The Scattered and the Dead (Book 2.5)

by Tim McBain

  For a split second, I considered getting out my pocket knife and slashing the tires of the Fiesta and whatever the hell companion car came with it, crippling them and leaving it at that.

  But that would be a temporary solution to a potentially fatal problem. Fuck that noise.

  Instead, I picked up my pace, hoping to catch them before they made it to the gas station.

  I swallowed, saliva drizzling down a throat that had gone impossibly dry. Everything else about me was damp as hell, though. Sopping and sloppy.

  Again I took deliberate steps, heels rocking onto toes, careful to keep the soles of my shoes from scraping. And I knew I could be drawing up on them, so I held my breath and listened.

  “Think we’re getting close?”

  My shoulders jerked, a fresh jolt of adrenaline jamming itself into my veins.

  It was the loud talker, and he was close. Practically within arm’s reach.

  I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate.

  I lifted the shotgun and blasted.

  The orange blaze should have painted a picture, but I must have blinked just as it lit everything up. Like it blinded me, maybe.

  And the world seemed small. Everything pinched down. Like only this little area right here was real now. This narrow tunnel of vision in front of me and nothing else. Even in the dark.

  I racked and fired off another load of buckshot, and I could see the two men scrambling, panicked, all flailing in that fraction of a second of light from the muzzle.

  One of ‘em was screaming, so I must have hit ‘im with a pellet or six. Thing is, I was hoping for the kind of hit that don’t leave no one screaming. A full on Kurt Cobain type of deal.

  I shuffled my feet as I racked the gun, pivoted out into the middle of the highway still facing where they’d been, and I pressed toward them, where I thought they were, anyhow.

  I raised the gun, stuck it out, and I felt him. The barrel touched him, pressed right into his chest or back or something.

  I pulled the trigger.

  His body stifled the flash this time, though I could see some explosion of flesh where his torso came apart into wetness, a sheet of blood spattering me.

  The force knocked him back into the dark, and all I could think for a second was that the shotgun had cut him in half, just unhinged him at the hips and flung the top half away, but no.

  I could sense him before me somehow. A denser spot of darkness like the cars, I guess. He was on all fours. Bleeding everywhere. Not moving much apart from that. Probably in shock.

  I racked again and finished him.

  Reality faded back in a little then. That tunnel of focus I’d found myself in opening partially.

  A high pitched tone screeched in my ears, and my chest and arms quivered with some electrical current, some hateful animal energy that knew only to destroy.

  And I could hear him. Even with alarm clocks blaring in my head, I could hear him crashing through the grass.

  I followed.

  I didn’t think at all. Somehow I could tell what sounds in the brush were his, and I just obeyed that instinct and followed. Gaining. Closing.

  As soon as he fell, I was right on top of him. I could sense it. Hear it. Know it.

  Flame snorted out of the barrel of the sawed-off, and for that flash of a moment, I could see the surprise in his eyes, the wrinkles in his forehead, the black scruff lining his jaw, the lips opened in a capital O.

  And he didn’t look evil or good or anything.

  He was just a man.

  But then the light was gone, and the boom shook the whole world, the gun bucked in my hands, and I could hear the slushy sound of his flesh tattering to pieces.

  Game fucking over.

  Erin

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  2 days before

  Kelly-

  So it turns out Moisty McWateryEyes got sick. As in got the plague. The frickin’ plague, Kelly! How many nights did I lie here in my cot, breathing in her stupid plague breath? And of course this happens right after I meet the love of my life, Mr. Max Rippingale.

  (Yes, I know I am being a selfish twat making this all about me. I do feel bad that she got sick. But it’s also terrifying.)

  My mom meandered over to the plague tent to check up on ol’ Wetty and also to ask about the odds of it spreading to the people she shared a tent with. The doctor assured her that we are still at a very low risk.

  “Not much higher than the rest of the camp population, who would have shared time with her in the mess tent, used the same bathroom facilities, etcetera.”

  So basically the entire camp is potentially fucked. Lovely.

  Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but one thing they repeated frequently on the news was that they don’t know exactly how it spreads.

  So basically the entire world is definitely fucked.

  Breanne came bursting into my tent after dinner tonight.

  “Can you French braid?”

  I stopped reading and peered up at her. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Come with me.”

  Breanne dragged me all the way to the front of camp, where there’s a big gate and a guard station. I don’t really know why. They don’t even close the gate except at night. Another we-do-it-because-we-do-it military thing, I suspect.

  The guy everyone calls Jimbo was one of the people on guard duty, so he let us through the gate and out into the big field where all the cars are parked. Not our car, since we came on a bus. But a lot of people — Breanne and her parents included — drove here.

  I followed Breanne over to a white Kia Sportage. She pulled a key fob from her pocket, and the car blipped and blinked. The backseat and cargo area were jam-packed with boxes and suitcases. It really made me wish we’d driven here so we could have brought more stuff. My clothes are getting très dingy.

  From one of the boxes, Breanne lifted a package of blueberry Pop-Tarts. She ripped the foil wrapper off and handed me one. It was sort of half-warm from being in the car, but it tasted like a slice of toaster pastry heaven. The sweetest thing they have in the mess tent is canned fruit cocktail.

