by Ann Christy
We watch in silence for a while, each in our own thoughts and the children playing roshambo. Gregory says, “Well, there goes your chance for advanced education.”
He says it in such a flat voice and with such a deadpan expression that no one knows if he’s joking or if he’s still upset about the college burning until he winks. Then we all laugh.
“Yeah,” Charlie muses, carrying the joke forward. “But all the professors were deathly boring, I hear.”
That gives me an idea, so I add, “And the class schedules are killer.”
Matt adds, “And the students mostly brain-dead hippies.”
We’re all laughing now, even Gloria and the kids—though the kids have no idea why that’s funny, I’m sure. We pass a water bottle down the line and watch until the sun is well above the trees and the temperature on the roof becomes too hot to bear comfortably. Still the black smoke rises like a column of hope into the sky.
Then we go inside, our work day just beginning, but at least it’s starting with smiles.
Today - Death of a Scoundrel
Carson’s veins are inflamed under his skin and the sweat that’s coming off of him smells of rot and poison. Simply examining him takes force of will, every instinct I have screaming at me to run away from something as contaminated as him.
It’s the end. Almost.
Tanner is watching what’s going on, but I don’t think he really understands it. He keeps sniffing the air like a dog would, then clearing his nose forcefully in a way that also reminds me of a dog. He doesn’t like the smell either, and based on what Carson said about his enhanced sense of smell, and the way that Tanner always half-closes his eyes to sniff the air, I’m guessing it must be much stronger for him than for me with my human senses.
Outside the cage, Gregory is breathing in through his mouth at the smells wafting out as I uncover Carson to measure the progress of his putrefaction. He makes a face when I drape the sheet back over the dying man and accidently send a cloud of stink his way.
He says, “That’s horrible. We should just end it. Even I think this is inhumane.” At least he says it softly, so as to keep the noise down and hopefully, not wake Carson.
I give him a look that I hope communicates more than my words can. “And that’s why these guys are suitable as test subjects.”
Gregory snorts softly and shakes his head. “Remind me never to mess with you.”
“I agree that would be unwise,” I say, but I grin just a little to let him know I’m kidding. Sort of.
I tuck the sheet under Carson’s arms as much as I can with his restraints, so that I can watch him better and keep testing for a pulse. I take his head restraint off because he seems to have more trouble breathing with his head tightly bound like it is. That seems to ease his troubles some. Perhaps just having his neck relaxed is helping.
Then, all I can do is wait. An hour passes while I watch him. Emily manages to engage Gregory in a chat, and despite what I’m doing here, it brings a smile to hear them laughing and carrying on.
Everyone is getting used to her. I’m glad and immensely relieved. It will make it much harder for anyone to suggest getting rid of her if this doesn’t work.
Carson surprises me by wrenching in a hard breath, opening his eyes, and shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. His eyes wander for a moment, then his gaze lands on me. His eyes are bloodshot and his expression radiates pain.
“She had the most beautiful hair, you know. I still see it sometimes when I sleep.” He says this slowly, almost under his breath, because he can’t do anything more than that.
“Who did?” I ask gently, leaning as close to him as I can stand to.
My time of punishing Carson is long past. I won’t pity him for the position he’s in, but I won’t make it worse than it must already be. Right now he’s so far gone he wouldn't understand it anyway. It would be too much like cruelty toward something helpless. I confess that feels strange to me, because this is a bad man, a man who did terrible things and deserves cruelty if anyone in the world does.
Yet, he’s just a suffering remnant who doesn’t remember much of his life and is very close to death. I guess that means if I can’t bring myself to be cruel to a man like this, then maybe no human deserves cruelty.
He’s quiet for so long that I think he’s slipping back into unconsciousness again. His breaths aren’t normal, they pull into his chest strangely, almost unwillingly, and he has to push hard to get them out. There’s a lot of time between each breath too. It’s a lot like when Emily was at her end. I look down and see that the dark bluish-black has crawled up higher on his fingers yet again, now reaching almost to the knuckles of his hand.
