“Go back to the RV, babe,” Craig said.
“Craig – ”
“GO BACK TO THE RV, NOELLE,” Craig shouted.
They glared at each other. You could almost see the sparks shooting out of their eyes.
“You do this, you can fucking forget about any more trips to the bunker,” she snapped.
“Do what I fucking tell you to do, Noelle,” Craig said, real slow and threatening.
She shook her head, then turned around and started walking towards the RV. As she went, she flipped Craig the bird over her shoulder.
“Yeah, you just keep walking,” Craig yelled at her. Then he turned back to Jon. “Where?”
Jon looked over at me.
“Lisa and Bob Crossin’s trailer,” I said, my heart hammering away, sweat trickling down my forehead.
“Ohhhhhhhh, Lisa and Bob Crossin’s trailer,” Craig said, then sneered, “How the fuck am I supposed to know where that is, dumbass?”
“It’s on the other side of the RV park,” I mumbled. “Not far.”
“How much?”
I frowned. “How much what?”
I was thinking he meant How much does it cost, and I almost said It’s free, they’re dead.
“How much weed, shithead? A lot? A little?”
“They were pretty major potheads, from what Ben was telling me,” Jon butted in. “And they died early on, so there might be a nice little stash.”
Craig nodded like he was thinking. Then he looked at me suspiciously. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
I didn’t look so good, I’m sure of it. I was sweating and shivering, and even though I didn’t feel bad about leading Craig into a deathtrap, I was afraid of what might happen if it didn’t work.
Jon knew that. He knew it from the way I was acting up on top of the RV, so he worked it into his plan. The next thing out of my mouth was exactly what he told me to say.
“I don’t think it’s a very good idea.” Which was the truth. Or it would have been the truth, if we were actually just going to get weed.
“Why not?”
“Ben told us the first day the RVs are dangerous. There are bugs in there sometimes,” Jon said.
Craig nodded again, just a little. Then he leaned over so he could see past us.
Noelle was already on top of the RV, sitting down in the shade.
“Hey, babe – we’re gonna go take a little walk,” Craig called out to her.
She held up her middle finger again.
Craig rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Bitches,” he muttered, then laughed. “But it’s good to have pussy around at the end of the world, huh, Jon?”
Jon just smiled tightly. I could tell if it wasn’t for the gun, he would have killed Craig right there.
I know I wanted to.
53
We walked slowly through the RV park, watching for bugs under every trailer. Jon and I were in front, and Craig brought up the rear with the rifle in his arms.
Not a bug was out, though. Not a single glimpse, not a sound.
“This place is a ghost town,” Jon muttered.
I looked around. It’s true, it was kind of a ghost town – all these dusty trailers and rusted cars and overturned lawn chairs, but no people anywhere.
No living people, anyway. There were a few skeletons here and there, scattered across the sandy ground. Mr. Jenkins’ skull and busted ribcage were out in front of his camper. Mrs. Juarez’s leg bones, bleached white by the sun, jutted out from under her car where she’d crawled to try and get away from the bugs. Her feet were missing. The bugs ate all the little bones and probably shitted them out later.
We stopped in front of Bob and Lisa’s beat up trailer. Right next to the door was a three-foot-high square of cinder blocks stacked on top of each other. Bob had dumped a whole lot of sand and rocks in the middle, and Lisa had put in some potted cactuses, so it was like a little garden they had going. Wind chimes dangled from the striped canopy over the front door, though there wasn’t any wind, so they weren’t making any sound.
“This is it,” I said.
After a few seconds, Craig gestured with the gun. “Well? Go on.”
I looked over at Jon in a panic. That wasn’t part of the plan.
“I’m not going in there,” I said.
Craig pointed the gun at me. “You ever watch any movies about Vietnam? Platoon and shit? Bunch of guys walking around in the jungle, looking for the Viet Cong? There was always a point man, the guy out in front. He was kind of like the eyes and ears for the unit, telling them if the enemy was out there. Just think of yourself as the point man, Ben.”
“Dude, he doesn’t even smoke,” Jon said.
“Good, more for you and me.”
“It’s not fair to put him in danger for something he doesn’t even want.”
Craig shrugged. “Life’s not fair. Go on, Ben.”
“Give him the gun,” Jon suggested.
Craig laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m not going in without the gun,” I said. My guts felt like I needed to take a shit, now.
“Well, you can either go in there without the gun, or you can stay out here with a bullet in you,” Craig said. “You decide.”
I stood there for a few seconds, not doing anything.
Craig braced the rifle against his shoulder and put his finger on the trigger.
I looked at the little hole at the end of the barrel…and then I turned around.
I put my fingers on the doorknob and slowly twisted it. The door creaked open, little by little.
Hot air rolled out, hotter even than the 100 degree air outside. And the smell – Jesus, it was like somebody put a sewer inside an oven.
I stood at the door, keeping my body behind it like a shield, waiting to see if anything popped out. Nothing did.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Craig snapped. “Get up in there and get the weed.”
