Russell reminds me about the sound of the scream. I say I remember it and he doesn’t have to remind me about it. It came in the middle of the dead night. Russell got up and walked over to the edge of the tent and peered out into the rain. The cry was coming from somewhere far away on the other side of the carrier. Where are you going? I asked. He didn’t respond, just told me to wait a second. I told him hell no and followed after him. We didn’t have our knives yet.
We walked through wet darkness for about ten minutes until we reached the edge of a steel tower, some high building built right into the carrier floor with a couple doors at the base. Russell kept looking around, like someone was going to see us sneaking around, but no one was out there but us. I didn’t think that was strange because it was the middle of the night.
He looked into a few of the windows on the tower and didn’t see anything, and neither did I, so we went inside. I wanted to know what the hell we were doing, why we were nosing around when they were treating us so good. All he said was because something isn’t right. And we have to make sure it’s all wrong here so that we can steal a boat and take off tomorrow. I followed him through a dark hallway to where a thin line of light shone, and then we heard the screaming again but it was very loud, right near us. We’d found the source of the painful noise. It was a room with a large glass window. The strangest part was, it was all frosted over with ice. Like a giant freezer. And then Russell crept up to it and pushed his face against the glass and I can still remember his breath hitting the iced glass and melting a small spot of it. He looked in through the spot. I pushed against him to see too. There was a long tube coming out of someone’s body. The body was jacked into some kind of pump and it was making a small noise. And what the screams had been, he knew right away: the person had woken up when they should have been dead. That’s what Russell said afterward. But either way, it was red, the tube. It was a line of their blood, Russell says. And that was a freezer. I remember all the barrels in there, lined in a row, neatly stacked, iced over, one after the next. Frozen blood. All of it stored for whoever the hell is really running this ship, Russell said in the triangle tarp after we got back. We both stayed awake all night. He talked about what probably happened to the rest of the bodies after the blood was gone. They don’t waste one bit of a body. They’re in this for the long haul. Professional, clean living face eaters.
I don’t know how no one caught on that we knew what was happening on that barge. I know I must have worn it on my face over the next two days as Russell planned our escape. But we were never caught. We looked into the faces of the ones who rescued us and told them how lovely it was on their barge, and how nice things were. Each day we were on board, at least another two or three people were found and brought back to the barge, plucked from somewhere out on the eternal ocean surrounding us.
We never found out how they kept the freezer room working, or where the rest of those bodies were stored after all the blood was extracted, or why that one person woke up during the pumping. Russell had it figured that we only had a matter of days before it was our turn on the pump. He stole a pair of motor boat keys, a rifle, and we left in the middle of the night. There was a gunshot, and then another in the empty gray night as we sped away over calm waters, but nothing hit us. They let us go, like we didn’t matter. No one chased.
I asked Russell what he really thought was going on there. He said it’s a way to survive. And that they might have let us in on it, or made us part of the supply, but it was no way we were going to survive. That’s no veneer either, he kept saying, as if they’re appearance of having survival all figured out was just clouds and smoke. It didn’t matter, he said, that they seemed nice and everything was working well for them on the outside. It had to do with the way they were getting by. That’s no veneer. And the stinking food. Their preferences have changed—they would rather have human, Russell said. No veneer.
I can remember the long island shape of that carrier disappearing in the black as we sped west, not knowing where the hell we were going, totally unaware that the horror of Sioux Falls lay in wait for us. The rain hit us, but there was a tarp on the boat, and we’d taken enough food to last two weeks. And the motor boat was full of gas. And everything was quiet on that water, and the beautiful hope that had come into my spirit had been killed just as fast as born. I kept thinking I’d hear a motor boat coming after us, but none came. They had it too good on that ship to care.
