by Lopez, Rob
“You’ll do,” said Dee impassively.
“Times like these, I’ll take the crumbs if I can’t have the cake. Come on, let me show you around.”
“You still haven’t said why we’re here.”
“I like the mystery. Let’s go.”
Spring had come earlier to Charlotte than it had in the mountains, and it was warmer. The weeds were higher, the trees were in full bloom and the dry moss on the concrete was crunchy underfoot. The abandoned vehicles scattered around the lot were coated in a patina of dust and bird droppings. Packy led Dee around the outside of the mall and stopped outside the Sea Life aquarium to gaze upon a kid’s Go-Kart speedway.
“Ah, memories,” said Packy. “I can remember speeding around this track when I was a little pain in the ass. I had a lot of energy to burn. I used to rev the hell out of the tiny kart, and it felt like I was going a hundred miles an hour.” Packy laughed and pointed to the karts in the enclosure. “I wouldn’t fit in one now, and it was probably faster to walk. Surprised nobody’s taken the motors, though. They could be useful.”
“Did you come here a lot?” said Dee.
“No, I got banned for shunting the other kids into the wall. It was fun, though. I like to think of it as a formative moment.”
The next stop was an outdoor goods store. The doors had already been broken, and a lot of the fishing and camping equipment taken. Packy searched through the gloomy interior until he got to the gun section. The glass cabinets had been smashed, and there were only empty racks where rifles had been.
“Figured as much,” said Packy to himself. “Always worth checking, though. Still, a few other items here are useful.”
There were a few holsters left, and Packy selected a shoulder holster for his new big-bore pistol, and a waistband holster for Dee’s snub-nose.
“I thought we were here for antibiotics?” said Dee.
“We are.”
“I don’t see anywhere here that stocks that.”
“That’s because you’re missing all the clues.”
Unable to find any flashlights, he secured a discarded pack of light sticks that had been kicked under a display case, a steel mower-blade and an off-road vehicle pintle hook for towing.
“See, I was thinking about pharmacies, clinics, and then vets,” as he walked back outside with his haul. “All good choices for antibiotics, but everyone else will have thought of those places already. I know because I searched most of them myself. So what other place needs medicines to fight infections?”
“I don’t know.”
Packy stopped outside the Sea Life aquarium. “Fish need antibiotics too,” he said.
Hefting the pintle hook, he pitched it through the glass door, sending shards into the lobby. “But nobody thinks of aquariums,” he added. “And neither did I until I remembered the speedway here. My dad wanted me to see the fish, but I preferred to speed, so we got no farther than the front door.” Packy stepped through into the lobby. “But they have big fish here, so they need a lot of drugs. A little sprinkling of powder won’t be enough.”
He helped Dee through the gap in the door and spread his arms out dramatically. “Voilà! Welcome to the former emporium of fish health. Because the paying public don’t want to see sick fish. It’s not a good image.”
Dee stepped gingerly over the broken glass. “But this is for fish,” she said.
“I should think so.”
“Scott needs antibiotics for humans.”
“From what I hear, there ain’t much difference.”
“I think there is.”
Packy gave her a dismissive wave. “We’ll let Sally sort that out. I mean, I’m pretty amazing, but I can’t work miracles. This is the best I can do.”
In the gift section, Packy rooted through some novelty wind-up flashlights. Most of the delicate bulbs had blown during the storm surge, but he found a couple that still worked, albeit weakly.
“Get your Indiana Jones hat on,” he said, lowering his voice to a fake Hollywood baritone, “because we are going to explore … the hidden world of dead fish.”
They ventured into the pitch-black corridors and found themselves in a maze of glass tanks, plastic anchors and plaster rocks. Packy snapped a light stick and dropped it to mark the way back. In the green glow, the algae growing on the tank walls was luminescent. Without the filters working, the water in the tanks was murky to the point of being opaque. Nothing moved, and the ray and turtle ponds were covered in green scum.
“This is creepy,” murmured Dee.
“Nothing to see,” said Packy, waving the flashlight about. “It’s just soup now.”
They walked through a long perspex tunnel, looking up at water that was as black as a starless night. Packy snapped another light stick. There was an audible bump, and both of them whirled to see a shining black eye staring at them from the giant tank. It was impossible to see the entire body of the creature, but the size of the eye and the pallor of the skin around it indicated it might be a shark.
“How is that thing even alive after all this time?” said Packy.
Dee backed away, and the eye slid sluggishly along the tunnel, as if trying to keep her in view. The edges of the eye were milky white, and when the gills were pressed against the perspex, they were seen to be covered in rotting sores.
“Must have eaten everything else in the tank,” mused Packy. “Poor fella doesn’t look like he’s going to last much longer.”
The shark thumped the perspex again, as if angry at that remark. The eye followed them as they made their way through the tunnel, then fell away.
“Horrible,” said Dee with a shudder.
“Yeah, kind of a shame.”
“No, I meant the creature.”
“It ain’t his fault. He is what he is.”
“I don’t like it.”
“There’s plenty who don’t like us either, but here we are.”
