“Spacey-KC sounds good too, so I’ll let you choose which nickname to go with. They’re both insulting and they seem to fit you. Which one would you like?” Braden sounds like he’s enjoying this.
I can tell which one she prefers, so I speak up for her. “I think Katatonic would fit better. It starts with a K and ends with a C…as long as you spell it wrong.” We all know not to press KC for her real name. She’s been closed-lipped about it. Her brother won’t share it either, and Jess seems too young to remember what KC’s full name once was.
“What’s Jess’s name going to be? I don’t think Messy-Jesse is insulting enough,” KC growls.
“I have ‘Spazz’ down here as the name with the most votes.”
“What does ‘spazz’ mean?” asks Jess.
“It’s short for ‘spastic bladder.’” KC lobs the insult like she’s been sitting on it for a while.
“It does not!” Jess hurls back, her voice rising.
I diffuse this quarrel as fast as I can. “It means you have a lot of energy Jesse.” She relaxes at this, but she keeps on scowling at KC.
Lisl is getting impatient. “What about me?” she demands.
“Well, you get a choice too; you seem to have even votes for two suggestions. You can either choose ‘Diva’ or ‘Nemesis.’” I know where Nemesis came from; for some reason Lisl rubs KC the wrong way. With suggested names like ‘diva’ and ‘nemesis’ she appears to have the same effect on others. I chose to stay out of this one; I didn’t put anything down for her.
“Hmmm,” she muses, looking around the room. “Think I’ll choose ‘Nemesis.’ I’m too smart to be a diva.” She actually seems pleased with the name. “Now what about those two?” She jabs a finger in the direction of the two boys sitting in the corner.
They’ve been quiet throughout the meeting. From what I’ve been told, they were both homeschooled. They’re from different families though. This life must be a double-shock for them: away from the family they used to spend all their time with and forced into a public school full of strangers. That’s when I realized that apart from Houston, KC, and Jess we all had one thing in common.
We had all lost our families. We were orphans. We were each other’s family now.
I got to know one of the home-schoolers since we arrived here and he was the more chatty of the two. His name is John and he survived because his family was, like Eric, paranoid enough to expect an apocalypse and to be prepared for it. Unfortunately they were not prepared for their home being set on fire. They also escaped in their car, but in their rush all but John forgot one crucial thing: they forgot to fasten their seatbelts. They were well ahead of everyone else arriving at the high school/refugee center, but crashed in another ditch. Only John survived the impact. His nose was broken, he was criss-crossed in cuts from the glass, but he was alive. He smelled gas leaking from the engine, so he dragged each family member out and away from the car, hoping he could revive them. He remembers calling out to the soldiers to help him and hating them with each minute that they didn’t. He stayed with his family, trying to wake up his parents, brothers and sisters, but instead of saving them he found himself running from them when the rain started. He joined the rest of us on that night and slipped inside the gates.
John is like me in his training, but he’s unlike me in one aspect: you can’t shut him up. And the thing you cannot shut him up about is how we were all doomed. He can strip the silver lining out of every cloud and then talk endlessly about that cloud. To John everything has a negative side and everything was going to get us killed, so it came as no surprise when Braden announced that John would now be known as “Doom.”
“And what about this guy?” Lisl gestures to the perpetually frightened-looking homeschooler next to Doom. “What’s your name anyway? You were only down as ‘W’ on the list.”
A small voice replies, “Wilbur.”
Lisl/Nemesis lets out a blistering laugh. “With a name like that, you’d have to be homeschooled!”
Braden cuts her off. “Quiet, Lisl! You’ll lead the others straight to us.” He turns his attention to Wilbur. “The name most voted for you is ‘Puddles.’” Wilbur looks miserable at this suggestion. Nemesis’s explanation makes him even more miserable still. “You know, on account of you always looking like you’re so scared you’re about to wet your pants!”
“Shut up, Nemesis-Diva.” Braden says sharply.
