Shy scoffed. “More like I’m thinking about how her old man’s the devil. You know that company’s gonna be looking for us, right?”
Carmen didn’t say anything.
Just kept staring at him.
When her silence became awkward, Shy hopped into their hole. It was almost knee-deep now, but Shoeshine wanted it twice that depth so that the bodies would stay buried. “Addie’s dad is the reason we’re digging these graves,” he reminded Carmen. “You know that, right?”
“Exactly,” Carmen said. “Addie’s dad. Not Addie herself.”
“They’re blood, though, Carm.” Shy set down his shovel and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. He could already feel blisters forming. “It’s gotta fall on her some, too.”
“What if she was just as ignorant about all that shit as me and you? What then?”
“She wasn’t, though,” Shy said.
“How do you know?”
Shy thought back to the Addie he’d grown close to on the lifeboat. Her tangled blond hair falling over the scared look on her face. She had seemed genuinely naive when they sat there brainstorming what her dad’s company might have been trying to cover up. But something changed when they got back to the island. She no longer looked at him the same way.
Carmen stood upright outside their ditch. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Shy could vaguely make out Carmen smoothing strands of hair underneath her beanie. “First of all,” she went on, “you don’t know shit about girls, all right? I looked in that heina’s eyes when I took her to get cleaned up. She didn’t know nothin’. Trust me. Second of all, I can’t believe you got me sticking up for a blanquita.”
Shy started digging again.
He hated when Carmen stuck up for Addie. When a girl had zero jealousy it meant she also had zero feelings. Which Shy already sort of knew, but didn’t want to know. “If you’d heard our last conversation,” he told her, “you’d see it differently.”
“What conversation?”
“On the island,” he said. “Outside the restaurant when she told me bye. She knew she was about to go on that helicopter with her dad. And you know what that means, right?”
Carmen didn’t say anything.
“She probably knew what those supposed researchers were about to do to us, too.” Shy pictured the men pulling out their machine guns on the beach, gunning down all the innocent passengers who were lined up, waiting to be rescued.
Carmen was quiet for a long time. She just stood there in the dark, holding her shovel, staring into their hole.
“You got nothing to say about that part?” Shy finally asked her.
“If that shit’s true,” she finally said, turning to him, “I swear to God, Shy. I’ll find that bitch.”
Shy went back to digging.
He could still feel Carmen’s eyes on him.
10
Carmen’s Man
They’d been digging silently for a good ten, fifteen minutes, when Shy asked: “What about you, Carm? You think about your boy Brad a lot?”
“Brett,” Carmen corrected him.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said Brad.” She stopped shoveling. “And of course I think about him.”
Shy wished he could see her eyes so he’d know how much sadness was there. Words didn’t tell you anything compared to someone’s eyes.
“We were supposed to get married in, what? Like two months? Now I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
Shy pushed his shovel into the earth, thinking about the crack in Carmen’s voice. It seemed important. After a long silence he stopped and looked up at her. “Brett’s alive,” he heard himself say.
Carmen wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “Don’t be a chingado, Shy.”
“I’m serious,” he said.
She was quiet for a few seconds. “And how would you know?”
Shy shrugged, though he was pretty sure she couldn’t tell in the dark. “I just got this feeling he’s okay.”
As Shy went back to digging, he made a decision. He would never wish something bad on this guy—Brad or Brett or whatever his name was—because if you tried to land a girl on the back of someone else’s misfortune, it made you a punk. And Shy was maybe a lot of things, some good, some bad, but he definitely wasn’t no punk.
“Thanks,” Carmen told him after a long pause. “Even if it’s not true, it means a lot that you’d say that, Shy.”
He acted like he was too busy digging to hear her.
11
Burying the Dead
An hour later, the four of them were standing over the ditch Shy and Carmen had dug, staring down at the decomposing bodies of the two young girls they’d just carried awkwardly out of the motor home. The bodies lay side by side now, illuminated by the flashlight Carmen aimed into the grave, her silent tears falling onto them.
