The Scattered and the Dead (Book 2.5)

by Tim McBain

  I rolled my eyes. She was only making it worse.

  “Erin isn’t going to be able to go with you, I’m afraid.”

  “But her and Max are only friends!”

  So much worse.

  My mom held up a hand.

  “Breanne, I’m sure your stepmother is waiting for you. You’d better go.”

  Breanne gave me one last apologetic look. We both watched her go. My mother turned back to me.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “What’s the point? You never listen to me.”

  “With everything else that’s going on,” she said, shaking her head and not bothering to finish the thought. “I can’t believe I have to do this here. But you’re grounded.”

  I snorted.

  “Oh God. No. Don’t take my phone and TV and computer away.”

  Her lips did that patented squinty move.

  “That’s how you want this to go? Fine. If I can’t trust you on your own, then you are no longer permitted to leave this tent unless I know where you are and who you’re with. I don’t think you should be seeing Breanne for the next few days. And you’re to stay inside the perimeter of the camp until I decide otherwise.”

  The hateful glare I fixed her with probably would have melted a lesser woman.

  She glanced at her watch.

  “I’m going to be late. Come on.”

  I thought maybe she was going to march me to the porta-potties to make sure I had a chance to pee before being confined to the tent for the rest of the day. And I was so busy thinking up new and horrible combinations of swear words to call her in my head that I wasn’t really paying attention to where we were headed.

  When she stopped in front of a large tent, my frown deepened.

  “The Kids Tent? What are we doing here?”

  “Well, I can’t leave you unsupervised. You’ve proven that over and over.”

  “A babysitter? You have to be joking. Why can’t I just stay in our tent?”

  “Because I made my expectations very clear, and you defied me. Until you can earn back my trust, I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  Ignoring me, my mother pushed past me. The kids were engaged in what Sgt. Foressi likes to call “Quiet Activities.” Coloring, reading, puzzles. All the while, the sergeant paced around, just waiting for someone to make too much noise so she could banish them to the Time-Out Corner.

  Then I noticed that the Time-Out chair was already occupied by a curly-topped head I’d know anywhere. It was Izzy.

  Breanne told me that the reason Sgt. Foressi is in charge of the Kids Tent is because she has a degree in child development. It seems odd to me that she would have chosen something like that to study. She seems to loathe children.

  “Donna,” my mom said. “I hate to do this, but I have a favor to ask.”

  Donna? Sgt. Foressi’s name was Donna? And not only that… My mother and the Dragon Lady were on a first-name basis?

  The reptilian eyes blinked. I think she might even have that extra set of eyelids that lizards have. That’s a thing, right?

  “What is it?” she asked innocently.

  “I have to be in the quarantine tent for a second shift in five minutes. Could Erin stay here for the rest of the afternoon? She knows she needs to be back in our tent before dark, but until then, I’d like someone watching her.”

  The Dragon Lady’s malevolent gaze shifted over to me.

  “Of course. The more the merrier,” she said, smirking a little as she spread a hand to encompass her flock.

  “I appreciate it so much,” my mom said. “And I’m certain she’ll be happy to lend a hand here.”

  One of the kids squawked, and Sgt. Foressi turned away to deal with her.

  My mom took the opportunity to dole out one last command.

  “I know you’ll behave for Sgt. Foressi. I don’t need to request that she physically chaperone you back to our tent at the appropriate time, do I?”

  “No,” I grunted.

  “Good. I’ll see you later tonight then.”

  I took a seat in a plastic chair designed for someone about half my height and weight. The legs teetered a little but held.

  Izzy’s chair faced the wall, and I could see her squirming around to try to get my attention.

  “Erin!” she whispered, too loudly.

  Sgt. Foressi’s voice boomed across the tent.

  “Isabelle, you know the rules. No talking in the Time-Out chair. I’m restarting the timer.”

  “But—”

  “And I’m adding ten more minutes. You’re up to thirty minutes in the chair, now. Would you like to try for more?”

  Izzy drew her legs to her chest and rested her chin on top of her knees.

  I swear I caught the flicker of a smile on Sgt. Foressi’s face. It’s like she enjoys lording her power over the kids.

  I watched a little girl, younger than Izzy by at least a few years, scribble over the lines of a Dora the Explorer coloring book with a red crayon.

  “How do you know Max?” The voice came from just over my shoulder.

  My head snapped up.

  “What?”

  “Max Rippingale. I’ve seen you talking to him,” she said, and there was a new look in Sgt. Foressi’s eyes.

  “We’re friends,” I said, wondering if there would be further repercussions if she mentioned any of this to my mom. But it wasn’t like things could get any worse.

  “Friends? With you? What for?”

  I figured out what the look was. Part scorn, part concern.

  Well, well, well… Dragon Lady was jealous.

  I plastered the sweetest smile on my face and stared her right in the eye.

  “I guess I’m just that special.”

  Her disdain deepened, and she shoved two big plastic water jugs at me hard enough that I thought they might break.

  “Here. These need to be filled.”

  Stomping my way to the water pump, I grumbled to myself about all the unfairness I’d been subjected to. Everything had been going along to plan until Breanne opened her dumb mouth. I still couldn’t believe it.