“Whatever, it fits him. It’s mean enough to be believed on the outside. What’s your new name Braden? Bet you had more suggestions than anyone else.”
“Yeah, c’mon, Braden. Cut to the cheese!” Jesse quips.
“I think you mean ‘Cut to the chase’”
“No,” says Lisl/Nemesis. “I like her version better.”
“Whatever. There were many names you super-helpful people gave, but there’s only one that got a vote. Apparently, I’ll be known as Kaboom.”
“That’s not as biting as I hoped it would be.” Lisl/Nemesis sounds disappointed. Everyone else looks disappointed.
“I get it!” chirps Jesse/Spazz. “Because you have an explosive temper and keep going off on people!” She sounds quite pleased with herself for figuring it out so quickly.
“Okay, I can go with that.” Nemesis sounds a bit more satisfied this time. She points to me. “So what does the weird spooky kid get for a name?”
Braden looks down at the list. “It looks like you all agree on his current nickname. His name will remain Ghost.”
KC
I’m glad Lisl got the name Nemesis. I’m sure she knows I’m the one who suggested it, and I don’t care.
We all came in here as refugees with little more that the dirty clothes on our backs and what we could carry in our split kits. Now our clothes come from the lost and found bins or whatever charity was once dropped off, which means we all look like refugees.
Except Lisl. No matter what she finds in those bins, she still looks like a fashion plate. We’re all using the same cheap donated shampoo or conditioner which makes us look like scarecrows, but Lisl, I mean, Nemesis’s hair always looks good. Some of us appear worse for wear without makeup, but not her. She doesn’t need any with her naturally rouged lips, her thick black eyelashes, and her perfectly smooth olive skin. I hate even being near her because she makes all my imperfections stand out. Next to her I look like death warmed over.
It doesn’t help that she’s got the confidence of a beauty queen, and she’s too smart to not see through a backhanded comment or thinly veiled insult. She looks perfect without effort, and she gets perfect grades without effort. While the rest of us are studying our brains out in the library, she looks into the distance with a bored expression, then gets a better grade than me.
Her biggest sin, the one that drives me crazy, is how she looks at Ghost. She flirts with him with her every move, her every expression. She doesn’t care who notices. She gazes at him with eyes full of expectation, like one of these days he’s going to have to go for her because he’s the only one in her league. I don’t know why, but this bothers me more than anything else about her. She already overshadows me in everything, why can’t she go away and join the popular girls who hang around Buck? Why does she have to be a part of our band of misfits?
And on that note, what is Jesse doing here? They probably think I’m angry because I’m always annoyed with my little sister, but they’re wrong. I’m angry because I’m scared. I’m scared that Jesse is in danger because she’s one of us. Before I figured the soldiers would pay her no mind. After all she is the youngest here and she’s one of only two children. What if they find something that links her to a threatening organization like ours? What if she opens her big mouth and gives us away? I knew being a part of a resistance was risky, but I’m willing to take the risk. Jesse’s not even aware of the risk.
Still, she does have a cool nickname. I stop fuming over Spazz and Nemesis and speak up. “Now that we all have mocking monikers, can we get down to the business of wh
y we’re here? And why Spazz is here?”
Braden’s look turns dark and mysterious. “Most of you guys weren’t here for this, but one of the reasons why we meet secretly is because of what happened to some of the others.”
“Others?” I ask. “You mean the refugees that arrived before us?”
“Yes,” Braden/Kaboom replies. “We’ve been arriving in waves. Lisl, I mean, Nemesis and I were in the first group to arrive, assigned here because our parents never showed up at home and there were no living relatives to place us with. Linus, Mouse and Puddles arrived in the next wave. Until you guys came, that was the last time anyone under twenty was dropped off. The army would deliver groups of people every three or four days in the first month. There was a long period of inactivity after that, and then you guys unexpectedly showed up.”
