A pipe dream, but a pretty one.
~
They stopped, finally, at a beach house on Benton Lake. She figured it was far enough from Covington Center that those monsters at the Armory wouldn’t hear her engine. She pulled that inconspicuous looking vehicle into the garage and put it in park. She turned to the backseat.
“Marco,” she said, gently. “We’re here.”
He was conscious again, or something resembling it, so with one arm slung over her shoulder they were able to slowly limp inside and into a bedroom, where she set him down. Next came the hard part. Before she’d left Crowe’s, Justine filled all of the luggage she could find with food and medical supplies. Included amongst them was a first aid handbook. Sewing his wounds closed was beyond her, but she did as fine a job as she could with gauze and bandages. She poured alcohol on each of his wounds and he shrieked and howled, like she knew he would. But, his cuts weren’t so deep, and the rest was just bruises from the pummeling Knox had given him.
His face was a wreck. One eye was swollen from a punch, and just below the other was that savage carving. She placed a large rectangular bandage below his left eye that stretched all the way down to just beside his mouth.
It was hard to look at him and not think of the unspeakable violence that Knox had inflicted. No one deserved this. At the same time, it was hypocritical. Zeke had done worse in her presence. Hell, she’d done worse, ending a few lives today. On the spectrum of murderous scum, she now hovered far closer to Knox than she did Marco.
For two days, he mostly slept. She remained at his bedside often, reading whatever books she could find around the house. Mostly, he slept. She fed him pills for the pain. Crowe, of course, had kept a stash of tranquilizers on hand, which she’d helped herself to before she left. She crushed up Shokuji to mush—which wasn’t hard, it was basically mush to begin with—and had him sip it through a straw. In the rare times that he was lucid, Marco asked for water or the bathroom. And also for cigarettes. She chanced one trip to a corner store nearby to find some. She tossed one of Knox’s guns in a backpack, along with Marco’s M9. The other gun, the .45 with the word LUCK, inscribed in the barrel, she kept for herself, holstering it at her hip. She hoped it’d bring her better fortune than its last owner.
~
She returned to the sound of a lone voice. A man, speaking in hardly more than a whisper. She drew her new pistol, sidling through the hall to the bedroom. When she entered, she found Marco sitting up, alone.
“Hi,” he said.
“You’re awake.”
“Yeah.” His eyes lowered to the gun. She holstered it, embarrassed.
“I…I’m sorry. I thought I heard…were you just talking to someone?”
“No.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck. But…have you been giving me pills?”
She pulled up a chair from the desk and set it beside him, taking a seat. She set down a plastic bag on the ground beside her.
“Yes. For the pain.”
“Would you mind not giving me any more of those? I’ll deal.”
“Sure. But, why?”
“I just uhh…I don’t like how they make me feel. I used to avoid taking Nyquil for that reason. I like the idea of being in control of my mental state.”
“I know what you mean. No more pills.”
“Thanks.”
“We need to change your bandages soon.”
He nodded. Marco’s movements were slow and measured.
“So, how did we get out of there?”
“Our plan worked. I took down Knox, and then his friends. I made sure we weren’t followed.”
“How long have I-”
“Two days. The knife wounds aren’t very deep. In my medical opinion—having literally almost no knowledge of medicine and how it works—I’d say you’ll be on your feet in no time.”
“Well, I feel better having a professional nearby.”
“I watched a couple of seasons of Grey’s Anatomy,” she shrugged. “That was a stupid thing you did, by the way. Going out there to fight him.”
“Don’t look at me. It was your plan.”
“You were going to do it anyway. Except without the second part where I came in.”
“If this is you saying thank you, you’re taking a long ass time to get to the point.”
She smiled.
“It is. Thank you. Even though it was dumb.”
“Well, thanks for apparently being fucking Rambo and taking out half the Bloodline while I was unconscious. How many were there?”
“Two. Not counting Knox.” Her smile faded.
“Two. And they-”
She nodded, eyes low.
“They umm, they probably already sent reinforcements by now to check on Knox,” Marco said. “Once they see what happened…we’ll be hunted.”
“More running.”
“Yeah. I’ll be as marked as you are. So, I hope you weren’t planning on ditching me anytime soon.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I got you something,” she said, bending down, out of view. “Open your hands.”
“Do I need to close my eyes?”
“No. Just open your hand.”
“Fine.”
She placed the carton of cigarettes in his hands. His eyes lit up. Christmas morning.
“Fu-uuck,” was all he could manage.
Justine stood up, proud of herself.
“Dinner in an hour. Then we have to change those bandages. Sleep, Marco.”
“Find me a lighter. I’m begging you. I’ll be yours forever, I swear, just find me a fuego, please,” he said, raising his hands as if in prayer.
“Sleep first. Smoke later.”
She left the room and shut the door behind her.
~
There were guns on the kitchen counter. Two of them: one an oversized silver six-gun with the words ‘Johnny U’ in the barrel, the other a plain M9 Beretta. Beside them was the diary of Nathan Conrad. She leafed through it, mostly curious if she’d made an appearance, and if so, how she’d been portrayed by the old man.