That silenced Dee, and nothing more was said until they reached a door marked Staff Only.
“This should take us to the heart of everything,” said Packy.
Jamming the mower blade into the door frame, he pulled hard, breaking the lock and swinging the door open. They entered a cavernous space filled with ducts and pumps. A ladder led up to a gantry over the large pool, and the putrid water emitted a rank smell that permeated everything. A plywood office had been erected behind the pump housings, and Packy wrenched the door open and entered. Inside the office were several freezers, wall charts with figures pertaining to weight and dosages, and a large locked cabinet. Packy smashed it open.
“This is it,” he said, holding up boxes and plastic tubs. He read some of the labels. “Can’t make any sense of this. I hope it ain’t all suppositories.”
He filled his bag with everything he could find and left the office. There was a tiny splash from the tank as they headed for the exit.
“Wait here a moment,” he told Dee. “Just gotta do something.”
He climbed the ladder to the gantry, wrinkling his nose as he stood above the worst of the smell. Breaking a light stick, he dropped it on the water and aimed his shotgun.
A shadow passed beneath the light stick, swimming slowly. A fin broke the surface, and the shark moved lethargically to the stick, exposing the pustules along its back. As it opened its mouth to embrace the light, Packy opened fire. The boom echoed harshly in the hall and the shark jerked and sank down, taking the light stick with it. The glow faded, and the upswell of blood turned dark. Packy climbed back down the ladder.
The noise had disturbed Jacob, and he cried hard.
“Sorry kid,” said Packy, his ears ringing, “but I had to put it out of its misery.”
“Is it dead?” asked Dee.
“Not about to jump in and find out. Let’s just assume it.”
*
Packy’s parents’ home in the south-western suburbs of Charlotte had already been ransacked. Scavengers had searched in vain for anything useful, but the kitchen cu
pboards had been emptied long before they got there. Stopping awhile to defecate on the floor, they had moved on, and the one-and-a-half story house stood alone in the trees, looking out over the placid waters of Eagle Lake. Backing the Road Runner into the double garage, Packy got out to see if his extensive toolkit was still intact. Most of it was, and he used it to tighten the heads on the V8 in an attempt to get the engine to run more smoothly. Dee sat on an upturned bucket while she listened to the birds and the clicking of the ratchet wrench.
“Did you really live here?” she asked.
“Since the age of twelve,” he said. “It was pretty neat.”
Topping up the coolant and oil, he dropped the hood of the car.
“Let me show you around.”
Leaves had drifted in through the open front door to carpet the lobby, and dirty hand prints marked the walls. A large picture of the preacher Billy Graham adorned the hall, smiling beatifically down on them. Packy tapped the picture.
“My parents were a big fan of this guy. Moved all the way down from New Jersey to be closer to him. They used to volunteer at the Billy Graham library, near here. I even met the guy once. He patted me on the head, so I guess that means I’m saved.”
They passed the broken door of the basement.
“Did you have your stash here?” asked Dee.
“Sure, but not in the house. That’d be too obvious. Let me show you.”
Packy led her out through waist-high grass at the back of the house, searching until he found a drain cover. Lifting it up, he lay down and peered inside with the flashlight.
“This used to be a septic tank, back in the old days. Fell out of use when they got real plumbing, but it was cleaned out and the concrete re-lined. Don’t know if it was meant to be used as a shelter at one time, but I put it to better use.”
The flashlight’s beam played over the stacked rifles and boxes.
“Look’s like everything’s still there. Okay. We’ll load it all up, but first we’ll eat.”
There was a deck at the back of the house, and Packy laid out a cloth on the table there, and spread out the goods he’d taken from the aquarium vending machine as a picnic. Together they sat gazing at the lake, munching on snacks and drinking soda.
“Were you happy here?” asked Dee.
“I guess. I don’t know what people mean by happy. I mean, are they saying, happy every day? Or just sometimes? Some days would be good if I was doing something I liked. Other days would be boring and I’d try to get some excitement, which, for some reason, used to get people really pissed. The shrink told me I had an attention deficit, and I should be, like, calmer on a daily basis, instead of up and down. I never understood that. Who wants every day to be the same? You don’t tune into a movie wanting everything to be kind of okay for two hours. You want action. You want stuff to happen. Well, that was me. I wanted stuff to happen. I wanted the highs and lows. Well, mostly the highs. That was what I lived for. Anything else wasn’t worth doing.”
“I was happy,” said Dee absently.
“All the time? How is that possible?”
“I was. That’s how I remember it.”
“You’re just remembering the good parts.”
“It was all good. I was happy at home, I had friends at school and at college. I liked the job I had, and the band. I just felt good about life.”
“Are you happy with me?”
“No. I’m sorry, but I’m just not feeling it. I used to see everything in colors. The world was bright, and … even the dark parts were some kind of color. Now all I see is gray. And I feel gray. I don’t know what happy feels like anymore.”
“You’re not gray to me.”
“You’re in love, Packy. You’ll see in me whatever your hormones want you to see. But you’ll grow bored of me one day. Then you’ll leave.”