  I wondered — and hated myself as soon as I thought it — if she’d maybe intentionally sabotaged things. I felt like the worst friend ever thinking that, but I could sort of understand if she’d been a little jealous since things aren’t going so well with her and Bennett. Or maybe she was worried that if things progressed with me and Max, I wouldn’t have as much time for her.

  Of course, I’d never let that happen.

  Scratch that. I’d never have a chance to not let it happen, because my mom is a fascist, and now she’s practically sold me off to be the Dragon Lady’s slave.

  As the water splooshed out of the pump and into the jugs, I got angrier and angrier. I was being punished without having done anything wrong.

  (I know what you’re thinking: that I’d been planning to disobey my mother. But the fact remains that I have thus far been sentenced for a crime I didn’t commit.)

  Well shit. If I’m going to be punished either way, I might as well do the deed, right?

  I left the jugs half-filled and wandered off to find Breanne. I was going to do it. I was going to sneak off with Max. Maybe I’ll get grounded for eternity. But it will be worth it.

  When I got to Breanne’s tent, she was alone. She had a small makeup mirror set up on her cot, and she was squatted in front of it, applying red lipstick.

  “Psst,” I said.

  She gasped and looked startled for what seemed like a long time before recovering.

  “Erin! Jesus, you scared me.”

  “Sorry.”

  She squinted.

  “What are you doing here? I figured you’d be in huge trouble.”

  “Thanks for that, by the way.”

  Her cot squeaked as she threw herself onto it.

  “Dude, I am so sorry. I forgot, I swear.”

  I sat down next to her.


  “I forgive you. Besides, I decided to do it anyway. If I’m going down, I’m going down big.”

  “Wait, you mean… to meet Max?”

  I nodded my head, grinning. The grin faded when I saw the face she was making.

  “What?”

  “Well, I already went and told him it was off.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  The disappointment was almost suffocating. I’d been so close. So ready to take charge. I couldn’t just give up. I brightened.

  “Maybe I can find him and at least talk to him.”

  “No, he has to work,” Breanne said quickly.

  “Since when?”

  “I mean, he told me he would probably volunteer for guard duty since we weren’t all getting together.”

  I wondered what happened to Max’s never, ever volunteer for anything rule. Then again, it seems like since the riot everyone’s been a little more aware of the fact that we have something to protect and work for. After the supply run incident, I could imagine Max feeling like he needs to atone or something ridiculous like that.

  “Huh,” I said.

  And then I noticed Breanne had changed into her Lucky Makeout Top with the cut-out shoulders.

  “Where are you going all gussied up like that?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you’re wearing your lucky top,” I said and peeked inside the purse slung over her shoulder. “And making off with more of your stepmom’s stash.”

  That was when I put it all together.

  “You’re gonna go try to smooth things over with Bennett, aren’t you? Butter him up with booze and sexy moves.”

  Breanne blinked a few times, trying to keep a straight face, I think. And then she smiled like the sly fox I knew she was.

  “Exactly.”

  I stood up.

  “Well, you shouldn’t keep a gentleman waiting,” I said, thinking to myself that Bennett was anything but.

  I wished her luck, and we parted ways at the door of her tent. I tried to stifle the small, green-eyed voice in my head that resented Breanne for having someone, even if that someone was a shit like Bennett.

  Your whiny butthead of a BFF,

  Erin

  Delfino

  Outside of New Bern, North Carolina

  4 years, 49 days after

  Things have gotten back to normal these past few days. That first cold night was indeed a harbinger of fall’s chill creeping in to stay. It’s nice, I’d say, especially at night. It must be dipping into the 50s after dark, maybe even the upper 40s, so I’m wrapping myself in a blanket and everything, entering some brain dead coma level of slumber. Seriously, that’s good sleeping weather.

  We’ve started harvesting the corn now, eating ear upon ear with every meal. Delicious. There’s nothing as tasty as fresh sweet corn. Of course, there’s no butter to slather upon these yellow tubes of maize, but Mrs. Hellickson has some coconut oil that is shelf stable and a decent enough substitute. If I sprinkle a little salt on there, I can hardly tell the difference.

  The squash will continue to ripen on the vines deep into October or November, but everything else will be coming out of the garden real soon. I think we’ll try our hand at canning quite a bit of it — something none of us has any experience with, but it’ll be a good skill to learn.

  I must say that the Hellicksons have a real good setup here in New Bern. This will be their first winter here, and I believe they’ve set up a homestead that will serve them well for a long, long time. I know I’ll miss it once the spring comes, even if I’m anxious to get back on the road.

  My tooth hasn’t been hurting of late, either, so I’ve refrained from sucking on any gas rags. I bet that’s a sentence Albert Einstein never wrote.

  I wonder, sometimes, how or when I’ll ever see you to deliver this letter. There’s no postman out this way. I wonder if there ever will be. Not in this lifetime, I think.

  When I write, I always feel like these words will find you somehow. I’m so sure of it. But the reality is, more likely than not, it’ll never happen.

  So many of these things we tell ourselves. They’ll never be.

  And we realize that we’re letting the hours and days and weeks blow past. The months. The years.

