How will I tell Nathan about Ray?
“Ray,” I whispered, remembering the touch of his lips on mine. “Please be alive.”At last, we were going to launch our attack upon the scarb colony. If that is where the scarb took him, we were going to rescue him. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
Chapter Five
Troop Three
“But you can fix it, right?” I asked Travis, the red-headed mechanic, the next morning. After splashing water on my puffy eyes to try and hide my cry the night before, I practically dragged Travis out of his hovel so we could get a good start on the fire trucks. The sooner the trucks were done, the sooner we could get to the eastern mountains, attack the colony, and search for Ray.
Travis rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, smudging it with a line of black grease. “I would really like to replace the alternators on this one if I could—they’re on the verge of going—but we’ll just have to make do with what you brought. These things are so ancient,” he motioned to the three diesels, “I’m amazed they run at all.”
“They run because you make them,” I said with a smile of encouragement.
“I’m just glad Grim had enough sense not to run them with old fuel,” Travis said. Grim Rodgers was the old backwoods country man who’d found the fire trucks on his land.
“I can’t wait to blast that colony with several hundred thousand gallons of water,” I muttered.
Travis grunted his agreement then slid under one of the diesels. “They kill each other, too, you know.”He said from under the engine. “My whole family was wiped out when one queen got all bothered by a younger one encroaching on her territory. You should’ve seen it. It was like all hell had broken loose.”
“Either way, it sucks for humans.”
Travis grunted his agreement as he turned a bolt.
I picked up one of the loose hoses on the side of the fire truck. “How much water is it going to take to flood the colony and kill them all?
“Those handheld hoses can pump out two hundred gallons a minute. Times that by three working trucks, and that’s a good start. Hand me that wrench.”I did. “The problem is, the trucks can only hold five hundred gallons each. Without a hydrant to connect to, they’ll run out of water in less than four minutes. But if we can get the hoses hooked up to the lake just east of the colony, we should be able to flood the colony.
“I sure wish your boyfriend was here. He sure has a way with a rusted trany.” He slid back to get another part. Seeing my face, he said, “Oh, sorry. I probably shouldn’t mention him, with him being gone and all. I sure hope you’re right that the scarb haven’t killed him.”
Wow, Travis, you really have a knack for being blunt, I wanted to tell him, but opted for a small “Thanks.” instead. Travis was good with cars, but not so good with people. I heard that he’d gotten most of his scarb kills with his tools. I eyed the cart beside me.
“Can you hand me that spring compressor?” he asked, pointing to some metal contraption on his cart.
“This one?” I held it up, hoping it wasn’t one that had been jammed into a scarb’s arm socket. He nodded.
After spending the entire day roasting in the hot May sun helping Travis, I headed over to the Post a little early to get a front row seat for the meeting. Mrs. Weatherstone and some of the other women had prepared a large deer roast for the attendees, but I was hardly hungry. While the others gobbled up the food, I picked at my potatoes and the twisted carrots they’d grown that winter.
“Not feeling well?” Mrs. Weatherstone asked, sitting on the crude handmade bench with me.
“Not really,” I admitted. “I just want to get on with this. Are you coming this time?”
She nodded. I felt relieved, not just because we would have a good medic but because I felt like I needed her. There were few people in the town that stood by me, let alone liked me. But they need me, whether they like me or not. I’m a good fighter. Officer Reynolds knew that, and so did the others.
Then, someone I didn’t expect to see plopped down beside me. “Cassandra? What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice nice.
“My dad says I’m old enough now, so I can come,” she said with a haughty toss of her auburn hair.
I didn’t know we needed someone to polish our nails for us. I purposely turned my back on her to talk with Mrs. Weatherstone about medical supplies.
Officer May quieted everyone down after a bit, and Officer Reynolds started the meeting. Travis gave a report on the progress of the trucks. “The first is almost ready,” he stated. “But the second one is being a bugger.”
