They both know that someday soon having a base just won't be practical. These things are everywhere and they need to be on the move not only to do what they've made it their goal to do, but to carry on living the way they are. Staying in one town too long will eventually draw attention to them. It’s okay while they're still just kids, no one suspects them of anything serious, but when they're older they're going to need to stay under the radar, as Donna and Sam told them. A couple of months back they picked up word that the two women had been killed tracking a trio of witches in South Dakota. They still consider them their mentors, their graves may be unmarked but Matt and Luke will never forget them.
Luke opens the most recent motel room door and they both stare at the incredible decor that greets them.
‘You have got to be shitting me,’ Matt moans.
Luke slaps him the top of his arm, hard muscle absorbing the blow. He’s tougher than any kid his age should need to be.
‘Watch your language!’
‘Ow! Jesus, Luke!’ A genius hustler and a crack shot he might be, and he's not exactly a typical fifteen year old either, but he still whines on occasion. Not about the important stuff, just when the motels have the wrong kind of shampoo, or they get back to the Airstream to find his garlic’s gone off. He has the right to complain now and again, Luke reckons. He's been educated by cable television and they're lucky that Matt’s parents were rich and interested in giving their children the best start possible because it meant they already had the capability to pick truth from embellishment. Dropping out of school at thirteen and eleven obviously cut their chances of going to college or getting a job on Wall Street but they can read, they can write, they have solid groundings in mathematics, Latin, history, American geography. They just know more about living in the real world than a lot of school kids.
The motel room's done out in bright pink, with black lace everywhere. ‘Explains why it was so fucking cheap,’ Matt points out and Luke kicks him in the shin. ‘Do we seriously have to stay here?’
‘What's the matter, bro’? Not confident in your sexuality?’ Luke drops the holdall he's carrying and bounces on the bed nearest the door. He always takes that bed, that way anything that comes in has to get through him before it reaches his brother.
‘How am I supposed to be confident in something I know nothing about?’
It's a response that Luke thinks he might be pondering for months to come.
‘Would you and the porn channel like to be alone tonight?’
‘Really?’
He takes pity on Matt and leaves him alone for a couple of hours, walks to a bar a quarter mile down the road and buys a beer. He gets talking to an older woman who buys him another beer then takes him back to her apartment where he loses his virginity on red sheets and never learns her name.
It's gone midnight when he walks back into the motel parking lot, triumphant and high until he sees Matt come running out of their room wearing nothing but his black boxers, holdall in one hand, shotgun in the other. He spots Luke, yells at him to get in the car and they peel out of there like roadrunner, with a squeal of rubber on asphalt.
‘What the fuck...?’ Luke demands once they've put enough miles between themselves and the motel for Matt to start breathing normally again.
‘I have no idea, some mad bitch came barging into the room and tried to eat me! I blew her brains out all over the bed!’ He twists in the seat and looks back one last time, checking they're not being followed. He’s actually laughing. ‘But fuck, Luke, before she attacked me... I think I might like guys.’
Luke doesn't bother to pick him up on the swearing. Not then, not ever again.
~..~
twelve years ago
The attack is so sudden neither of them actually remembers waking. All they know is that one moment they're sleeping soundly in the Airstream and the next they're struggling with something eight feet tall with lots of hair and very, very sharp teeth. Luke hears Matt's whistled intake of breath, a sign of pain that years ago would have brought forth a scream but not now.
They're not prepared for this. The guns are in the living room on the table instead of stowed under the bed, but they might as well be in the car because they can’t reach them. They were cleaning them before they climbed exhausted into bed at just after two. It's only an hour later, still dark, and something is trying its damnedest to sink its teeth into Matt's throat.
