by Tim Meyer
She shook her head. “No idea, Sam.”
Tasting something rotten, Sam writhed his lips. “The cannibals?”
Tina shrugged, furrowing her brow. “My best guess. What do you think, Matty?”
Matty nodded in agreement.
“Bastards,” Sam grunted, surveying the damage. Flames spit above the rubble, tendrils of smoke reaching for the cloudy black sky. He let go of Matty and faced the store. Dropping to his knees, he began sobbing.
Tina glared at him, a look of pity and wonder crossing her features. She glanced over to Matty and Matty shrugged. The rest of the group watched from the distance as Sam continued to cry, everything he had come to believe in destroyed before his eyes. Tina let him carry on for a few minutes, hesitant to intrude. Finally, she approached him the same way she would sneak past a sleeping bear. Gently, she placed her palm on his shoulder.
“Sam...” she whispered. She bent down on one knee. “Sam, are you okay? Maybe you should step back and relax a little. Come talk to the rest of the group.”
Talk and group were the only words he heard clearly. A few yards away lay a sign that read, “Welcome to Costbusters. How can we help you today?” The sign had been hanging on the front door, a staple of the establishment since day one. How can we help you? How had he helped them? Sam turned back to the rest of the group, finally feeling their eyes on the back of his neck. Their sympathetic glances dug into him. What the hell have I done?
The entire few months played itself back. The decision to fortify Costbusters and turn it into a safe haven, a place where people could go about their lives after the sun ruined the day, weighed heavily on his conscience. I failed these people. In many ways he had. They trusted me and I failed them.
“I fucked us,” Sam said quietly so only Tina could hear.
“Don't worry about that—”
“Every decision I made endangered us.” He shook his head furiously, over and over again. “I nearly got us all killed.”
Tina thought about arguing, telling him it wasn't his fault, that he did the best he could, but she would've been lying. Instead, she remained silent and let him figure the rest out for himself.
“Soren was right.”
Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, expecting to find Tina's comforting face, but was met with Brenda's concerned, watery eyes. She had her other arm around Matty, resting her cheek on the top of his head.
Tina narrowed her eyes and stepped away slowly, receding into a corner of the parking lot void of moonlight.
Sam placed his hand on his ex-wife's, a comforting sensation rolling over him.
“I was such a fool,” he said, struggling to get to his feet. Brenda and Matty helped him as the rest of the group ambled forward, watching the flames dance in spastic waves behind them. Hanging his head, Sam turned to them, wiping away the last of his tears. “I was convinced this place was the answer, that we could build a life for ourselves here. But I was wrong. I took things too far and for that, I am sorry.”
Brenda patted his shoulder while the others nodded, accepting his apology.
Sam shrugged. “I guess the only question is... where do we go now?”
“Judging from the amount of cars left here,” Bob said, “I'd say the others are probably on foot. Would that be safe to assume?” he asked Sam.
“Yeah,” Sam said, shrugging. “The parking lot looks about how I left it.”
“I think they headed out on 70 west,” Matty said, reiterating an earlier point. “I found this about one hundred yards away.” From his small knapsack, he retrieved a foot-long Barbie doll that appeared to have been dragged across the blacktop or trampled on, perhaps a little of both. Matty held it up for the group to see.
“That's nice that you like to play with Barbies, kid,” Jarvis said. “But what does that have to do with what direction we're taking?”
“Dana said something about Susan trying to give her a doll. She found it pretty weird,” Matty said. “Anyway, it must have fallen out of one of their packs, and where I found it suggests they are headed that way.”
“Are we really listening to a fifteen year old right now?” Chuck asked. “I mean, no offense, dude, but come on. Let's get serious.”
Bob sighed and looked at the sky. A sliver of bright blue just over the horizon began to cut into the night. They didn't have time to argue about which way to travel and search for cover from the sun.
“Chuck...” Bob said, sounding disappointed.
“Yeah?”
“You don't have to come with us, you know.”
Chuck didn't respond.
