The Scattered and the Dead (Book 2.5)

by Tim McBain

  But then she took the make-believe confection from my hand and grinned.

  “Don’t forget the spoon,” I said, handing over the invisible utensil.

  She laughed and pretended to shove a big scoop of Chocolate Fudge Brownie into her mouth.

  “Pretty good, right?” I asked. I produced my own fictional spoon and wiggled it at her. “Let me get in there.”

  She snorted.

  “You’re so weird.”

  “Me? You’re the one bogarting the invisible ice cream. Share the wealth.”

  We stayed and listened to the music until dark. More than once Breanne was on the brink of marching back to the stream to let Bennett have it, but I managed to talk her down every time. It would have only made things worse.

  If she lets it blow over, things will go back to normal in a day or two. I just have to keep her from kicking the hornet’s nest in the meantime.

  Maybe it would be better if she fouled things up so bad that he didn’t want anything to do with her. (Surely it’s become clear over the course of these letters that Bennett SUCKS.) But then I’d probably never hear the end of it. Plus Breanne would be sad.

  I walked her back to her tent before returning to my own, so it was a just after sunset when I slipped through the tent flaps.

  “Where have you been?” my mom snarled.

  “With Breanne.”

  “I told you I don’t want you out after dark,” she said.

  She’s been especially paranoid since the night of the riot. I guess I can’t really blame her, but I’m still pissed she lied to me about the fridge trucks.

  “I know. I’m like thirty seconds late.”

  “Don’t get snippy with me, missy. The rules aren’t meant to be interpreted how you see fit. If I say you’re supposed to be back here before dark, then that means when it’s still light out. Not after. I don’t care if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.”

  I flung myself at my sleeping bag.

  “OK! I’ll never be late again. Jesus.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  I turned so I was facing away from her on the cot and got out my notebook. This notebook.

  So here I lie, crying and writing by the pathetic light offered by my rationed tea light. That’s right, Kel. You rate very highly to be given precious Candle Time!

  I know, I’m avoiding the topic. Why am I crying, you’d like to know?

  Between the crap with my mom, catching sad-germs from Breanne, and hearing that music, I don’t know. And then there’s Max. That was what started it. Having to tell you at the beginning of this letter that he wasn’t back today, and knowing he’s still not back, and that means he’s out there somewhere…

  Kel, what if something happened to him? What if he’s out there, alone?

  I don’t want to write it, because what if writing it makes it come true, but… What if he’s dead?

  Your morose and morbid BFF,

  Erin

  Erin

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  9 days after

  Kel-

  I won’t bore you with my morning. I’ll get straight to the good stuff.

  I was loitering in the mess tent after dinner, reading. Breanne came tearing across the room at me.

  “Did you hear?”

  I set my book down.

  “What?”

  “They’re back.”

  I stood up so fast, I felt faint. The world pulsed for a few moments before righting itself.

  “Max?”

  Breanne nodded excitedly.

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. I just heard, so I don’t think it was too long ago.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They just finished reporting to Sgt. Grantham. Come on.”

  I clambered around my chair, not bothering to tuck it back under the table, and hustled to catch up with Breanne.

  She took a zig-zagging path between the tents in the barracks section of camp, heading for Max and Bennett’s tent. I thought about asking whether it was really a good idea to go there, considering what had happened between Breanne and Bennett yesterday evening. But I was too anxious to see Max. To prove to my own eyes that he was really OK.

  And it turned out, Breanne had her own theory about that anyway.

  “Thank God, they’re back,” she said. “Now Bennett can take the stick out of his ass.”

  The tent flap was propped open when we got there, so we didn’t need to knock. Breanne ducked inside, and I followed.

  “Aww, look Maxine. Your little jailbait girlfriend came to see you.”

  “Shut up, Bennett,” Max said.

  He glanced in my direction briefly but didn’t make eye contact or say hello. Maybe it had been a mistake coming here.

  “So, like… then what happened?” Benji asked.

  “Well we got about ten miles out from the armory in New Castle when we see an old car blocking the road up ahead,” Jimbo said. “There was a woman flagging us down. She had a kid with her. Maybe five or six years old.”

  “Of course you idiots would fall for that,” Bennett muttered.

  “As soon as we slowed down, they came over to the window and asked for our help. Said they had a blowout, and they had a spare but no jack. We all jumped down from the truck, and then six armed dudes came swarming out from behind a stalled bus, pointing their guns at us and telling us to get down on the ground.”

  Bennett had no words this time. Only a disgusted shake of the head.

  “The first thing they did was grab our M4s. And then they had us stand up and walk maybe a hundred yards away. They asked us a bunch of questions — who were we, where’d we get the vehicle and the supplies, where were we headed. Wasn’t really a reason to lie, so we told them the truth. Couple of guys kept their guns on us while the others went off a ways to argue about whether to shoot us or not. We could hear bits and pieces but not all of it. In the end, I think they let us go because we were military. I could tell the way they handled the rifles that they were in the service.”

  Bennett lost it then, interrupting Jimbo’s tale.