The closest thing to a weapon at hand is the beer glass Luke knows is on the floor about a foot away because he's tripped over it twice in two days and still, thankfully, hasn't moved it to the sink. Getting to it is a problem. He has to climb over a pair of gross hairy legs as well as those belonging to the creature. (Funny joke, he'll share it with Matt as soon as he's sliced through the spinal cord of whatever it is that’s attacking them.) He manages to snag the tankard between two fingers, drops it on the floor where it shatters helpfully and he snatches up a long piece of glass sharp enough to cut into the palm of his hand. He stabs it down fast and brutal into the back of the thing's neck. It grunts and collapses, Matt shoving it off him immediately, uttering a string of profanities Luke can’t blame him for. It lands hard on the floor and Luke checks that it isn't going to get up again before he checks that Matt isn't about to bleed to death from the wound in his throat.
With an off-white patch of gauze covering the cleaned and treated bite, and fervidly hoping that whatever it was they’ve just buried behind the Spartan doesn’t pass on its mutation in the same way as werewolves, they sit side by side on the metal grated steps of the Airstream, squashed together, half-empty beer bottles hanging from blood-stained, dirt-encrusted fingers.
‘It's escalating.’ Luke hates pointing out the obvious but they need to acknowledge it. He's surprised that Matt doesn't fight him on it, that he just nods and presses cautious touches into the area around his neck, checking for heat. ‘Okay?’
‘Yeah. Hoping I won’t get hairy and start to howl during a full moon.’
Luke doesn’t mention the joke he thought up earlier. ‘It wasn’t a werewolf, bro’.’
‘You think it's time to hit the road, permanently?’
He really hates to admit it, but yes, that is what he's thinking. ‘At least until whatever this is building up to is over. If it’s ever over. Sorry. I really wanted this to be home for longer.’
Matt shakes his head. ‘No. You did great. It's been home, been everything we need. But now we need to get out there, figure out what's going on, find others, people like us who might know something.’ He drops his head to Luke's shoulder, an old, familiar thing and Luke turns his face into the long hair, dry-kisses his scalp like he's been doing since Matt was eleven.
‘We'll come back. One day.’ He can hear his own lie and he's immediately sorry.
Matt laughs softly. ‘No we won't. But it's okay. As long as it's you and me. We'll be okay.’
~..~
here and now
They have no idea what time it is. The clock in the hall has stopped and there are no other clocks that they’ve found. There isn’t the sun to go by either, the light is uniform outside. The road surface is broken up from underneath, as if there’s been a bad earthquake sometime in the recent past. It’s not that Matt doesn’t believe Joe but he crosses the road with Luke following and crouches down to touch the ground on the other side. It’s just like he said, smooth and hard like marble with a pinkish hue the colour of human skin. He looks at the road cutting a path through the nothingness and the house with its yard full of dead trees.
‘Tickets to a Bon Jovi gig would have been enough,’ he murmurs and his voice sounds strangely flat in the bleak terrain.
Luke closes up to him. ‘What?’
‘If the Powers That Be wanted to say thank you.’
His brother’s eyes bulge at him. It’s just a random band he picked, the first one that came to mind, but it is fun to let his brother believe otherwise.
‘Bon Jovi? Seriously? Could you be more gay?’
‘You tell me.’ He gets a punch to his arm in reply.
They walk into the centre of the road, stepping carefully over potholes and torn up fragments of asphalt. It's not hot, it's not cold. It's like standing in a room without air con on a warm day. Everything’s still, slightly stagnant, not a hint of a breeze.
‘Which way?’
They head left away from the house, walking close together, arms bumping now and again. They’ve done a lot of walking over the years. They don’t exactly have Green Flag cover so when the Mustang’s died on them they’ve had to walk to the nearest garage for parts or a tow-truck and a mechanic. They are lucky that Joe’s a skilled mechanic, as well as being good in a fight, and he's filled in the blanks in Luke's knowledge when it comes to the intricacies of the internal combustion engine.
‘What I wouldn't give for a cold beer and a game of pool in a good, old fashioned roadhouse,’ Luke declares and it sounds good to Matt too. But he knows there's something else on his brother's mind and it's only a matter of time before the explosion comes. ‘I can’t believe him!’ There it is. ‘All we've done for him, taking his sorry ass in.’