Shy’s eyes were dry, but something in his brain had snapped. He couldn’t stop thinking about what they were doing. Burying two innocent kids who’d been shot by their dad so they no longer had to suffer.
Shy felt sick to his stomach. Because he knew it wasn’t just these girls, it was thousands of kids, all across the state. Kids like his nephew, Miguel. All of them dying horrific deaths because of a disease created in a lab. A disease created to make a pharmaceutical company billions of dollars.
And who was the mastermind of it all?
Addie’s dad.
Mr. Miller.
Shy made himself a promise as he stared down into the grave. If he ever came face to face with Mr. Miller again, he’d put his ass in a grave, too. After making him suffer. Even if it meant being thrown into prison for the rest of his life. Even if it meant the electric chair. It would be worth it. Someone had to make him pay for what he’d done.
Shy was seething now, as he watched Shoeshine reach down into the grave and take one of the little girl’s hands. The man gripped her cold palm between his two big, leathery black mitts and kissed it. He sucked on all of her fingers, one at a time. And then he began to hum.
Shy frowned and turned to Carmen and Marcus, who seemed just as baffled as he was.
The melody wasn’t anything Shy recognized, but it was simple and sad and made him think of church hymns—though Shoeshine had told them on the sailboat that he wasn’t the least bit religious.
As Shoeshine circled back through the song a second time, Shy found his vision getting blurry. He wiped away a tear on his cheek before anyone could see it. Maybe it was the sadness of the song. Or the sight of the girls piled together. Or the putrid smell coming off them in waves. Maybe it was the accumulation of all this and everything else he’d witnessed since boarding the cruise ship so many weeks ago.
He was seventeen.
Not yet a man because he was too soft. Because he still allowed everything to penetrate his skin. Because he didn’t know how to suppress the crazy images circling inside his head.
Soon Shy found himself humming, too. He did so quietly at first. Blending his voice underneath Shoeshine’s so that only he himself could hear it. And he pictured Mr. Miller. And Addie. And the feeling of revenge. But soon he was humming louder.
Carmen turned to look at him.
He didn’t meet her eyes thinking she might laugh at him. She didn’t laugh, though. She began humming, too.
So did Marcus.
The four of them crouched in the small yard, behind the ruined DMV building, humming down into a homemade grave where two dead girls lay.
Instead of feeling corny, the sound of their collective voices felt calming. Like Shy could breathe again underneath all the darkness.
At the end of the song, Shoeshine scooped both hands into the pile of loose soil Shy and Carmen had left, and dropped a handful onto the two small corpses.
Shy kneeled down beside him and scooped some soil of his own. He paused for a few seconds to glance at Carmen. Then he let the dirt pour through his fingers, into the grave.
12
DJ DAN: …that we have guests from the other side, but tonight we’re fortunate to have a young woman named Cassandra—though she wants to be clear that this is only an alias. She’s also speaking into a voice-altering device, isn’t that right, Cassandra?
CASSANDRA: No one can ever find out about this. [Pause.] You can just call me Cassie.
DJ DAN: Cassie. Good. As most of you already know, this satellite station is scrambled outside of California. Why? Because if the rest of the population learned how horrific conditions are here in California, the negative reaction could be enough to derail the government’s current strategy of isolation. But a few people, like Cassie, manage to find us on the Deep Web, an unregulated layer of the Internet. [Pause.] Cassie, before you reach out to your friend, I’m hoping you can answer a few questions for us.
CASSANDRA: I can’t stay on here very long. [Pause.] But okay.
DJ DAN: Great. Because this is a rare opportunity for me and my listeners. [Pause.] Now, from what we understand, this newly erected border runs from Mexicali, Mexico, all the way up to Madras, Oregon. Is that right?
CASSANDRA: That’s what I heard.
DJ DAN: And it’s armed with military personnel?
CASSANDRA: The part where I am is.
