by Meyer, Tim
“Come on,” Green-Shoes said, slapping his partner's shoulder. “Let's go help our brothers out. And don't utter a word of your new diet to anyone. Understand? You'll end up like that asshole from Costbusters.”
Bob's foot slipped and scraped across the gravel.
“What the hell was that?” Green-Shoes asked. He looked around the car. Bob sprang to his feet, waving his hands in the air, pleading. “Well, look what we have here. You sneaky son of a bitch.”
“Please!” Bob said. “That's my wife you got there!” he almost cried, pointing towards the gate. “Let her go and we'll leave you alone. We won't tell anyone about this.”
Green-Shoes and Damien looked at each other.
“No one left to tell, pops,” Green-Shoes said, smiling sadistically. “No more police, no more law. There's a new law now and it's quite simple—only the strong survive. You strong enough, pops?”
“Please. Let her go. We'll be on our way.”
From the distance, Brenda called Bob's name. The hoodlums holding her arms yelled to their friends, telling them to take the man hostage. That Malek wanted as many meatbags as possible. It was almost feeding time.
“You heard them,” Green-Shoes said. “The boss needs meat.”
Green-Shoes lunged for Bob. He lashed out and kicked the kid square in the crotch. The kid's eyes bulged from their sockets and he slowly crumbled to his knees, holding his genitals like fragile items he didn't want to drop. Thick veins appeared on his forehead as he screamed through his teeth. Damien ran forward. Without thinking, Bob bent over and scooped up a rock the size of a baseball off the street. As Damien neared, Bob hurled the rock at his head. Unable to dodge the point-blank attack, Damien took the rock on his nose. The sound of it breaking echoed down the street, loud enough for his buddies near the entrance to hear. Blood exploded from his nostrils, and the kid dropped to the sidewalk. His hands were unable to keep the red rivulets from leaking through his fingers.
Bob took one look at Brenda. Her eyes begged for help. Her shirt ripped in several places as the two men contained her in their arms. Outnumbered, Bob knew going back for her now was stupid. Who knew how many more were inside the zoo. With one whistle, four could be ten. Ten could be twenty. And where would being heroic get him? He had watched how far heroic antics had gotten Father Morton. About five feet. Not a step more.
He turned and ran as fast as his legs would take him. He ran until he could no longer see the zoo and its keepers through the darkness.
-6-
Watching the sun shrink behind the horizon, Matty turned away from the window and stared at the dirty man sitting across from him. He grabbed his bottle of Coke and sipped. He hated warm soda, but didn't have much of a choice—it was the only thing in the sandwich shop's refrigerator.
“You ran?” Matty asked.
Bob handed him the bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. They both agreed the shop's deli meat was unsafe to eat, so they stuck to packaged goods. Stale oatmeal cookies didn't bother him much and Matty had devoured them, along with some packaged pretzels. They were pretty good and his stomach agreed, thanking him in a series of gaseous rumbles.
“I didn't have a choice, Matty. If I hadn't, we both would've been captured.”
“But they could've killed her already!” Matty said, raising his voice but not exactly yelling.
Bob shushed him. “They could be outside.”
“I'm sorry.” Matty popped a few chips into his mouth, swallowing them almost immediately. “Have you seen a lot of them since then?”
“Every night. They come out in groups. Four or five at a time.” Bob unscrewed the cap from his soda bottle and took several gulps. “They're still looking for me, I guess.”
“Have you seen Mom since then?”
Bob stared out the window. “Yes.”
“You have?”
“Matty, keep your voice down.”
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Where did you see her?”
“Around the back of the zoo. They're keeping her in the cages where they used to keep the animals.”
“Did the animals burn up?”
Bob shook his head. “I don't know, son.”
“We have to get Mom out of there.”
Bob nodded. “Yes, we do.” He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. All this time he had been talking. He hadn't let Matty tell his story. “Matty, what were you doing out here? Where are your sisters? Where's... your father?”