Sergeant Sims, got up next to explain our plan of attack. He pulled up the white board Mr. Blackwell used for our class. It had a rough layout of the colony on it. Pointing with a whittled stick, he said, “Officer May and his thirty soldiers will take the east entrance. Officer Reynolds and a troop of forty-five will take the main entrance at the south,” he pointed to the mark on the board that represented the largest opening into the colony. “And Mr. Davin, who has been recently appointed as an officer, will lead the last troop to the west entrance.” He tapped on the third opening. “We will pass out your troop assignments, and meet with each troop individually tomorrow night to discuss specific plans and strategy.”
Several soldiers passed out handwritten notes. I took mine from a young blond soldier who was Ray’s age but almost twice Ray’s size—pure quarterback material.
“You’re in my troop,” he told me in a slow southern-drawl, dipping his cowboy hat. Was that a smile on his face? Does he think it’s a joke, or is he actually happy about it?
He went on to hand Mrs. Weatherstone her assignment before I could figure it out. I scanned the paper.
Catherine McCabe. Troop Three. Officer Davin.
Assignment: Front-line on-foot combat.
Combat was good, but I groaned. I’m in Mr. Davin’s troop.
“Look at the bright side,” Cassandra suddenly said over my shoulder. “If you’re in Mr. Davin’s troop, maybe you can redeem yourself.”
I could’ve smacked her. I folded the paper and tucked it neatly into my pocket instead. Keep your cool, Cat. Keep your cool.
“I heard Derrick talking to you,” Cassandra continued. “Sounds like we’re all in the same troop.”
“You’re in Troop Three, too?” I asked.
“Yup,” she said with a cutesy shrug of her shoulders. Could this get any worse? “I can’t wait to give those slimy worms a piece of my fist.” And for the first time Cassandra and I had something in common.
Chapter Six
Pantry
I flopped down on my cot, so exhausted that sleep quickly overcame me.
I was twelve years old riding my purple ten speed bike. I was coming back home with Nathan and my best friend Jenny after a day of swimming at the river. As soon as we hit Main Street, we could tell something was wrong. My mind instantly went to the monsters I’d heard my parents talking about when they thought Nate and I weren’t listening. But it was all over the news and I’d seen enough to know that the bigger cities were in chaos. The government was responding to some kind of disease.
But that was the big cities. That wasn’t Shawnee, Kansas. Things like that weren’t supposed to happen here. But windows were broken on the shops that lined the street. An elderly woman was sobbing on a park bench, a line of blood running down her hand. Sirens were going off. A car alarm honked repeatedly, and no one stopped it.
“Hurry!” Jenny yelled, and we peddled as fast as we could down the side street that led to our houses.
I was the fastest rider and took the lead, but I made sure that Nathan was keeping close to me. He had just turned ten that Sunday. His legs barely reached the pedals of the bike Dad had given him.
“Stay close,” I told him. “If I stop, you keep going home.”Something horrible had happened in our town, and the danger could still be there.
Nothing felt
safe. Even the candy shop we usually stopped at to buy Swedish Fish and lollipops could hold any number of horrors now. We biked past the shop’s dark windows without pausing. Home was the only place we could go.
A corpse lay on the sidewalk right ahead of us. There was some kind of green liquid smeared across the brick wall. I saw spots and felt bile rise in my throat. But I knew we had to keep moving.
“Turn right!” I yelled back at Jenny and Nathan. I tried to warn them not to look, but they still saw it. Jenny screamed, her face turning ashen. Nathan made a sound somewhere between a gag and a whimper.
I looked back over my shoulder. “Don’t stop!” I yelled and looked down both sidewalks. Jenny had stopped her bike in front of the body and was sobbing, her thin body shaking. Nathan had skidded to a stop to keep from crashing into her.
Pedaling back to them, I stopped and cried, “Come on! We have to keep going!”Jenny just stood there. Nathan looked from me back to the body. I grabbed his hand. “Come on, Nathan. We have to get back to Mom and Dad.”