“There were problems right away between the soldiers and the more headstrong individuals who questioned the General’s absolute rule. They weren’t happy with the whole martial law thing and wanted to start voting on how to run this place. The thing is, there was already a policy in place about what to do with these types, and that was to relocate them, you know, before they could ‘disrupt morale.’ So one by one the most outspoken refugees disappeared. If anyone asked about them, they were told they had been moved to deserted houses in the local area.”
“Do you mean North Mclean?” I ask. “Because I saw those homes as we drove here, and none of them are habitable.”
“Same for Falls Church” adds Doom.
“That’s what we suspected. The drifters wanted to believe the soldiers and went along with whatever was said. ‘The army reinforces deserted homes’ they’d say. ‘They’re better off on their own since they don’t play well with others.’”
I just had to interrupt. “I’m sorry, but what are drifters?”
Nemesis butts in. “It’s Mclean refugee jargon. There’s the survivors who stick with each other in a survivor pack. That’s kids like Buck and the soldiers and the people they’ve accepted because they’ve got something useful to share. They’re willing to do anything for the survival of the pack, no matter how immoral it is. Then there’s the drifters. They’re the ones who just go with the flow. They deal with reality by not dealing with it. They don’t want to think for themselves or take care of themselves, so they’re happy to have the General do the thinking for them. They just kind of bob along with whatever authority wants and banish all doubts from their mind.”
“Yeah, I know who you’re talking about. They’re a pretty dozy bunch,” says Doom to no one in particular.
“And what are we?” Spazz asks.
“Oh, we’re the dead weight,” informs Kaboom.
“I thought Houston was ‘Dead Weight.’”
“That’s his new nickname, but in the survivor’s eyes we’re all dead weight.”
“So is it still our password?”
“No.” says Kaboom. “Our password will be the name of the club.”
“What was that again?” asks Spazz, but then she immediately follows her question with the answer. “Oh, yeah, never mind. It’s Dumb Luck.”
“I think we’re all going to have to behave like drifters now if we want to be above suspicion,” Dead Weight adds.
“That’s going to be nearly impossible for Nemesis and Kaboom!” chides Linus.
This conversation has lost its moorings. “That’s their problem,” I state. “Let’s get back to the explanation as to why my baby sister is part of the Dumb Luck Club.”
Kaboom continues on like he hasn’t heard me. “We never felt right about what the soldiers said about the relocations. We never got to say goodbye or see them off. Some of them were seriously obnoxious refugees who were impossible to be around, but some of them were just nice people who weren’t comfortable exchanging freedom for protection.”
“It seemed weird that they would choose the middle of the night to be returned to the outside world.” Great. Nemesis is back in the conversation. “And I don’t remember any of them requesting a relocation. It wasn’t like them to take off without leaving so much as a note. It felt like they went missing instead of moving, but the soldiers act like they were never here in the first place.”
“Did anyone say anything to the General about this? Is everyone afraid to confront him with their suspicions?” Doom asks.
“You don’t confront the General with anything. You’re too new to realize this, but we do have a brig here.”
“A what?” asks Jess/Spazz.
“Sorry, a prison cell,” Braden explains. “We have a brig so people can cool off, but we found that the most headstrong suddenly decided to leave for outside homes as soon as they found themselves in it.”
“How do you know?” I ask. “Have you been to the brig?” I’m surprised Braden was able to stay out of trouble for this long; he’s so confrontational.
“You know if someone’s been to the brig, because they never come back. And no one knows where it is. We’ve just been told there is one.”
“Oh,” says a suddenly subdued Jesse.
Wilber/Puddles shocks us by speaking up for the first time. “We find it’s easier to forget about the others by getting wrapped up in our own petty problems.”
We are all quiet for a moment while we try to deal with the idea of being delivered from the refugee center to certain death. Braden, I mean Kaboom is the first to break the silence. “Unfortunately we can no longer be in denial. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to play along with the survivors, hoping they’ll let us stay for the ride as long as we pull our weight. I don’t know what exactly happened to those guys who spoke up. I do know they didn’t go willingly, and they didn’t go with any chance of survival.”