“Sandy,” he murmurs. He takes one of those horrible breaths, then, “Wife.”
I rear back a little at that. It’s hard to imagine any of these men with a wife. Anyone who could do what they did to a woman couldn’t possibly have ever loved one.
“Here. She’s coming,” he breathes.
A chill runs down my back and I straighten, nervously looking over my shoulder. I know intellectually that no one is there, but still. That was very creepy.
Suddenly, a howl breaks the silence and I have only an instant to process that it was Emily before the three in-betweeners try to join in, their gags and hoods muffling the noise. Tanner commences his bellow then as well and it’s loud, like a giant foghorn.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. The closest thing I can compare it to is wolves howling on TV. It’s soul-piercing and so mournful it forces tears up into my eyes against my will. It takes a second, but I look down and see Carson’s eyes fixed on some point far away and realize he died from one word to the next.
They’re howling over his death, like they’ve become a pack or something. I’ve never heard this before, never heard any in-betweener howl when we killed one of its fellows. This is new. And it’s very frightening.
Gregory curses and backs away from Emily’s cage, his crossbow up and pointing from one cage to the other. His eyes are wide as we stare at each other and listen to the howl.
I hear the word, “Clear,” from across the warehouse and see Matt, Savannah and Charlie with their crossbows up and ready, clearing the warehouse. It’s weird to see that from this perspective.
I call out, “It’s okay.”
There’s a beat of silence before Savannah calls back, “Then what is that noise?”
“Carson died,” I call back. The howls die down, then abruptly end. There’s only a low, sad keening emanating from Emily’s cage.
All three stop a few feet from the cage, bows not quite up and aimed, but not quite lowered either. Matt glares at Gregory as if he believes his brother is somehow to blame.
“What did you do to Emily?” he demands of Gregory. I’m not liking how his crossbow is not-quite pointed in Gregory’s direction.
“I promise. Everything is okay,” I say. To my relief, I see the crossbows dip a little as they all peer into the cages.
Even Matt’s bow comes down as he side-steps up to Emily’s cage, neatly going around Gregory without so much as brushing him. “Hey, Em. You okay in there?”
Her low keening sound hitches a little, but Savannah takes my attention when she starts barking out questions.
“If he died, then what was all the noise for? He did that before he died? It sounded like a crowd of them in here. And Emily, too,” Savannah says, far too loudly, from just outside the cage.
Matt turns from Emily’s cage, clearly annoyed, and says, “Hush, Savannah. There’s no reason to yell. You’ll just upset her.” To Charlie, he asks, “Can you go help her? You can get her to calm down better than I can.”
Matt must mean Emily, which is odd, because I didn’t know he felt so protective of her. I mean, he does his watches and does them well, but when he turns over the watch, I never got any particularly strong vibe from him in that direction.
Well, I guess I learn something new every da
y. Protectiveness aside, he still looks uptight. If he were a dog, the fur on his back would be standing up. At least he’s not glaring in Gregory’s direction anymore. As it is, he’s just holding his crossbow as if still very ready to bring it to bear. Since I’m the one in the cage, that doesn’t make me feel too comfy at the moment.
Charlie peers into Emily’s cage. From her, I still hear that low keening wail, very different from any other I’ve heard from her. It has a mournful quality that’s expressive enough to cause an involuntary reaction in anyone close enough to hear it. I see Charlie give a small shiver, but he recovers himself and starts to soothe Emily as best he can.
I turn my attention back to Matt and Savannah, because both of them still look fairly freaked out.
“Carson died and the moment he did, all the others started up with that howl. Almost like wolves or something,” I say.
Savannah looks from Emily’s cage and back to me again, her expression tight. She says, “Pack behavior. That’s new and bad. Why now? Why with these in-betweeners?”