“But I happen to think Matty is right. If this Alaska business is true and that's where they're headed, I'm sure they headed west. It's only logical.”
Chuck shrugged. “Whatever, dude. Just throwing in my two cents.”
“Well next time be a little more polite about it,” Bob said, smiling. “I say we take a few vehicles and follow 70 until we either reach the others, or we don't.” Bob shrugged. “Either way we know where they are headed.”
“Finding them will be impossible,” Jarvis chimed in. “Like a needle in a fucking haystack.”
“We have to try,” Brenda said. “My babies are out there. Without me.” Her voice wavered as she spoke.
Sam took hold of her hand and squeezed. “They'll be okay,” he said. “They're with some good people. Brian is with them.” He remembered Mouth and the promise he made. “They're fine.”
She nodded. “God, I hope so.”
“Then 70 west it is,” Bob said. “Anyone in disagreement, speak now.”
No one argued. Chuck hung his head and kicked a few pebbles around. Jarvis shrugged, having no better suggestions. Brenda nodded, agreeing with her husband. Matty smiled. Lilah hung back, rubbing her stomach, trying to fight off the spinning sensation plaguing her equilibrium. Tina paced back and forth, her arms folded across her chest; she pretended like she wasn't listening, but Bob knew she had heard every word. He turned to Sam, expecting him to speak.
“Sam?” Bob asked. “Do you agree?”
He drew in a deep breath, taking in the smoky odor hanging heavy in the atmosphere. He snapped his fingers at Bob like Elvis. “Whatever you say, amigo.”
“DOPESICK”
EPISODE EIGHT
-1-
The moon was not enough. Its sliver of silvery-white light provided no hope of chasing the shadows back to where they came. Flashlights helped, but their range of guidance was limited. Batteries drained, they became taxed beyond their limits much like their carriers.
I can't believe I sold these to people, Sam thought, repeatedly pressing the hand-held beacon's power button. Absolute garbage.
Besides the issue of visibility, things had stabilized. The food was rationed accordingly, and it had lasted. Tina had trapped enough rainwater, purified a few gallons by boiling, and refilled the empty water bottles. They had weeks before needing to worry about running short on food and water.
Sam tried not to worry about those things. Ever since the cars ran out of gas three days ago, things had looked grim. Chris Atkins's Charger was the first to run dry, the motor coughing itself into seizures from which it could never recover. They had debated cramming everyone into the Jeep, but it was physically impossible to seat everyone comfortably. The Jeep was running low on gas too, and judging from the scenery, gas was unobtainable. Plus, they had bled the local stations dry on their midnight excursions.
Walking made Sam nervous. Bob too. Although he never spent any quality time with his ex-wife's husband, he had a good read on Bob and how he operated, a gift Sam often utilized, the main reason retail came so naturally to him. He could see into people and understand the core of them after a few short exchanges. He could tell Chris Atkins was a dipshit within the first few moments of his interview (Brian had lobbied to hire him), and Sherry would be the best damn cashier Costbusters ever had (she won the Costbusters Cashier Olympics three years in a row), and that Soren Nygaard w
ould bring everything he had worked hard for to an end. Sam knew people, knew what made them... them.
Bob was a planner. A strategist. His mind constantly targeted on the future, mulling over each possible scenario, examining every potential outcome diligently, not taking anything off the table until carefully analyzed. Sam figured Bob would have been a world-champion chess player if he hadn't practiced cracking backs. Always ahead of the curve, seeing the moves before they happen, Bob was a visionary in his own unique way, and Sam finally knew who should really be leading them along. It was a bitter fact to swallow, but Sam took the truth pill without any struggle.
Maybe it'll be nice, he thought, NOT being responsible for once. Indeed, it eased him, relinquishing his responsibilities. He was calm. His chest felt lighter. The storm in his stomach settled. Despite the blisters on his feet, he felt impeccable. This was the feeling he longed for. This sense of internal peace.
Even in the dark, the world looked brighter.