Usually the best thing to do when Luke gets like this is to let him rant without with any input. He doesn't want another opinion at times like this, he just wants to vent his own frustration and wants everyone else – Matt – to shut the fuck up. But following the best course of action isn't something Matt's ever been very good at.
‘What's going through his mind is exactly what's stopped us for the last fifteen years,’ he points out. ‘He probably made the assumption that we were sleeping together. And if he hadn’t before this morning he knows for certain now. He’s not going to immediately make the connection that we’re brothers as well, is he?’
‘That's my point!’ But Matt really doesn't think it is. ‘Joe's spent two months on the road with us, fighting every sick, demented thing we've come across, hacking the heads off zombies and cutting the hearts out of wendigos with a fucking axe! Which part of that suggests we give a shit about what's normal?’
‘We've been out of the world for twenty years. Joe's been out of it for two months. He had a wife. We're about the right ages to be his kids. He doesn't think like us. You should be glad it's just him and not the others too.’
Luke rolls his eyes. ‘Gabe's probably tried everything once. Emilie presumably thinks this is 'hot' and Rick... I never know what Rick's thinking. We barely know the guy and I'm actually quite glad about that.’
‘You know what? I don’t care what they think and neither should you.’
‘We cared enough not to do anything about it for fifteen years.’
‘That’s my point! And it was our choice.’ Actually, more Luke’s choice but Matt hasn’t pushed the issue.
‘I still can’t believe it. We saved his life. We told him what was happening, kept him as safe as we could. Hundreds, possibly thousands, of people died and he hasn’t because of us. And now he’s got the nerve to give us grief about actually finding something good in all this?’ He’s back in full rant mode, hands flying.
It’s all Matt can do not to laugh, because that would definitely earn him another slap. ‘To be fair, he hasn’t. Not really.’
‘Didn’t you see the way he was looking at us?’
‘He's in his fifties, he accepted the idea we're sleeping together even though we weren't, then he finds out we're brothers—’
Luke interrupts. ‘Adopted! Different parents. Different blood.’
‘But that's never made a difference to us, why should it to him?’
‘Hey, if we were related by blood, no way I'd have done what we did this morning!’
‘Really? So why did we wait until now?’
That shuts him up, even if it's just to send him into a sulk. ‘Why is their first assumption that we're lovers?’
Matt does laugh at that, incredulous. ‘People have assumed that for years! We’re all tangled up in one another. When was the last time you picked someone up in a bar? You know what we're like. We exclude people. We got a second car for Joe within two days of him joining us because we didn't want anyone else in our space.’
‘That’s not the point.’
But Matt knows he’s getting through to him. ‘It’s exactly the point. Last time I was with a guy before this morning was two years ago in Rockridge. John. Black hair and blue eyes.’
‘I remember him.’ Luke matches the fond smile on Matt’s face. Rockridge was good to them. ‘I remember his sister, Zoe, too. Long hair, huge tits.’ He taps Matt’s arm. ‘Hey, you know it’s just you and me now, right? I haven’t slept with anyone for a long time because I haven’t wanted anyone else. Even Paula was just to remind myself how to do it!’
Matt nudges his shoulder in another ‘love you too’ moment. Then he frowns. ‘Who the fuck was Paula?’ But Luke's stopped dead in his tracks, staring straight ahead and when Matt sees what he's staring at, he doesn't care about Paula anymore either. ‘Oh my God.’
A huge smile is splitting Luke’s face almost in half. A hundred yards in front of them there’s a wooden shack at the side of the road with two neon signs in the windows at the front, one flashing ‘BAR’ in red and the other offering ‘POOL’ in green.
‘Sweet.’ Luke sets off towards the place at a determined pace but Matt doesn't follow immediately.
‘Is that a mirage?’ he calls.
Luke stops. ‘A what?’
‘A mirage. You know... hallucination.’
‘Oh.’