Matt waves his crossbow as if to encompass all the subjects in the cage with me. “And why was Emily doing it too?”
Gregory finally speaks, which is good because I really don’t have an answer to give. “I was talking with Emily when it happened. She sniffed, then just threw her head back and started howling. She was the first one to start it.”
Savannah and Gregory share a look I don’t like and she says, “That means she’s identifying with them, even though she doesn’t know them. She’s never even been in the same cage with them.”
I’ve about had it with significant looks and secret opinions. I stand, leave the cage and walk toward her, getting well within her personal space before I stop. It’s aggressive, but I don’t care. “And exactly what does that mean? I’m getting sick of all this secrecy bull. Share!”
Savannah takes a step back, her face clearly shocked that I’m in her face. I don’t do those kinds of things as a general rule. “What the hell? Veronica!” she exclaims.
Gregory reaches for her arm, as if he’s going to protect her or pull her back from me, so I round on him and yell, “And you! If you’re so freaking smart, why don’t you impart a little of that knowledge to the rest of us? Both of you are always acting like you’re so much above all this, like you’re indulging us in our dumb, little game. But it’s not a frigging game! You’re supposed to be helping!”
In the background, I can hear Emily’s keening rise in pitch and I know I’m upsetting her with my yelling. Charlie’s voice trying to calm her is there too, but it’s Matt who intervenes.
“Veronica,” he says, pulling back my arm firmly, but not ungently. “Settle down. You’ll just upset Emily.”
He certainly knows how to get to my tender spots, because I don’t want to upset Emily any more than I already have. She has a hard time understanding when I’m patient and take my time, so all this yelling must be terribly confusing. I lean back, putting my weight on my heels and push out a few breaths, trying for calm. It’s hard to reach, very hard.
Before I can open my eyes again with any confidence in my ability to remain calm, Savannah says, “I’m sorry, V. Really. I don’t mean…neither of us means…to be cagey. It’s just that sometimes it seems you’re too invested to see the truth in an objective way. But, I am sorry.”
When I look at her, I can tell she means it. Gregory nods at her words to claim them as his own. And, though I hate to admit it, she’s right. I am invested. Emily is my best friend and I don’t like to think of her as an in-betweener, only as a person on the way to being cured. I don’t mentally classify her in the same group as the other in-betweeners. When I kill one outside, I never mix them up in my mind as the same as Emily.
I also know that means there’s more going on that I’m not aware of, but that the others have discussed.
Emily goes quiet, Charlie’s soothing words helping at last, but he stays by her cage. Matt goes to give her another look-over, and when he returns, he seems less agitated as well, but the look he gives Savannah is tinged with suspicion. I’m guessing he’s thinking the same thing I am.
“Let’s go talk. Now,” Matt says, his voice barely above a growl. He sounds a bit like Emily when she’s agitated.
Gregory waves toward the other cage, the one that now has a dead former in-betweener in it. “And what about that?”
That? He clearly means Carson. Even now, he can’t bring himself to use the pronoun ‘him’ or his name. To him, even after being cured they are still it or that. What will he call Emily when it’s her turn?
“Carson will keep for a bit,” I say, purposefully using his name to make a point. “Charlie, Savannah, and I will need to do some work on him before we take the body away anyway.”
I do my best not to cringe at the thought of what we have to do, but we do have to do it. There’s no data if we don’t collect it and we need as much as we can get. It’s crucial, not just for Emily, but for everyone. I think I know what we’ll find though.
Savannah must be as reluctant to get to that part as I am, because she screws up her face. Then she says, “Yeah, but there’s no need to make it any worse than it’s already going to be and it’s hot as hades. We just need to get it over with.”
“I said it will keep. You’ll determine how long that will be by how fast you spill whatever it is you’re not saying,” I say, not budging.
I need my bargaining chips, even if they take the form of a rapidly bloating corpse. Charlie and Matt, as if to back me up, stand just behind me, one at each shoulder. The balance here is very clear. Three of us, two of them.