Russell finishes reminding me about Rochester and tells me we don’t know anything about the people here in Utah. He says he’s known me for fourteen years, and I’ve known him just as long, but these are strangers, and the sooner we can get out from under their generosity, the better. He asks if anyone’s done anything for me that they said I wouldn’t have to repay the favor for. I say I think Dusty did. Russell isn’t happy to hear it. He says there’s something that doesn’t feel right about the blind kindness these people have. Something that doesn’t feel right at all. And he’s downright ready to go find our canoe right now, way down on the muddy ridge, and flip out all the water, and break our tent down and grab our sack and jump in and head out into the canvas. Leave all this uncertainty behind us, and head for the one thing that’s certain. I tell him Leadville is just as certain as that barge was. Clouds and smoke. He doesn’t say anything because he knows I’m right. And he’s starting to feel sick again so he lies back down. I climb right on the bed with him, just barely fitting, and lie with my bad arm across his chest. He sighs again and I tell him that no matter what we do, we’ll do it together. I don’t know if this comforts him or not, but he falls asleep just when I say it. And the warm fuzzy feeling of the pain medicine rolls through me, up my body in happy waves, and then into my brain, settling it, and I’m out too.
Chapter 9
I wake up to the feeling of a hand on my arm. It’s tapping me. I open my eyes. Dusty is staring at me. I see the top of Voley’s tail wagging behind him. Come with me, he says. I slowly dislodge from Russell, who is still sleeping. The sky is dark through the tarp around us, and the fire has made it warm everywhere. I stand up, still groggy, and Dusty drags me off through one of the hallways. Pretty soon we’re back in his home, and we sit down at the table. I look to the tarp flap that leads out to the mountain ridge, where the face eaters attacked from. I wonder if there are more out there. It’s like Dusty senses my thoughts though, and he tells me they’ve set an extra watch tonight, but there shouldn’t be any more attacks. I fix on his face, studying it, the curve of his chin, and his lips, and his eyes that look like they’re feeding on me. I think of Rochester, and Russell’s warning, and I realize how right he is. We don’t know anyone here, and we can’t trust anyone here. But even when I’m looking for it, I don’t feel any malice in Dusty or in Marvolo. I’m torn. How does your arm feel, Dusty asks. I almost forgot about it. I look it over, following the white gauze, noticing with relief that the red blood spot is still the same size as it was earlier. I feel okay, I say. And then he loses his smile, like something urgent has come into his mind, and everything up until now has been a pretense for something he wants to tell me. He doesn’t say anything though, so I look away before it becomes awkward. I look at the hard plastic flooring, miraculously dry. I ask what’s wrong. I ask because I feel like he’s sitting on some big problem, but he’s not coughing it up unless I prod him.
“You were really good,” he says. I look back up to him, and his smile’s back. Russell taught me to shoot, I say, even though I know I missed as many times as I hit with the pistol. I think of the gun, and where it might be now. I didn’t expect them to just give me a gun, but when I’d had it, I felt a lot safer. I almost ask Dusty if I can have it back to keep, but I know better. And I grow cautious about asking for anything we might have to pay back later, and I’m on alert for any offers that seem too good to be true—gestures of help that don’t need to be repaid, like on the carrier in Rochester. But there’s already been a lot of those. The shower, the medical care, the
shelter, the clothes. I’m becoming more and more paranoid. And Russell’s in the other room. Where’s your dad? I ask to break the silence. He’s with Linda, says Dusty. He tells me that Linda is his dad’s girlfriend, and that his real mom died a long time ago, but that Linda’s been like his real mom ever since. She’s the one who took care of your arm, he tells me. I almost regret the help that probably saved my life, like the bandage on my arm is a debt. But Marvolo comes up and licks my hand and sits right next to me, and I look down at him, and he’s calm and happy. Innocence in his eyes. I look at Dusty and I think I see the same thing. But I’m all mixed up now from what Russell said. Then Dusty finally admits why he woke me up.
“We’re going to be leaving here,” he says. I’m not sure what to say, or why he’s telling me. The tarp city here is huge, and has so many supplies, that I can’t understand why anyone would even consider leaving. The next thing I think is that if they are leaving, and everyone’s abandoning this place, Russell and I can stay behind and make it our own fortress. All alone, just the two of us, our own Leadville. I don’t ask if that would be okay.
