At this, she barked out a little laugh that went unnoticed by Nico who was poking his head in one of the low windows of the ranch house.
What would be the cost? Her life? It didn’t seem worth all that much to her or to anyone. What value was there in a wife who shivered and felt sick at the least touch of her husband? Or what was the worth of a mother who couldn’t protect her children? Even her enemies thought Sarah Rivers was worthless. Cassie had felt Sarah wasn’t worth even a gallon of gas, while the colonel had treated her with all the consideration of a sheet of used toilet paper.
As always when the colonel, came to mind, a crawling shudder racked her as she recalled the rapes and the beating. The shudder ran right to her soul, making her lips sneer and her jaw clench. After the last few weeks the muscles of her jaw were hard knots and she had begun to look a little like Jillybean who habitually stored acorns in her puffed cheeks.
Sarah didn’t care what she looked like. All she cared about was protecting Eve and that her pistol had a full load. Without even noticing she brought the gun up to her lips and kissed it.
“What are you looking at?” she growled at Nico.
The Russian had seen the odd kiss and his eyes widened. “Nothing, I think. But we cannot skip many more house. Sadie is not well and I do not wish to be gone as so long.”
Although Neil had finally thrown off the infection on his forearm, Sadie’s pneumonia was persistent and very hardy. So far it had resisted the antibiotics they had given her, and if she was getting better it was at a rate that wasn’t obvious. Still she wasn’t getting any worse and everyone figured that as long as she stayed in bed and didn’t exert herself, she would get better eventually.
“We won’t be gone much longer,” Sarah said, stepping into the ranch-style home and knowing right away it would be a bust. “She’ll be fine…I hope.”
Chapter 3
Jillybean
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
With her scabbed knees jutting out of her floral print sundress, Jillybean squatted over the low mound of tiny particles which had been laboriously created by jillions of black ants. These weren’t the big “Army” ants. These were their itsy-bitsy cousins. They went about all over the place, seemingly in confusion, however, according to Ipes it was a well coordinated system that allowed them to survive.
As almost any seven-year-old would, she was about to upset the system. In her hand was a stem of long grass that had gone to seed. Stripping off its little branches, she dipped the long smooth end into the ant hole and watched as the ants went up it exploring to the tip.
“How long can two people nap?” Jillybean said with a sigh. With Sarah and Nico foraging, and Neil and Sadie napping, the little girl was bored, bored, bored.
They need their rest, Ipes said. They’re sick and when you’re sick, you need to rest.
“I guess, but why can’t they rest and play Candyland at the same time? I told them I’d move the pieces for them and everything. It’s not that hard.”
It was muggy out, the sort of lazy, gloomy afternoon when Ipes couldn’t do more than just shrug. After another sigh, she lapsed into silence as a falcon glided by. It turned a circle over the pair until Jilly pulled Ipes closer.
Thanks, the zebra said after a shiver quivered the tips of his spiky Mohawk of a mane. Oh hey, your ants are starting to go back down. Are you sure you want to do this?
“I think so,” Jillybean said, squinting at the ants. “Sarah’s out scrounging. You ever notice that she’s not really very good at scrounging? Whenever she goes out they never bring anything good back.”
Yeah, I’ve noticed, the zebra said, dryly. Maybe some people are better finders than others. Just like some people are better at focusing on what they’re doing and completing the tasks at hand. If you’re going to do it, just do it already and get it over with.
“I am focusing. Don’t rush me,” she shot back. After a shaky breath, Jillybean spat out the acorns in her cheeks, withdrew the blade of grass from the mound, and, without any further hesitation, she opened her mouth and ran the ant-coated stem across her tongue. The insects squirmed in her saliva and wiggled along the swells of her taste buds. She swallowed, made a face, and then swallowed again, making the same face afterwards.
Still there were ants hanging on to her tongue for dear life.
Try some water, Ipes suggested.
Jillybean drank from her water bottle and then ran her tongue along her teeth, finding a few strays. She swallowed them.