Gregory must sense it as well, that there’s been a shift in the power base, and he looks around the warehouse as if looking for backup. All there is for him to see is the three of us opposite him, backed up by my two cages of in-betweeners.
He licks his lips, grabs Savannah’s hand, and says, “Okay. Everyone calm down. We’ll go talk.”
*****
In one aspect, Savannah was very right and that’s the heat. When we leave the warehouse to go talk in the furniture warehouse, away from Emily and Tanner’s listening ears, the day is oppressive. By the time we’re done talking, heat shimmers are rising from the asphalt. The tar at the seams in the concrete has gone gooey and sticks to our boots if we accidentally tread upon any of the dark lines.
But, at least the talk is done. Everything is out in the open and there’s nothing left to guess or wonder about anymore. Charlie and I have to go move Carson, bringing him outside so we’ll have the daylight for our gross work. Savannah will join us when we’re ready, but I’m glad for the few minutes alone with Charlie so we can talk.
“What do you think, Charlie? About the pack behavior?” I ask.
Charlie wipes his sweaty face, and says, “I hate to say it, V, but she’s right. We didn’t want to see it, but that’s because we care for her. It’s there. The howling was just the icing on the cake. When you think back, how often did you see her getting up to look over the barrier at them right when one of them wakes? Or when there’s a problem? Or right before either of those things happen? I’d bet money that if those guys could move, they would do the same.”
I know he’s right, that Savannah and Gregory are right. When things like that happened, I put it down to that keen sense of smell Emily seems to have—and that I now know all of them have. I assumed she’d just gotten used to them and their patterns. I never put it together like the others did, like it was pack behavior. Maybe I just didn’t want to.
All I can say is, “I know.”
I don’t look his way, but I see him glance at me out of the corner of my eyes and I can tell he’s concerned, not just because of this development, but for me.
He sighs a little and says, “V, are you okay?”
I really don’t want to start crying again, so I just bite my lip and nod. Without that cultural pressure not to cry in public, it seems like people cry more easily now. Me most of all. My
response must be enough, because he shifts the direction of our talk and puts a hand out to stop me from going back into the warehouse with the cages.
“The real question is why they’ve developed this. I mean, out in the wild, they tend to avoid each other to some extent. Well, they come when an in-betweener goes wild with the howling in case there’s a meal, and they fight over carcasses and stuff, but once the food is gone, so are they. So, why now?” he asks.
Since I’ve only just admitted to myself that it’s happening, I haven’t really had time to give it a lot of thought, but an idea keeps forcing itself to the forefront of my mind. I say, “Smell. I think it has to do with smell.”
Charlie puzzles this over for a quick moment, then asks, “You mean, like they get used to the smell of one another, and that makes them accept each other?”
“When Emily first turned, what’s the first thing she did when we went near her?” I ask him, warming to the subject and feeling more convinced that I’m right, even as I speak the words. He’s thinking, but I can’t wait for him to catch up with me. “She sniffed us. Then she sucked in those deep breaths. Remember how we wondered why she opened her mouth when she breathed in so deep through her nose? How we thought she might have a problem with the tumor crowding her sinuses or something?”
He nods, the light coming on and his eyes moving rapidly as he catalogues all those moments again. “Yes! And how she called out our names sometimes before we got anywhere near the cages!”
I nod, smiling at him, but without any real joy at the discovery, only gladness that he’s following my train of thought. “Exactly,” I say.
From inside the warehouse, I hear Emily call out, “Darlieeee! Frooooonica!” It confirms what I just said.
When I put my hand to the screen door we’ve recently installed on the warehouse to try to keep out the flies, Charlie puts his hand on mine once more to stop me. He says, “The long time smelling each other, it’s like when we talk to each other. It’s their way of getting to know each other and since we forced them to stay close to each other, they formed a group.”
