When The Light Goes Out

by Jack Thompson

  "I heard that's painful." "Oh, shut up Jared." "No you shut up Lila."

  "How about everyone shuts up, and you, Malachi, go put that wood back where you got it from. You aren't setting any bone of mine." "Why not?"

  "Because it'll hurt, you bastard!" "No shit?"

  "I don't want it to hurt, how's about that?" "Well, if you hadn't fallen"

  "The kid threw me off balance!" "Don't try to pin this on me!"

  "Oh shut up kid!" "My tummy hurts."

  That was about the time that I realized the kid had said he was hurt originally. It was the reason I'd been carrying him the entire time. I looked over at Malachi. Staring straight at him until he shifted uncomfortably, looking away from me.

  "I'll let you set it if you take care of him first." "Deal."

  "Good."

  "You'll be okay kiddo, just show me what's wrong."

  A bleeding gash on his stomach was what was wrong. It looked like someone had cut into him, and the disturbing part was that it was half sewn closed. That did it, I admit, I leaned to the side the threw up raisins, chips, and soda. Dry heaving for as long as it took to steal a good bit of my energy. Then came the shakes and I didn't know what else to do.

  Really.

  I didn't.

  "Baby, who did this to you?" The little boy shrugged.

  "You don't know?" He shrugged again.

  "Come on baby, you need to tell us."

  "But I won't," and the smile that accompanied his words was almost infectious. I didn't understand. I simply did not understand.

  "Baby, why won't you tell us? Did they threaten you? Because if they did, we can stop them. They won't lay a finger on you, I swear on my mothers life." "Swearing on yer mothers life durin' a zombie invasion?"

  I froze.

  "You have a point there Blaz." But I wasn't entirely sure what else to say. "Just tell us sweetpea, that way we can help you. We can make everything all better." "No one can make everything better."

  I couldn't help thinking that such was a dismal way for a kid to think. Very dismal. He was giving up and he couldn't have been ten. He put no trust in adults, and I wasn't even that much of an adult yet. Not yet. No. I couldn't think of myself as that much of an adult. I refused. Absolutely refused. I still had a little kid left in me.

  At least a little.

  "At the very least," because it was all I could think of, "We can try." "It's useless."

  "But it'll be done."

  "But I don't want you to." "Tough shit."

  "Yeah, 'tough shit.'" The entire damn group agreed with me. We all had the same views on harmed children?

  Possibly. Maybe.

  I didn't know.

  I didn't know anything. I never knew anything. I wished I did.

  I wished I was one of those people, like some kind of grandparent, with endless stories, and answers to questions that seem impossible to figure out. I wished I was like that, because then I'd never be lost as to what my reaction should have been. Maybe if I'd done more growing up I wouldn't have been. Maybe if my parents were different. I couldn't be sure. I didn't want to be.

  It wasn't important. The kid was. "Sweetie?"

  "Nothing. It's nothing."

  He was desperately trying to get me off his case, but I was determined not to budge. I wasn't going to let it go until he told me what the hell happened. Who did it. At the very least what the hell happened! I couldn't help thinking that was really what was bothering me. I didn't want to believe that another human being was capable of doing such a thing, so I wanted to know what did make it happen.

  "Sweetie, you have to tell us."

  "I don't have to tell you anything." Contempt. "You're not my mom or dad, any of you. You don't know me. I don't have to tell you a goddamned thing, and you should be happy I'm here with you at all."

  Perhaps he was right.

  "Oh," Blaz glared, "Stop bein' a snot." "I am not a snot."

  "Then stop actin' like ye is one." "Who said I'm acting like one?!"

  "I did, obviously. Ye need yer ears cleaned or somethin'?" "Oh, shut up!"

  "Don't ye talk to me that way, brat! I'm yer elder. Ever heard of that?!"

  "A'course I've heard of that! But I've also heard of giving respect once you've received it!" "I carried you up the stairs!" I hadn't meant to shout, but that was how it ended up.

  "That's sympathy!"

  "I expect restitution!" "Resti wha?"

  "She expects payback for her pain." "Bite off!"

  "No!"

  "I'm not paying you anything!"

  "I'm not asking you to pay me anything! I'm just telling you to behave, and let that impatient man over there fix you up!" "Oh"

  "And tell us who hurt you!" "No! Go away!"

  "I'm not going anywhere, you brat!" "I don't want you near me."

  "Fine, if you want to walk on your own now, go ahead." "No.. I.."

  "Make up your mind." "I.."

  "Excel, stop pressuring him." "I'm not pressuring him." "Yes you are!"

  "No, I'm not."

  "Get off Excels back!" "Why?"

  "Because!"

  "But Excel's pressuring him!" "Let Excel pressure 'em!"

  "Lay back, and I'll be done soon." "But it'll hurt.."

  "You are pressuring him!" "Excel doesn't have the right!"

  "I've got stuff that'll make it so that it won't hurt you." "I am not pressuring him!"

  "That's what they said."

  "God, Excel, you can't be helped!" "Leave Excel alone!"

  "They said it wouldn't hurt?" "Yeah."