“Why?” asks Ghost.
“Because Spazz here just found their split kits.”
JESSE
“Where did you find those?” asks Ghost. “How did you find those?”
I love all this attention! See, now they realize I’m just as important as they are. “Mom told me I needed to practice being invisible. She said it was like a game that might save my life one day. I was to find all the best hiding places in the center and stay there as long as I could. It was easy to find places in cupboards and supply closets. Some hiding spots were so comfy, I’d fall asleep.
“Mom also wanted me to practice how to keep real quiet and still. She said to pretend there was a zombie in the room looking for me, you know, like, how would I keep it from hearing me and finding me? I wanted to include Sara, but she never wants to do anything. All she wants to do is read fantasy books or stare at the wall like she’s lost in a daydream.” And at that everyone else’s eyes start to look like their brains are far away. They all feel sorry for Sara.
“Anyway, I hid in a cupboard under the sink in the soldiers’ bathroom once, and I wanted to get comfortable, so I pushed against the wall-side of the cupboard with my back to see if it would give a little. It gave a lot! When I pushed it, the wall gave way, and on the other side I found all these split kits!”
Mouse’s soft voice drifts towards me. “Are they spare kits for the center in case we have to be on the move again? Most of us have gone through the food and water in ours. All that’s left after the soldiers went through them are the knickknacks that serve as memories. You know, stuff that only means something to us.” Mouse is normally so still and quiet. I forgot she was here. She’s better at hiding than me, and she doesn’t even have to try!
I want the attention to be on me again. “I found Braden, I mean, Kaboom, because he was always asking me to be on the lookout for anything interesting and he said that I wasn’t supposed to share whatever I found with anyone outside of the Dumb Luck Club. Not even Mom.” I remember being so excited at being a part of a grownup club that I let out a happy squeak.
Kaboom looks real serious. “I wish these were spare split kits,” he says, “but these kits all have owners, or at least they had owners. Look at the labels on them.”
“Those are the names of the relocated!” Mouse’s voice doesn’t sound soft anymore. It sounds choked-up and weird.
Linus starts talking like she’s suddenly sad. “They’d never leave without their split kits. They’d never leave their memories behind.” She’s not really talking to anyone. She’s just talking to herself.
Houston talks for the first time in what feels like forever. “I remember what the commercials would say once they stopped calling them seventy-two-hour kits: “If it will cause you more harm to stay than go, get your kit and split!”
“I thought they were called ‘spit kits’ as in, ‘Your life ain’t worth spit without it.’”
Nobody laughs at Kaboom’s lame joke. I think we’re all wondering what happened to those disappeared people. I’m wondering what we have to do to make sure we’re not one of them.
HOUSTON
It’s so weird being back in class again. It would be less weird if it was like it was before, with thirty to forty students in a class. Now it’s a hundred or more crammed into a room with anyone from twelve years old on up. Less than half of us have desks. The rest have to sit in chairs. The few teachers they have here try to take their job seriously, but for the most part they fail. No one believes this is going to count towards a real grade because nobody believes we’re getting out of here. The only class that carries any weight is the survival class. Personally I believe the only reason why school is still mandatory is to keep us busy and out of the soldiers’ way.
On the plus side, nobody misbehaves. We get along for the most part and can at least fake interest in what the teacher’s saying because the alternative is being sent to the principal’s office. The principal here is the General, and those who are sent to him either come back totally devoted to him, or they don’t come back at all.
Today’s class is especially weird because I have my sister and Ghost in it, even though they’re one or two grades below me. At least we have Mr. Cromwell. He keeps to himself when he’s not teaching, but when he is teaching he comes alive. He was a current events and political science teacher in the Life Before, but now he’s just a history teacher. I know we’re supposed to learn history because “Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it,” but there isn’t exactly a precedent for what we’re going through now. Some of the conflicts taught seem downright petty compared to the body count we’ve racked up in the last two months.
Notes from a Necrophobe Page 13