Tommy Nightmare (Jenny Pox #2)

by JL Bryan

  Heather shook her head. “My God.”

  “Don’t say that,” Schwartzman snapped. “The locals are already talking Biblical plague. Don’t encourage.”

  “Maybe they’re right.” Heather knelt by one of the bodies. He was a heavyset man—obese by any measure—in a white dress shirt polka-dotted with his own blood. His face had peeled away into wide, curling strips. The muscles underneath were knotted with tumors. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It looks like leprosy, bubonic plague and cancer all wrapped together. How many cases?”

  “We’re still counting, but it looks like about two hundred. All of them right here. No suspected cases so far—just all these confirmed ones. Nobody alive to talk. Old lady found them early this morning.” He nodded toward a shop with a big, hand-painted sign: Miss Gertie’s Five and Dime. “She had no symptoms, but we took blood samples to send to Atlanta for analysis.”

  “So what happened?” Heather asked. “All these people came down to the courthouse, and they died all at once?”

  “We don’t know what happened,” Schwartzman said. “We don’t know what kind of pathogen we’re facing. But answers are on the way.”

  “They are?”

  “Yes,” Schwartzman said. “Because I just pulled my best epidemiologist out of Haiti to find them.”

  Heather sighed and shook her head.

  Chapter Six

  Jenny awoke gradually, with a pounding headache. She was sore and hurting all over, inside and out. Her lungs still felt raw from drowning to death in Ashleigh's pond.

  She'd thrown herself into the water because her body was already dying from her wounds and her massive-scale use of her curse, the Jenny pox. When that memory hit her, Jenny's eyes flew open.

  It was twilight—she wasn't even sure what day. She was in her room at home, sprawled on her bed. Seth lay beside her, sleeping like a corpse. They still wore the tattered remnants of their Easter clothes.

  A swirl of images flashed across her brain. How she'd run into the crowd, spreading the pox everywhere, watching people she'd known all her life die horribly, as spasms twisted their bodies and sores ruptured open all over them. Chasing them down, even when they’d given up trying to lynch her and started running for their lives.

  She ran to the bathroom and puked. She and Seth had eaten everything in her house when they got home—frozen pizza, canned peas—and now whatever her body hadn't absorbed came burbling up.

  Jenny sat on the worn tile floor and leaned her head against the cabinet door under the sink.

  There was one rule, one absolute law that her father had taught her since she was little: never touch people. Because when she touched people, they got sick. And it didn't take long for them to die.

  Seth was lucky. He was the opposite—when he touched people, he healed them. He'd even brought Jenny back from the dead. He didn't have to avoid people like she did, or obsess over how much of his skin was exposed where other people could touch it. He couldn't just flip out and slaughter a whole crowd of people.

  All those people, Jenny thought. She could see their faces, from Mayor Winder and Coach Humbee and even people like Shannon McNare, who weren't really so bad, just caught in Ashleigh's spell.

  Jenny stood on shaking legs. The weight of what she'd done pressed down on her like a million tons of darkness. There was no fixing this, no going back and undoing the damage.

  She went back to her room and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “What's happening?” Seth asked through a yawn. “Where are we?”

  “My room.”

  “Oh.” Seth sat up. “Don't let your dad catch me here.”

  “Who cares?”

  “He might.”

  “Seth!” Jenny said. “I think we have bigger problems.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I'm a mass murderer! All those people.”

  “So? They tried to kill us first. They did kill us.” Seth sat up and stretched. “What's for breakfast?”

  “Are you kidding?” Jenny put her face in her hands. “I can't believe I...I...” She started crying. Seth hugged her, but she stiffened against him. “You don't know what it feels like.”

  “No, you're right,” he said. “But remember what we saw when we were dead? This isn't anything compared to the past—”

  “Oh, right. I was a mass murderer in hundreds of other lives, too. Thanks for reminding me.” Jenny had a few broken memories of the time between when she'd been dead, before Seth brought her back with his healing power. She'd seen herself spreading plagues in ancient times, in medieval times, usually in the service of some king or emperor. “We're evil, Seth. I am, anyway.”

