Going Bovine

by Libba Bray

  Gonzo’s still riled up. “I had appendicitis when I was eight, and she had to leave an audition to rush me to the ER. Okay?”

  “I’m sure she’s a good mom.”

  “She’s great. A great mom. When we get to a town, I’m out of here. I’m going back, dude. If the world ends, it ends. You’re on your own.”

  “Whatever. Just keeping looking, all right?” I walk left and Gonzo goes right.

  I feel like I’ve been swallowing stones. My muscles ache and my legs are heavy. The air is thick with the smells of cow dung, tractor exhaust, road dust, flowers, and something else. My eyes sting and my throat’s irritated. Smoke. Could be crops burning. Small brush fire, maybe. So why is the hair on the back of my neck creeping to attention?

  I whirl around, searching for the source. In the distance, Gonzo’s silhouette flickers around the edges, distorted by the squiggles of heat rising from the road. I start to call out, but my feet are summer-sidewalk hot. I hop back just as small puncture holes pop up along the ground. There’s a hiss from below, and before I can shout a warning, the asphalt splits open with the force of a geyser. Steam, smoke, and flames shoot into the sky. The force of it knocks me back a few feet. I land hard, feeling the sting as my shirt is torn and my back is bloodied by gravel. One by one, the fire giants crawl out of the broken road and push themselves up. In the time it takes me to gasp, they zoom up to about eight feet and fan out into positions like loyal soldiers. The way ahead is consumed by an orange wall of heat.

  “Gonzo!” I yell, but I can’t see him. It’s too bright.

  The fire giants stare down at me with their baleful eyes, and I feel myself sinking. I don’t even know how to fight these guys. There’s a stick on the road. I grab it and start swinging, Star Fighter style. The fire gods seem to find it amusing. They throw their heads back in a laughing howl that makes me shiver. One of them darts his head forward and flicks a serpentlike tongue around the stick. A red glow shoots up the wood. With a hiss, I drop it fast and it disintegrates.

  Several slink forward on all fours and sniff me. One growls. They’re through fucking around. Their breath heats my skin. Suddenly, they pull up short. A van’s cruising down the road. The sun’s reflecting off the windshield. I have to put my hand to my eyes to block the glare.

  “Hey!” I shout, waving my arms. “Over here! Help!”

  I try to crawl toward it, but a fire giant blows me back. My body screams in pain as I tumble along the pavement. I try to get up but I can’t.

  “Gonzo!” I croak.

  The fire god pries open my mouth and covers it with his. He breathes out, filling my lungs with choking smoke. My body shakes. Somebody’s pushing against my chest in a hard rhythm.

  “Page Dr. Xavier!” Glory shouts. I’m on a gurney, watching the fluorescent ceiling lights strobe over me fast. Mom’s running alongside, trying to keep one hand on the metal rail. She looks worried. I’m pushed through wide doors. More lights. Hard on my eyes. God, my body hurts so bad. Like I’m being burned with lit matches.

  I fight to clear my head.

  “Give me suction now!” somebody calls. And then I hear my name again and again.

  “Cameron!” It’s Gonzo’s yelling. He’s running up the road. “Dude—watch out!”

  The next thing I know, I’m on the pavement of Farm Route 44 with a van headed right for me. I shut my eyes tight. There’s a screech of braking tires. I can smell the scorched rubber and the pungent mix of hot gasoline and motor oil. When I open my eyes, my head is an inch from the front bumper. I see feet running toward me.

  “Is he okay?” A girl crouches next to me. She’s pretty in a neohippie sort of way. Her T-shirt reads CESSNAB CRUSADERS.

  A guy in a baseball cap comes over and checks me out, shining a little flashlight in my eyes, checking my pupils. He’s got the same CESSNAB shirt on. They all do. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed, friend. Can you stand up?”

  The guy helps me to my feet, but I’m shaking all over and I have to lean against him to walk.

  “Easy there, friend. Do you live around here? Where are your parents?”

  “Holy shit!” Gonzo says, running up. “Dude, you okay?”

  The guy in the baseball cap frowns. “Friend, could I ask you to watch your language? There are ladies present.”

  Gonzo looks like somebody just took the pudding snack out of his lunch box. “Uh, sure. Sorry.”