She nodded to herself.
Could be worse.
Justine heated herself up a bowl of Shokuji and took a seat at the dinner table. She brought the spoon to her mouth, but kept her lips closed. An image flashed through her mind: a balding scavenger with a goatee staring up at her from the carpet. The blood pooled behind him as his eyes faded from red to blue. Justine put down her spoon. She needed some air.
She walked down to the edge of the water, dressed in a hoodie and black leggings, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She felt a hollow sort of pride at how much Benjamin and Jacob would’ve hated the outfit.
Justine took off her shoes, then her socks. She felt the sand between her toes. She took a deep breath. Her mother had laid beside her on these same sun-drenched shores, way back when. It seemed like eons ago now. Justine took a seat in the sand. For ten minutes, she let it all go. She let herself enjoy this moment, this quiet, this peace.
The water washed in and out. She closed her eyes, listening to the lapping waves, the breeze her only company.
7
-HE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS-
-Marco-
HER EYES WERE MAGNETIC. Ocean blue, uncommon in someone with hair so dark. He did his best not to stare at them, but it was hard sometimes. Two years of looking at nothing but flaming red irises and suddenly regular old blue was exotic. How odd it was, for the normal looking person to become the pariah. Justine told him it was a common trope. Richard Matheson did it best, she said. Whoever that was.
“Were you born there?”
“The next town over. But, I grew up in Ansonia. Spent my whole life there,” Marco said.
“That’s what, an hour from here?”
“Maybe forty-five minutes south. I think. I haven’t made the ride much. To be honest, I never spent much time in Garland County. Prior to like, being stuck here.”
&nb
sp; “Sometimes I feel like I’ve always been stuck here.”
“I know what you mean.”
“What do you think of the place?”
“Honestly, I think it’s got a supervirus problem,” he said, with a chuckle. “No, honestly, uhh, I don’t know. It’s a little Podunk for my taste.”
“Podunk.”
“Yeah. I thought places like this only existed in the south. Or like middle America. I’ve seen more pickup trucks and camo than I ever wanted to. I mean these people fish, they hunt, they go to these nature preserves. They take such pride in this place.”
“People need something to do for fun. Fishing and hunting is what we have. It’s our cure for ennui.”
“I don’t know,” he said, bringing a hand up to his cheek, “the small town life-”
“Don’t scratch,” she said.
He halted, leaving his hand hovering over the bandaged area.
“We need to change that one soon,” she said.
“I know. I’ll do it.”
“I don’t mind-”
“I’ll do it.”
Silence, for a moment.
“Sorry, you were saying.”
“Um…”
“The small town life.”
“Right,” Marco replied. “The small town life, it just never vibed with me.”
“We’re small town kids. Of course we hate it.”
“I guess.”
“I wonder if city kids feel the opposite and just want some peace and quiet. You know? It’s like maybe we all want whatever’s the opposite of what we have.”
They sat across from one another at the kitchen table, each holding a steaming bowl of Shokuji brand slop. Crowe had invested heavy in Shokuji, she said. He had shelves and shelves of cans in the basement. The Armory had been the same way.
Justine picked at her food, barely eating anything.
“You ever think about leaving?” he asked. “Before all this, I mean.”
“Of course. As soon as I graduated I wanted to move to the city.”
“You went to college around here?”
“No,” she blushed. “High school.”
“Oh wow. You look uh-”
“I know. Trust me.” She swallowed half a spoonful. “What about you? Did you ever want to move somewhere else?”
“Yeah. I hate this state.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was scared. Leaving everything you know, it’s no small thing.” He set down his bowl and spoon. “It was stupid of me. I should’ve left. I…I don’t think I’ve ever felt at home here. I see these people who have a real connection with where they come from, and I don’t get it. For me, it’s more than just hating Garland County. I hate New Haven County too. I hate Connecticut. I hate New England. I hate snow. None of this is news. I just never found my people here. I never fit in with the kids I grew up with. Got to high school, it was like, alright here’s a second chance to find people like me. No cigar. Got to college, got into classes with people going after the same degree and it’s like, alright, these people must be more like me. And they weren’t even close. We didn’t have any of the same interests. And I didn’t want to adapt to them and give up parts of myself. It seemed fake to do that. So, I just…I kept thinking, maybe it’s just where I am. Maybe there’s some place where the people are more like me. Maybe on the west coast, someplace like California. Or maybe Miami. Or maybe fucking…Japan, for all I know. Just not here. These aren’t my people. These can’t be my people.”
“So, you joined the Army.”
“I did. I felt like an outsider there too.”
“It’s not such a bad thing, being an outsider. I think maybe some of us are destined to be out on the fringes, forever uncool. All us wallflowers,” she said, with a smirk.