  “Holy balls,” I said. “A Pop-Tart has never tasted so good.”

  Breanne nodded in agreement and dusted the crumbs from her hands. She dug around in a suitcase for a while before producing a sapphire blue top and zippered makeup bag.

  Without even bothering to duck between the cars or anything, she pulled off the shirt she was wearing and changed into the blue thing. The guard station was totally within sight, but I’m pretty sure she just didn’t care if the guys there got a free peep show.

  Breanne tossed her old shirt into the back of the car, unzipped the little bag, and thrust a brush, comb, and some elastic hair ties at me.

  “Pigtails,” she demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, hopping onto the hood of the SUV.

  Breanne kind of leaned up against the grill in front of me, and I set about brushing and parting her hair. The blue top was one of those cold-shoulder deals. It was sort of silky and drapey, and it scooped really low in front. I pointed at the shoulder cut-outs.

  “Doesn’t that give you weird tan lines?”

  She turned sideways and looked me up and down. “Tan lines? What would your pasty ass know about tan lines?”

  “Hey! I’ll have you know that this is remarkably tan for me.”

  It’s true, Kel. You should see me. I mean, next to your naturally caramel-colored lusciousness I’d still look like I’ve been dipped in white paint, but what can I do?

  But back to the story: Breanne adjusted the elastic bits that kept the sleeves of the blouse in place and then said, “Anyway, I’m not going tanning. I have a date.”

  “A date?” I repeated. Then I did the math. “With Bennett?”

  Her lips pursed into a sassy smirk. She was trying to play it cool, but I could see the giddy energy in her eyes.

  “Yep.”

  “So where is he taking you? To the mess tent? Hey, I hear t
hey’re playing the Smurfs movie for the kids tonight. That’s pretty romantic. Are you gonna ask him to hold your purse if you have to make a trip to the porta-potty?”

  “Shut up!” Breanne glowered at me, and then said, “For your information, he asked if I wanted to take a walk.”

  “A walk? So he basically invited you to go smoke a joint in the woods. Oh yeah, I’m swooning just thinking about it.”

  Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth.

  “You’re such a bitch.”

  I could tell she wasn’t really mad though, so I smiled.

  “I’m just teasing you. Besides, there’s no way Bennett will be able to resist the power of your naked shoulders.”

  I trailed a section of her hair over the bare skin in a way I knew would tickle, and she swatted me away.

  “Whore,” she said, but this time she was grinning, too.

  I made her face away from me again so I could start weaving the first braid. Wind rustled through the grass. Birds chirped and the crickets hummed. I fell into a sort of trance as I twined and twisted the strands of hair. Maybe Max was right about the whole tactile thing being important to me.

  “Here’s a question,” I said. “What are you gonna do when he figures out you’re only seventeen?”

  Breanne’s head swiveled around so fast, I almost lost my grasp on her hair. Her hand lunged like a striking cobra, fingers latching onto my forearm and pinching. Hard.

  “Ouch!”

  I pulled away from her pincers.

  “He’s not going to find out.”

  “OK! Jeez! I wasn’t saying I was gonna tell him.”

  I secured the braid with an elastic and then rubbed at the red spot on my arm.

  “That hurt.”

  “I think you’ll live,” she said, patting my knee.

  “Whore,” I said, then tugged at the hair I was working into the next braid.

  “I do like a little bit of hair-pulling.”

  “Gross.”

  A loud diesel truck rumbled by on the highway. Breanne jumped and gasped.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Did you see that?”

  “See what?”

  “That truck.”

  My eyes flicked over to the road, but it was long gone. “No.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “What?” I asked again, impatience creeping into my tone.

  “It was full of bodies.”

  “Bodies?”

  “Dead bodies.”

  I stopped braiding.

  Breanne’s voice was small and distant.

  “They were stacked all the way to the top and just… lying in a heap. No body bags or sheets covering them or anything. They looked like ragged old Barbie and Ken dolls.”

  We were quiet for a long time after that.

  When I finished with the second braid, Breanne admired my work in one of the side mirrors. Or maybe she was just admiring her face. In any case, I watched her put on extra makeup and perfume and some dangly earrings.

  Before she locked the car for good, she hoisted a big slouchy leather bag out of the backseat. The bag sagged under the weight of whatever was inside. When she set it down, there was a clinking sound, almost like a bag of marbles.

  Breanne thrust a hand inside and pulled out a fist full of those miniature bottles of booze you see on airplanes.

  “What are those?”

  “My stepmom’s stash,” Breanne said, stuffing the tiny bottles into a smaller purse in her lap. “She’s a flight attendant. And a high-functioning alcoholic.”

  “She won’t notice they’re gone?”

  “That’s the beauty of living with a chronic drunk. She always just thinks she drank more than she remembered.”

  Breanne’s eyes sparkled with wicked glee.

  “You’re kind of a terrible person,” I said.

  “Why? If you think about it, I’m basically doing a good deed. If I drink them, then she can’t.”

  I suppose I can’t fault her logic.