  “You're not evil. You were defending yourself.”

  “Maybe at first,” Jenny said. “But then something came over me. All the evil inside came out. I wouldn't let anyone escape. It's like I was a different person. But that's who I really am, isn’t it? A demon.”

  “That's a pretty strong word—”

  “I should die for what I did,” Jenny said. “I wish I could infect myself with Jenny pox.”

  “Don't do that.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you, Jenny. We're not what we used to be. We're more human. We're learning, lifetime by lifetime—”

  Jenny pulled away from him. “It's so easy for you. You can do so many good things with the power you have. I can only hurt people. And kill them. Lots and lots of them.”

  Seth didn't have anything to say to that. After a while, he asked, “Is your dad home?”

  “He must still be at June's house.” Jenny covered her eyes. “He's going to hate me. He spent his whole life teaching me not to hurt anyone, and what good did that do? He should have killed me when I was born.” Jenny looked at the picture of her mother on the wall—young, cheerful, with Jenny's blue eyes. She had died at Jenny’s birth, the first victim of the Jenny pox. This lifetime, anyway.

  “We'll explain what happened,” Seth said. “He’ll understand.”

  “I’m not sure about that.” Jenny took a deep breath. “Now what the hell do I do? Turn myself in to the police?”

  “You killed the police.”

  Jenny slapped her palm against her face and groaned. Seth sang a verse of “I Shot the Sheriff,” until she punched him.

  “You can’t turn yourself in. Nobody will believe you, anyway,” he said.

  “But I can show them.” Jenny opened her left hand. With a thought, she summoned boils and blisters to the surface of her palm.

  “Then they'll lock you up,” Seth said. “Or kill you.”

  “Which is exactly what I deserve.”

  “No, Jenny!” He touched her hand, and all the boils and blisters healed. “You can't.”

  “Give me one reason.”

  “Because I don't want to live without you.”

  Jenny leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t want to live without you either, Seth. But what am I supposed to do? Just keep going like it never happened?”

  Seth scratched his head. His strawberry blond hair jutted out everywhere, in stiff clumps. “Well,” he said. “When was the last time you fed Rocky?”

  “Rocky!” Jenny jumped up. Seth followed her to the kitchen and lifted the big bag of dry kibble.

  Outside, Rocky was knocking his empty clay bowl around the yard. The shaggy bluetick mix raised his head and wagged his tail when Jenny stepped out the door. He let out a throaty bay and kicked his bowl again for emphasis.

  Seth carried the bowl back into the shed, placed it next to Rocky's dog house, and filled it with food. Rocky watched him from several feet away. He looked from Seth to the food, and then took a few cautious steps to the bowl.

  Seth reached down to pet his head, and Rocky scurried back.

  Seth squatted in the dirt.

  “Come on, boy,” he said. “Come on.”

  Rocky took a few more cautious steps toward Seth and the food. Seth rubbed the back of his head, and Rocky wagged his tail and began eating.

>   “Maybe you shouldn't get him too used to that,” Jenny said. “I can only keep him because he's afraid to be touched by people.”

  “He likes me okay.”

  “I mean, what if he starts expecting me to do that? He'll get Jenny pox if he comes too close.”

  “So should he go the rest of his life without anybody touching him?”

  “No.” Jenny shook her head. “I know what that's like. Sucks.”

  Back inside, Jenny saw the red light flickering urgently on the answering machine in the living room. Lots of messages. She pushed PLAY, and the cassette inside whirred as it rewound.

  “Jenny,” her dad's voice said. “Are you all right? I tried to come home, but soldiers was blocking the road. Call me back at June's right now.” (beep)

  Jenny and Seth looked at each other. Soldiers?