“They're safe. They're back at Costbusters.”
“At Sam's store?”
Matty nodded, drinking the last of his nasty soda. “Yeah. Why?”
Bob swallowed. “As soon as we get your mother to safety, we're going back to your Dad's store and getting everybody out.”
“Why? They're safe there. Honest. There's plenty of water. Plenty of food—”
“Matty, trust me.” Bob looked at him sternly. “They're not safe there. Not at all.”
“How...”
“Don't worry about that right this second. We need to concentrate on springing your mother loose.”
“And how are we going to do that?”
Bob grinned. “I know a back way in.”
Matty came up with a grin of his own. “Cool. When do we leave?”
Bob scrambled to his feet. “Right now.”
-7-
Sam watched the last sliver of sunlight disappear behind the trees then quickly pushed the giant glass doors apart. The fall breeze rushed him at once, and it felt good to smell the outdoors once again. Before he could push the doors open wide enough to slip through, a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Spinning like a top he raised his fist, ready to punch the first sour grin he faced.
“Whoa! Sam, it's me,” Tina said, backing away. “A little edgy, are we?”
“What the hell do you want from me?” Sam snapped. “Come to tell me what a shit job I've done, too? Come to tell me that I've led us into a death trap? That I'm responsible for the deaths of Clay and his dumb-ass friends? Huh?”
“Sam, stop. I'm merely—”
“No, you stop! I'm sick of everyone turning against me! I trusted you just as much as you trusted me! I never meant for anyone to get hurt! And if you think that—then you and Soren can go fuck each other—”
Tina's open palm collided with his cheek, leaving behind a pink palm print. Sam's memory was instantly transported back to the day of the Burn, when he had hit Becky. His chest tightened every time he recalled the memory.
“Would you shut the fuck up and listen,” Tina growled. “I found some interesting stuff you might want to know about before you go riding off into the sunset.”
“Oh yeah?” Sam asked, unimpressed.
“Yeah, so take a break from being an asshole for five minutes because I might know where your son ran off to.”
Sam dropped the act. “I'm listening.”
She handed Sam the clear plastic object.
“What's this?” Sam asked, taking it from her.
“It was in Peter's mouth.”
“What the hell?”
“It's one of those invisible braces, mouth guard thingys. Supposed to straighten out your teeth only for a ridiculous monthly payment.”
“And what's this got to do with Matty?”
“Sam, Lilah killed Peter.”
“She did?”
Tina nodded. “There was a struggle of some sort. On the mattress. I'm guessing he tried to rape her. She fought him off. Stabbed him. Game over for Peter.”
“And the mouth guard?”
“Just a cover-up.”
“For what?” Sam clearly didn't understand.
“For his real ones.”
Sam's eyes widened. “He was a fucking cannibal?”
Tina closed her eyes, nodded. “I think Lilah is one of them, too.”
“Now how do you know that?”
“Because she ran. We followed a bloody trail to the smoker's door. She left.”
Sam understo
od how Matty tied into this. “Holy shit.”
“Sam, Matty may have followed her back...”
“Back where?”
Tina shrugged. “Wherever their camp is.”
Sam stormed past her, not bothering to close the front door. A few people took notice to his rash action, but no one tried to calm him. No one tried to stop him. No one tried to talk to him. No one seemed to care.
“Sam, I'm coming with you!” Tina shouted after him.
“Fine!” he yelled, marching on.
-8-
He spotted Chris Atkins first, leaning against a stackable washer/dryer display. The kid stuffed a wad of chew into his mouth, wearing a smile that crept and crawled beneath Sam's flesh. God, he wished he could hit him. Just once. He was already in hot water with the rest of the group since his little scuffle with Soren. And then there had been the tussle with Brian. What was just one more name on that list? Just one punch. Right to the chin. Knock him right the fuck out—”
“Dad?”