Well? Ipes asked. How were they? What did they taste like?
She shrugged and had to think about the answer. “They didn’t taste like anything, really, though they were awfully crawly.”
Ipes glanced down at the mound, which was in a state of frenzy. They’re ants, he reasoned. What do you expect?
“I wonder how many ants make a proper meal?” she asked, sticking the stem back into the hole. This time the ants were much more reluctant to crawl up. They would go halfway up and then rush back down again.
The zebra bent closer to assess the situation. I think you got it all slobbery. You can’t expect them to walk in your spittle; I know I wouldn’t. Try getting another stem.
Since there were a few of the critters on the first stem she wiped it clean with her tongue; scraping them to the back of her throat with her teeth before attempting to swallow—they went down much easier in this manner. After snapping off a new blade of grass, she speared the hole with it and watched as the ants went about exploring it.
Jillybean and her zebra spent the early part of the afternoon gobbling a few thousand ants. When that first mound stopped producing a steady flow she went on to another and then another. There were always more ant hills in the world.
As Jillybean ate she and Ipes kept up a steady conversation on a multitude of topics: monsters, honeybees, if butterflies ever had a destination in mind, and Sadie’s new haircut: she had somehow cut her hair to exaggerate the points that went in all directions.
Trying to emulate me, no doubt, Ipes conjectured, touching his spiky Mohawk.
Although the pair always seemed deep in their conversation they actually possessed an awareness of their surroundings equal to any of the forest creatures around them. Jillybean saw the red squirrel as it leapt from tree to tree; the chipmunk as it nosed about among the leaves; the sleepy owl high in a branch who eyed her right back, wondering about this lone human. She heard the buzz of insects and saw the periodic flow of bees going left to right. Bees meant a hive and a hive meant…
“Honey would make these ants taste better,” she said, “that’s for sure.” The day had begun in fine May fashion, with the skies a gentle blue. Now, there were grey clouds brewing up. There would be rain, but not for a while yet. “I know what April showers bring, but what do May showers bring?” she asked. “Anything cool?”
Ipes yawned and said, You know, the usual, mosquitoes and weeds and flowers and long grass. Speaking of which, it’s gonna be a jungle around here soon. He wasn’t wrong. The lawns of the suburban streets down below her were beginning to show the first signs that a trimming was in order: everything was green and leafy. Above, the sun had thickened the air, and, with her belly full of ants, Jillybean was getting sleepy, but sleepy or not, there was no way she could miss a walking bush even in all that green.
The little girl and her zebra were on The Sledding Hill, which was little more than a gentle slope, sitting above her old neighborhood. With its array of trees, it had the feel of limited wilderness to it and she liked to go there to watch the day pass by. From its rounded, woody peak she could see most of her suburban kingdom, including the man got up like a bush.
Stealthy, Ipes commented. The man crept along, staying close to either the rusting cars or the hedges that marked the borders of people’s homes. He is good. You could learn a thing or two from watching him. See that? In the open he’s as slow and methodical as you could want but watch how he picks up speed when he has cover. That’s…wait! H
e might be heading this way. Maybe you should...
He didn’t need to finish his warning to get out of sight. Jillybean hunkered down, watching the man from just above the tips of the tall grass. She was fascinated by the way he moved, the way he stalked, the way he dressed. Over his “army” clothes he wore a mesh layer which had been strung with a quilt of leaves and long grasses. When he was right next to the hedge, he practically disappeared.
With barely a thought, she began imitating the style. She pulled up handfuls of heather and garbed herself as best she could. Within a minute her hair was virtually thatched.
Don’t forget your face, Ipes said, giving her a good look. The man’s hands and face were striped in green and black. Jilly only had dirt and water to work with; happily she applied one to the other. When her face had been darkened by the daubed mud, she reached for Ipes.
Hey! No! I’m naturally camouflaged and besides I’m too pretty to get muddy.
Jillybean put her hands on her hips and demanded, “And I’m not pretty?”