The refrigerator was across the camper, facing the door but kind of catty-corner to it. The fridge was closed – which was good. Either I shut it when I tried to stop the bug that attacked me a month ago, or it had swung shut on its own.
The plan had been to have Craig open the fridge. Hopefully the bug was still hanging out inside.
But now Craig wasn’t coming in the trailer.
The gun muzzle jutted into my back.
“I said, what the fuck are you waiting for? Go on!” he snapped.
I looked over at Jon, who was standing by the cement cactus garden. His face was pale and his lips were pressed tight together. If he had a plan to get me out of this, it sure didn’t look like it.
I stepped up into the camper.
54
As I walked inside, I looked all around the RV, wondering how I was going to get out of this alive.
There weren’t any windows, but there was a plastic skylight in the roof. I could jump up on the counter to the left of the fridge and go up through the skylight – if a bug didn’t get me first.
And if Craig didn’t shoot me.
I walked carefully over to the fridge. Bob and Lisa’s bones were scattered on the floor. There were dark, nasty smelling stains in the carpet. Probably from the insides of the bug that got my leg, though his body was nowhere to be seen. I guess his friends finally found him and had themselves a snack.
I glanced left at the counter. Dishes sat in the sink. The dried scraps of food on them looked hard as rock.
I looked up above the sink. The skylight was plastic, yellowish and flimsy. I didn’t think it would be too hard to punch through it and haul myself out on the roof.
If I didn’t get shot or eaten first.
“What are you doing in there?” Craig yelled from where he stood in the doorway. “Quit fucking around and get the weed.”
The refrigerator door handle was on the left, next to the counter and the sink. It would be easy to fling open.
But the door swung open to the right. I needed to stay on the le
ft so I could climb the sink and get to the skylight.
Which meant I couldn’t use the fridge door for cover. There wouldn’t be anything between me and the gun.
If there wasn’t a bug inside the fridge to attack Craig, I was fucked. He’d know right away what I’d been trying to do – and he’d shoot me for it.
I climbed up on the counter, my heart thudding in my chest, my hands wet with sweat. The ceiling was so low I had to hunch over.
“What are you doing up there?!” Craig yelled.
“I think they put it on top of the refrigerator,” I called back.
I kicked the side of the fridge, hoping to startle something inside so it moved around and made a noise. Anything to give me a clue that I wasn’t committing suicide.
I didn’t hear anything inside the fridge, though.
“Jesus Christ, Ben, if you don’t quit fucking around in there, I’m going to start shooting, you hear me?”
I didn’t doubt him. At all.
It was now or never.
I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and put the toe of my tennis shoe against the handle on the fridge door.
I would have prayed to God, but I didn’t think He would be too happy with me asking for help murdering somebody.
“Is this it?” I called out. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
Craig came closer to the trailer door and peered inside, the gun braced against his arm. “What?” he asked angrily.
“This,” I said, and kicked my foot out.
The door swung open and slammed against the counter on the other side.
Craig jumped back, startled – and then he just looked furious.
Nothing came out of the fridge.
“What the fuck was that, you little asshole?” he roared as he stepped up inside the camper. The gun was still about waist high as he cocked the lever, ejecting a shell. It rolled across the floor and disappeared into the darkness.
Stupid, I thought. That was a good bullet you just wasted.
“What the fuck were you trying to do, huh?”
One thing I had forgotten about last time was that the bug didn’t attack me as soon as the fridge door opened. It had waited, maybe till it could see me, or smell me, or whatever it is that bugs do.
I guess Craig got close enough where it could see him or smell him, because suddenly it leaped out at him.
I saw a blur shoot out from the fridge.
Craig screamed and stumbled backwards. As he did, the gun went off, loud as a cannon inside the closed space of the trailer.
BLAM.
Tiny bits of black goop sprayed across my face.
I blinked, then couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
The bug was lying on the floor of the RV, writhing around and kicking its legs, half its insides hanging out of it.
Craig hadn’t aimed when he fired – I knew that from the way he had fallen backwards. It was just pure, dumb luck that he hit it. The bug just happened to get in front of the bullet – or maybe it hit the muzzle when it leaped.
Bad luck for the bug.
Worse luck for me.
I looked down at the RV doorway. Craig’s feet were still in the camper, but his body was down on the ground outside. He had fallen a good four or five feet, and he looked like his head was bleeding. The gun was next to him in the dirt, knocked out of his hands.
He looked up in confusion. He was talking, but my ears were still ringing something fierce from the gunshot, so I couldn’t tell what he was saying.
Then I saw Jon step up next to him – and swing a potted cactus down on Craig’s head.
The pot broke on Craig’s face, and blood splattered across the ground.
I think Craig started screaming because his mouth was open, but I couldn’t hear cause of the ringing.
That’s when the baby bugs started spilling out of the fridge.
55
I didn’t notice them at first because I was too surprised by what was going on with Jon and Craig.
Then I saw them, a bunch of black shapes spilling out of the fridge and swarming over the floor.
My first thought was, Whoa, where did those cockroaches come from? because I hadn’t seen one in months.
My second thought was, And how did they get so big?