He found himself standing before Chris and Becky. They weren't exactly holding hands, but they were close enough to look like conjoined twins.
“Yeah?” Sam asked, shaking the image of a bloodied Chris Atkins from his mind.
“You're staring at us. And you're kinda freaking me out,” Becky said.
Sam looked at Chris. He chewed slowly, then tucked the clump of shredded tobacco between his gum and lower lip.
“I was... just looking for you guys. That's all.”
“Well?” Becky asked impatiently.
“Where's your sister?”
“Over here,” Dana said, stepping out from behind a row of refrigerators. In her hand she held the doll that Susan had given her. Susan, Sam thought. That buggy-eyed bitch. The very sight of the doll made him want to put his fist through the wall.
“Can we talk?” Sam asked his kids. “Privately.”
Chris didn't budge, not that Sam had expected him to. He was testing him. Baiting him into making another dumb-ass decision.
“Anything you want to say, you can say in front of Chris,” Becky said confidently.
Sam sighed. Don't let it get to you.
“I think I know where Matty is.”
“Oh?”
“It looks like Lilah killed Peter. He tried to... attack her in her room. She defended herself.” Sam produced the mouth guard. “But he was wearing this.”
“Holy shit,” Chris said.
“What's that mean?” Becky asked.
“It means...” a man's voice came from down the aisle. Soren stepped into view, and Sam clenched his jaw. For a second, he thought things were actually going to go smoothly. “That our friend Peter isn't who we thought he was.”
“Yes,” Sam said. “Peter was one of them.”
“Damn...” Chris said. “I always thought that kid was off. A real weirdo.”
“Well that would have been great to let us know, Chris,” Sam said. “Maybe we could've done something about it.”
Chris opened his mouth to speak, but Soren put his hand on his shoulder.
“Let's not play the blame game, Samuel. After all, there's plenty to go around. Agreed?”
“Listen, I didn't come here to pick another fight. I came to talk to my daughters. To tell them I'm going after my son. See, after Lilah gutted Peter, she left. Tina seems to think she was one of them—”
“She is one of them, Samuel.”
“Yeah, well. Whatever. So anyway, I'm going after Matty. We think he followed Lilah back to her camp.”
“Might I suggest that's a very bad idea.”
“You may not.”
Soren smiled. “Samuel, your contempt for me has been noted, but I must insist that you think twice about going out there.”
“What am I supposed to do? Follow you people across the country?” Sam snorted. “Yeah, okay. I'll take my chances.” He waved to his daughters. “Come on you two. Let's go. Shondra will look after you two while we're gone—”
“We're not going anywhere,” Becky said. “We're staying here. With them.” As she spoke, more of Soren's faithful followers peeked their heads out from behind various appliances. “We're going with them.”
“The hell you are!” Sam snapped. “You two are my responsibility!”
Soren put his hand up to stop him. “Please, Samuel. We don't want another physical confrontation. If we could avoid that, then I think we'll all be better for it.”
“You can avoid it, by giving my daughters back.”
Chris cleared his throat. “I think you should stop considering them, your daughters.” He smiled. “After all, Becky is legal.” He ran his hand down her back, from her neck to the small crevice above skin-tight jeans. “She's old enough to make her own decisions.”
Becky agreed.
“Yeah, well, Dana's only twelve. And she's not old enough to make her own decisions,” Sam said. “Come over here, Dana.”
“But I wanna stay with Becky.”
“Now!”
Soren smiled. “Dana, why don't you listen to your father. For once, he's actually right.”
“But...” Dana said timidly.
“Go on, darling. You'll be safe.”
Begrudgingly, she started down the aisle toward her father. Halfway there, she stopped and turned back toward Soren.
“You'll find her, right? My mother?” she asked.
“I'll do my very best.” He winked at her.
