Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,18
rattling the next gate a little harder. “I have to do everything on my own from now on, is that it?”
“Nope,” Wes says from somewhere behind me. “I’m not helping ’cause I’m not staying here.”
“What?” I turn to face him, blood thumping in my ears. “Why not?”
That damn eyebrow goes up again. “Hmm. Maybe ’cause there’s no running water. No electricity. Maybe I don’t feel like being the errand boy for a group of crazy-ass, gun-toting homeless kids. Or, I don’t know, maybe I don’t wanna live down the hall from your fucking ex and his little Norman Rockwell family.”
“What do you want me to do, Wes?” I turn my back on him and stomp toward the next storefront.
“Leave. With me. Right now. We can find a new place. One with water and power and doors that lock and walls that don’t have black fucking mold growing on them.”
I sigh, letting my hand linger on the rusty metal. “I can’t leave Quint here. You know that.”
“So, we’ll take him with us. We could drive the Ninja back to town, gas up your dad’s truck, and then come back and get him.”
“What about Lamar?” My voice takes on a shrill tone as a strange sense of panic washes over me.
“He could ride in the back with Quint.”
I turn and walk past the next entrance without stopping. The gate is up, but it’s obvious somebody’s been living in there for a while now. Maybe a few somebodies. Clothes and mattresses and beer cans and random, mismatched patio chairs are strewed around like confetti.
“What about Mr. Renshaw?” I ask, quickening my pace. “He’s hurt too.”
“You can make all the excuses you want. I know the real reason you don’t want to leave.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
Because I’m too scared. Because I’m too sad. Because no one is trying to rape or rob me in here. Because nothing in here reminds me of home.
When Wes doesn’t say anything, I turn to find him watching me with that emotionless expression on his filthy, beautiful face.
“You think I want to stay because of him?” I snap.
Wes raises one eyebrow as he nonchalantly chews on the inside corner of his mouth.
“Oh my God. I have friends here, Wes. I have a—”
“Family?” His tone is smooth as ice, but his eyes are hard and accusing.
“No … a purpose. I can help people here. I feel safe in here. Out there …” I shake my head, thinking about what’s waiting beyond those doors. “Out there, it’s nothing but Bonys and bad memories.”
Wes opens his mouth to reply as I yank on the next metal gate. I brace myself for the impact of his words, but instead, my ears are assaulted by the sound of squealing gears when the gate jerks to life in my hands.
The rusty metal squeaks and shimmies as it rolls up to the ceiling, revealing the hollowed-out interior of an old Barnes & Noble bookstore.
My mouth falls open as I step inside. “Oh my God. This used to be my favorite place in the whole mall.”
It’s dark inside, but there’s enough light from the skylights in the hallway to see my way around. The checkout stands are to the left of the entrance, right where I remember. The coffee shop, or what’s left of it, is to the right. There are rows and rows of empty shelves in the center of the store and dust-covered tables lining the main aisle.
“I remember Mama bringing me here for story time when I was a kid,” I continue, talking more to myself than to Wes. “They had a train set right back there, and these little stools that looked like tree trunks, and”—I gasp as my eyes climb up a wooden ladder in the far-left corner of the store, leading up the trunk of a cutout, cloud-shaped oak tree—“a tree house!”
I sprint down the main aisle, looking for signs of life between every row of shelves. When I don’t find anything except for trash, standing water, and the occasional forgotten book, I head over to the children’s area.
Please don’t let anyone be up there. Please, God. Please let me have this one thing …
I reach out with a hopeful hand to grasp the ladder, but Wes beats me to it. Taking the rungs two at a time, he climbs to the top and shines his pocket flashlight into the wooden shelter. Then, without a word, he clicks it off and hops back down, landing before me with a graceful thud.
“Well?”
“Well,