by Bryn Roar
Bud looked deep into his friend’s bleary eyes. “Rusty, his last words to me were that you should remember your mother for the fine lady she was, not that fiend you saw on board the boat today…
“And that he loved you.”
Rusty blinked. “He…he said that?”
“Yeah, little man. He did. And then he told me to take care of you.” Bud’s face took on its old familiar scowl. “All of you! And fuck you if you don’t like it! Now, if we’re all done here crying, let’s—”
Without warning, Tubby grabbed Bud by his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. “What about My dad? What were his last words? Huh? Did you even speak to him at all! You lousy bastard! He was still alive down there!”
That he allowed Tubby to manhandle him like that shocked Josie even more than Ralph’s explosive outburst. She watched in wonder as Bud actually patted Ralph on the head! “Easy there, Hoss. Easy. Frank was dead before you even left the boat this afternoon. He died trying to save your mom. I’m sorry, Ralph. I know it’s no consolation, but at least your folks didn’t suffer from the disease.”
“Oh, didn’t they?” His rage spent, Tubby let go of Bud’s shirt and wandered listlessly over to the window
Rusty stood in front of Bud, his eyes wet and hurt. “Damn, Buddy boy. How could you not tell me? At the very least let me say goodbye to my father?”
Bud looked equally pained. “I’m sorry, man, but if you knew what he was going to do—”
“I know. I never would’ve left the boat. Still, I—”
“Oh, shit!” Bud exclaimed. “I almost forgot!” He pulled the silver chain from his shirt pocket and put it in Rusty’s hand. “Ham wanted you to have this.”
Rusty stared down at the chain in his trembling hand. How could something so light feel so heavy? Grief settled like a stone in his gut as the truth hit home. Samuel J. Huggins was dead. He was actually dead! The orphaned little dolphin proved it so. Never in his life had Rusty seen the silver charm off his father’s bull neck. Not even when the old man took a shower.
Rusty took the chain and lowered it reverently over his head, whispering his father’s name as he did so. He pressed the silver dolphin over his own, much smaller heart, rubbing it against his frail chest. The thick, callused pads on Ham’s fingers had long ago worn away the etched lines that had once formed the smiling dolphin's face. And yet Rusty could feel them there just the same. More peculiar was the heat coming off the silver charm. While the chain was cool against his skin, there was a comforting sort of warmth throbbing from within the dolphin.
A piece of Ham perhaps? Passed on to his aggrieved son. Looking out for him still…
The logical part of his brain told him it was probably from being in Bud’s pocket so long. Rusty, however, chose to believe otherwise. Some things, he decided, no matter how unlikely, are just worth believing in. He looked up at his large friend and nodded his thanks.
Over at the window, Tubby whispered, “Jiminy Christmas! Is that what I think it is, down there?”
Bud joined him. The Tin Man had by now chased all of the red-eyed things away and was shining the twin headlights, in his conical, globe-like head, up at the four kids, standing there in the open window. “It is!” Tubby exclaimed. “That’s Robbie the Robot!”
“No,” Bud said, grinning. “That’s my Old Man.”
They hurried down the stairs, looking for the Rabids, but the Tin Man had chased them away. Together they encircled Robbie, staring up at him in wonder. The gyros in Robbie’s head spun ‘round and ‘round, while the antennas on either side clicked and whirred. Bud patted the Tin Man on the head and, despite himself, said, “Pop?”
A mechanical voice came out of the front display, flashing intermittently with the rise and fall of its toneless speech patterns.“It’s me, son. Get the gang in the truck and follow me back to the museum.”
Bud fought a ludicrous urge to hug Robbie. He herded everyone into the front seat of the old Dodge, handing the shotgun to Josie so he could drive.
“Is that the one from Moon Man’s?” asked Ralph.
Bud put the truck into reverse. He had to go slow; otherwise they’d overtake Robby, who walked like an old man with arthritic knees. “No, this is the one from the museum. Tim’s is just an empty shell; remember? This is a true working robot.”
“So Bill isn’t inside it?”
“No,” Bud grinned. “It’s remote controlled.”
Rusty stared up out of the cracked windshield. “Bill must be up on the museum’s roof where he can see us. I didn’t realize that radio control worked at this distance.”
“Neither did I,” said Bud. He didn’t want to worry his friends that Robbie was indeed at the end of his remote controlled leash. The likelihood that the robot would shut down, though, diminished the closer they got to the museum. Robbie clattered steadily ahead of the pickup, teasing another of Bud’s puzzle pieces into place.