Then I saw the tails whipping back and forth – tiny little tails, only a couple of inches long – and the little tiny teeth, like black needles.
My third thought was, Holy shit, those are babies.
I’d never seen baby bugs before. I never really thought about it. Every single bug I ever saw was about as big as a cat or a small dog, so I never considered that bugs came in anything but one size. And I never saw them fucking (or at least, not what I thought fucking would look like if bugs did it) or laying eggs or anything like that. It was always just eating and running, killing and eating.
But apparently bugs did have babies, because a couple hundred of them spilled out on the floor like the fridge had just puked.
The first ones reached the momma bug (I’m guessing she was the momma) and started gobbling up her insides smeared across the floor. Then the others started in on her, just ripping her up piece by piece. Within seconds, more bugs swarmed over their brothers and sisters until the momma was just a bumpy shape under a moving black carpet.
Then they reached Craig’s feet.
They covered his shoes like big, bulky black socks. No, that ain’t it – you ever seen Spiderman 3? The one with Venom? The alien suit that covered Spiderman, then that other kid that hated Spiderman? The suit was like moving tar – moving tar that would swallow up your body.
That’s what this looked like. A moving wave of black that swallowed up his feet – and then most of them disappeared inside his jeans.
Bloodstains began to appear on the denim.
Craig started kicking and bucking on the ground, screaming his head off. My ears were still ringing, but I could hear him now, only it sounded like he was a long ways away.
Jon stepped back as the baby bugs started ripping out of Craig’s jeans, which were soaked in blood now. When the babies crawled out of the tears in the denim, you could see this pulsing wave of black moving underneath. Every so often there was a flash of red, raw meat.
Craig jerked like somebody had zapped him with a cattle prod. His face was all cut up from the broken pot Jon had smashed him with. His nose was broken and off to the side at a weird angle, and blood was bubbling out of his nostrils. Dirt and pieces of broken pot fell off his face in a little avalanche, but I could see his eyes. He was more scared than anybody I’d ever seen in the last two months, and that was saying something.
I thought it would make me feel good.
It didn’t. I just felt terrified.
He swatted at his legs, trying to smack the babies away.
It was pointless, since most of them were under his jeans where he couldn’t get at them.
Plus, it was a bad idea.
He knocked a few off, but more just jumped onto his hand and started crawling up his arm.
He tried to swat the ones on his arm away with his other hand. And when I say swat, I mean ripping and slapping and tearing at his skin. He was hitting at himself and jerking like he was in an electric chair, panicked out of his mind as he screamed and screamed and screamed.
The babies covered his other hand and swarmed up both arms and shoulders.
Then they were up to his neck.
Then they were in his mouth.
If he hadn’t been screaming, they wouldn’t have gotten in. Well, not as fast.
They looked like chunky black water swirling down a drain in slow motion. His screaming died out as they stopped up his mouth. Within seconds, the first tails ripped through his cheeks, like those little eels I saw in the pet shop aquarium. Two inch squirming spikes that popped out of his skin, all covered in blood. A few seconds later, the spikes started squirting out of his throat, all along his adam’s apple.
He was crazy by now, you co
uld see it in his eyes. Completely insane from the horror of it all. He started tearing at the corners of his mouth, clawing at the skin, actually ripping it away with his fingers. He had a lot of help from the dozens of holes they’d already poked through the cheeks. They’d turned the lower part of his face into goddamn swiss cheese.
The skin came away in bloody rags under his fingernails. Tattered chunks flapped as more tiny bugs spilled out.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I puked.
What little food I had in my stomach spattered across the floor of the RV in a brown puddle.
The bugs still crawling out of the fridge suddenly turned to the right and headed for my puke, wading through it and snapping it up.
Looking back on it, I probably wasn’t in a whole lot of danger – I was up on the counter, and if there was one thing bugs weren’t real good at, it was climbing – but I lost it. I had just seen what they were doing to Craig, and now they were eating my puke, and I just knew I was next.
I started punching that skylight like a motherfucking madman.
It took a half dozen hits, but the plastic finally split. It wasn’t glass, but the broken edges were still rough, and they tore my knuckles up pretty good. Blood ran down my arms like juice from a watermelon.
I didn’t give a fuck, I just kept punching until the plastic splintered enough where I could rip it all out.
Once I stood up straight, my head and shoulders were all the way out of the RV, and I could see the roof.
I looked down one last time.
Craig was whipping around on the ground like a worm covered in ants. His whole body was black with them.
Jon was about five feet away. The babies must have been like the adults – when there was an easy meal to be had, they stayed with that rather than going for a new kill. Anyway, they were covering Craig, but they weren’t going after Jon. Some would drop off Craig’s body as he thrashed in the dirt, but then they’d turn right around and squirm their way back into the feeding frenzy again.
Craig reached out one black-covered hand to Jon like he was pleading for help.
Jon reached out, too. For a second I thought he was fucking insane…and then he squatted and grabbed the gun by the muzzle where it was lying on the ground. He slid it away from Craig’s body, made sure there weren’t any bugs on it, then picked it up and ran.
Bottle Full Of Scorpions Page 13