Where the Dead Go to Die

by Aaron Dries

  That didn’t mean she had to respect the dealer, though.

  So Lucette carried the torch for the two of them. And if her ten-year-old reached an age when she either owned this belief or cast it aside, well, Emily would be the happy beneficiary of that judgment. She trusted her daughter that much.

  Woods lowered her voice. “The boy’s understandably upset. He’s been crying since he got here.”

  “Did his parents really drop him at the curb?”

  “They brought him into the lobby and signed him in. They didn’t stick around.”

  “I just don’t—how? I would never let my daughter go through something like this alone.”

  “They’re scared. Even today, there’s a plethora of misinformation out there about infection.”

  “Then you educate yourself. You don’t do this,” Emily said, perhaps a little too vehement. “He’s not trash.”

  “That’s enough, Ms. Samuels.” Woods’ clipped tone cut through her escalating anger like a slap to the face.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t get my head round folks abandoning their kids like that.”

  “Our concern is for the child, not his parents. Look, I need you to pull yourself into line. I can’t have you in that room with me if you’re going to get emotional. What that boy needs right now is a calming, stabilizing influence. Understood?”

  Emily took a deep breath, steadied herself. Nodded.

  Woods scrutinized her. “I’m giving you a chance. You’re here to observe. Let me do all the talking. If I sense an outburst a-comin’ I’ll send you out of the room and out of a job. Do we understand each other?”

  “Crystalline.”

  “Good. The boy’s name is Robert Hopkins. The dignity we offer here begins with calling people by their preferred name. He’s a Robby. That’s your first lesson.”

  “Got it.”

  Woods opened the door and stepped into her office, Emily following along behind. “Here you go, Robby,” Woods said, holding the drink out to the boy.

  He—

  (Lucette)

  —turned to face them. Coldness reached into Emily’s chest and clenched tight. No, it wasn’t her daughter. It had been little more than a momentary lapse, a slip of the mask.

  She cleared her throat, and stoked heat to melt the ice inside.

  There was innocence and beauty in the boy’s eyes. Stray tears clung to his cheeks, but the ferocity of the storm had abated. He sniffled twice, wiped his nose with a sleeve, and took the drink, mumbling gratitude.

  He was skeletal; skin five shades whiter than it should be. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in weeks, which, Emily guessed, was likely the case. With infection came fevers and nightmares people referred to as ‘the screamers’—terrible glimpses into the Hell that had claimed them. Or so they said. These dreams lingered with the infected throughout the incubation period, though there came a point when the screaming stopped. For family members, this silence was considered one of the most difficult parts of the changing. Their loved ones no longer considered the nightmares unwelcome.

  Acquiescence to their fate.

  Woods sat behind her desk and indicated that Emily should have a seat in the plastic chair; it was positioned against the far wall, which was covered in children’s drawings.

  Ha, so I guess there’s a maternal bone in your body after all,Woods, she thought. Somewhere.

  “Robby, this is Emily. She’ll be sitting in with us. Is that okay?”

  He glanced at her, shrugged and nodded at the same time.

  “Thank you, Robby. I like your sweater,” Emily said, searching for common ground.

  “Thanks,” he replied, toying with the Tyrannosaur’s skull woven into the wool. “I want to be a paleontologist when I grow up.”

  It was time to change the subject, and quick.

  Woods opened a folder and plucked a pen out of a Mason jar crammed with writing utensils. She clicked the ballpoint and sat poised with pen over the paper. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions now, Robby. If you don’t understand anything, you let me know, and I’ll try to make it clearer. Don’t be afraid to admit if you don’t know all the answers. If you need to take a break at any time—”

  “I’m good,” the boy said, opening the Yoo-hoo and downing half of it in one swallow. The infected craved sugar. Fats. And with time, marrow. “I’m sorry I cried.”

  Despite being told to let Woods do all the talking, Emily leaned forward and said, “There’s no shame in that, Robby. We all have to let it out, don’t we Ms. Woods?”

