justine cringe. They made the rounds. Quick introductions, over two dozen handshakes. She learned everyone’s name and instantly forgot them. They slipped through her hands like water. The “guests,” as Benjamin had called them, were all mostly the same. A former lawyer here, a former low-level politician here. All had been well-off. Most all of them had been born into money, she knew; fed by the gilded spoon for all of their formative years. A few threw compliments her way, these sons of tycoons and trophy wives both. Always about her clothes: her dress, her shoes. Her necklace.

  Justine reached up towards her own throat, touching the ruby with a gloved hand. She’d nearly forgotten it was there. She looked up, offering a shy thank you. Behind the couple she was speaking to, back by the bar, a young man was leaning against the wall, a glass of red wine in hand. He seemed to be staring right at her.

  She looked away, back to the couple she was conversing with. Mister and Misses…Brown? Baker? Bennett? Who was she kidding; she’d honestly forgotten if it even started with a B. Justine glanced back again at the man by the bar. He continued to stare, a deviant smirk on his lips. She pretended not to notice.

  “Jacqueline!” a raspy voice called out. “Jacqueline! Hello there.” She felt a hand on her bicep, and then a figure moved up beside her. She quickly placed her hand over the spot where he’d touched. “Friends,” the man said, “this is my niece, Jacqueline.”

  She didn’t bother to correct
him. The conversation went on and she forced another shy smile, wondering if because of this one hiccup that she’d be Jacqueline forever.

  The man was Jacob Crowe, master of ceremonies. He was equally as cheerful as his butler, and just as fake. Crowe had slicked back silver-gray hair and a fine black suit with a royal blue tie. He rested his weight on a cane, smiling a yellow smile, stinking of bourbon.

  The night went on, and Justine played her part. She did her best to blend in and kill time. One of the servers offered her a glass of wine and she took it. She was only eighteen, still a few years from legal drinking age, but no one seemed to notice. She had a woman’s look, especially in these fancy, uncomfortable clothes. The least she could get out of it was a free drink.

  After one glass, she felt a bit more comfortable, but still not incentivized to converse with these people. She waltzed through the little cliques, still wearing that fake half-smile. Present in body and distant in mind. She was a ghost here, a wraith wandering in their midst.

  With Crowe and Benjamin preoccupied, she decided she’d had enough of this act. Justine halted in place, wondering whom she should bid goodnight. She could hardly remember a single name. Instead, she set down her empty glass, nodded to no one, and headed back up the stairwell to her room. Halfway down the long hall to her room, she heard footsteps.

  She halted and turned, letting her secret admirer catch up to her.

  “I thought for sure you’d come speak to me,” he said, still holding a half-full glass of red. He was handsome up close, clean shaven, with auburn hair that curled around his ears. He still wore that up-to-no-good smirk. “I’m David.”

  He extended a hand and she took it. Instead of shaking it, he turned her gloved hand face down and then dipped to kiss it.

  “Justine,” she said.

  “Oh, I know. I’ve heard all about you. We ah…we don’t get many new guests. Has to have been a year at least since someone new joined us.”

  “You’ve been here since the beginning,” she said.

  “Since the quarantine. Yes. The others make it real easy to forget.”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s just say they’ve adapted faster than I would have expected. They forget there’s a world outside this house. But, you,” he said, eye lighting up, “you were out there. You travelled with Zeke, for God’s sakes.”

  “Benjamin was afraid to even say his name.”

  “Benjamin is a phony twat. Excuse my French,” he said. Justine couldn’t help but giggle. “Me, I’m fascinated with the outside world. I’ve been cooped up here for two years. Cabin fever doesn’t begin to describe it. Take for instance: we need to ask to go out in the backyard. I’m going to repeat that. We need to ask to go out in the backyard. No, seriously. I spend half my life now feeling like someone’s pet dog.” He took a swig of his wine. “It gets old fast.”

  “Why don’t you leave, then?”

  He chuckled.

  “We’re safer here. This is the last sanctuary in the three towns, or so we’re told. I’m not sure what to believe anymore. You know this isn’t even Crowe’s house?”

  “What?”

  “Check out the front gates, next time you get a chance. They’re embroidered with a capital T. Last I checked, there’s no T in Crowe. He was rich before this, no doubt, but this isn’t his place. We’re well-dressed squatters.”

  She smiled. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

  “Anyway,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I’d love to hear about Zeke. And the world out there. Adventure. Danger. The whole thing.”

  “Sure.”

  “I know a spot on the east wing. This little alcove with a fireplace. I’ve got a bottle hidden there for just such an occasion. What do you say?”

  Justine glanced down at her feet.

  “Maybe another time.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said, looking slightly defeated. “I can live with a rain check.” He nodded and backed away, a sloppiness to his steps. He opened his arms and gave a little half bow. “Welcome to the family, Justine.”

  “Goodnight, David,” she said.