  “Jenny, you home or what? I done tried Seth's house and ain't nobody answering. I'm worried about you.” (beep)

  “Jenny, pick up the damn phone!” (beep)

  “Jenny, are you there? We got to get you one of them cell phones. Call me back at June’s soon as you get this.” (beep)

  “Jenny, just let me know you’re okay. I’m over at June’s still, and I guess I’m stuck here. The National Guard’s got Fallen Oak all blocked, and don’t nobody know what’s happening. They’re saying some kinda toxic waste or—”(beep)

  “I got cut off. Just let me know what’s happening. I’m at June’s.” (beep)

  “Holy shit,” Jenny said.

  “The National Guard?” Seth ran to the front window and looked out, as if expecting to see uniformed men in Jenny’s front yard. “You think they’re still out there?”

  “I have to call him back.” Jenny picked up the old rotary phone next to the answering machine. No dial tone. She depressed the jack several times, but the phone was dead. “This ain’t working!”

  “Calm down,” Seth said. He gave her his cell phone.

  Jenny tried it. “It says ‘no signal.’”

  “What?” Seth looked at the phone. “I always get reception here. What’s going on?”

  “They’re coming after me.” Jenny sank onto the couch. “I ought to turn myself in.”

  “Come on, Jenny.” Seth sat beside her and took her hand. “Even if somebody tells them, they’ll never believe it. There’s nobody left to talk about it, anyway.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Jenny snapped. “Besides, you’re wrong. All those girls saw what I did to Ashleigh.” Jenny thought about it. “Or, I guess she was hanging out the window while they were all inside. But they had to see her body after, out in front of her house.”

  “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

  “Yeah,” Jenny said. “You’ll unleash the healing touch on them. Clear up their colds and headaches. That’ll show ‘em.”

  “Very funny,” Seth said. “I meant my family has some good lawyers.”

  “Lawyers…” Jenny shook her head. She tried the rotary phone again. “And this stupid thing is not working!”

  Seth picked up his car keys. “I’ll go check things out.”

  “Wait.” Jenny stood up. “I’ll go with you. I can explain what happened.”

  “No, Jenny! They’ll think you’re crazy.”

  “So what?” Jenny ran back to her room to put on some new clothes, replacing the shreds of Seth’s Easter coat.

  “And if they believe you, they’ll lock you away from everyone.” Seth followed her to her room.

  “I ought to be away from everyone.”

  “Even me?” Seth asked.

  Jenny didn’t want to think about that. But she had to do the right thing.

  “Just stay here,” Seth said.

  “No. I’m going with you.”

  They pulled out of Jenny’s dusty driveway in Seth’s blue Audi, with the top down. The Cure played from Seth’s iPod, over his car stereo. It was April, the day after Easter, and honeysuckle and wildflowers bloomed alongside the road.

  The beautiful afternoon seemed wrong to Jenny. She felt dark, cold and monstrous on the inside.

  Seth drove toward downtown. Jenny gripped her armrest tight. She’d been there only last night, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to see the carnage left behind. She steeled herself.

  They quickly discovered they wouldn’t be going into town, anyway. Armed men in green uniforms had constructed a roadblock, using trucks and plastic orange cones, cutting them off.

  Seth slowed to a stop as two of the National Guard approached his car. One had a clipboard. The other, a heavy plastic shield and a Taser.

  “Name?” the one with the clipboard asked.

  “Um, Seth,” Seth said.

  “Last name?”

  “Barrett.”

  “Address?”

  “What’s this for?” Seth asked.

  “We keep a record of all attempted entries and exits,” the Guardsman said.

  “Attempted?” Seth asked.

  “Address?”

  Jenny noticed a police car parked by the side of the road. It didn’t look like Chief Lintner’s car, and anyway she’d left Lintner writhing with Jenny pox on the town green, after he’d supported Dr. Goodling’s effort to lynch Jenny, like the legendary slave-sorcerer the town had lynched in the 1700s.

  This police car was black and white, and had “Federal Protective Service POLICE” on the side. After that, it said “Homeland Security.”

  A uniformed officer inside the car snapped pictures of Seth and Jenny. Jenny tilted her head forward, so that her long black hair obscured her face.