  “That’s right.”

  Robby leveled a piercing stare at Emily. “I’ll be okay. I’m not a baby.”

  Emily was taken aback by the tone of the boy’s voice—so firm and sure and adult. Then again, she had to remind himself that twelve was almost a teenager, and a teenager was almost a man. She found the notion disturbing in a way she didn’t understand at first, until she realized she was thinking of Lucette again, about how she wasn’t really a kid anymore, and before long she would be going out into the world on her own where Emily wouldn’t be able to protect her.

  “Robby,” Woods said, “can you tell me how you acquired the infection?”

  “Got bit.”

  The scratching of the pen on the form. “One bite or multiple?”

  “One was all it took.”

  “And where is it located?”

  “On my ankle.”

  Emily glanced down at the boy’s feet and saw the print on his socks below the cuffs of his jeans. Batman insignias. She suppressed a sigh. Robby could have idolized Superman, Thor, or any one of a million heroes with strength to spare and imperviousness to bullets and bites. Only he’d settled on a mere mortal in crusader’s pajamas instead.

  And mortals, as they all knew, could die. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

  More scratching from the pen. “How did it happen?” Woods asked.

  “I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be,” he replied.

  Emily understood that comment for what it was, not a conclusion Robby had drawn for himself, but something he’d been told. As a parent, Emily recognized its desperate condescension a little too well.

  “My folks let me go to a Halloween festival with some friends, but all the rides were for kids and the haunted house was a joke. Just guys in sheets and dummies rigged to jump out at you. Beyond lame. I tried to talk a couple of my friends into climbing the security fence to explore the woods behind the fairgrounds. They didn’t want to, they were scared. To be honest, so was I, only I wanted to prove something, you know? That I was brave, or something. They call me sissy at school.”

  Something Robby said raised a red flag for Emily and, glancing at Woods, she could see that the other woman realized it too. Neither of them spoke, waiting for Robby to finish his story.

  “I went deeper into the woods. It was like I was on a dare, like I was daring myself. It was dark, but I had a flashlight app on my phone and I was using it to see where I was going. I was just starting to think I should turn back when I heard a noise up ahead, a kind of moaning. I followed it to a ravine. The light from my phone didn’t reach that far, but I could just make out a figure down there, and it looked like it was pinned by a tree that’d fallen over. I shouldn’t have gone further. I know that. I thought it was someone hurt. You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Of course we do,” Emily said.

  “I figured I’d go help and maybe end up a hero, get my picture on all the news websites and everything. I called out, only whoever was down there didn’t answer. Well, I wasn’t a complete idiot; I decided I’d climb down about halfway so I could get a better look. Only I slipped and fell. Landed right next to him. He wasn’t pinned down after all. I know it sounds stupid, but I remember picking up my phone, which was on the ground next to me, and looking at the screen. It was cracked. I thought to myself, ‘Shit—Mom’s gonna have my guts for garters over that.’ Ha!

  “I turned the light on him. He hadn’t fully tu
rned yet, but I reckon he was close. He hardly had any hair left. His skin was white. Had the smile—that’s the worst. He was homeless, I guess. He was snappin’ his teeth and clawin’ at me. I screamed like a girl and tried to crawl back up the ravine, only I kept sliding back down. You know those dreams when you’re trying to get away from something bad, and everything’s in slow-motion and the ground goes all quicksandy on you? It was just like that.

  “I thought I was okay. Only I wasn’t.” Robby cast his eyes downward. “The whole way home it didn’t really click what happened. I was too worried about my cracked phone. So stupid.” He looked up at them again. “You believe me, right?”

  Emily and Woods exchanged a glance and with a lift of her chin, Woods gave Emily permission to ask the question that was on both their minds.

  “Yes, Robby. But I just want to check one thing. You said this happened the night of the Halloween festival?”

  The boy nodded.