  “I think you should come back with us,” the guy says, turning back to me. “We’ve got a doctor at our compound who can make sure you don’t have a concussion or something else nasty, okay?”

  I nod and it’s like a tiny revolver has fired inside my skull, pinging every part of my head with pain bullets.

  “What’s your name, friend?”

  “Why do you want to know?” Gonzo asks.

  The guy holds up his hands. “I only want to help, friend.”

  “I’m Cameron,” I say. “And this is Gonzo.”

  “I’m Daniel.” The guy shakes my hand, which also hurts. He introduces the others, including the hippie girl, whose name is Ruth. “I’m just gonna move stuff around, get the van ready. Be right back.”

  Gonzo grabs hold of my arm and my skin screams in protest. “Cam, dude, I don’t think we should get in the van. We don’t know these guys. They could be serial killers.”

  “They’re not serial killers. They have matching shirts.”

  “Think: who has vans, huh? Soccer moms and serial killers. They mentioned a compound. And ‘getting the van ready.’ Ready for what?”

  “You’re tripping.”

  “Dude. I’m not getting in that van.”

  The dust on the road stings my eyes. I’m hungry and tired and scared. “Then stay here. I’m going with them.”

  A smiling Daniel ambles over and puts his arm around me. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you, Cameron.”

  “We’ve got snacks in the van,” Ruth says. “I’ll bet you could use a snack.”

  They belt me into a seat in back. Gonzo’s still on the side of the road, looking panicked. “Cameron, don’t you think we should wait here till your aunt and uncle come to pick us up? You know, your aunt and uncle, who are supposed to meet us out here any minute?”

  “We can have them pick you up at the CESSNAB,” Daniel says. I don’t know what a CESSNAB is and I don’t care. Right now, I just want to drink a vat of water and lie down for about two days. I can barely hold my head up.

  Daniel extends a hand to Gonzo. “You coming, friend?”

  Ruth smiles. “We’ll take you bowling.”

  Gonzo’s revving as hard as the engine, like he doesn’t know whether to be more freaked out about getting in the van with a bunch of possible serial killers or to take his chances alone by the side of a road in Godonlyknowswhere, Mississippi. I decide that Possible Serial Killers would make a good band name. I promise myself if I’m cured, I’ll start that band.

  “Okay,” Gonzo says, climbing in at last. “But I want to sit by the door.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Of What Happens When I Bowl a Perfect Strike and Learn Not to Hurt My Happiness

  Once we hit the road, the Possible Serial Killers start to sing a song I don’t know. Something about showing your happiness and loving your happiness and defending your happiness. One of the guys tries to ad-lib some “oh yeah’s” until Ruth frowns and tells him it’s “a little competitive” and “off message” and he stops.

  I polish off a huge bag of pretzels and a big bottle of water, then fall asleep. When I wake up, we’re driving up to a sprawling, glass-and-stone building on about a gazillion acres of land. At the far end is a bank with three drive-thru lanes. Everything is new. You can practically smell the paint. And out on the lawn is a big sign that reads CHURCH OF EVERLASTING SATISFACTION AND SNACK-’N’-BOWL.

  The van pulls into a freshly paved parking lot. The white lines are sharp. The whole place seems to sparkle. Gonzo’s the first one out when the door
s slide open. He’s still in serial killer mode. Daniel gives me a hand getting to the door of the building. He punches in an elaborate alarm code and we walk in past two uniformed security guards. Daniel calls to them by name.

  “Hey, Peter. Hey, Matthew.”

  They wave and get back to their heavy task of watching the mostly empty parking lot.

  “How are you feeling?” Daniel asks.

  “Better. Tired.”

  Daniel smiles, pats my back. “You’ve come to the right spot for healing. You’ll see.”

  At first, I think we’re in a mall. There’s a food court with about six different kinds of cuisine. Fake ferns. A water fountain. And a bunch of stores. They all have CESSNAB in the name. CESSNAB Shirts. CESSNAB Tunes. CESSNAB Sports. CESSNAB Kids. CESSNAB Tech. There’s even a CESSNAB Tattoo, where you can get forty-two variations on CESSNAB in different fonts or a bowling ball with wings on the side.

  “What’s CESSNAB?” I ask.

