The soldiers actually asked if they could come with us. Do you believe that? My mother was the one who said no.
“We would never be able to trust you,” she told them. “You hit me. You hit my daughter. You were stupid enough and mindless enough to follow the orders of that evil, evil woman. You were evil, yourselves. I’m sorry, but I’ll never believe you can come back from that. You can’t come with us.”
Her words were harsh, but I respected her decision.
Aunt Ella, however, showed them a little mercy.
“Before we leave I’ll set you free,” she said. “You’re welcome to my house. There are stores of food in the basement and if you run out, there are the turkeys and the llamas out in the pasture.” Bullseye didn’t understand what she meant by that, so I smacked my lips. His eyes brightened with comprehension. He wrinkled his nose and swallowed.
Finally, Aunt Ella made them promise that if they left the house for good, they would set the animals free so they would all have a fighting chance at survival.
Just like us.
WHEN ALL WAS said and done, eight people left us that morning. There were hugs and tears and goodbyes. Each one swore that if the subject ever came up in their travels, they never heard of Tripp and Trina Light, the immune twins. We saved them all, and they swore to protect us.
Of course there were questions about where we were going, but we didn’t exactly know.
In front of the soldiers, my father said that we might be heading out Route 80 across the country and maybe down toward Arizona. Duh, even four-year-old Krystal was smart enough to know what he really meant was we weren’t going in that direction at all.
Outside, and away from the prying ears of Luke and Cal, I told those who were leaving about the Wordsmith Used Book Emporium in Greenfield.
“It’s a safe place,” I said. They all thanked me.
The eight who left us set out on foot, loaded up with a lot of matches and paper. Aunt Ella told them that further down the road there was a small group of houses. They would find cars there and probably poxers, too. They promised to be careful. We all said our goodbyes and watched them walk down the driveway, along the fence, and out of sight.
As for me, I never saw any of them again. Sometimes, I think we should have tried to convince them to come with us. You know—safety in numbers and all that—but at the end of the day, you can’t tell other people what to do. You can only be there for them and support them in their own decisions.
Gee. When did I get so smart?
BY NOONTIME WE had packed the bus with as many supplies as we thought we needed. Before we left, Sanjay and Bullseye went inside with Aunt Ella to cut Luke and Cal free—one of them for the creep factor and one for the gun.
Later, Aunt Ella confided in me that Sanjay drew a circle around them on the floor with a magic marker and chanted some words that she didn’t understand. Either he was protecting them or cursing them. Sometimes, I wish he had cursed them, but then again, if it weren’t for Luke and Cal, I don’t think I would have ever found my parents.
I had to give them points for that.
Without even asking, me, Trina, Prianka, Jimmy, Sanjay, Bullseye, Andrew, and Newfie piled into the minivan. Aunt Ella, my parents, Dorcas, Krysal, and six others took the bus.
We pulled away from the farm and headed back down toward Greenfield. At the bottom of the Trail, we could see that the highway was still teeming with poxers. Somehow, they didn’t scare me nearly as much, knowing that my parents were right behind us. We slowly drove through the underpass and back up the hill toward Greenfield center.
There were still poxers everywhere, but not nearly as many as our first time through town. In the distance, I saw Chuck Peterson’s Hummer glowing in the crisp sunlight. In front of Stella’s building we stopped the minivan. I got out and trotted over to the bus.
Aunt Ella pulled open the accordion door.
“We just have to say goodbye to someone,” I said. “Follow the road out of town so you’re away from the poxers. We’ll meet you in an hour.”
I thought my parents were going to object, but they just nodded their heads like they understood. Maybe they thought that their kids somehow miraculously aged in the past week or that we were old enough to make our own decisions.
I guess we were. That still didn’t mean that we wouldn’t always need our mom and dad. After all, we traveled through the land of the dead to rescue them.
Aunt Ella pulled the bus away, and I drove the minivan around the back of Stella’s building and parked in the alley. After checking carefully to make sure there were no poxers around, we all got out of the car and went to the back door. I took the key that Stella had given us and slid it into the lock.
“Stella?” we called out to her when we were all safely inside. “Stella?”
Prianka pulled out a flashlight, and we all made our way through the back of the bookstore, up the spiral stair case, and through the reading loft. We heard the stomping of feet on the stairs behind the big door, followed by a click as it was unlocked and opened.
“My word,” Stella exclaimed as the light poured out and bathed us in color.
“We did it,” I told her. “We saved my parents.”
She smothered us all in hugs and kisses. Andrew cawed and Newfie even jumped up and bathed her with his big, sloppy tongue, even though he had never met her before.
When we were all upstairs, we told Stella everything. How we made it through Greenfield to my aunt’s place, about Purgatory Chasm, Site 37, my parents, everything.
“It’s not safe to leave the survivor banner out,” I said. “You can’t trust who you may come across. We told some people about you. If they come to search you out, they’re cool. Other than that, you never know.”