  “I don’t give a fuck if they were special forces led by Cobra fucking Commander. There’s no way I would have let them take my shit. Our shit. That was our fucking food!”

  Max swung his feet around so his boots smacked into the ground.

  “You weren’t there. You didn’t have to stare down six meatheads while they discussed whether or not to blow your head off with your own fucking weapon!”

  Bennett leaned between the cots, so his face was only inches from Max’s.

  “Exactly. Because if I was there, I never would have given up my weapon in the first place. They would have been dead before I allowed that,” Bennett said and spat on the ground. “You’re pathetic.”

  With a growl, Max launched himself at Bennett, his fist landing on Bennett’s chin with an audible crack. The two went down in a flurry of blows, kicks, and grunted swear words. I had to hop out of the way to avoid getting my legs tangled up in the fray.

  It took all three of the other guys in the tent to separate the two of them, and both Max and Bennett were still screaming and struggling against the men holding them apart.

  “You’re a lucky boy, Maxine,” Bennett said.

  His teeth were red with blood, and the gleam in his cold eyes made him look almost demonic.

  Max glared at Bennett over Benji’s shoulder.

  “Why don’t you shut your mouth for once in your life?”

  Bennett’s manic grin widened.

  “You are so fucking lucky these guys broke that up, because I would have kicked your fucking head in, you little sucker-punching pussy.”

  Max tried to surge forward, but Benji held onto him. The muscles in Max’s neck stretched taut.

  “Fuck you!”

  Then he pulled back, ducking out of Benji’s grip and storming out of the tent.

  I took a step after him, but Bennett clamped a hand around my wrist.


  “You better make sure your little girlfriend Maxine has a change of attitude before he comes back here,” he snarled.

  Now I wanted to hit him. I wondered if he’d fight back, or if he’d wrestle with the idea of punching a girl.

  “Let me go,” I said and wrenched free from his grasp.

  Outside the tent, Max was nowhere in sight. The busiest parts of camp are all on the north end, so I went south, figuring he wouldn’t want to be around people just now.

  My eyes scanned up and down the rows of tents, searching him out. But when I reached the far edge of the mess tent, I still hadn’t found him. I continued on to the perimeter fence, thinking he maybe walked all the way back to the stream. Something moved on the left side of my peripheral vision. I pivoted on my heel and caught a glimpse of Max stalking in the direction of the catalpa tree.

  I jogged ahead, not catching up until we were within arm’s reach of the tree. When I placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, he whirled around.

  He didn’t say anything, but I could practically see the rage coming off him like heat distortion over a hot sidewalk. I drew my hand away and took a step backward.

  The fierce look in his eyes faded some.

  “Oh. It’s you.”

  The words weren’t accusatory, but he didn’t exactly sound pleased either.

  I clasped my hands together.

  “If you want to be alone…”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Stay.”

  I climbed onto my regular perch, but Max kept pacing back and forth, seething silently. I thought maybe if I got him talking, like when he was upset after having to burn the bodies from inside the trucks, that it might help.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What’s there to talk about?” he asked bitterly. “Bennett has it all figured out. He’s so much smarter than the rest of us. He’s got everything under control.”

  Max’s hands balled into fists as he ranted.

  So much for that angle, I thought.

  “He has no idea. No fucking idea! They would have killed us if we fought back. I could see it in their eyes. He doesn’t know what that’s like. To think you’re going to die.” His voice cracked. “To actually believe it.”

  My heart broke a little then.

  “Max,” I said.

  I kept my voice quiet, thinking the contrast to everything else that had happened in the last five minutes might grab his attention.

  It worked. He blinked twice, like he was coming out of some kind of stupor, and then looked over at me.

  I patted the spot on the tree branch next to me.

  “Come sit. Please?”

  He hesitated for the span of two breaths before he dropped onto the rough bark seat. With a long sigh, he bent forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you before.”

  “It’s OK.”

  “No, it isn’t. You had nothing to do with all this. Bennett’s the one I’m pissed at, and even then…” he paused, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob down and up as he swallowed. “I’m really just mad at myself.”

  I noticed then that his hands were shaking, probably from the adrenaline. I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his.

  “Well I’m not mad at you,” I said. “And I’m really glad you came back. When you didn’t show up with the rest of them on the first day, I was really scared.”

  I stared down at our fingers twined together, but I could feel his gaze lingering on my face.

  “You were? Why?”

  My heart started booming away, and a strange tingle ran through me. Was I really going to do this? Tell him how I feel?

  “Because I realized that if you never came back, I would have missed my chance.”

  Max was still focused on me, but I couldn’t look at him. I was worried that if I made eye contact, I would lose my nerve.

  “Your chance to…?”

  “To…” I said, almost needing to pause to catch my breath.

  I forced my eyes to slide up to his face. I inhaled.

  And then I blurted, “To finish the end of the book!”

  The corner of Max’s mouth twitched before spreading into a grin.

  “You had me going there for a minute,” he said, chuckling.