  “It’s this place.” Daniel spreads his arms wide. “It stands for Church of Everlasting Satisfaction and Snack ’N’ Bowl.”

  “So it’s a church?” I say quickly.

  “It’s everything. Stores. School. Bowling alley. We’ve got everything we need right here. Cool, huh?”

  Ruth falls in beside us. “Do you want a CESSNAB smoothie? They’re so good!”

  “Great idea, Ruth. Cameron—what flavor do you want? Strawberry?”

  “Banana?” Ruth interjects.

  “Uh, you know. Whatever.”

  Daniel and Ruth smile. “Strawberry-banana!” they say at the same time. Daniel goes off to the CESSNAB Smoothies stand and comes back with four tall take-out cups. “Strawberry-banana.”

  Daniel offers a cup to Gonzo. “Gonzo?”

  Gonzo glares at them. “No thanks. I’m, uh, allergic to strawberries,” he says, which is total bullshit, I’m sure.

  “Gonz, they’re not serial killers. And this is not going to kill you. It’s a smoothie, okay?”

  “I’m allergic,” he says emphatically.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking mine. I drink about half. “Huh. Weird.”

  “What’s that?” Ruth asks.

  “It tastes just like vanilla.”

  “Oh, they’re all vanilla,” Ruth says. “At first, we gave people a choice. But then we found they didn’t like the blueberry as much as they thought they would or they wished they had gotten the strawberry instead, just like their best friends did. It was a big bummer. So we simplified things for them. Now, they can order whatever they want, but in the end, it’s all the same flavor. You’re guaranteed the same experience every single time. And you’re having the same experience as everybody else. Cuts down on things like dissatisfaction, envy, competitiveness, longing, regret. All that bad stuff.”

  “Oh. Huh.” I take another sip. The vanilla’s good, actually. Thick and creamy. I don’t really miss the strawberry and banana that much, I guess. I offer a sip to Gonzo, who glares at me.

  “If you want more, it’s no problem,” Daniel says. “There’s plenty for everybody. Part of the philosophy—no wanting or waiting. No one has to feel dissatisfied. Here, everybody is gratified all the time.”

  Ruth’s face goes dark. “Except for some people.”

  Daniel sighs but it turns into yet another smile. “Some people have a hard time with our beliefs. They have a hard time letting go of the negative.” He makes a pushing away motion with his hands, and Ruth follows suit. “And embracing the positive.” They cross their arms over their chests like they’re hugging themselves. “So they leave and go out there again.”

  “So stupid,” Ruth says.

  “Troubled,” Daniel corrects. “They’re our troubled friends, Ruth, remember.”

  Ruth nods. “Troubled.”

  “No negative thoughts here.”

  “None,” Ruth says, beaming. “We are happy 24/7. Don’t hurt your happiness.”

  “Don’t hurt your happiness,” Daniel echoes. “Here, it’s on our key chains. Have one.”

  He hands me a bright yellow key chain with DON’T HURT YOUR HAPPINESS in flowing, white script.

  “Thanks,” I say. I’m feeling better.

  An alarm sounds. On the walls, domed lights flare red. Gonzo drops to the ground and covers his head with his hands. “I told you, Cameron! Didn’t I tell you?”

  Suddenly, the room is flooded by guys in commando gear. “Move, move, move!” they shout. They pass us by and surround a yellow sofa, where a young guy sits in his pajamas.

  “Team leader! We’ve got a situation!” one of the commandos shouts.

  “Excuse me, Cameron,” Daniel says. He goes over to the kid on the couch. “Thomas, what’s wrong, friend?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. I just started feeling …” He searches for the word. “Sad.”

  Daniel gives Thomas’s shoulders a squeeze and the kid winces. “We don’t feel sad, here, Thomas. Why do you want to hurt your happiness?”

  “I totally don’t! I don’t know what happened. It’s like I just couldn’t help it. I was thinking about the time my dog, Snuffy, got hit by a car when I was six and how I still miss him, and it … the sad just snuck up on me.”

  “Smoothie,” Daniel says to a commando, who opens the right side of his coat, displaying a dazzling array of cups.

  “What flavor?” Daniel asks.

  “Uh … mango?” Thomas answers. The commando hands off the cup and Daniel puts the straw to Thomas’s lips.