No one told you to put mud on your face, Ipes replied. You could’ve…shush! He’s coming. The shrub-man was nearing the base of The Sledding Hill and had only one street left to cross.
“He’s gonna see us,” she whispered, anxiously. Perhaps because the man was so exceptionally stealthy, his presence gave a nervous tremor to her ant-filled belly. “Should I use a magic marble?”
Ipes raised up the slightest. No. Someone else is coming. Look, its Squatty. The zebra pointed at one of the neighborhood stragglers.
Squatty was a toad-like zombie. She was round-faced and toothless. Her fingers were mostly gone and she was so gimpy that Jillybean could walk away from her without fear of being caught. Her eyesight was also so poor that it was probably just a coincidence that she happened to be crossing the path of the man/shrub.
From a crouched position, the man watched Squatty go by. His eyes were hard, grey and flinty and they made Jilly even more anxious. In the minute or so it took for Squatty to amble away, Jillybean took off down the back end of the hill and ran to hide herself among the neighborhood houses. When she finally looked back, the man was either not on the hill or was invisible in his shrub outfit. This last thought led to an idea.
“I think we should test my new camel-flodge,” she announced. Ipes had long since given up trying to teach her that particular word and let it go as is. “That mean-ole bat Mrs. Bennet should do.” Where Jillybean had a soft spot in her heart for Squatty, she thoroughly despised Mrs. Bennet and rarely passed up an opportunity to goad her in some manner.
The little girl slunk along the street keeping herself hidden from Mrs. Bennet, who was on all fours, eating the heads off the dandelions that had gone wild, taking over much of her property. Jillybean crouched down next to a blue Volvo on the opposite side of the street. “Hey! Mrs. Bennet!” she called out and then scrunched lower and went rabbit-still.
It took a few moments for the lady-monster to lurch to Jillybean’s side of the street, but then the stupid thing just stood there gazing in the wrong direction.
“Over here, dummy,” Jillybean prompted. That did the trick.
With a growly moan of anger, Mrs. Bennet went right for the little girl. The monster was pretty slow and Jillybean scootched around the Volvo and then booked it to her house before Mrs. Bennet understood where she had gone.
“That wasn’t good at all,” Jilly said, as she locked the heavy deadbolt behind her. “Was I moving too much?”
I didn’t think so, Ipes put in. Maybe you should go see what you look like in the bathroom mirror. Maybe you don’t look anything like a shrub.
In the second floor bathroom, she gave her reflection a sour look. She looked like she belonged in a first grade performance of The Wizard of Oz as the Scarecrow. “I need more grass. It’s got to come up out of my shirt, and all up through my backpack, you know?”
“What’s this about grass and a backpack?” Neil asked, suddenly, hopping into the bathroom. He had tried, and failed, to creep up on the little girl. He was far too loud and she was far too in tune with her surroundings to be caught unaware. Now he was the one who was surprised. He stood there with his mouth open, staring at Jillybean with all her mud and grass, looking as though he was doing an impression of Mrs. Bennet.
“Hi Mister Neil,” she said as a greeting before going into her explanation: “There was this guy outside who was all got up like a bush. I mean more than just camel-flodge clothes like a normal army-man. He was like a moving bush. It was pretty cool and old Squatty walked right by him, but she can’t see none all that great anyway, but still he was hard to see, so that I couldn’t barely see him, you see?”
“There was a man outside?” Neil asked, his face tightening as worry lines creased his forehead. “Where?”
“Up on the sledding hill. You know the one just up the street? There were ants and I was going to…” she paused as a small sound came to her. Someone had rustled the leaves just below the bathroom window. By instinct, Jillybean knew it was a “someone” and not a “something”.
“What was that?” Neil asked. “Was that a person?” When Jillybean nodded, he whispered, “Wait here.”
She didn’t.
He scampered down the stairs and foolishly went to the front door. The sound she had heard had been moving front to back. From a crouch on the stairs, she gave a low whistle and pointed to the back of the house, but by the time he got back there it was too late.