  The Guardsman studied Seth’s driver’s license, then nodded and gave it back to him. “No one in or out of the quarantine zone for now,” the Guardsman said. “You’ll have to turn back.”

  “What quarantine zone?” Seth asked. “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t say,” the Guardsman told him. “You are advised to stay calm, return to your home, and wait for instructions.”

  “Instructions from who?” Jenny asked.

  “You know,” the Guardsman said. “The authorities.”

  “I have to talk to someone in charge,” Jenny said.

  “I am in charge,” the Guardsman said. “And I’m telling you to stay calm, return to your home—”

  “This is important,” Jenny said.

  The other Guardsman, the one with the Taser, approached her side of the car. He raised the weapon toward her. She felt very exposed in the convertible.

  “Okay, never mind,” Jenny said. “We’ll go home. Right, Seth?”

  “Yep,” Seth said. “We’re staying calm, returning home and waiting for instructions.”

  The two Guardsman backed away from his car. Seth reversed, turned around, and drove back.

  In the sideview mirror, Jenny watched the Homeland Security officer snap a picture of Seth’s license plate.

  Chapter Seven

  The Devil came to Adelia’s house after sunset, when she had just cooked up her small supper of collards and fatback. A sweet potato pie cooled on the window sill, destined for the mouth of her ten-year-old grandson Malik. He would visit tomorrow, along with his mother Renna. Renna was Adelia’s youngest and wildest daughter, but Malik was as sweet as saltwater taffy, with none of his mother’s attitude or stubbornness.

  And Malik loved sweet potato pie more than just about anything.

  Adelia dipped out collard greens into a chipped bowl with a faded floral design. She sat down at the kitchen table, where she could watch the television in the living room. She liked to watch the game show channel, where they reran all the good old shows from the 70s, like Joker’s Wild and the original Family Feud with Richard Dawson.

  She added one drop of hot sauce to her greens and stirred it in. As she folded her hands to say the blessing, she heard the squeak of the screen door on her front porch. She had the front and back doors and all the windows open to catch the evening breeze, since her aging little house had no air conditio
ning.

  The screen door squeak meant someone was coming inside, and they hadn’t bothered knocking or announcing themselves.

  Footsteps approached her through the dark dining room. Adelia couldn’t see anything through the folded wooden dressing screen that served as divider between kitchen and dining room.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  The wooden screen clattered as it folded aside, and the intruder smiled as he stepped into Adelia’s kitchen. He was a young white man, with black hair and strange gray eyes the color of rainclouds. He had a couple days’ stubble on his face. She didn’t recognize him, so he wasn’t from around town. He wore a wide grin that unsettled her.

  “Get out of my house!” Adelia pushed herself to her feet.

  “I will,” he said. “But I’m hungry.” He crossed to the kitchen window, sniffing. “That’s sweet potato pie, isn’t it?” He leaned over the orange pie and took a deep sniff, closing his eyes. “It’s got cinnamon, doesn’t it? And brown sugar. I can smell it. They didn’t serve nothing like this in Bent River.”

  Adelia eased over to the fridge and picked up her broom. It was old but solid, cut from hickory. If she could crack him across the back of the head, he’d be out. Or, at least, he’d be slowed down enough that she could hit him a few more times.

  She stepped toward him and raised the broom handle above her head.

  He opened his eyes.

  “Oh, no,” he said. He jumped toward her. She swung the broom, but he caught it easily in his hand and snatched it away. He hurled it like a spear into the dining room. Adelia backed away, but he grabbed both her hands.

  That was when Adelia saw he was the Devil.

  When she was a little girl in Grand Coteau, long before she moved down to this little village in East Baton Rouge parish, her idea of the Devil came from two places. One was the fiery Sunday sermons of Reverend Desmarais, since her parents took her to Opelousas every week for church. The other was Mr. Grosvenor, an old white man who lived across town. She wasn’t too sure what he did for a living, but he had a big house behind a tall, spiked iron fence, and behind that fence lived a huge albino canine with pink eyes and long teeth that it bared at everyone who passed. It was rumored to have a particular taste for children.