He joins Luke a couple of steps ahead and watches curiously as he rolls something in his hand and down through his fingers before lifting his arm and lobbing a stone hard and fast towards the shack, narrowly missing the neon. There’s the sharp sound of breaking glass as a window breaks and Luke grins. ‘Definitely not a mirage.’
‘Where did you get that stone?’
‘I picked it up.’
‘No you didn’t.’
‘Sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘So where did I get it?’
‘That’s what I asked you.’ Sometimes it occurs to him that a lifetime of conversations like this one should have sent them both insane long ago.
‘It was in my hand.’
‘Because you needed it to be, to throw it at the window.’
‘Your point being...?’
‘My point being, that bar is exactly what you wanted, what you wished for. The espresso machine back at the house that Joe swears wasn’t there yesterday? That’s the same make as they had in that coffee bar in Bangor.’
‘The one you made us stop at eight times in one week, despite it being a ten mile round trip just to get there?’
Matt doesn’t grace him with an answer. ‘What if Gabe’s right? What if wherever we are, we get... wishes? What if we’re wishing for this stuff and it’s appearing?’
Luke closes his eyes, takes two breaths and opens them again. ‘Nope, doesn’t work.’
‘Hey! You’ve got to be careful with this stuff! What did you wish for?’
‘A Ferrari.’
‘What? Why? You hate sports cars!’
‘Do not.’
‘Yes, you do! That poor guy in Boston, the lottery winner haunted by his dead wife? You told him his brand new Aston Martin would break down every twenty miles, bankrupt him for fuel and made him look like a selfish prick with a tiny dick and low self-esteem.’
‘I don’t want it to drive! I’d sell it on that auction site you bought those crosses from – the ones with the blades in the top – and pocket the proceeds!’
‘Why not just wish for the money?’ Matt loves his brother, lives for him and would die for him without hesitation. But sometimes, just occasionally, he imagines getting his hands around his throat and squeezing. Just for a minute.
Luke holds out his hands. ‘Can we get a drink before I die of thirst?’
‘What makes you think you’re still alive?’
‘Right now, if I can get a col
d beer, I don’t care if I’m alive or dead.’
‘Unbelievable.’
Luke grins and Matt gives in. They’re going for a beer in a bar that wasn’t there a minute ago and in their world it isn’t all that strange.
‘Hey, isn't it good to know that we get the good stuff and not just weird relatives from our past?’
It’s a point Matt has to concede as they head into to the roadhouse, towards the sounds of laughter, pool and Rascal Flatts on the jukebox.
~..~
Inside it’s perfect. It’s exactly what Luke wanted and Matt’s right, that's curious bordering on highly suspicious. There's a drop in the volume of conversation as they step inside but only for a second then everything's as it was. Luke orders drinks at the bar – two beers, two tequila chasers – and watches Matt watching the two guys at the pool table end their game amicably and walk away. He knows what’s coming, sees the silent question in Matt’s eyes and he nods and smiles. His brother bounces up the two wooden steps to the raised platform where the table stands, under a window coloured by the neon signs, and racks up the balls. He chooses his cue and chalks the tip while Luke sets the tray of drinks on a low table close by and does the same.
Matt breaks hard.
His brother’s skills in this game have helped them survive over the years. In his first shot he drives five balls to the rails, pots two solids and, much to Luke's amusement which he absolutely doesn’t keep to himself, the cue ball.
They sink the tequila then Luke takes his shots, potting a stripe with his first, missing everything on his second. He’s never been quite as good and they’ve used that to their advantage in the past, letting punters win against him until Matt steps in with a challenge they can't turn down.
While Matt lines up his next play, Luke looks around. The other customers are all but ignoring them, chatting quietly in small groups, drinking around tall, circular tables beneath the random collection of neon and hammered-out metal signs adorning the walls. The quiet cacophony is made up of conversation, heavy boots and high heeled shoes on the wooden floor, the dull thud of darts hitting the board, and the background music playing on the jukebox. There are a couple of hopefuls trying their luck with the barmaid and Luke tries to remember the last time he did that.
The House at the End of the World Page 14