  The groups various arguments ended when there was a sniffle hic, and the young boy started crying. Because he was in pain. Because he'd been double crossed by adults. Because he didn't want Malachi messing with his body. All of the possible reasons were completely understandable, I couldn't blame him.

  I would have been scared too.

  "Shush boy, shush," I whispered to the boy as I approached, but he rolled away from me. He didn't want me near him. "Lila, please?"

  "Yeah.."

  She scooped the boy up the moment she got to him, wrapped him up in her arms and allowed Malachi to administer one shot or another. I felt so bad, as the boy started wailing. He looked absolutely terrified and I couldn't do anything to help him. He wasn't allowing me to help him, no matter how bad I wanted to.

  I didn't like it when kids were upset.

  I couldn't help but hope that Pixie was okay.

  How long had the girl been gone? I wasn't sure. Hours. Days. Weeks. I'd lost track of time long before I'd considered it, and I was getting déjà vu. Like I'd had the same time problems before. Like I'd pondered the same points. I didn't know. It had to have been four days or so since I'd first been thrust into the invasion. At least five, considering the times I'd fallen asleep. Gone through natural changes of night.

  No matter how cloudy the sky is there is always a difference between night and day.

  The boy was crying, and I tried not to look up. I didn't want to see Malachi sewing him up. I didn't want to see the gash. I didn't want to see why he was crying. I was sure that

  Malachi had already given him something for the pain. I was sure that whatever the boy'd been given had started working. I didn't know why he was crying.

  Until of course the curiosity completely overcame me, and I looked. He was staring at the stitching.

  "Kid, don't look at it." "But I"

  "Kid," I stared straight at the boy. "Don't look at it. If you look at it you're just going to scare yourself. It's gross, and it looks painful even though you can't feel it." None of them needed to know I was stabbing at the darkness. "Just don't look."

  "You"

  "I know I'm not either of your parents. I know I have no control over you. I know you probably can't stand me," because I was aware of all of those things. "But please, trust me? Just don't look. It'll be much better, and go much quicker if you don't look."

  "But what do I do in the meantime?" "Blaz!"
<
br />   "Yeah?"

  "Got any cool war stories?"

  "A'course I've got me war stories. Ye didn't like the last one?" "I'm not into the mushy stuff."

  "Ah!"

  "Tell us about how you killed twelve North Koreans with your bare hands, or something." "I didn't fight in the Korean war!"

  "Where did you fight then?"

  I was happy that the boy asked, because it meant he was getting distracted, and was going to stop paying attention to the stitching. I chose then to zone out. I didn't want to know how many whoever's had been killed during whichever war. I didn't give a flying crap. I didn't. I had absolutely no urge to know. I didn't want stories of death while my wrist was throbbing in time with my heart.

  "Jesus," I breathed. "Excel?"

  "It fucking hurts."

  "You should've just let Malachi set it, you idiot." "But that'll hurt more."

  "It'll feel better in the long run."

  "But he knocked the gun out of me hand!" "Prove it'll feel better!"

  "What did you do then?"

  "Let him set it, and you'll have my proof." "I'm not letting him set it."

  "Aw, just let the damn lad set yer wrist, Excel!"

  "You stay out of this, Blaz! Continue with your story." "Oh! Where was I?"

  I just laid back, and threw my good hand over my face. I sighed. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want my wrist to be set, but I knew it had to be or it would heal all weird. Or it wouldn't heal at all. A morbid little voice in my head said it was pointless to have it set, because I was going to die anyway, but I chose to ignore it.

  Fucking voice.

  "There you go, kiddo. All fixed." "Thanks Malachi."

  "No problem. Oh Excel!"

  I glared at the singsong voice, snarling, "What?" as rudely as I could. "It's your turn."

  "Fuck off."

  "You promised."

  I growled. "Fine!" He grinned. "Whatever."

  Malachi had the mind to approach me, at the very least. He probably figured that I would refuse to move, which was a good thing. Because I was going to refuse to move. I didn't want him anywhere near me, and had the mind to run, but I stuck it out with a sense of pride that any man in my family would have been proud of.

  "This is going to hurt, Excel." "No shit?"

  And then there was this pain that just shot up my arm, down my spine, and out through the rest of my body. I hadn't even known that he grabbed my wrist. I hadn't known he'd gotten close enough to. But I didn't scream. Oh, no. I did not scream. Instead I made this weird choking noise in the back of my throat, and forced my face into my knees to keep the tears back.

  "Holy Jesus," I breathed.

  "I told you it was going to hurt," and Malachi sounded honestly apologetic. Like he hadn't wanted to hurt me. Like he wished he'd had some other choice. But he didn't have another choice, and we both knew it.

  I just didn't want to admit it.

  "You could've given more warning."

  "There's no way to brace yourself for something like that." "I would have felt better trying."

  "Sorry."

  "Yeah. Whatever. Splint me up." "Will do."

  I glared at the man the entire time he was attaching the wood to my hand, and wrist. I glared at him after he'd finished. I glared at him as he stepped back. I even continued glaring as he raised his hands into a sign of submission, apologizing with his eyes for a pain he hadn't wanted to cause me in the first place.

  "You're mad?"