DJ DAN: And you’re speaking to us from just east of this border, in Avondale, Arizona. Is that correct?
CASSANDRA: Exactly. I’m in Friendship Park, where all the scientists are. [Pause.] But I won’t be here much longer, actually. I’m planning to cross over with a group that’s starting a bus passage.
DJ DAN: So it’s true. Some people are crossing over to help. Crossing over illegally, I might add.
CASSANDRA: There are a lot of people doing it. People want to help.
DJ DAN: In spite of the disease.
CASSANDRA: Exactly.
DJ DAN: Well, we can certainly use all the help we can get. We’re not getting it from the government, that’s for sure. [Pause.] Do we know if scientists are getting any closer to a vaccine? Have they replenished the treatment drug yet?
CASSANDRA: They mostly keep that stuff off the news, so I’m not sure. [Pause.] But I will say this. A ton of money has been raised for research. I’ve heard stories about regular people donating their entire life savings.
DJ DAN: We understand little shantytowns have started popping up along the border. Do you know anything about that?
CASSANDRA: They’re on both sides. Here it’s scientists, like I said. And military people. And some rescue workers. Relief helicopters come and go all through the day. On your side there are tents lined up on the other side of the river. I guess it’s people trying to get as far away from the disease as they can.
DJ DAN: The river Cassie’s referring to is the Agua Fria. It’s usually dry, but the earthquakes caused it to fill again. Can you confirm for us, Cassie, that all bridges going over the river have been destroyed?
CASSANDRA: I’m pretty sure. [Pause.] Is it okay if I say the message for my friend now?
DJ DAN: Yes, of course. I’m just trying to give my listeners a better understanding of what’s going on. As I said, it’s not often we talk to someone on your side.
CASSANDRA: It’s just…I can’t stay on much longer.
DJ DAN: I understand. Now, please, your message.
CASSANDRA: Okay. [Pause.] Also, I have to explain it in a story, so it won’t make much sense to anyone else.
DJ DAN: Whatever you need to do.
CASSANDRA: Okay. [Clears throat.] So once upon a time there was this boy. And there was this girl. And they went to a beach, separately, and went swimming in the surf. Separately. But while they were out there, the tide forced them together and they started talking. At first they didn’t get along at all because of their differences. He was one thing, and she was pretty much the opposite.
The more they talked, though, the more they got to know one another. Eventually it got so they stopped noticing the waves breaking all around them. Or how strong the tide was. Or how much the water temperature had dropped. I’m not saying it was, like, true love or whatever. I’m just saying something happened between them in those waves. Something important.
The girl knew that once they got back to the beach, the spell would be broken. The boy would rejoin his friends, and the girl would rejoin hers. Because society doesn’t allow two people from opposite worlds to exist in the same one. [Pause.] Maybe that’s the main problem with this country, actually. That two people can end up so separate in the first place. Anyway, they talked for hours and hours, but eventually they were pulled to shore by a man. A sort of lifeguard, you could say. And just as the girl expected, the two were immediately yanked in different directions. Even when they talked, they couldn’t really talk. And then they ended up so far away from each other that talking became impossible. But the girl never forgot about the boy.
DJ DAN: And she started looking for ways to reconnect, is that right?
CASSANDRA: Actually, no. [Clears throat.] She knew that part was impossible. But she needed to warn him about something. [Pause.] Have you ever heard of an old brand of shoe polish called Shinola, sir?
DJ DAN: Shinola. I have, actually.
CASSANDRA: Well, back when these two were in the water together, the boy told the girl a story about this shoe polish. At the time, the girl said it was the saddest story she’d ever heard. Which it was. But once she left the beach, she discovered something much worse. A group of people she knew wanted the Shinola brand off the market.
DJ DAN: You’ve lost me, Cassie, but I trust your friend has understood—
CASSANDRA: There’s one last thing, sir. These anti-Shinola people…they know about the sailboat. And they know about the letter. It’s important for the Shinola company to understand two things: I have the missing page. And not every government helicopter is there to drop off food….