The shrub-man was standing full in their kitchen, pointing a gun at Neil’s chest. “I’m looking for a girl named Sadie,” he said. “And you’re going to tell me where she is.”
Chapter 4
Neil Martin
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The sound outside the window had failed to trigger much of an alarm in Neil Martin. He had credited the noise to a stray cat or the wind blowing, or some such inconsequential thing. However, the way Jillybean’s face went white beneath her mud camouflage, and the way she subconsciously crouched smaller while at the same time her muscles bunched, these things awakened a fear in him.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t afraid enough. He walked down the stairs as though he were about to scare away a potential burglar and not a ruthless bounty hunter.
The gun pointed at his chest disabused him of the notion.
“I’m looking for a girl named Sadie,” the man said. “There’s a bounty on her head and I’ve come to collect.” He was dressed as Jillybean had described: very much like a bush, only Neil knew better. The ghillie suit was high quality and his face paint wasn’t just slopped on; an experienced hand had applied it.
“S-Sadie?” Neil squawked. “I-I don’t...is that a girl?” All Neil could see of the man beneath the foliage of his ghillie suit were flat, expressionless, grey eyes. Those eyes were so altogether pitiless that his insides started to quiver at the sight of them. The man did not bother to answer Neil’s foolish question; he only continued to stare, which, even without the gun, was practically a threat itself.
Neil could hardly think straight with the man staring like he was. “I...I...Sadie? That’s not a, uh, familiar name. I...I mean it’s not a name you hear in a normal sort of day. You know?”
Now the eyes showed emotion: anger. The man exuded the feeling. Even his M4 assault rifle seemed to grow in menace because of it, something Neil didn’t think possible.
“I...I...mean Sadie is...” Neil began, but just then, Jillybean interrupted him.
Stepping down the stairs she said, with more force than Neil had managed, “There’s no one named Sadie here.” With Sadie napping almost directly above their heads, Neil couldn’t believe how calmly the little girl had lied. She went on, “My name is Jillybean, not Sadie. I saw you creeping around out at The Sledding Hill.”
The bounty hunter took his eye off of Neil for all the time it took to blink and his reaction to the sight of Jillybean caused Neil to grow even more afraid—the man didn’t react at all. The little girl co
uldn’t have looked any cuter with her muddy cheeks and her thatched head, but the man only looked at her as if she were nothing more than a rock.
“Anyone else up there?” he asked. “Tell me the truth and no one will get hurt. You don’t want to be the reason someone gets hurt do you?”
“Ipes says I can’t trust you. And he says that if anyone gets hurt you will be to blame. And before you ask, this is Ipes. He’s a zebra not a person. How did you know where I lived? Did you follow me?”
He cast another glance at Jillybean and the zebra, taking them in like a snapshot.
“I saw movement on the top of the hill,” the bounty hunter recounted in his quiet, dry voice. “At the top I saw grass had been recently torn up. Then I saw where you had made mud and lastly, I saw your tracks down to the street. You walk in the same rut every time you go up and down. It’s obvious. On the street I saw a female zombie searching about, a clear sign you had been through there and lastly, this is the only house on the block with a lived-in look.”
“Oh,” Jillybean replied.
“Yeah, oh,” the bounty hunter retorted. “Now, I ask again, anyone upstairs?”
“No, I’m the only one.”
“Get over here,” the man growled, low. He then turned his attention back to Neil and asked, “Where is she?”
“Who? Sadie?” Neil asked, breathlessly. With the man staring so hard it felt like the bones in his legs were turning soft as warming butter. “I don’t know anyone named Sadie. It’s just Jilly and me here.”
“Turn around.”
Though it made him that much more vulnerable, Neil actually breathed easier facing away from the man and his cruel eyes. Jillybean came to stand next to him. She watched as Neil was frisked and then suffered the man’s painted hands running over her own body.
“If it’s just the two of you, where’s your car?” the man asked.
The Apocalyse Outcasts Page 2