Robbie’s evening stroll. The only thing missing here is the ax! All around them were feral eyes ablaze. Fireflies, Bud thought distantly, lost in his dream journal. That’s what their eyes look like…flitting about so testily in the darkness. Furious fireflies…
Although he could see several of the fiery eyes peering out from within the shadows, none of the Rabids— as they were all beginning to think of the infected; it just seemed apt—made any move to intercept them. Every now and then Robbie’s upper torso would turn, shining his bright halogens at the rabid creatures, scattering them further into the gloom, while his lower half maintained a steady course up the street.
Robbie came to a stop in front of the museum. His upper torso turned and corralled the kids in the twin beams of light emanating from his glass globe head.
The gyros whirred and clicked as Robbie’s arms retracted back into his tubular shell.
Josie handed the 12 gauge back to Bud. They left the truck in the middle of Main Street, beside the old VW Bug, and carefully approached the front entrance, mindful of the darkness all about them. Electric salvation blazed forth from the edges of the metal shutters covering the front doors. It was a blessed site for eight weary eyes.
“Isn’t Robbie coming inside with us?” Tubby asked Bud. He looked back at the robot, still standing there in the middle of the street. Even though it was a manmade object, no more alive than one of his models, Tubby couldn’t help feeling concerned for the Tin Man’s well being.
Bud didn’t look up as he tried to locate his key to the front door, where someone had already removed the sandbags. “I don’t think so, Hoss. Pop probably wants to keep him out here in case we need to come out this way again.” He handed the shotgun to Tubby so he could unlock the front door. “Hold onto this for a second.”
Bud waited until everyone had gone inside. Smiling, he nodded at the robot, and then closed the door behind him. Robbie’s headlights winked out.
The fireflies, they crept closer…
*******
The electric lights shining brightly overhead gave solace in a way that barely registered in their pummeled state of mind. Like settlers finding refuge in a fort from marauding Indians, at last theCreeps could relax. They were safe in here. At least this was the assumption. Tubby and Rusty slumped to the floor, their backs against the concession counter, shoulder-to-shoulder, drawing consolation from their shared loss. Bud felt like joining them, for he understood their grief all too well. The similarities’—including the nearly exact date of his own mother’s demise and Mr. O’Hara’s drowning—made Bud feel as if Fatehad it in for theCreeps. Like a beleaguered pet at the hands of some cruel master. He had to blame their rotten luck on something. He would’ve blamed God, had he not stopped believing in Him long ago.
“Come check the back door with me, Red. Let’s make sure the building’s sealed tight.” He looked down at Tubby and Rusty. The boys needed some time to decompress; to shed a few tears maybe, but there was too much to do. “Rusty, go upstairs and tell Bilbo we’re all right, and that he can come on down
now. Tubby, take that plywood sheet my father removed from this side of the doors and nail it back into place—only crossways, where the doors meet, understand? I’ll leave the shotgun with you. It’s loaded, Hoss, so be careful with it. We’ll meet back here in the lobby in fifteen minutes or so.”
Tubby and Rusty picked themselves up and went to their assigned tasks without complaint. Bud took Josie by the hand, and together they hurried to check the back exit.
Outside, night was complete and the raging Red Tide held absolute sway…
*******
Bud and Josie found the rear door locked tight, the sandbags firmly back in place. Obviously, Bilbo’s recent handiwork. On their way back to the lobby, they stopped off at the apartment. Bud grabbed the .38 he’d secreted away in his closet. He tossed the gun on the bed and carefully peeled off his blood-spattered shirt.
Josie looked down at the gun and for the first time in her life felt relief at the sight of a firearm. “I thought you got rid of that feckin’ thing.”
“I, uh…I changed my mind.”
“Something to do with your dreams, I’d wager.”
Bud collapsed on the end of his bed. The temptation to lie down was very great. He’d never been so tired in his life. “I wasn’t worried about getting arrested, if that’s what you’re getting at. It was never in the cards, Joe.”
She sat down beside him and looked around at the familiar surroundings. Except for the dream journal Bud kept by his bed, it was a near carbon copy of her own room. Right down to the similar stack of paperbacks on Bud’s nightstand. Feeling at home, she smiled a little.
“What’s with the Mona Lisa smirk?” Bud asked her, smiling himself. He loved Josie’s smile.
“Oh, I was just thinking how our rooms are interchangeable.The Creeps, I mean. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we really are all alike.”