“The world’s a bad place now,” said Jimmy. “No one knows how long it’s going to stay that way.”
Stella shook her head. There were tears in her eyes.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
“Away,” said Trina. “Just away.”
“There are people who want us now,” I said. “Me and Trina. Somehow they think we’re special. Completely immune.” I rubbed my hands together. “We don’t even know if they’re right.”
“Hopefully you’ll never get bit to test that theory,” added Prianka.
Sanjay hung back from the rest of us. He took up his regular position by the bookcase with a book in his lap. Newfie sat by his side, and Andrew on his shoulder. There was still some red paint on him from his mad ride through the world of the occult, but other than that he seemed fine.
“And my special boy?” she asked. “Is he doing well?”
We watched him flip through pages, his little brain absorbing everything like a high-tech computer.
“Better than the rest of us,” said Jimmy. “Sanjay’s the man.”
“Oh!” cried Stella. “I almost forgot.” She rushed over to the big table in her kitchen and grabbed a paper bag that was sitting there.
“Ryan, um, I mean Bullseye got this for me,” she said. Bullseye blushed and stared at his feet.
I didn’t understand. “Got what?”
“When you left here,” she said. “Those monsters—I saw what happened.” Stella stood and walked over to Sanjay. She knelt down by him. Newfie bent down and lapped her face again. Stella took the bag and gently pushed it toward Sanjay.
“For you, my dove,” she whispered.
Sanjay pushed the book off of his lap, took the bag, and carefully opened it. He reached inside and pulled out the impossible.
It was Poopy Puppy.
Sanjay looked at the stuffed dog in wonder. He was sewn together with brightly colored stitches. His left arm was new. A smile spread across Sanjay’s face.
“Hey, Buddy!” he exclaimed.
&n
bsp; Prianka put her hand to her mouth. I put my arm around her, and she leaned her head against my shoulder.
Sanjay hugged Poopy Puppy tightly and rocked gently back and forth.
“Found you,” he whispered softly to the stuffed dog. “Found you.”
Andrew cawed. Sanjay pulled Poopy Puppy to his ear and listened like he always had.
“Yes,” he said. “Uh huh.” Sanjay nodded his head. He looked up and found Stella’s eyes. “Poopy Puppy says he went to the hospital,” said Sanjay. “He said Dr. Stella fixed him. He’s all better now.”
“Yes,” said Stella. “He’s all better now.”
Sanjay took Poopy Puppy and held him up to Andrew. The bird sized up the stuffed dog with his little, black eyes before gently rubbing his beak against the soft fabric. Sanjay also showed Poopy Puppy to Newfie. The giant dog sniffed at him and woofed.
“Poopy Puppy, this is Andrew,” said Sanjay. “And this is Newfie.” He hugged the stuffed dog close to him once more. “We’re a family now, okay? A family.”
I looked around at my friends—every one of them. Sanjay was right. We were a family now.
A smile spread across my face. A family—I could live with that.
THE END
(Please continue reading for more about Howard Odentz)
Acknowledgements
Although there are those who may think writing is a lonely process, it is far from that. It takes the support and dedication of many people to see a story come to life.
First and foremost, I would like to thank David Gilfor for reading over my shoulder, chapter after chapter, making sure that my voice, my characters, and their exploits remained convincing and engaging.
I would like to thank Shira Block McCormick for her friendship and support and for gushing so much over the first short story I handed her that I simply had to write more.
I would also like to thank my group of readers who were always honest and never afraid to point me in the right direction: Tamara Fricke, Krystal Glushien, Patti Fischer, Danny Eaton, Sheryl Odentz, and Lauren Levin.
I would like to thank my mother, Joline Odentz, for tirelessly proofreading my work because ‘I kant spel’ and shamelessly promoting my writing to anyone who will listen.
Finally I would like to give a special thanks to Lois Winston, Ashley Grayson, and the folks at Bell Bridge Books, and my phenomenal editor, Debra Dixon, for taking a chance on me. You’re the best.
About Howard Odentz
Howard Odentz is a life-long resident of Western Massachusetts, where he divides his time between writing and tending a small farm. His love of animals, along with the lore of the region, often finds its way into his stories.
The supernatural plays a major role in Mr. Odentz’s writing. He is endlessly fascinated by the psychological aspects of those who are thrown into otherworldly circumstances.
In addition to Dead (A Lot), he has penned two full length musical comedies. “In Good Spirits” is inspired by the real-life ghostly experiences of a community theatre group and their haunted stage. “Piecemeal” tells the backstory of Victor Frankenstein’s Hollywood-created protégé, Igor.
“I like writing about the supernatural world,” says Mr. Odentz. “I’m from Western Massachusetts. There’s more than enough paranormal activity in these parts to keep me inspired for years to come.”
Dead (A Lot) is Mr. Odentz’s first full-length novel.
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