  She returned to her room and sat on the bed, still smiling. She pulled off her left heel, groaned, and then the right one. Justine flexed her little toes, glad to be rid of those damned things. She walked to the opposite end of her room, through a slider door and out to the balcony. The night breeze was chilling, but she didn’t care. She liked the feel of it on her skin. Fresh air in her lungs. It reminded her of the months she spent out there, in that world that David was so eager to explore. She’d been naïve once too. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

  She thought of Zeke.

  ~

  The wind was in his hair, the sky above him burnt red. Near dawn. They stood atop a two-story building downtown. Crouched on high, they looked down at a large, near empty parking lot, surrounded on three sides by buildings similar to the one they occupied. The fourth side was a two-lane road.

  “Shouldn’t be long now,” Zeke said.

  He put his nose to the half-empty bottle he held in one hand, taking in the scent. Zeke was almost too pretty for a man, with those big, sweet red eyes and short silver-blonde hair, naturally spiking upward and jutting off at random angles. A true angel, marred only by that deep-set scar, running from the edge of his lips and curving downward, ending halfway down his neck. It shifted as he smiled, sending a twinge of fear through her, as if it the old wound might suddenly burst open once more and drain the life from him.

  “Come closer. See.”

  She did, slowly, sidling up beside him, staying low to the ground. Halfway there, Justine lowered herself to a crawl, doing her best to stay grounded to the building. She’d never liked heights. He watched her, wearing that gentle smile, like a father looking down upon a child. Her skinny fingers gripped the building’s edge, and she peered over.

  “They’re down there?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Scavengers.”

  She’d seen the type before. Gunslingers who burned brands or cut scars into their arms to signify allegiances to this faction or that one. Zeke held the glass liquor bottle in one hand, cap opened, and ran his thumb over its rounded top. He wore a black wool turtleneck sweater, slightly moth-bitten, and black jeans. A white handkerchief was tucked into his beltline.

  “What’re we waiting for?”

  “There’s a helicopter coming. It’ll have a pallet dangling from it, on a tightrope. It’s a giant cube, packaged in plastic, with rows of cans. They drop it right there, in the middle of the parking lot. Gentle, so most of the cans aren’t damaged.” He raised a hand, holding it flat and moving upward at a diagonal. “And then they just fly away.”

  “And the guys down there. The scavengers. They fight over it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, there’s so much.”

  “There is. It would be easy to split up. The purpose is to split it up. The Army makes one drop here and another the next town over. It is enough food to feed a hundred mouths for those two weeks. Plenty to go around. But, of course, that’s not how the story goes.”

  His voice was soft and tender. And entirely without fear.

  “So...they just wait?” she asked.

  “They wait. And then the guns come out, slow, and they dance their little dance.”

  “They kill each other?”

  “Some die. Others retreat.”

  “All over some cans.”

  “Cans are food. Food means survival. It’s two weeks, at least, of not having to worry about your people starving.”

  “Where do the soldiers come from?”

  “You have a lot of questions,” he said, with a smile.

  “I’m new here,” she sneered. “I’ve been living in a damned box for almost six months, in case you forgot.”

  He seemed to chuckle, but no noise came out.

  “The soldiers are set up somewhere close. Just outside the limits. The edge of the quara
ntine zone.”

  From afar, she began to hear the sound. Distant, but unmistakable. The whop-whop-whop-whop of a helicopter. She turned, seeking it out in the morning sky. Childlike excitement rose in her chest. Oh, the wonders of a new world.

  It was larger than she expected. Green, with a pair of round turrets hanging below the wings. The copter came in slow from the south, the pallet hanging low, just as Zeke had described. It hovered over the parking lot, thrusting wind in their direction, even from some fifty feet away. She put a hand out in front of her face to shield her eyes, blinking rapidly. The helicopter began to descend.

  Lower and lower it went, until the pallet was some fifteen feet off the ground. From above, a soldier peered out the window, a knife in hand, and cut the pallet free. It slammed against the pavement, the bottom row of cans probably crushed and dented. The helicopter, free of its cargo, continued on its path, looped around and then flew away. She watched it until it faded from view.

  When it was gone, her eyes found Zeke. He was locked on the pallet, it seemed, unflinching. He glanced back at her.

  “Give it a moment.”

  She nodded. For the longest while they waited. Now and again, she peered at the rising sun, shifting her position. Zeke remained still as a statue.

  Gunshots. She flinched when they began, moving a few inches closer to him. They were so sudden, so loud, after all that silence. The fight broke out slowly. Shots were fired into the air in little spurts, from where, she could not tell. Her heart pounded in her chest, all the while. It took over an hour before she saw anyone. Finally, chaos erupted.

  One by one they came into the fray, many firing blindly, screaming. No grace to it at all. Zeke finally had something to watch, but he turned to her instead.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  She nodded. He pulled the handkerchief from his waist.

  He stood up, dipping the handkerchief into the half-full bottle. Holding it in his right hand, he revealed a torch lighter in his left.

  “Do you love me?” he asked.