“No.” He took her hand awkwardly and leaned his forehead into her. “Anything you ever want. Anything. Anytime. Ever.” Tears choked his voice. “Anything.”
Dahra pulled him back to his feet. He had been as big and as heavy as Orc. He was still big enough to tower over Dahra. “You need to start eating,” she said.
“Yeah, eat,” Cookie said. “Then what do I do?”
Dahra looked a little exasperated. She said, “I don’t know, Cookie.”
Lana had an idea. “Go find Sam. There’s a fight coming.”
“I can fight,” Cookie confirmed. “As soon as I get some food down and, you know, kind of get my strength back.”
“McDonald’s is open,” Dahra said. “Try the French toast–burger. It’s better than it sounds.”
Cookie left. Dahra said, “Lana, I know it’s mostly about Cookie, but I feel like you saved my life, too. I’ve been losing my mind taking care of him.”
Lana was uncomfortable with gratitude. She always had been, even in small things. Now the idea that people were thanking her for performing near-miracles, that was preposterous. She said, “Do you know any place I could sleep? Like, in a bed?”
Elwood guided her and Patrick to his house. It was half a mile from the plaza and Lana was practically sleepwalking by the time they reached it.
“Come on in,” Elwood said. “You want something to eat?”
Lana shook her head. “Just a place to…that couch.”
“You could use one of the bedrooms upstairs.”
Lana was already facedown on the couch. And a split second later, she was asleep.
Night had fallen by the time she woke. It took a while to figure out where she was.
Elwood had thoughtfully fed Patrick. There was a clean-licked plate on the kitchen tile. Patrick was curled up before a gas fireplace, though there was no fire.
Lana was ravenously hungry. She searched the kitchen, feeling like a burglar. The refrigerator had been emptied of everything but lemon juice, soy sauce, a carton of very expired half-and-half, and some very, very old lettuce.
The freezer was better. There were frozen buffalo wings, something in a Tupperware container, and a microwavable pepperoni pizza.
“Oh, yes,” Lana said. “Oh, definitely.”
She popped the pizza in the microwave and punched the numbers. It was fascinating watching it rotate. Her mouth watered. It was all she could do to wait till the microwave dinged.
She ate the pizza by ripping it with her bare hands, folding up the gooey slices and scooping up whatever dripped on the counter.
“Oh, you want some, too?” she asked when Patrick showed up wagging his tail and looking eager. She tossed him a piece, which he caught in the air.
“Well. We’ve been through it, huh, boy?”
Lana found the master bedroom shower upstairs and spent half an hour in the stream of hot water. The water ran red and black down the drain.
Then she invited Patrick in, shampooed him up, rinsed him off, and kicked him out to shake like crazy and spray dog water all over the bathroom.
She wrapped herself in a towel and went exploring through the house for clothing. Elwood didn’t seem to have any sisters, but his mother was petite, so with some cinching and tying-off Lana managed to put together an outfit.
She picked her old clothes up and almost fainted from the stench.
“Oh, my God, Patrick: that’s what I’ve been smelling like? I have to burn these things.”
But she contented herself with stuffing the bloodstained, dirt-crusted, sweat-stinking, torn, and shredded clothing into a trash bag. Unfortunately she was stuck with her old shoes: Elwood’s mother’s shoes were two sizes too large.
She trotted down the stairs, feeling better than she had in a very long time. Then she spotted the phone and could not resist the urge to pick it up. Call her mom. Tell her mom…well, something. She knew what everyone had told her about the FAYZ. But, still…
“No dial tone, Patrick.”
Patrick was not interested.
“You know what, Patrick? I’m just going to sit down and cry for a while.”
But the tears wouldn’t come. So after a while she sighed and carried a warm Diet Pepsi out onto the porch.
It was the middle of the night. The street was quiet. She was in a town she had grown up in but had been away from for years. She’d run into some kids she’d known back in the day, but most of them hadn’t recognized her beneath her coating of filth. Now maybe at least people would know her. Although it occurred to her that Sam and Astrid and Edilio probably wouldn’t recognize her now that she was clean.
“I feel like going somewhere, Patrick,” she said. “But I don’t know where.”
A car turned onto the street. It was moving slowly. Whoever was behind the wheel was clearly not an experienced driver.
Lana stiffened, preparing to rush back inside and lock the door. She raised a cautious wave, but she couldn’t see the driver and the driver didn’t seem to want to stop and chat. The car continued on down the street and turned off.
“Some kind of patrol,” Lana said to Patrick.
She stayed a while longer on the porch before heading back inside.
She instantly recognized the boy standing in the kitchen.
Patrick growled and raised his hackles.
“Hello, freak,” Drake said.
Lana backed away, but too late. Drake leveled his gun at her.
“I’m right-handed. ’Least I used to be. But I can still hit you from this distance.”