  The pen froze, no scratching, and Woods said, “So you’re saying you were bitten almost two months ago?”

  Another silent nod.

  Woods seemed at a loss for words, which Emily figured happened about as often as an honest politician got elected to public office—and yet they still did, each bringing with them additional infection-specific prohibition. To her credit, she recovered her composure. “I checked the Ministry’s infected registry website and didn’t see your name on it.”

  “No, I don’t guess you did. You’ll put it up there now, right?”

  “Yes, but that should’ve already happened. Everyone exposed to the infection is required to report their status within 48 hours so their names can be added. Since you’re a minor, it would have been your parents’ responsibility. Were they aware of this?”

  Robby stared back at his interviewers. His eyes welled again.

  “You hid it from them,” Emily said. A statement, not a question.

  The silent nod that was becoming a trademark.

  “When did they find out?” Woods asked.

  “A week ago. I know it was wrong, that I should’ve told them right away, but I was scared. They thought I was sick or something, even wanted to take me to a doctor. Dad’s got the diabetes and they thought it might be that. They had me in a corner! I—I spilled my guts. They just glared at me, like they’d been told I was dead. I was wearing my dad’s old cap at the time. I dunno. I always loved it. It’s his from when he was a kid and lived in Maine. It’s got the words I’VE GOT MOXIE written across the front, you know, like the drink. When I told them about being attacked, Dad didn’t saying nothin’, he just crossed the room and ripped the hat right off my head. I wish he’d yelled at me instead, or hit me. You don’t know my folks, they hate bone eaters.”

  Woods opened her mouth as if she were going to correct the boy’s use of the derogatory term, but thought better of it and kept her silence.

  “You a bone eater, you’re as good as dead to them. They had a friend, I seen her in their old wedding photos, she got bit. They cut her out of their lives. Just like that. You’ve probably seen them outside this building holding signs and yelling nasty things at everybody that walked by. I even heard my father say once that he wished the Ministry would go back to getting rid of zombies like they did in the old days.”

  Emily stiffened, cleared her throat. “But you’re their child.”

  Robby looked at her, and while his eyes were still innocent and beautiful, they were also tainted with motes of cynicism. Betrayal. “I had a broken toy once. It didn’t work. We took it back to the shop and Dad threw it on the counter. ‘It’s defective,’ is what he said to the girl standing there. And that’s how I feel, too. They couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.

  “I snuck out of bed last night and listened at their bedroom door. Mom was crying the whole time, I think she at least feels bad about it, but Dad said that as far as he’s concerned he no longer has a son. He hasn’t looked at me or talked directly to me since I told them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Woods said, and Emily wasn’t surprised when the woman said no more. She wasn’t one to sugarcoat, a trait that some found abrasive, but which Emily was growing to admire.

  Robby shrugged. “Like I said. Defective.”

  Emily felt hairline cracks forming in her composure. The boy in the dinosaur sweater was displaying bravery and strength no kid his age should rightly have to. He had Moxie, all right. Moxie by the bucket load. But that didn’t change the fact that Robby Hopkins was of an age when his concerns should’ve been revolving around getting to the next level of some silly video game, or figuring out how to patch a busted bike tire, or maybe even facing the challenges of Japanese origami head on. And behind him all the way, there should be watchful parents who loved without condition, even in the worst circumstances.

  Especially in the worst circumstances.

  “Now I need you to really concentrate and be truthful,” Woods continued. “Can you think of anyone that you may have exposed? Maybe you got cut and your mother cleaned it up, anything like that?”

  Shaking his head emphatically, Robby said, “No, I was careful.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive. I don’t want anyone else going through this.”

  Woods began scribbling notes on the new form. Emily wanted to say something to the boy, offer some words of solace, a panacea for his pain, but none seemed adequate to the task.

  “Of course, we’ll have to alert the authorities about the resurrected individual that bit you,” Woods said. “That’s a potential danger to others that has to be dealt with.”