“I know. It’s a little spooky, don’t you think?”
“How so, love?”
“I mean our lives are like our rooms. Like you said, interchangeable. The way Rusty’s and Tubby’s folks died today. The awful grief they’re going through right now. We know what that’s like, don’t we, Big Red?”
“Yeah,” Josie agreed, shivering. “It seems so surreal, the events today. Like we’ve traded places with characters from some horror movie.”
“The kind of horror movie we’re always first in line to see. You, me, and Rusty. Tubby too, I bet.”
“Exactly,” Josie said, looking over at Bud.
“I’ve been wondering about that for some time, Joe. I think it’s more than coincidence we’re all into horror and the occult. Shit, we’re all experts on this stuff!”
Josie leaned back on the bed. “I know what you mean, love. It’s like we’ve been preparing for this day, by boning up on all that’s dark and otherworldly.”
“While others might find all this too incredible to comprehend, too awful to contemplate…”
“We simply cope.” She looked at Bud. “Did you…”
He saw the question in her eyes. She didn’t have to ask. “No…I didn’t know their parents’ were going to die like that today. Hell, I didn’t know they were going to die at all,” he said, not being entirely honest.
“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, boyo. What else have your dreams told you lately—besides preparing the Bunker, that is?”
Bud looked up at the ceiling. He’d been dreading this question; for it meant he’d have to leave a lot unsaid. He might even have to lie to Josie. He gave her the generic response and hoped it would suffice. “The best way I can explain my dreams is to imagine a puzzle with three quarters of the pieces missing, and from that you have to figure out what it’s going to look like without the benefit of the picture on the box.”
“Do you have an idea yet? The final picture?”
“The Red Eyes, the Rabid, whatever you want to call those things, before they’re through they’ll take over this island and maybe a whole lot more. I didn’t know when this would begin. Just sometime after Tubby joined us.”
“Feck a damn duck,” said Josie, borrowing her friend’s favorite profanity. “You mean this virus is going to spread to the mainland?”
“I think so, Joe.” He shook his head. “Hell, what am I saying? I know so! Like all nightmares, though, it won’t last long. We just have to outlast it.”
“The Bunker?”
“The Bunker,” Bud nodded. “It’s the one section of the puzzle that’s most complete. Once we’re in the Bunker, the nightmare, for us at least, is over.” Another half-truth.
Neither said anything for a while; then Josie wondered aloud. “Bud, do I really have to ask you?”
Bud put on his best poker face. “Everything’s gonna be all right, Josie.”
She seemed to accept this and leaned her head on Bud’s shoulder, too afraid to delve any deeper than that. Afraid of what Bud might tell her. Afraid of that unfamiliar look in his eyes just now.
Bud wrapped his arms around her. She pulled away dramatically and pinched her nose shut with two fingers.
“Mon Dieu!” he said, in his Pepe Le Pew voice. “Is that unfortunate aroma emanating from moi?!”
Josie laughed. Being in Bud’s room, sitting next to the boy she loved more than anything on earth, enduring his atrocious impressions, somehow made everything all right. All at once, the horrors of the day seemed remote. And even though she knew she’d have to face them again, once they left these familiar four walls, it felt good and somehow right that they ignore all that for now.
She took a wary whiff of own her armpit. “Eeeww! I don’t exactly smell like petunias meself!” Her laughter stopped short, her face pale and grim. “Oh, Buddy boy! You’ve got some blood on your cheek!”
“Don’t worry, Joe. It’s not mine.”
“That’s what worries me, you twit. Do we have enough time to take a shower?”
“Not the both of us; it’s been almost fifteen minutes already. You go ahead, Joe. You got some dried blood on your face, too. I’ll just wash off in the sink for now.”
“You might as well join me, Pepe.”
“Sacre bleu! You mean it, mon cherie?”
Josie took Pepe’s hand and led the way.
*******
By the time they’d finished their soapy games, and got down to the real business of getting clean, almost thirty minutes had elapsed since they’d left Tubby in the lobby. Ashamed of their behavior, while their friends were coping with the worst loss of their lives, Josie and Bud rushed to get ready. Josie dug around in her backpack, in search of the personal items she'd put in there earlier. Away from Bud’s curious eyes, she put in a tampon, slid into clean underwear, and put on her blue jeans and one of Bud’s T-shirts from his closet. Bud also chose fresh jeans and a clean tee, stuffing his pockets with the shotgun shells.
Together, they sprinted out the door.
The .38 lay forgotten on the bed.