A silent tear ran down his cheek. His lower lip trembled.
“It’s going to be okay,” I told him, even though I knew it wasn’t true. The body lying next to us made me dizzy and weak, but I knew in my core that I had to be strong. I had to get Nathan home, had to get us to Mom and Dad where we could be safe. “Now, follow me back home. Can you do that?”
Nathan nodded, his light brown hair rustling in a breeze that reeked of some strange metallic smell. I turned to Jenny, who had gone comatose. “Jenny, please come. We’ve got to go.”
Her lips blubbered. She didn’t move. I heard a crash from the alley behind the candy shop. That was all the motivation I needed. “Nathan, let’s go. Now. I’ll follow you. Go!”
Nathan struggled to get up onto the seat of his bike. I gave him a one-handed push to get started. “What about Jenny?” he asked as his bike picked up speed. There was a loud scream behind us.
“Just go!” I yelled. We biked as fast as we could down the street, too petrified to look back.
We reached the row of houses we lived on and it looked relatively untouched. There was still a sprinkler going in Mrs. Long’s front yard. It could’ve been just another hot August day.
Our house was the eighth one on the left. Our family’s blue minivan was parked in the driveway.
“Dad’s home!” Nathan cried, his voice echoing the hope and relief I felt in my own heart. My parents were there. They would know what to do. They would keep us safe from whatever was happening.
Throwing our bikes onto the grass, we dashed to the door and threw it open.
“Mom! Dad!” I yelled into the living room and up the stairs. My mom had been sewing when we left that morning.
“Mom!” Nathan called.
The sewing room upstairs was empty. So were the bedrooms. That meant they were probably in the kitchen. Mom was getting dinner ready.
“Mom—” I burst into the room but stopped at the sight of the back door leading to the porch. The screen was shredded, the frame bent in at one corner, gaping like a hungry mouth.
My mother’s body was lying on the floor in front of the fridge. The lilac dress she’d put on that day was damp with crimson. One of her legs was ripped open, muscles and bone showing through the mutilated skin. But that wasn’t the worst part.
Her head was gone.
I screamed and vomited all over the tiled floor.
Nathan ran to her, but I stopped him. We both nearly slipped in the vomit and blood on the floor.
“Her head!” Nathan shrieked. It lay by the pantry door, her beautiful green eyes still open and her soft brown hair falling to the ground.
The sight was too much. We couldn’t even grieve over our mother’s body. We had to get away. The back door was closest. Nathan had gone limp in my arms. I thought he’d fainted, but I didn’t stop to check. Dragging him under the arms, I got us out of the kitchen through the broken screen door and onto the porch.
There, I stopped and sobbed. At times, breath couldn’t come. At others, it came so fast I felt my head get woozy and light. Nathan crumpled into a ball on the wood slats. Through my tears, I saw my dad’s shirt lying in the dirt of the garden we had planted that spring. His jeans were peeking through the leaves of the rhubarb plants.
“Mommy,” Nathan sobbed beside me.
The sight of my father’s dead body snapped me back to the present. I realized we were on our own. There was no one to protect us. Whoever or whatever had murdered my parents could come back. They could be watching us right now.
“Nathan, you’ve got to come with me,” I told him, but he didn’t respond. I forced him to his feet. “I’m going to take you back inside.”
“But Mom—”
“Don’t look,” I told him. “Just hold onto me. I’m going to keep you safe.” I probably didn’t stand much chance against whatever had killed our parents, but I had to at least try. For Nathan.
“Wh-what about D-dad?” Nathan asked.
I took a moment before I told him. “He’s gone, too.”
“Wh-what?” he started looking around.
“No,” I told him, taking his hand. “Look into my eyes and nowhere else.”I didn’t want him to see. His green eyes—bright as the summer grass, just like Mom’s, but full of tears and pain—stared back into mine. “He’s gone, and it’s just us. You need to do what I say so we stay safe. Can you do that?”
