by Eros, Marata
“The bad piano player?”
“Yeah. He told me that there were hidden messages in the comics.”
“Wow! All right, so what does it mean?” I asked.
“Well, that's what we've been trying to decipher with these comics.”
“What does Alex say it means?”
“He thinks there are allies of the paranormals that have been shut down by the government, and there are subtle messages in the comics that talk about what is going on, what they're doing. Maybe even where they might be located.”
“And Alex got this all from what? Did he just pull it out of his ass?” Jonesy asked.
I had a visual of Alex, who was such a nerd it hurt to look at him, but he was truly smart. Maybe there was something to this.
Jonesy turned off his DR. “That's for when we have more time. I have a plan.”
Oh joy.
John asked, “What now? I thought we were going to talk about the comic messages.”
“Later. Besides, you've already agreed to this,” Jonesy said.
“What?” I asked.
“Let's figure out the hideaway while there's no chicks around to ruin it,” Jonesy answered.
“Jade wouldn't ruin it,” I said.
“She wouldn't mean to, but she still distracts you. She's like the shiny thing. She moves, and you follow. Squirrel .” Jonesy threw out his hands.
John shook his head. “He's right, Caleb. You're kinda gone on her.”
“I'm here tonight, aren't I?” I asked defensively.
“Yeah,” John said, “but we're not getting together as much as we were. It's okay. I'm just sayin'.”
“Okay,” I said, changing the subject back. “I want to find a place to have a safe zone. Somewhere we can go if the government gets wind of me.”
“That's what I'm talkin' about, Caleb,” Jonesy said.
I still felt uncomfortable doing the zombie slave labor.
“Come on Caleb, we need them,” Jonesy said, seeing my face.
“I’ve been thinking of a way for us to use the zombies and get them back without being noticed,” John said.
I held up my hand. “Let's just wait and see if we even need to use them. Maybe we'll find a really cool place in the old dump, and it will be perfect.”
“Let's go tonight, right now,” Jonesy said.
“I gotta have some food first,” John said.
Right on cue, my stomach did a huge rumble.
“That's a sign,” Jonesy said.
We walked out to the kitchen and plopped down on stools at the breakfast bar. Jonesy's mom poured three Big Red. Helen believed sugar was a food group. That made me happy on a deep level.
She put a plate with four slices of pizza in front of each of us. My mom's pizza was demolished during round one. Jonesy and I were okay after that, but John had to have two more. Helen said she still had a whole pizza left.
“I don't wanna walk, Caleb,” Jonesy said through a mound of food crammed into one side of his mouth.
“Listen, mister, don't talk with your mouth full,” Helen said.
“Sorry, Mom.” Jonesy smiled, the pizza guts showing through his teeth.
“Why don’t you wanna walk?” I asked.
“Because I think it will be fun to watch you ride on that old bike of yours. I need a laugh.”
Helen said, “Jonesy, that is a perfectly adequate bike.”
“Mom, have you seen it? It's pathetic. It's a one-speed.”
“Those are classic instruments for the development of large motor skills,” she said.
“Huh?” Jonesy asked.
“She’s is talking about your butt,” John said.
“There are no gears, right? So it forces you to use the booty gear.”
“Precisely, John, and I thank you for clarifying,” Helen replied.
“You're just not gonna admit that it's not as cool as my Raleigh Scout, Mom,” Jonesy said.
“Not on your life, big-for-your-britches.”
John and I barked out appreciative laughs. The DNA train wasn't far from the track with his smart-ass behavior.
Jonesy glowered at his mom but she didn't even flinch; tough-as-nails, dug it.
We went outside and got on our bikes. The old dump was really close to Scenic Hill Cemetery, so we parked our bikes there and walked over. It wouldn't be good for some observant adult to see a bunch of kids' bikes in front of a dump.
The sign on the gate read: “Kent Refuse, Authorized Personnel Only, Trespassing Prohibited, Hours of Operation: Mon-Fri: 10:00-4:00.” On top of that was some haphazard lettering: Closed. The top of the chain link fence had spiraled barbed wire.
I turned to John. “What do ya think?”
He pulled out two pairs of gloves. John was always prepared.
Jonesy's eyebrows shot up. “Great! Good thinking, Terran!”
“You first,” I told Jonesy.
Jonesy grunted, threw on the gloves and climbed. Fine muscles bunched and moved in his forearms as he finessed his way up the links, John and I kept an eye on the road while Jonesy climbed.
“Hurry,” John said.
“I am. Can it!”
When he got to the top, he pushed down the barbed wire with one hand and straddled it in preparation for swinging his leg over to the other side.
“Hey!” I yelled.
He stilled, his junk hanging over the razor wire. “What? Kinda busy, doofus.”
“Why don't you stay awhile?”
“Shut up Caleb. It's your turn next,” Jonesy said, giving a nervous look at his balls, which hovered millimeters above the barbs.
Jonesy carefully swept his left leg over and secured a foothold on the opposite side. He removed the gloves and tossed them over the top of the fence.
I caught them and put them on while John pulled on the second pair. Jonesy climbed down the other side. I got them on and stood facing Jonesy. Jonesy smiled and did an elaborate middle finger.