“Is this a test? Are you challenging me? Because you know I like a challenge.”
“It’s just the truth.”
Packy chuckled sarcastically. “Sure. Let me tell you something. My dad was an asshole. He was a lawyer, straight down the middle, and he didn’t really understand anything outside the box. I was a freak to him. I think he even took me to a minister who did exorcisms to see if I’d been possessed or something. Or maybe that was a dream, I don’t know. But he really didn’t know how to handle me. And my mom was lovely and kind, but she took his side and wasn’t sure why I didn’t grow up to be more like my dad. But I didn’t mind. They told me that I should get a normal job, but I did my own thing and I got by. I never felt the need to move out, and they never told me to. Nothing they did cramped my style, and I could take any number of disapproving stares. I didn’t care. I respected their space, exercised my freedom and didn’t ask for anything in return.”
Packy took Dee’s hand.
“You see, I ain’t so easy to shake off. And the day I leave is the day you ask me to. Question is, do you think that day will come?”
Dee gave him a sad look, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t know.”
Packy took a napkin and dried her face. “Then we’ll live with the mystery, okay?”
10
There were four large buildings at Camp Grier, and one of them was a long cabin. This was the one Sally chose as the main ward for the typhus patients. With the lice-ridden clothing burned and the sheets boiled sterile, the patients were as comfortable as it was possible to be in the two rows of beds. The sickest patients who’d become light sensitive were curtained off on the one side. The other side was reserved for the patients who were recovering. There weren’t many of those. Most of the patients placed behind the curtains came out only when it was time to bury them. Wearing a surgical mask and gloves, Sally dispensed water and kind words. It was all she had to offer.
The door opened and Harvey appeared.
“Vehicles coming,” he said tersely.
Sally went to the door. A sedan and a pickup skidded to a halt outside the buildings, and militia wearing green armbands piled out. Sally looked down at Harvey’s shotgun.
“You’d better get rid of that,” she said. “We don’t want any violence.”
Reluctantly, Harvey propped the weapon behind the door and stepped out.
The militia were led by a red-bearded man with a fatigue cap. “On your knees,” he ordered. “Hands behind your head.”
Sally and Harvey lowered themselves down in the dirt, and two men searched them while the others trained their rifles on them.
“This is a medical facility,” said Sally. “There’s no need for all this.”
The leader turned to one of the men doing the frisking. The man shook his head, indicating there were no weapons, and the leader stepped in front of Sally.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“My duty,” said Sally, gazing up at him. “Caring for the sick.”
“Search all the buildings,” ordered the leader.
“Is there something you’re looking for?” asked Sally.
“Anyone with gunshot wounds,” said the leader. “There was a battle nearby against insurgents.”
“Insurgents?”
The man hesitated, realizing the word he’d just used.
“Bandits,” he said. “Law breakers.”
“You won’t find any here.”
A militiaman leaned out of the cabin door, waving the shotgun. “Found this, and a whole bunch of patients.”
“What are you doing with a weapon in a medical facility?” asked the leader.
“To defend ourselves,” said Sally. “Against bandits.”
“This weapon needs to be registered.”
“With whom?”
“The authorities.”
“And who might they be?”
“Well … us.”
“Do you have an office?”
Confused, the man said, “Nearest registration point is Black Mountain.”
“That’s rather far. Is it not possible to register it with you?”
&
nbsp; The leader got annoyed. “I’m just doing my job. All weapons must be registered with the closest authority or be confiscated. If you want, you can go to Black Mountain to register your claim and collect it. Until then, it’s ours.”
“You leave us defenseless.”
The leader puffed out his chest. “My job is to clear these hills of bandits who have been attacking innocent people. For all I know, you’re one of them. If you don’t want to be taken in for questioning, you’d better watch what you say. Now, let’s have a look at these patients of yours.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Oh, wouldn’t you?” sneered the leader. He grabbed Sally by the arm and lifted her up. “Let’s just see what we find, shall we?”
Harvey made to intervene, and a rifle barrel was pressed to the back of his head.
“Secure him,” ordered the leader.
Harvey’s arms were pulled behind his back, and his wrists cuffed with a cable tie.
“This is completely unnecessary,” said Sally.
“It’s safer this way,” said the leader, dragging her along.
Entering the ward, he looked at the patients along one side.
“What are their names?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Sally. “They come to us very sick. We don’t ask their names.”
“They don’t look sick to me,” said the leader.
He went to the first patient and pulled the sheet back, looking for gunshot wounds. Then he did the same to the others. Finally he moved to pull back the first curtain.
“That wouldn’t be wise,” said Sally.
The leader yanked back the curtain and recoiled when he saw one of the chronic patients. A man lay naked on the bed, coated in sweat. A livid rash covered his entire body, and his eyes were rolled back, his breath coming in gasps.
“Jesus,” exclaimed the leader. “What’s he got?”
“Typhus,” explained Sally. “They all have it.”
“Typhus?”
“It’s highly contagious.”
The leader backed hastily away. “Search behind the other curtains,” he said to another militiaman.
“No way,” replied the militiaman.