Sam fought the jealous rage that burned deep within the center of his brain. Once Dana was by his side, he placed his hand on her back and ushered her away from Soren's line of sight. He stopped once the two of them were alone. Getting down on one knee, he put on the best fatherly face he could forge.
“I want you to listen to me, and listen carefully.”
“But, Dad—”
“No buts, Dana. This is important. Where I'm going is very dangerous. I might not... I might not come back.”
Dana didn't understand, but nodded like she did.
“If I don't come back, I want you to go with your sister. She'll keep you safe.” I hope, Sam wanted to say.
“But you told me—”
“I just wanted to talk to you alone. I wanted to say... I'm sorry. For everything. I should've looked for your mother. I'm sorry I didn't. I was so wrapped up in everything, it just wasn't... important to me.”
“It was important to me. To us.”
Sam nodded. “I know. I was selfish. If I make it back—”
“You'll make it back.”
“If... I want to be a better father. I want to pay more attention to you guys. I want us to be a better family.”
Tears rolled down her soft cheeks. “Dad...”
“Would you like that?”
“Yeah,” Dana sobbed. “Dad, be careful out there. And come back to us.”
Sam hugged his daughter and patted her back gently. “I'll try.”
Dana dropped the doll on the floor and hugged her father back.
-9-
“And just where the hell do you think you're going?” Sam asked the jolly man throwing a fully-stocked camping bag over his shoulder.
“Fuck's it look like, genius,” Mouth replied. “Fixin' to join yer little search party, partner!” he bellowed in the worst possible Texan drawl he could produce. “You know, Sam. I had an idea to get people to join your side again.”
Smirking, Sam asked, “Oh yeah? What's that?”
“A fucking political rally! Think about it. You shake hands, kiss babies. It'll be fucking gold! Hey, I was an artist before I joined the Navy. I can make these posters with your face on it, and underneath—Uncle Sam wants you! Get it?”
“Yeah, I get it, Mouth. Hysterical.” Sam sighed. “You're not coming with us.”
“Fuck you mean I ain't coming with you?”
“I mean you're not coming with us. What other meaning can that have?”
“Now look, Sam. I think we can both agree that I've been pretty fucking trustwort
hy. Not to mention I saved both your asses from that naked flesh-eater last week. I think I've earned a place in your little crew—which, in case you haven't noticed, fucknuts—is lacking ninety percent of its members.”
“I have noticed,” Sam said. “And you're right, Mouth. You've been trustworthy. More so than I would've guessed.”
“I second that,” Tina said. “You've been a big help, Mouth.”
“Damn-fucking-right.”
“But that's exactly why I need you to stay behind. I need someone I can fully trust here. Looking after my daughters.”
“Whoa!” Mouth said, putting his hands up. “In case you haven't noticed, Sammy, I ain't exactly the fatherly figure type.”
“I'm not asking you to be.” Sam's eyes pleaded. “Just asking you to look out for them. Make sure that they aren't... used.”
“Used?”
“The people here are very angry with me. They might take it out on them. I don't think they'll hurt them physically, but... I don't know. I just don't want anything bad to happen to them. Especially because of me.”
Mouth nodded, removing the strap from his shoulder. He dropped the bag on the floor. “Okay, Sam. Only because you asked so fucking nicely.”
“Thank you, Mouth. Really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Well you two sweethearts better run along now. Don't have much time before daylight rears its ugly fucking mug again.”
Sam nodded. Tina motioned toward the door.
“I'll do the gentlemanly thing and walk you two out,” Mouth said, following them toward the door.
Before Sam and Tina crossed the threshold, Sam turned around and extended Mouth his hand.
“I really appreciate it. I really do.”
Mouth winked. “I know the others can't see it, but you're a good man, Sammy Wright.”
Sam smiled. Mouth closed the door and watched the night absorb the two of them.
-10-
“They left,” Chris said, knocking on the door to Soren's room.
Soren was kneeling with his elbows on the inflatable mattress. He opened his eyes and craned his head toward the doorway.