“Reports say the face eaters are going to keep coming. More of them than before,” he says. They’re getting desperate he explains, and the drugs they’re getting near Salt Lake are different now—they’re able to go long distances without food. And the manner of their killings has changed. It’s rape and cannibalism now, Dusty says. The two urges mixed into one terrible act. They’ve bent up their brains, he says. The types of killings that have been happening are too horrible to describe. And the attack we just fought off has become the norm here. He says that his dad told him the barge is going to be stocked and everyone able will move out on it in a couple days. West to the Sierra Nevada mountains. He asks if we’ll come. I wonder what able means.
“I don’t know,” I say after another awkward moment. I don’t admit that I know Russell won’t go. It’s a mistake, he’ll say, to keep going west from Utah. We’d be going to high seas, too close to the Pacific. Russell has told me again and again that the oceans are the last place we want to go near. The Pacific is swooping up into the sky, he’s always said. Like a giant vacuum, and it’s carrying anyone stupid enough to go that way up with it. And that’s where the rain’s coming from. We have to go south. Dusty looks at me without saying a word, like my uncertainty isn’t good enough. Let me show you it, he says. He’s got a look of excitement and adventure that doesn’t fit the terrible news he’s just told me. But there it is, like he’s optimistic about the voyage into the sea that will lead away from this beautiful place. A home with fire and hot water and food. A home that’s dry. A home that’s shown me a mirage of the veneer.
Show me what? I ask. And the question is enough to bring his hand down on top of mine. He pulls me up to my feet, brings me over to the shelf, gives me a plastic suit to slip on, picks up his rifle, and drags me out into the rain.
The night air isn’t too cold, and neither is the rain. It’s like it’s warmer down here in Utah. But I don’t trust it. The rain is still coming down at medium, and it pelts off the hood of my suit loudly. Dusty takes my arm again and tugs me a little bit. Voley is bounding ahead of us as if his leg isn’t bothering him very much, his own gauze wrapped under plastic that covers his injury. We’re going right out into the brown wilderness where the face eaters came from. Are you sure this is safe? I ask. I look around, then back at the comfort of the blue tarp behind us, wondering what the hell he’s thinking. Everything I want is in there. But he’s leading me away into the blank nothing, the muddy slopes that go on into death country.
We follow a thin trail up the ridge where the face eaters first appeared from. The darkness blends the sea and the land and I realize I don’t even see the tarps behind us anymore. It’s like I’m back in Wyoming on the empty Bighorns. But he leads me on, getting a couple feet ahead. Voley has disappeared in front of both of us, running ahead like he’s been this way a thousand times before.
I push through rocky mud streams, soaking my feet before long, wondering when the hell the scenery will change, and where the hell we’re going. Where are we going? I ask, but Dusty ignores me and keeps going. He just looks back to make sure I’m following him. And I suddenly feel like something’s not right about this. Panic rises in me and I consider sprinting back to the tarps and waking Russell. Could Dusty be tricking me? My mind wanders to the bank where we landed the canoe and put up our tent. Our supply bag is still down there. I feel the sudden pressure of time, like there’s a small window of it that I have now to get free and escape, and if I don’t act now by running back, everything will be lost. We have to get back to the canoe and push out, start south again, a voice whispers in my head. But I pause and ignore my apprehension at the sight of the summit. I’ve almost caught up to Dusty where he’s standing still, looking forward and then back to me eagerly, like he’s now able to see something important. I forget my plan to escape and race up the last few feet to get next to him and Voley.
The brown flat canvas of water stretches out to infinity in front of me, and I can see everything. The wide expanse of water, the rising ridges of the Utah mountains that surround our island, and there, directly down the hill before us, an opening bay. In it, there is a light colored square extension from the bank. It’s an enormous barge with several small boats tied up together. The barge looks like it’s been put together from random pieces of aluminum and wood, with two high poles stretching into the night sky on either end of it. From the poles are limp coils of canvas, which I guess are makeshift sails. It looks far from sea worthy, but it excites Dusty beyond words.