  And one way or another all we’re doing is talking to ourselves.

  We were out picking corn when it happened. Dan Hellickson ripped a dead shrew out of Meatball’s mouth. I have no idea why.

  The dog likes to bring whatever he’s caught over to the edge of the garden so we can all be very impressed by his hunting prowess. From there, he settles in and eats it, smiling as wide as he can. This happens pretty much every time we’re out working in the garden. Meat is an incredibly efficient hunter, and I guess that area around the garden must be overrun with vermin. Sometimes he’ll eat one mouse and go out and catch another before we’re done working.

  Anyway, today Hellickson saw fit to interrupt this routine. The dog growled something fierce at him when he reached for the rodent, but the man lifted his hand as though to strike, and Meatball cowered after that.

  What a dick, right?

  I didn’t see what he did with the dead animal, though I meant to watch. Maybe he doesn’t want the dog eating shrews in particular? I wouldn’t know why. I’d be proud to have a dog that fed itself, especially now that there’s no kibble to be had at the local Wal-Mart. Every calorie is earned.

  I went up to the Hellickson house for dinner this evening. We usually all eat a really casual lunch there — almost buffet style, with the food all laid out and everyone coming and going so as to best fit the meal around whatever they’re working on — and then Linda sends one of the kids down to my cabin to deliver an evening meal, which I eat alone. Eating dinner up at the house is different, though. It’s almost like a formal event.

  They’d invited me earlier in the day, of course, and I’d been looking forward to it. After what happened with the dog and the shrew, though, I no longer wanted to go so much. Something about it just didn’t sit right with me, and I didn’t want to get in a fight about it or anything. I don’t know. Maybe it was more than that. Something just told me that I should stay away.

  Well, I didn’t listen to that impulse, but I think my instincts were right.

  When Linda greeted me at the door, Dan was nowhere to be seen, which I thought was a little strange. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. She led me into the dining room where Dan and the kids were already sitting.

  I don’t think I’ve ever eaten in a non-restaurant dining area with such high ceilings, and the sounds all echo funny because of that, I guess. No matter how many times I go up to the house to eat, I can’t get used to the sound of it. The reverb. Almost feels like eating in a cathedral or theater or something. Like eating in church.

  Dan didn’t look up or anything when I walked in. He just stared at his empty plate like it was one of those 3D pictures you have to look at forever before the picture comes popping out at you.

  The meal commenced with barely another word spoken by any of us, and though Dan came unfrozen enough to lift his fork to his face and pass the mashed potatoes in, he barely seemed like himself at all.

  The food was excellent. A variety of fresh caught fish from the gillnet — a Spanish mackerel, three bluefish, and a flounder. The mackerel is my fav. Plus a bunch of corn and all of the usual veggies.

  But even this delicious spread wasn’t enough to salvage the situation. The awkwardness swelled in this space. I tried to focus on my fillet and stop thinking about it, but it was no help.

  Hellickson sat at the head of the table like some ogre, a pissed off look on his mug, hostile energy seething out of every pore in his skin. He seemed so intense, wound up so goddamn tight, I just wanted to be away from him.

  I fidgeted in my seat no matter how hard I fought it. I found myself uneasy about every little noise I made, as though the sound of my fork tinkling against the plate or taking a gulp of water might set this weirdo off.<
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  What finally helped was staring out the window, watching the waves come rolling up the beach. I could hear the surf, too, through the screen door, and directing my attention to that also helped make the room seem less silent, less uncomfortable and tense.

  When I glanced away from the ocean, I found Dan Hellickson staring straight at me — his eyes locked onto mine with a dead look in them.

  Jesus. What a creep he’s becoming.

  I didn’t know what to do, so I smiled at him.

  He didn’t respond. Didn’t so much as blink.

  I broke eye contact, looking down at my plate as I speared a few green beans on my fork. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t look back his way.

  I took a bite, chewed, swallowed. Took another.

  Eventually, he let out an anguished sigh, a puff of almost violent breath like a bus hissing at a bus stop. I could see that he’d tilted his head back toward his plate.

  I finished my food quickly and got out of there in a hurry, claiming that I felt a migraine coming on.

  So weird. I really never want to go back there at this point.

  Maybe Dan was just having a bad day or something, but I don’t know. He might be losing it a little bit.

  The cool in the cabin is exhilarating tonight — the perfect temp to fall into a black hole of sleep. I’m telling you, I live for sleep like this. I wait all year for the week or two in the autumn when the weather plays out just right.

  I should be as happy as can be now that night has fallen around me. I should be chomping at the bit to submerge myself in the deepest sleep a man can experience short of actual death.

  So why do I find that I’m much more concerned with keeping a weapon handy as I crawl into bed?

  Erin

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  11 days after

  Kel-

  After Breanne ditched me, I wandered around for a while. But I started to get nervous that Sgt. Foressi would send out a search party. I needed to hide.

  And then I realized I knew the perfect place to hide, right in plain sight.

  In my own tent. I sat on my cot and wrote to you. That took a whole thirty minutes, and then I was back to being bored and alone. As I shoved my notebook back in my bag, the cover of Odd Thomas caught my eye.