  He pulled his hand free from mine to give me a light shove. I plastered a devious smile on my lips and silently cussed myself out for being such a giant weenie.

  We sat around for a while longer, talking about Odd Thomas, mostly. But after the freak-out my mom had last night about me getting back after dark, I bid Max adieu as soon as the sky started to turn pink.

  So here I am. My sleeping bag smells like that pair of gym shorts Kevin Fessel wore all year in 8th grade and never washed. I smell even worse. The world might be ending. And I just missed the best chance I might ever get to tell the man of my dreams that I’m in love with him.

  But I’m still so fucking happy that Max is back and safe that I can’t stop smiling.

  Your chickenshit BFF, who has already begun to sprout feathers and make clucking noises,

  Erin

  Delfino

  Outside of New Bern, North Carolina

  4 years, 46 days after

  I followed the shadow, keeping my distance. Creeping over the grass.

  A bag dangled from the figure’s arm. Something heavy from the looks of it. Maybe a duffel. It was hard to be sure.

  Dew slicked everything out here, and the slime of it felt disgusting on my bare feet. Smearing. Squishing. The viscous goop built up between my toes. I could picture it there. An opaque jelly the color and texture of runny snot.

  This trail led us across the little strip of asphalt that comprised the private lane leading out to this estate, and from there the land sloped up, the foliage changing as we moved away from the beach.

  The night chill gripped tight around my chest and moistened the naked flesh of my legs. I had on a cotton t-shirt and boxer shorts worn down to the thickness of dandelion fluff — no match for the crisp autumn atmosphere pressing itself against me.

  But I moved on. I had to. All I could think was that this person had been watching me on more than one occasion — maybe every single time Meatball did that warning woof, for all I knew.

  And now I would watch him a while. At least long enough to figure out what the hell was going on.

  The weeds thickened into woods on all sides. I suspect that on any other night, it would’ve been too dark for me to follow like I was, but the moon aided me. I was thankful for that bit of luck.

  But I guess I knew it couldn’t last. Blackness became inevitable as we pressed on, moving deeper and deeper into the woods. I could kind of see if I didn’t quite look straight at things, but it was hard to be sure about anything. The shadow became a shapeless blacker shade I felt there in front of me more than something I saw with any sense of certainty.

  Even still, I did not consider stopping or turning around. I had to know.

  I followed the trail by feel, walking along that edge of the beaten path where the dirt gave way to a sparse grass. I was nervous as hell that I’d catch up to the guy, run nose first into the back of his head, so I took it slow, my heart thundering all the while.

  The humidity congealed in the air until my whole body was damp with it. A glistening, frigid layer of moisture on my skin, not unlike the beads of condensation I’d encountered on that can of Coors not so long ago.

  The cold and wet were strangely exhilarating at first. I gasped as the iciness swelled, sucking in great lungfuls of the damp night involuntarily, clamming up my insides with it.

  And then I could see that figure in front of me a little better. He’d pulled away some, but his silhouette moved into a clearing ahead, a treeless swath of land where the moonlight won out over the darkness. He sharpened into focus with each step.

  I quickened my pace, shuffling closer, and still more of the details revealed themselves little by l
ittle. It was a duffel bag, I could see now, and the man struggled with the heft of it.

  I knew now who the dark figure was — Dan Hellickson. But what the hell was he doing out here in the middle of the night?

  The moonlight shone so bright ahead that I felt vulnerable as I reached the mouth of the trail. The place where it opened into the clearing felt too dangerous to broach. Instead, I moved off the path, picking my way through the trees and squatting in a patch of ferns I thought thick enough to conceal me. Or at least I hoped they were.

  Hellickson stood in the center of the clearing with his back to me. He fussed with the bag, lifting it, raking a hand across it. It looked like he dumped it out on a stone bench of some type. Or maybe an altar?

  For the first time, I felt unsafe. I squatted deeper in the foliage, stems and leaves sliming my cheeks with whatever mucus passed for dew out here.

  My soggy t-shirt clung to my chest, sticky as hell. And the boxer shorts wadded into wet bunches on my inner thighs. I got so focused on my cold wet, state that I lost track of him, and then I panicked.

  I scanned everywhere, looking for that walking shadow, eyes swiveling from one side of the clearing to the other. But he was gone.

  My heart hiccupped in my chest. What the hell? It wasn’t possible.

  And then movement caught the corner of my eye. He was nearly on top of me, moving back up the trail.

  I hunched deeper into the ferns, sure that he was about to close those last few steps to strangle me, but no. He moved with less urgency than before. Moseying home. Probably tired.

  He had no clue that I was there, or at least it seemed that way.

  Still, I held my breath until he was well out of view.

  The next morning, I woke just after dawn and crept down the path again. It all looked different in the daylight, and being fully clothed, I didn’t feel nearly so vulnerable. Nothing on this little beaten path seemed sinister, I mean.

  When I got to the clearing, I found it. The little stone altar or whatever the hell it is. It does look something like a stone bench, but even in the light, it’s hard to be certain.