Day 45
13
Protection
Shy woke up on the dog-hair-covered rug, next to Carmen’s cot, aware only of a smoky smell and a subtle rocking of the motor-home floor.
His first thought: another earthquake.
Or an aftershock.
He climbed to his feet and looked around. The bright curtains told him it was morning. Nothing from the shelves had fallen. The flat-screen TV was still mounted on the wall. But there was smoke creeping out of the heating vent in the wall.
Shoeshine hurried past him toward the kitchen.
Carmen was still curled up, sleeping. Marcus was passed out against the opposite wall holding his battery-less radio.
When Shy heard something outside the motor home, he quickly turned toward the window. It sounded like some kind of engine. A motorcycle engine.
“Shoe!” he barked. “You hear that?”
Shoeshine continued rifling through the cupboards beneath the kitchen sink, sifting through buckets of cleaning supplies, opening and closing the fridge, the silverware drawer.
“Is it those bikers we heard about?” Shy said, aware of the fear in his voice. He swallowed hard and made a move for the kitchen window, but Shoeshine snatched him by the wrist.
“Keep away from the windows!”
The look in Shoeshine’s eyes told Shy they were in deep shit.
Carmen was up now, too, eyes darting all around the motor home. “What is it?” she kept repeating. “What’s happening?”
Marcus pressed his palms against the motor home floor. “It’s another earthquake!”
“No earthquake,” Shoeshine said, shooing Carmen off the cot. “And stay away from the windows, you hear?” He flipped the mattress, ran his hands along the seams, then dropped it back on its frame and broke for the bathroom.
Shy hurried behind him, remembering the two kids in shower caps he’d seen when they first discovered the motor home. They must have told somebody. The Suzuki Gang. And now they were outside.
“What are you looking for?” Shy called out to Shoeshine.
The
man ripped open the shower curtain, revealing the bloody tub. The smell. But no bodies. “Gotta be another cartridge somewhere,” Shoeshine muttered to himself. “Or some other weapon. He believed in protection.”
“Who?” Shy said. “You still have the gun, right?”
Shoeshine gave Shy a blank look. Then he moved toward the medicine cabinet and flung it open and brushed all the small tubes and bottles onto the floor. He stood there, staring at them.
Shy’s heart was in his throat.
What if the Suzuki gang came in after them?
The motor home was rocking more dramatically now. Like they were trying to tip it over. And there was smoke creeping along the bathroom ceiling, making it hard to breathe.
Shy now realized what Shoeshine was looking for. If a gun held six bullets, and each dead body they’d found in the bathroom accounted for one shot, including the dog, the gun Shoeshine had was down to one bullet. He was looking for ammo.
A loud blast came from outside.
The sound of glass shattering inside the motor home.
Shy spun toward the main cabin. Someone had shot out one of the windows. He dove to the floor just as he heard a second shot. And he huddled there with Carmen and Shoeshine, the three of them staring at each other wide-eyed.
Marcus appeared in the doorway, out of breath. Frantic. “There’s four of ’em. On motorcycles. They got gas masks and a blowtorch.”
“I said stay away from the windows!” Shoeshine barked. He grabbed Marcus by the collar and yanked him to the ground. “Best listen to me, boy!”
“They’re trying to set us on fire!” Carmen shouted. She grabbed Shy’s arm, pulled him toward the bathroom door on her knees. “We can’t stay here!”
Shy held his ground, watching Marcus slam his fist into the wall, watching Shoeshine stand and close the cabinet door, then turn suddenly toward the toilet. The man lifted the plastic cover off the tank and tossed it to the floor. “Here!” he shouted, reaching into the tank.
Shoeshine pulled out a dripping-wet metal box and set it on the floor and tried opening the thing, but it was locked. Another shot rang out. Shoeshine stood again, holding on to the sink, and kicked down onto the small metal lock, but all he did was dent the lid.
The Hunted Page 5