  “I tried to deal with it myself,” Robby said quietly. “I went back a week later with a baseball bat. Only the man was gone.”

  Woods kept her gaze steady. “I see.” She opened a file drawer in her desk and rummaged around for a moment, coming up with another form. “In light of this new knowledge regarding how long you’ve been infected, I have a few additional questions to ask you. Do you know how the infection is spread? During the incubation period it’s through bites, body fluids, transfusions, sharing needles. After turning, bites alone.”

  “Yes. They teach us that in school.” The boy sat upright and thumped his fists against his knees. “I’m not an idiot. And I thought you said you believed me!”

  Woods spared a glance at Emily, who could feel another crack forming. She fought against it. “That’s not what this is about, Robby. It’s important we get all our facts straight. I know this is hard, but once it’s done, it’s done. We’re going to take wonderful care of you here.”

  “Robby,” Woods began, “it’s important we see the bite wound. Can you show it to us?”

  “No. I don’t want to.”

  “In order to secure the government funding required to help you, we need to provide documentation to the board, a photograph of the contact-to-contact area.”

  “I said no.”

  Woods leaned back. “I’m so sorry, Robby. You don’t have a choice on the matter.”

  The twelve-year-old glared back at his two interviewers. In requesting to see the wound, Emily could plainly see that they were at risk of re-opening it.

  Emily and Woods jolted in their chairs, the legs screeching against the linoleum, as Robby leapt to his feet. The two women stood, calling to the boy to stop. He threw the door open, conjuring a draft that sent the children’s drawings on the walls into a flap like a pin board of not-quite-dead butterflies.

  “Fuck you both!” he yelled, scuttling from sight.

  Emily stepped into the hallway and saw Robby at the glass entrance/exit security door, which required either a swipe pass or a five-digit override code to open. His thin silhouette stood against the glare of the transparent barricade, as he tried to pry the sliding glass apart with his hands. When he realized this was getting him nowhere fast, he resorted to beating. The sound thundered through the corridor, drawing attention. Heads jack-in-a-boxed from their rooms to see what all the commotion was.

 
“Don’t do that, Robby,” Emily said, heart racing. Close. “It’s no help.”

  Woods flanked her side, a cell phone in hand. “Layton,” she whispered into the receiver. “Meet me in corridor 1. Code T-4 underway. Be delicate.” She hung up.

  Defeated and weak, Robby backed against the wall, slid to the floor. He buried his head in his hands.

  “Can we have some privacy here, thank you?” Woods called to those lingering up the hallway. Those rubberneckers, staff and guests alike, withdrew into their rooms.

  Emily crouched in front of their new intake, the chameleon who was by turns adult and then infantile. It was an alarming balancing act to witness, like watching someone dancing for their life on the head of a pin.

  “Ms. Samuels,” Woods said, “let the boy be. Security’s on the way.”

  Emily raised a hand to her supervisor. “It’s okay. Isn’t it, Robby?”

  She faced the boy once more, shimmied over to join him. “I’m just going to plant myself right here. That fine by you?”

  Robby nodded.

  Now that she was close enough, Emily noted the musky smell of mold and dried sweat on the boy’s dinosaur sweater. Heat radiated from his skin in waves.

  “I’m here with you,” she said. Soft. Words just for him, a gift he appeared to be responding to.

  “This whole thing sucks so bad,” he said between sobs. “I’m not crying. I’m not.”

  “I know. You’re a brave young man.”

  Robby snorted, wiped his eyes. “But I am scared.”

  “Are you kidding? Me too. I’m terrified all the time. For my daughter, for me. Terrified of this place.” In a very hushed tone. “Terrified of her,” Emily said, tilting her head in Woods’ direction.

  Robby caved, even managed half a giggle. “Really?”

  “Oh, laws yeah.” Emily gave him a small shove with her shoulder. He pushed back. “You’re not alone here, Robby. Nobody’s perfect. We’re all, well, we’re all sick in different ways. We’re all defective.”