“That’s what you’re going to take to the Sierra Nevada mountains?” I say. It’s hard to believe. It looks like it’ll go under with the smallest crashing swells. I want to tell him about the Sea Queen Marie, and how well built she was, and how that didn’t matter when a hurricane hit. Its nose broke into the water and it flooded and sank. This thing wouldn’t survive even a small gale. But I don’t say anything, because I’ve already decided I would never set foot on the thing. But he asks me if I think it’s beautiful. And to look at how big it is. I tell him it is big, but I don’t say anything else.
“We’re going to load her up over the next couple days,” Dusty tells me. His dad’s been funneling him all the information, he says. The final plan has been made, and everyone will pile on that giant raft, and the small boats, and head west. I almost plead with him, What do you think is out there? In the west that close to the Pacific?
He looks at me and thinks about his answer but never gives it. He just tells me he’s asked his dad if I can come. His dad said yes. He doesn’t even mention Russell. I ask him why he’d want me to come. He says I’ve proved my worth. I shoot well enough. I know he’s lying. His face is dark under the night sky and the lip of his hood. Rain rolls down his plastic and hits a tiny stream that snakes down toward the bay. The alarm that he hasn’t mentioned Russell creeps into my mind. I tell him I could never leave Russell, and he tells me Russell is coming too. You don’t know Russell, I say.
We stand for a moment in silence. He’s clearly in awe at the sight of the barge, like it’s been a long process for him, for them, the tarpers here, and it is the culmination of some long effort. It’s some sort of twisted salvation for them, despite that it looks to me like suicide. I can’t get past how sloppy the thing looks, and I think of the much bigger carrier, and how sturdy that looked in comparison. I have to wait until Russell is better to decide, I tell him. But it’s a lie. I don’t want to go. I’ll stay back with Russell on this island. We can hole up, defend against the hordes of face eaters. Keep close to the fire. Found our own Leadville. But I don’t say any of this. I can help you convince him, Dusty tells me. And he comes closer to me. I look at Marvolo so I don’t have to see his beautiful face. Voley runs down the hill some, splashing up muddy water. Hey, says Dusty. I feel his eyes watching me. I want to ask him a million questions, tell him my fears about our situation, even Russell�
�s fears that this place isn’t what it appears to be—Dusty, his dad, all the tarpers. I want to tell him places like this don’t exist anymore. And it’s all a con, too good to be true, and somewhere along the way, we’re going to be used up for something evil, some broken version of the veneer. But I don’t tell him any of my thoughts or ask him any more questions. I can’t because he wraps me in his arms. At first it’s strange, because the rain is running off his suit and hood and some of it is splashing in my face. I feel like I’m betraying Russell for some strange reason, just by being here alone and talking about all this. But Dusty reaches under my chin and points my head up so I have to look at him now.
“When I first saw you…” Dusty starts. I look at him, taking in all of him, and I feel my attraction for him flare. I wonder about what love really is. Or if it is the same thing as emotions. And what I feel burning in my body all of a sudden, and how does one really know if they love a person. “I’ve never seen anyone like you,” he finishes. I don’t even know what he means, but there’s something about how he says it that makes me want to tell him that’s how I’ve felt about him. That I can’t understand why but my body is telling me it wants him to stay this close.
“Don’t you think it’s all pointless?” I ask him, the gnawing idea that the veneer is dead erupting in the back of my mind. That whatever this feeling is, it’s useless and pointless because it doesn’t help keep us alive, keep us moving, keep us heading to a place where it isn’t raining. But Dusty doesn’t know what I’m referring to, I can see by the confusion that lights up in his eyes. I tell him I mean love. I admit the word. And it falls out of my mouth like a forbidden artifact from Philadelphia and Pittsburg, something that’s been long ago laid to rest and been made a forever taboo.
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