-2-
A little voice urged him to grab her hand, but something else insisted he bail. What if she doesn't grab back? What if she gets mad? What if she doesn't talk to me ever again? These questions came as fast as machine-gun fire. Other questions came without allowing the previous to be answered. What if Mom sees? What if Dad sees? What if he's compelled to give me 'The Talk' again?
Six years ago, his father tried giving him the dreaded “Talk.” It didn't go well. He started off with the typical birds and bees analogy, which had been botched past the point of saving; Matty questioned whether birds and bees “got it on” as it was so eloquently put. The whole conversation had been a disaster, full of half-spoken sentences from both parties and lots of stuttering and the worst description of the female anatomy one could come up with (like a little pretty flower, his father had said). It was a traumatizing experience in Matty's life and being nine didn't help matters.
He had learned much about girls over the last six years, the Internet proving most informative. Anyone who could hack Bob's childproof passwords had unlimited access to the Web's filthiest secrets, and hacking was something Matty had practiced like an art. He learned a lot from Becky, too. The wall between their rooms was thin and unable to contain her gossip. He was careful not to listen too much—things got uncomfortably weird after a while. The Internet and the neighboring lunch table at school supplied him with plenty of knowledge on the subject. Not that it mattered much; he accepted the fact he was too ugly and too nerdy to get a girl to talk to him let alone take her to bed.
Just take her hand.
Her hand was so close, yet so far. His brain said yes, but his nerves said no. They fought the battle for minutes. A few times she glanced over at him and he concealed his fear behind weak smiles. She giggled and he felt dumb. He couldn't appear more inadequate if he tried. And worse, Matty knew she could see through him like an open window. He wasn't fooling anyone. Especially Lilah Carpenter.
Stop being such a pussy and do it!
Something grabbed his hand and his heart cartwheeled in his chest. He traced the hand back to Lilah, and he couldn't stop his eyes from growing. An invisible butterfly fluttered within his stomach. She smiled and his knees lost their strength.
He heard Jarvis and Chuck whisper to themselves (something about “young love”) but he ignored them. They were teasing him, Matty figured, because they were jealous.
Of course they are, he mused. Anyone would kill to be with someone as hot as her.
As they walked, Matty became more comfortable. Her hand felt oddly cold for a rather warm fall night. He found himself caught in the moment, and although the bliss would pass, he found solace he never knew existed. Even when his mother turned to check on her son he didn't let go. There was no harm in holding hands. It wasn't like he jammed his tongue down her throat.
As they walked hand in hand, Matty overheard Bob and his father talking. His stepfather had stumbled upon several mining lamps left behind from Soren's ransacking of Costbusters. Sam replied with a sigh, mixed with both relief and frustration, and further commented on how fortunate they were to discover such a find. He knocked the flickering flashlight against his palm to emphasize his point. Bob mumbled something Matty could not discern and Sam wisely steered the conversation toward a new issue.
“We cleaned most of the neighboring towns out of food and water,” Sam told Bob. “Whatever we didn't get to, the cannibals did.”
“There will be other towns on the way. Maybe some stores haven't been hit yet. Especially the bigger towns.”
“Bigger towns mean more people. And more people means...”
Matty could tell his father wanted to continue. But he paused. Silence was progress.
“Never mind. I'm sure you're right.”
Bob continued leading the way, light beaming from his forehead.
“Bigger towns may provide us with more opportunities for shelter.”
“Good point, Bob,” Sam said.
Bob? Matty's jaw dropped. He started to question his father's newfound outlook as Lilah's hand slipped from his grasp. He immediately turned to her. Her eyes were slipping under their lids, losing consciousness. Matty reached out and grabbed her. Her eyes perked and she clenched his wrist, her palms icy and greasy with sweat.
“Are you okay?” he asked in a whisper.
She nodded.
“Are you sure?” Matty noted her pale complexion, strikingly similar to the moon's shiny aura above. “You look sick.”
“I'm fine,” she said firmly. “I'm probably hungry.”
Dipping into his shoulder bag, he offered her turkey jerky. She raised her palm in the air, covering her mouth with the other.