John laughed.
“Have fun with that, Hart.”
A knot of anxiety was like a ball in my stomach. I was gonna do this.
I was definitely not scared of heights.
I took a deep breath and started to climb. It was pretty easy going at first, but near the top, my arms started to shake. Jonesy hadn't mentioned that part. Maybe it hadn't made him tired. He was shorter, but muscular.
I used the same technique for getting over as Jonesy did. I hovered precariously over the barbs in complete terror my arms would give way. But the threat of a testicle-free life kept me stable. Swinging my other leg over the top, I hung there a moment, catching my breath.
“Somebody needs to do some push-ups!” Jonesy sang.
Jerk.
I climbed down and stood beside Jonesy.
“I do pushups.”
Jonesy grunted. “Maybe you should do some more.”
John was studying the gate.
“It's locked John, you're gonna have to climb,” Jonesy called out smugly.
It was a huge chain link affair with a padlock the size of my fist.
“It's got a numbered entry,” John said.
Jonesy shrugged. “So?”
“It's pre-pulse,” I explained.
“Whatever. John, just climb. You're wasting time.”
John started to spin the numbers on the lock, occasionally jerking it experimentally. A minute later, the lock gave way in his hand.
John looked over at us and grinned. “I guess I'll just open the gate and walk in.”
Jonesy put his hands on his hips as John stepped through to our side of the fence. “What the hell, Terran? Why didn't you try that from the start?”
“I didn't think about it until it was my turn to climb.” John tapped his head, “Work smarter, not harder.”
“Okay, smart-ass, go close the gate so adults don't check it out.”
John sauntered over to the gate, carefully arranging the lock so it would appear locked.
He came back over
and we started to search for the perfect spot.
I was thinking the place might stink, but the trash stench was long gone. The dump had been closed since I was little, back when recycling became mandatory and trash penalties had been imposed.
There was a butt-load of tires, old cars and appliances, it was insane!
Jonesy was thrilled, touching and inspecting everything.
John and I stayed on a semi-clear path that meandered and wound through huge hills of old junk. John stopped and looked inside a huge commercial freezer. “Hold on a sec... I've got an idea.”
“What?” I asked.
He pointed at the hill of cars behind the row of appliances. “I think that if those cars over there weren't compressed all the way, we may be able to make a doorway using one of these old fridges. We can kick the back out and find some space behind it that we can use.”
I thought about it for a second.
“Yeah, let's get the Jonester over here and lay it on him.” I looked in the direction where I’d last seen Jonesy. He wasn’t there.
“Jonesy!”
“What?!” came the muffled reply. A head popped out of an old car.
“Come on,” I called. “Stop dickin' around and get over here.”
Jonesy shot his leg out and booted the car door open, its protesting creak piercing the quiet with a squealing groan.
John cringed at Jonesy's subtlety.
Jonesy trotted over and rubbed a hand over his face, covering it with grime. I looked closer. It was like grease, great.
“You've got grease on your face now,” John said.
“I do? Oh well, whatever. I've got soap at home.”
I told Jonesy the plan.
He gave a fist-pump. “Hot damn! What are we waiting for? Let's tear these babies open!”
We separated, searching each one. I found an ugly pink fridge with a oblong handle in the shape of a dart. It looked to have a car emblem embedded in it. Weird.
John studied it, circling around the thirty percent that showed.
“Good size.” He stroked the top that he could barely reach.
The freezer was a behemoth, bigger than some of the fancy fridges in restaurants. John whistled at Jonesy to join us. He walked over from inspecting an avocado-colored beauty.
John opened the fridge. The interior was deep, probably two feet plus. Rust edged the inside, spreading out from the corners like a burnt-orange spider web. Jonesy pulled out the two shelves and sailed them like Frisbees over John's head.
“Hey! Watch it,” John said, ducking.
Jonesy laughed. “Hold your shorts, Terran. You'll live.”
“Kick out the back, Jonesy,” I said.
Jonesy did a super graceful dance move where he sorta hopped, then jumped, bending his knee and swinging it out at the same time. A ripple appeared where his foot had struck, the back buckling.
Jonesy struck again, and the buckle widened from top to bottom
“Come on Jonesy, I thought you were all-that-is-boy,” John antagonized.
“I,” kick, thunk, whack, “am!” The whole back gave, splitting open to reveal the darkness on the other side.
John whipped out his LED light and turned it on. A dim glow wove a murky path through the gloom.
“Come on, let's go.”
And in we went.
There was only enough room to crawl. The dust turned all of us into sneezing, wheezing messes.
After about eight feet, I said, “This isn't going to work.”
John lit a match. “If there isn't enough oxygen, this match won't stay lit.”
We all stared at the wavering flame. It continued to burn brightly, like a beacon.
“Okay so what now?” Jonesy asked.
John shook out the match. “There's enough oxygen this far back that I think this tunnel here might open up into a bigger space. Keep moving.”
We crawled for about three more minutes, then the way narrowed. I twisted through the last bit and came out into a space large enough for me to stand. John emerged seconds later.
John said, “Wow.”