  I head to the catalpa tree whenever I get a free moment now. Hoping that Max will come find me. So that’s where I went after Breanne left for her little date with Bennett.

  After a while, I heard footsteps crunching through the dry grass behind me, and it felt like a thousand butterfly cocoons all hatched at once in my belly. But when I turned, it was Izzy.

  The butterflies died.

  “Didn’t Breanne tell you not to come out here?”

  Izzy climbed up beside me.

  “Breanne isn’t the boss of me. And it’s boring inside the fence.”

  “I’ve got bad news for you, kid. It’s just as boring outside the fence,” I said. “I thought they were playing the Smurfs movie for you guys tonight.”

  “They are. But I’ve already seen it twice.”

  Using my shoulder as a step-stool, Izzy scrambled onto a branch above me.

  “Aren’t you going to get in trouble with Sgt. Foressi if she finds out you left the perimeter?”

  From her perch, Izzy shrugged.

  “It just means I have to sit in the Time-Out chair. I always have to sit in the Time-Out chair anyway, so…”

  “She’s kind of a buttface, huh?” I said, remembering the look on the Dragon Lady’s face when she smashed that Play-Doh elephant.

  Izzy laughed.

  “A super buttface.”

  Thinking about the Play-Doh elephant gave me an idea, so I tore out a page of this notebook and started folding. I hadn’t made one in a long time, and lined paper isn’t the best material for it (and also, Izzy kept dropping catalpa beans on my head), but I still managed a decent origami elephant. I passed it up to her.

  “An elephant! Can I keep it?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s why I made it,” I said.

  Izzy sucked on her bottom lip and stared at the little paper pachyderm resting in the palm of her hand. “How did you do it?”

  “I can teach you one of these days. I need to find better paper, though.”

  “Sgt. Foressi has construction paper.”

  “That would work,” I said.

  We hung out for a while longer. Me reading, and Izzy being uncharacteristically quiet up there on her branch. I thought maybe the paper elephant had tamed her for the moment.

  I stood up just as the sun dipped below the horizon. No sign of Max, and I didn’t want Izzy to get caught outside of camp after dark.

  “Come on,” I said, waving her down from the higher bough.

  A small scrap of a catalpa leaf drifted past my face, and I brushed it away. The top of my head itched. I swiped at my hair and found a whole pile of shredded catalpa leaves on top of my head. Izzy must have been dropping them on me morsel by morsel the whole time I’d been reading.

  “You little turd,” I said, lunging for her.

  Izzy leaped from her roost and landed just out of my reach. Then she scurried back toward camp, screeching with laughter.

  “You better run,” I called after her. “If I catch you, I’ll fold you into an origami elephant.”

  She paused at the gap in the fence long enough to turn back and stick out her tongue.

  Your BFF, who is hopefully not coming down with the plague,

  Erin

  Erin

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  1 day before

  Kelly-

  It is so hot. I could barely sleep last night, it’s so muggy. Remember when you had Mrs. Hennigan for pre-algebra, and she used to hover over your shoulder when she was helping you with a math problem, and you could feel her gross, hot breath on the back of your neck? That’s what the air feels like right now. Mrs. Hennigan’s hot, moist breath.

  I caught up with Breanne after lunch, and she filled me in on her so-called date.

  “When I showed him the little airplane bottles of Jack Daniels, he took me over to the mess tent and got some of the KPs to give us two bottles of Coke they had stashed away. We each chugged about half of the Coke and then filled it b
ack up with whiskey.”

  I don’t remember the last time I had a Coke. And to think, they hadn’t savored it or appreciated it at all.

  “Bet that tasted great,” I said.

  Breanne scoffed.

  “It’s not supposed to taste good. It’s supposed to get you drunk.”

  “Classy.”

  “Anyway, then we just kinda walked around and drank and talked.”

  “That’s it?”

  She sat up straight, all haughty.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just the way you were all bouncy and chipper, I figured something must have happened. Something more than just talking.”

  She watched me through half-closed eyelids for a few seconds, and I was afraid I’d really pissed her off or hurt her feelings. Then she cracked, and a grin spread from one ear to the other.

  “Alright, we totally made out,” she said, all of the bright-eyed vigor she’d had earlier returning.

  She clamped her hands around my shoulders and gave me a shake.

  “Did you hear what I said? We kissed! Jay Bennett kissed me!”

  “I heard you,” I said.

  I didn’t know if she wanted me to congratulate her or what. It would have been insincere if I had, because Bennett is a Grade A Shithead.

  “It was that top. I think it has magic powers.”

  That made me chuckle.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know how you made fun of the shoulder cut-outs?”

  “I wasn’t making fun,” I protested.

  “Whatever. Well, he kept staring at them. My shoulders.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t looking at something else?” I said, and then pretended to ogle her breasts.

  She gave me a shove.

  “It was my shoulders. And then, after we’d both drank most of our Jack and Coke, he reached out and touched me, right here.”

  She brushed a thumb over the top of her bicep and then shivered.

  “It gave me crazy goose bumps. I almost jumped his bones right there.”

  “Gross.”

  “You’re gross! Anyway, that is officially my Lucky Makeout Top now.”