He nodded.
“Good.” I led him by the hand across the deck. At the sight of the broken screen, he started trembling violently. “Do you want to close your eyes?” I asked gently, wishing I could do the same. He nodded again. “Okay, I’ll lead you.”
He closed his eyes, sobs bursting from his lips. I held back the shredded screen and we stepped through the doorway. Our flip-flops flapped against the tile. I led him around the kitchen table, away from the fridge. “We’re almost there.”
The tile gave way to soft carpet. We went down the hall and into the living room. I sat Nathan down on the couch facing the window and the street. “Now stay here,” I told him and took a moment to try to still my racing heart and think. “I need to get some things from the house. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Please don’t leave,” Nathan begged, gripping my arm tightly.
“I have to,” I said, pulling his fingers off and rubbing my arm. “I’ll be right back. I promise.” I didn’t want to leave him alone in that room. I didn’t want to face that big house by myself, but I knew that if I was to keep Nathan safe, I’d have to get some supplies. “If anyone comes,” I instructed, “use the self-defense moves we learned in karate. You remember how, right?” I wiped the tears and snot off his chin.
“I don’t know—” he said, unsure.
I lowered my head even with his. “You can do it. I need you to be tough now, okay?”
“Okay.”
I headed upstairs first. My hands shook badly as I flung open my closet door and dug under the stuffed animals for my school backpack. It still had end-of-the-year homework in it. I dumped the folders onto the floor and grabbed a couple of shirts and pairs of pants off their hangers. Underwear, socks, and the fishing knife my Dad gave me last Christmas went in next.
Then I went to Nathan’s room. His backpack was harder to find, buried under his bed with about a hundred G.I. Joes. After filling his bag with clothes and Maba, his stuffed monkey, I threw in our toothbrushes and some toothpaste. What else? The packs were nearly full, but I knew that a couple pairs of socks and a fishing knife would hardly keep us safe. And what about food?
I didn’t know where we were going, only that we couldn’t stay in the house. I saw Nathan’s fishing pole sitting against the wall in the hall where he’d left it the day before, so I grabbed that, too. I thought about getting mine from the garage, but I didn’t want to load us down with too much. One should be enough. I made sure to get my father’s leather work gloves, though. He’d a
lways let me borrow them when I helped him weed. I figured I needed them now.
A trip to the kitchen was inevitable, but I danced around in the hall outside it, unwilling to go in. I won’t go near the fridge, I told myself, but the food was in the pantry.
Just go, and don’t look. I took a deep breath and plunged into the kitchen like it was an icy lake. Moving quickly, I went for the kitchen knives first, wrapping them in a hand towel and putting them into my bag. I decided to put one in my pocket. Next, I got two water bottles from above the sink and filled them to the top. Tears streamed down my face, making it hard to see.
Turning, I made myself move to the pantry. I forced my eyes to look at the white of the pantry door, nothing else. I stopped about three feet from it and had to lean over awkwardly to turn the handle. I felt the weight of my mother’s head move across the floor as I pulled the door open, heard the whisper of her hair against the tile.
With the door open just enough, I reached in and started grabbing things: a box of granola bars, a couple cans of soup, a bag of cereal. I quickly put them into Nathan’s bag, grabbed my dad’s keys off the counter, and left the kitchen forever.
I made us both go to the bathroom and put on a change of clothes. Then, I gave Nathan his bag and put mine on.
“Where are we going?” he asked. His tears stopped, his face hollow and ashen.
“I don’t know,” I answered and grabbed the minivan keys off their hook by the door. “Let’s go.”
When we left the house, we left the door open behind us. But Nathan turned and went back. He closed the door softly and made sure it locked.
“It just feels right,” he said.
I agreed. It was like closing a coffin.
SWAB (A Young Adult Dystopian Novel) Page 4