“I never want to eat another piece of meat again,” she said, wanting to vomit.
“Going vegetarian?” he asked. “I've thought about that myself. Could never pull the trigger though. There's pros and cons to the Western Diet—and I love chicken. But who doesn't?”
“Matty, stop,” she said, looking like she had swallowed spoiled milk. “I'm literally two seconds away from barfing.”
Gently taking her hand, he did as she asked.
Her pores exhaled heat as if ablaze.
It was Chuck who found Matty and Lilah holding hands humorous. Jarvis considered it sweet, somewhat refreshing. The past months had been filled with bloodshed, burnt bodies, and the unveiling of true human nature under social unrest, mankind's ultimate calamity. The sight of an innocent exchange between young lovers had been as relieving as a cool breeze on a blistering summer day. Chuck giggled behind his palm while Jarvis smiled, reminiscing about his own youthful indiscretions. The last one had been Christi and she was a tall blonde who loved puppies, grunge rock, and crystal meth.
“So I guess this makes us, like, the seventh wheel,” Jarvis noted.
Chuck continued to snicker quietly. “Well I sure as shit ain't holding your hand.”
Jarvis smiled, continuing to think of Christi and how she had once held his hand. How good it was to be loved. To be wanted. Needed.
High...
Jarvis shook away his thoughts. Chuck was sticking his forefinger through the circle he made with his other forefinger and thumb, winking while he pulled out and pushed in, over and over again until Jarvis got the joke and forced his new friend to stop.
“Don't be an ass,” Jarvis said.
“What? You know they're gonna bang.”
“Yeah, and so what? I think it's kind of nice.”
“Nice? What are you, fucking Shakespeare?” Chuck laughed. “You wanna write them a love poem while you're at it?”
Chuck wasn't the kind of guy Jarvis found irritating, but he wasn't someone he'd pal around with unless the world ended. He was more like the idiot stepbrother Jarvis never had.
“Look around,” Jarvis told him. “What do you see?”
Chuck glanced at the dark empty streets, a late September chill crawling down his spine. Street lights hung over them, dead as the bodies they had passed not more th
an a few miles back. The bodies, killed elsewhere, were dumped on the side of the road, their guts spilling through the wide gashes in their abdomens. It was a grisly sight Chuck wished he hadn't seen and hoped his fellow travelers missed him retching into a patch of overgrown grass.
“This isn't a trick question, Chuckster,” Jarvis said. “What do you see?”
He rolled his eyes. “I don't know. Not much.”
“Would you say our surroundings are jovial? You finding much to get excited about lately?”
Chuck furrowed his brow and looked at his new buddy as if he had spoken an alien language. “No. What's your point?”
Jarvis swept his hand across his body, palm up. “Now look at that. Two kids. Holding hands. You're witnessing a budding romance, unfolding right before your very eyes.”
Chuck's eyes were wide with wonder. “Man, you're a pretty weird guy. I liked it better when we were in the cage and you weren't talking. Can we have that Jarvis back?”
Jarvis patted him on the back. “I'm serious. If you can't appreciate something like that, then you're not human.”
“Trust me. I'm human. And my humanity is telling me if I don't get a double-bacon cheeseburger inside me soon I'm going to Tasmanian Devil myself to the nearest Burger King.”
“You're hopeless.”
As they continued, Jarvis watched Matty and Lilah closely. The way Lilah walked captivated him, not their budding romance. The subtle stumble triggered it. She walked it off like no one had noticed. Jarvis continued his observation, eyeing her movements; every little twitch, every fine detail. Moonlight glistened off her sleek skin; she was sweating a lot for the middle of fall, when the temperature barely dropped below sixty. Matty leaned in, whispered something in her ear. Jarvis read his lips: Are you okay? She told him she was fine. A few more exchanges, nothing informative. Small talk. She was dodging the subject, diverting the topic elsewhere. Rookie move, sweetheart. Real novice shit. As if the pale sweaty flesh and the struggle with gravity wasn't enough, her actions told the rest of the story.