  "No, I'm not Malachi." "Then why"

  I cut him off, "I'm going to glare at you until my body stops throbbing." "I see."

  "I'm not mad at you Malachi," I tried to assure him, but he didn't look convinced. "Whatever." He didn't sound convinced either.

  "Don't go getting an attitude on me!" Maybe I shouted thoughtlessly. I didn't know. I didn't care. I was frustrated, and in pain. "Who's getting an attitude?" The boy bit back, clenching his fist in what was probably meant to be a menacing manner.

  I, however, wasn't frightened and shouted, "You are such a bastard! Knock the 'tude, man!"

  "I am not getting an attitude!" He shouted defensively, taking a step toward me like he was going to hit me or something. "I mean, why would I get an attitude when someone I just helped is mad at me?" Sarcasm.

  "I am not mad at you!" I shouted the point I'd tried to make moments before.

  He argued though, saying, "That's not what your face says!" As if it was a good argument. As if sometimes facial expression don't mean a dozen different things. "I'm in pain, you jackass!" I screamed, hoping that would make my point.

  "Guys, stop fightin"

  "Stay out of this, Lila!" Malachi and I shouted in unison, glaring over at the girl who was swiftly moving behind Jeremy. Jeremy was glaring at the two of us. We were glaring back. Suddenly, and it was like magic, Malachi and I were on the same side of the playing field. We had the same enemies. The same people to show up.

  "I will not stay out of it!" She shouted back at us. I wasn't sure if Malachi and I shared a thought, or a smile, but I certainly thought we did in that moment. "Then steps away from Jeremy."

  "No!"

  "Why not?" "Bebecause"

  "Guys, will you both stop being assholes?!" "Shut up Jared!"

  "No!" "Shut up!"

  Bam!

  Malachi and I both went down under the force of Blazs cane. Shit fucking hurt, but there was nothing we could do because the man was practically sitting on the two of us. Bastard that he was. The only thing I'll give him is that it effectively halted our argument. It made all of us shut up, and Malachi and I grunt under the pressure he was putting on us.

  Literally.

  "Now all of ye calm the 'ell down. Ye hear?" "Yes, Blaz."

  "Good." And after a moment he even pulled the cane away from us. "Ye can't go yelling at each other like that. Not if ye won't let me do it meself. Hypocrisy is a disease kids." "No it's not."

  Bam!

  "Son of a bitch."

  "What is hypocrisy, now?" "A disease."

  "Very good, Excel."

  "Why are you such a bastard?" "Because it's fun."

  And suddenly, I swear I could see the door bending in from the middle. "Guys.."

  "Yeah?"

  "The door.." Everyone looked.

  "Oh just fucking shoot me."

  The fire escape, we all knew, was useless. There were zombies crawling all over it, and a glance down assured us of this. But the door was giving way, and we were trapped on the roof, and we needed a way down. Or off. Or.. or something. I didn't even know. I didn't. I didn't care. I was in pain, but I did care, and I knew I cared. I just wished that I didn't. I really, really wished that I didn't.

  "Guys.."

  "We know. We know. The door."

  "We need to get the fuck away from here." "We know."

  "Guys.."

  "I got it!" Heads spun towards Lila, who was tugging on a ladder hidden in one of the darker corners of the roof. I didn't know what she was getting up. Climbing up a ladder wasn't going to save us, and knowing this I gave her a withered looked.

  Everyone else seconded my expression. "Lila, climbing a ladder's not going to help." "Who said anything about climbing?"

  "That's what you do on ladders, Lila. You climb."

  "We can walk it." "Walk it?"

  "Look!" She pointed, and we looked, and suddenly I had a little hint of what she was thinking. The building across the way. The roof. "If the ladder is able to reach the roof over there, we can use it sort of as a bridge to cross," Lila explained exactly what I was thinking, and I grinned.

  "Lila, you're a genius." So much for being mad.

  The boys all exchanged a look.

  "Come on!" Came from Jaden and everyone was helping to move the rickety old ladder except for me, Ian, and the kid. Me, because of my wrist (obviously), Ian because he was out cold again, and the kid because he was just too damn young. There was no way he would have been any help whatsoever.

 
; "Come here kid," I said, offering an arm to the young boy which he promptly took. Upset with me from before or not, he obviously knew better than to get in the way. He knew that doing so likely meant death. And he obviously didn't want that either. "What's your name?"

  "George." "I'm Excel."

  "I sorta got that."

  "Where'd you get the attitude?" "Inherited it from my pops."

  "I see."

  The boy smiled.

  "Must've been quite the charming man." "If I do say so myself."

  "I was being sarcastic kid." "So was I."

  I almost blushed, because, I do believe I'd just gotten outsmarted by a kid. "You little punk!" But I didn't say it in a bad way, necessarily. I just sort of said it and made sure the boy was steady on his feet. Panic was making the group work surprisingly fast with the ladder, and there was still something smacking up against the door.

  "D'ya think the ladder'll make it?" George asked me, tilting big eyes in my direction but I only shrugged. "Probably not."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because that would be my luck." "Hmm?"

  "I've been pretty damn unlucky these past few days."