Everywhere around us were stacks of compacted cars. Several were precariously perched above our heads, acting like a ceiling. I wasn't worried. I figured they'd been there for a decade, and they probably weren't ever going to come down.
“Come on, morons. Stop gawking and haul me out of here!”
John and I turned to see Jonesy wedged in the part of the tunnel. John barked out a laugh that made Jonesy give him a death glare.
“I like it,” John said.
“We can't get out if he's in the way, smart one,” I said.
John sighed. “You're right, but it was fun while it lasted.”
We went over and each took an arm. I counted to three, and we jerked him out like an eel out of an oil can.
Jonesy grabbed his knees and stood up, brushing the dirt off his jeans.
“Thanks for the help, tards,” Jonesy delivered sarcastically.
I smirked, looking around and whistled. “This is just the guy-cave we had in mind.”
John took out another LED light and turned it on.
“Where are you getting all the lights?” Jonesy asked. “And how did you know the combo for the lock?”
John shrugged.
“I read some documentary about pre-pulse security. They said sometimes commercial sites used the address numbers for security codes, or even the last four digits of the phone number, things that they could all remember.”
“You mean, ding-a-ling?”
“Yeah, Jonesy, actual non-pulse phones,” John said.
“Why is this here?” I asked, indicating the big bubble room of forgotten cars.
“It's like I was hoping,” John said. “It’s a pocket of space that was trapped, something they missed.”
“The workers missed?” Jonesy asked.
“Yeah. Just think of that job—all day long, smashing cars, trying to remember where you did it last. It'd be a bitch to keep track of.”
“How would you know?” Jonesy asked.
“I didn't. I guessed. When Caleb wanted to do the hideout here, I thought it might be a possibility.”
“How do the girls get back here?” I asked.
“Girls!”
“Come off it, Jones. Jade, Sophie, and Tiff are included.”
“There's Bry and maybe Alex, too.”
“We can do it,” John said.
“Does your mom still have that camping gear?” John asked Jonesy.
“Yeah, we haven't camped much. Why?”
“Light?” I guessed.
“Yeah. I don't think we need heat, but if we can get a lantern, a bottle of propane, and some blankets, we could have a halfway decent place.”
John looked at me.
“What now?” I asked.
Jonesy grinned. “I bet John is thinking we need some zombie action.”
“What do we have to do?”
Jonesy pointed at the tunnel. “We need to widen this some. No big deal.”
Jonesy's ideas were always a big deal.
“I agree with Jonesy, we just widen this tight spot,” John pointed to the squeeze that had plugged Jonesy like a cork in a bottle, “and we put them back.”
I put them back.
He turned to Jonesy. “What do you think? A one or two zombie job?”
“Hey! Don't ask him. They're my zombies,” I said.
John told us we'd also need some milk crates.
“Where are we gonna get those?” Jonesy asked.
I didn't have a clear picture of what a milk crate was.
“Here,” John said. “It's a dump, after all.”
“What are those gonna be for?” Jonesy asked.
“Tables, chairs, storage, whatever,” John said.
“Okay, let's get out of here before it gets too late,” I said.
We crawled out of the tight tunnel the way we came in: slowly.
Jonesy had the most trouble.
He finally climbed out, arching his back.
“We gotta remember, these old freezers are not safe. They self-lock.”
“What do ya mean?” Jonesy asked.
“We close the door from the inside, and we're screwed. Back in the day, kids would hide inside, accidentally close the door, and... well, ya know.”
“I never heard of that,” I said.
“Yeah, you wouldn't. We don't have bogus stuff like that now. Hell, they make up committees of people just to think up safety features,” John said. “Anyway, we gotta put a door stop in there so we don't lock ourselves in and get busy dying.”
“Okay,” Jonesy said, “but we need to keep it open in a way people don't notice.”
“We can just jam a piece of cardboard in there,” I said. “No problem. But we need to go. I gotta get home and take care of Onyx.”
“Yeah, let's not get the parents all interested in what we're doing,” Jonesy said.
“My parents don't give a crap as long as that four-point-oh GPA is still there,” John said.
We walked out of the dump and through the gate .
Jonesy stopped and told John, “You're kinda a putz not to let us know about the lock thing.”
John grinned. “Yeah, but I wanted to see if you'd climb it. Even Caleb did.”
Jonesy shook his head, smiling. “Anyway, remember that we have girls to protect now.”
“Protect from what?” I asked.
“I don't know... whatever.”
“You get kinda squirrely when we get in tight spots,” I said.
“Right, but I'll protect the chicks. You ... you're on your own.”
“Gee... thanks,” John said.
***
Onyx met me at the door.
His tail wagged like an ink spot in the middle of the doorway. I rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The Boy has returned and is pleased because he is a Good Dog. I will lick the Boy's hand.
Onyx licked my hand, leaving a wet and slimy streak. He looked so happy that I didn't have the heart to wipe off the goo in front of him.
The Dog pressed his nose to the Boy's body and caught some interesting smells—real trash (tantalizing) and metal boxes and earth. Such good smells. He also smelled the other Boys. What had the Boy done?
“Good dog. Gooooood dog,” I said, scratching the sweet spot behind his ear.
Wag, thunk, wag.