  “Here drink this.”

  Thomas takes a few sips like he’s not really thirsty; he’s just being polite. “It tastes like vanilla.”

  Daniel’s really concentrating. “Just tell us what you want, friend. Tell us.”

  Thomas buries his head in his hands. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

  “Here. We’ll help you.” The commando opens the left side of his coat. It’s like a magazine rack of catalogs. Daniel calls them off. “CESSNAB Jeans? CESSNAB Music? CESSNAB Golf? CESSNAB Games?”

  “Games?” Gonzo comes out of his safety crouch.

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know!” The poor guy’s in a panic. Like he’s lost his happiness and can’t remember where he put it.

  Daniel puts a hand on his shoulder. “Thomas. You know what you need? You need to go bowling.”

  This is greeted by a chorus of “Amen’s.”

  “I don’t think …” Thomas starts, but he’s cut off by the choir.

  You’re special.

  I’m special.

  They’re special.

  The whole world’s special, so don’t you forget it.

  The Universe wants us

  All to be happy,

  Full of smiles and all that stuff,

  All that stuff

  That’s happy and smiley.

  So get happy, happy, happy right now!

  Get happy, happy, happy right now!

  Get happy, happy, happy right now!

  “Come with us,” Ruth says, taking Gonzo and me by the hand as Daniel and Thomas lead the way to a set of wide double doors with the winged bowling ball insignia in the middle. Everyone gets quiet.

  “What is this place?” I whisper to Ruth.

  “This is our church. The Church of Everlasting Satisfaction. And Snack ’N’ Bowl.”

  “Amen,” everyone intones, and the doors are opened wide.

  “Get the fuck out,” Gonzo says under his breath.

  This has to be the biggest friggin’ bowling alley I have ever seen in my life. Just row after gleaming row of well-maintained lanes bordered by litter-free gutters. There’s not a scuff on the floor. An enormous TV screen encased in theater-worthy lightbulbs is suspended from the ceiling.

  “Every single one of us knows what it’s like out there,” Daniel says. “The stress. The worrying—am I good enough, strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough? How come Johnny got an A-plus on his paper but I only got a C? Is he better than me?”

  “Why does only the w
inning athlete get a first-place medal?” another kid says, putting “winning” in air quotes.

  “Why do bad things happen? There must be a reason for it—something you can avoid doing so you’ll never, ever be sad,” a girl in saddle shoes says.

  A kid with a bowling ball tattoo on his arm speaks up. “Why shouldn’t we all just be happy all the time?”

  “Amen,” Daniel says. “No questions. No fears. No un-happiness. That’s why there’s CESSNAB. Our friend Thomas had doubts. But we’ll help him embrace the positive.”

  They all make the hugging motion. Daniel sets Thomas up in lane one. Ruth rubs his back. “Think of something happy, Thomas, like getting new jeans.”

  Everyone makes a circle around Thomas, arms linked. They chant, “Thomas is special. Thomas is special. Thomas is special.”

  Thomas takes a deep breath and lets the ball roll, shooting it straight down the middle. The pins smash to the ground in one stroke, and the TV lights up slot-machine style. An image of an angelic pin floats on screen. It makes an Okay sign with its fingers. An automated voice purrs, “Way to go, friend!” Everybody whoops and hollers.

  Daniel smiles. “See, Thomas? You can do anything. You can be anything you want!”

  The choir launches into another song: “I can be whatever. You can be whatever. We can be whatever. Whatever, together.” They put their arms around Thomas and soon he starts singing along even though he’s still not smiling.

  Daniel slaps me on the back. “Hey, Cameron, why don’t you give it a try?”

  I’ve only been bowling twice and both times I sucked ass. I think I managed to hit one pin. “I’m a pretty lousy bowler.”

  “You’ve never bowled at the Church of Everlasting Satisfaction and Snack ’N’ Bowl before,” Daniel says.

  “It’s the bad thoughts that stop us. If you embrace the positive”—Ruth makes the hugging motion again and the other CESSNABers follow suit—“you’ll be fine.”

  The ball pops up from its dark cave and glides around the silver tracks, stopping right beside me.

  “You have to believe you can do it, Cameron,” Ruth says. “That you’re entitled to happiness—by any means necessary.”