He lowered his eyes, trying not to blush. Already his old tendencies were kicking in. High school had been one case of unrequited love after another, causing him to develop a space-age military-grade deflector shield around his emotions. Feelings would arise and he’d repel them just as quickly.
Marco was already wondering how he’d screw this up. A move too early or too late, an off-color comment that caused her to say “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth!” which was basically what he was. It had been foolish to open up like he just had. He’d survived this long because he never let his guard down. Everything was repressed, everything was covert.
Best to change the subject.
“We shouldn’t stay here much longer. Staying put like this is dangerous.”
“Moving is dangerous, too. They might hear our car or see us on the road,” she said.
“We only need to move once. Get as close as we can to the city. The Bloodline hardly ever search there.”
“Okay. But…why stop at just getting close? If the Bloodline are afraid of Garland, we should go into Garland. I know a man who’s there now. A friend of mine.”
“Zeke.” The name felt bitter on his lips.
“Yes.”
“So, it’s true. You were with him.”
“Yes. We travelled together.”
That’s not what I meant.
“You’ve heard of him,” she said. She didn’t seem surprised.
“Yeah. How long were you uh…together?”
“For over a year. He’s there now, in Garland.”
“He’s in Garland?”
“Yes.”
“But, like, how do you know? Have you communicated with him?”
“No. We split up before Nathan found me. But, if we go there-”
“You don’t understand,” Marco said. “The exile city is dangerous.”
“Everywhere is dangerous. What I don’t understand is what all you big tough guys—Bloodline, Deadeyes, q-soldiers—are so scared of. What’s got you all so spooked?”
Marco ran a hand over his scalp. He got the sudden urge to smoke, but didn’t want to do so indoors in her presence. Seemed disrespectful, somehow.
“The Army dropped a bomb about a year back. Left the place a ruin. Scavengers haven’t bothered with it since then. It’s become like a holy place to some people. Others treat it like it’s cursed. When I was at the Armory, I saw guys who would go out of their way to not even say the name. Others told me about friends who had made pilgrimages there. None of them ever returned.”
“What if there’s something great inside? Like a peaceful little society. Maybe that’s why they didn’t come back.”
“Nah, not the way I heard it. I overheard one guy say that his own brother made the trek and promised to return with news. Never seen again. The uhh, the road along the city limits is so warped that the only way to get around in there is on foot. I imagine it’s a house of horrors in there. And any survivors, anyone who outlasted the nuke…” He paused. “Have you ever heard of Old Blood?”
“That’s Nathan’s phrase, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. He ever tell you what it means?”
“It means someone who got the virus early.”
“Conrad’s theory was that that the bug takes a certain amount of time to like, percolate. And once you have it for a certain amount of time, it activates in some way. It starts to change you in more ways than just how you look. I didn’t really believe it until I saw Knox. He’s…he was different than he was before.”
She was silent a moment. He took the opportunity to continue.
“What I’m saying is, if people like him exist, they exist there.”
“You’re speculating. These are stories. All of this.”
“People go and never come back. That isn’t speculation.”
“Zeke isn’t like them. You don’t know him.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But to assume he’s alive-”
“He went in there to find answers. He went to the one place we’re safest from the Bloodline. It’s scary, but what choice to we have?”
“I don’t want to go there.”
“Marco, we have to.”
<
br /> “Like…what if it’s another pipe dream? What if there’s nothing there?”
“It won’t be.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“With you. People worship you. They believe that you’re some sort of savior, but you aren’t. You’re just like the rest of us. I…look, if we keep chasing answers like this…it’s just not worth it. I could see us chasing the next thing and the next thing, but the answers aren’t out there.”
“I just don’t see other options. We take the initiative or we hide and wait to die.” Her voice was soft. Her words were biting, but the way she spoke was almost like a friendly plea. “Tell me a better plan,” she whispered.
Marco leaned back in his chair.
“I’m sorry. I have to smoke.”
He lit up and took the first few drags. For a moment the two of them sat in tense silence as he inhaled, exhaled and watched the smoke drift slowly up to the ceiling.
“If they find us now, we’re dead too,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? We’ve got, what, four guns? I can barely even see.”
“I took precautions.”
“Precautions.”
“Yeah. Like, if they come here, I’m prepared to negotiate.”
He ashed on the tabletop.
“Planning to trade me out?”
“No, Marco. I’m not planning to trade you out,” she said, mockingly.
“Then what?”
She stood up.
“Follow me.”
~
She led him out to the garage. The blue compact sat alone in the two-car enclosure. Justine led him around the car, to the far end. Marco limped after her, still feeling sore and broken all over. He’d put out the cigarette and tucked it behind his ear.
Justine halted by the trunk of the car. She inserted her key and turned it, and lifted the trunk open. Before he could even see it, Marco knew what was inside. He could smell it.
The body, bound, and curled up into a ball, lay on its side. All around it were the stains of dried blood. The body looked paler than usual, somehow. Justine glanced over at him then back to the figure, as if to say look closer. He pulled his shirt over his nose and leaned in, curious.
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