by Tim Meyer
“We'll have to wait for sundown obviously,” Bob said.
Matty raised his finger. “We can travel by day. We have to protect ourselves—”
“Matty, that's enough.” Bob shot his stepson an uneasy glance. “We discussed this already. It's not safe.”
“But Lilah is dying!”
Jarvis winced at this. “I know it sucks, little man, and yes—there's a possibility she might be in real danger soon—but, she can hold out another day.” He had a lot of practice telling important lies, and this one rolled off his tongue gently. He almost convinced himself. “We'll get what she needs and she'll be better. Okay?”
Matty glared at him. “Promise?”
Jarvis turned his eyes away. “Yeah, I do.”
“Good,” Bob said. “We'll leave as soon as dusk settles.”
“Hold on there,” Sam said. “I think I should go.”
“All right,” Bob said. “I think we'll need a few of us to go.”
“I think you should stay here, Robert.”
Bob cringed at the sound of his full name. “Sam, that's quite all—”
“They need you here,” he whispered to him. “Please.”
Bob wanted to argue, but he thought better of it and folded his arms across his chest. “Any other volunteers?”
Chuck's hand shot up in the air. “I don't like being cooped up in this place. It's small and smells like my grandparents. I'll go.”
“I think three is more than enough,” Sam said. “What do you think?”
Before Bob could agree, Tina wedged herself between them. “I'm coming,” she said as if it weren't up for debate.
Sam smiled like she had told a lighthearted joke. “I think you should stay here.”
“It's dangerous out there.”
“Yes. It is. But I think you're better off protecting the people inside here.”
“You can't stop me,” she said, daring him to try.
“I know I can't. But, please. Stay. For me.”
She kicked the idea around. “For you?”
“And for them.”
“Fine. But you'll be sorry you didn't bring a woman along.”
“I already am,” Sam said, turning to Matty. He knelt next to his son and examined Lilah. She was sleeping now, her head resting on Matty's lap. Sam placed the back of his hand on her forehead. The fever burned through her, remaining strong, and he knew waiting until nightfall was cutting it close, if not pointless.
“How is she?” Matty asked.
“She'll be fine,” he lied. “Jarvis knows what he's doing.”
“He's a stranger. You haven't even known him a week. Since when did you become so trusting?”
It wasn't a terrible question. He knew Matty was in a bad place. The situation had taken a toll on him. Like everyone else, he had surpassed his limits.
“I've turned over a new leaf, Matty.”
“Why?”
“Because. Life is much better this way.”
“What if you're wrong?”
Sam stretched to ruffle his son's hair, but Matty dodged his hand.
“What if you're wrong?” Matty repeated.
He noticed a change in Matty as well. Maturity. His kid had grown up over night, and Sam had missed it. Love will do that. It was crazy to think his son was in love with a girl who once ate people. Nevertheless, love was love, and who was Samuel Wright to change his mind? Not the girl Sam would have picked for his middle child to take to the prom, but these were strange times, and strange times brought strange circumstances.
“Well?” Anger mingled with Matty's words. Frustration mounted in his eyes, taking the form of tears.
“I don't know, son.”
“Not good enough.”
“Listen. You don't understand—”
“No,” Matty said. “You listen.” He practically growled. What happened to his sweet little boy? “I promised her I wouldn't let anything bad happen.” Tears spilled down his face, dripping like summer sweat. “I promised,” he rasped through his teeth.
“Take it from a guy who has broken many promises—they aren't always easy to keep.”
He grabbed his son's shoulder and stared at him directly in the eyes. Matty returned his father's intense gaze, but his eyes eventually shifted to the unconscious girl on his lap, and remained there until his own eyes grew heavy and carried him off to the land of dreamless slumber.
The trip took longer than Jarvis predicted, which he blamed on a poor memory and five years of heavy drug addiction. They questioned if he knew where he was going when they got lost the first time. Chuck had been more vocal than Sam. Jarvis sensed neither cared much about Lilah nor if she received the proper meds. Chuck seemed too self-centered to care about anyone other than himself, and Sam—well, Jarvis could see how relaxed he was since the destruction of the giant retail warehouse. Jarvis figured he was the only one who cared, the only one who could relate to what the girl was going through.
“I thought you said you lived in Philly, man,” Chuck said.
The Ben Franklin Bridge and the City of Brotherly Love stood in the distance. A few lights remained on in office buildings, but not many. It would only be a matter of time before gas generators became invaluable and darkness ruled. In the future, moonless nights would not be easy.
Chuck threw his hands up in the air. “I mean, where the fuck are we?”
“I didn't live in Philly. I lived near it. Just give me a minute.” Jarvis scanned the map, running his finger down the road they had traveled. “Here. We're here. I think.”
“You think?” Chuck said. “Fuckin' great.”
“I don't need your negativity, Chuckalicious.” Jarvis glared at him. “Curb your attitude.”
Chuck muttered something under his breath and turned away.
Another half hour, and Jarvis found the road he'd been familiar with, the one he had taken to work every day.
“It's up ahead,” Jarvis promised them.
Within an hour they arrived at the clinic, the carved wooden sign out front welcoming them to New Beginnings Detox and Rehabilitation Center. Chuck took the lead, hitting the handicap ramp before Sam and Jarvis. He jogged up the ramp and stopped when he got to the front door. He turned the handle, but it was locked. Peering inside, he cursed. Too dark to see. The lights had gone out some time ago and never returned.
“We're screwed,” he said.
Jarvis smirked. He bent down and ran his fingers along the brick exterior, making sure to touch each individual brick.
“The hell?” Chuck said, looking down at him. He glanced over at Sam, who could only offer a shrug of confusion.
Jarvis continued examining each brick, tapping them with two fingers. Finally, one moved. Removing the loose brick with both hands, he carefully set it down on the wood planks like a baby in its crib. He placed his hand in the dark cavity in the rehabilitation center's exterior. Digging around, he reached farther and farther until his eyes shot open, remaining that way until he extracted a small object.
“What is it?” Chuck asked eagerly.
Jarvis removed his hand and held up a metallic object as it glistened in the moonlight. A brass key. He stood up and inserted the key in the door handle, turned, and pushed the barrier open. A moldy, musty smell greeted them. He led, and Sam and Chuck followed, their eyes slowly adjusting to the dark inside.
“You know what you're looking for, right?”
Jarvis ignored his companion, a habit beginning to form. He headed straight to the back of the building, passing offices and common rooms as he went. He never looked side to side, never hesitated. He found the room where the good drugs were hidden, locked away so the recovering addicts couldn't abuse them. Locked. Jarvis remembered how he once held a key to that door, but Malek and his gang of trolls had stolen it along with every other key he owned. Didn't matter though. Jarvis knew how to break in. The door was rustic and not in an aesthetically-pleasing way. Its flush luan face was cheap and flimsy and a few forceful kick
s later it became a broken piece of garbage with hinges. The jamb broke and the door swung inward, the hinges groaning like the spiral stairs in your favorite haunted house. He smiled at his two companions, pleased with his handiwork. He entered first.
Jarvis checked each desk drawer in the small office, looking for flashlights. He found a small one, no bigger than his middle finger. It didn't brighten the room much, but at least the others could see where they were going. He handed it to Sam. Jarvis didn't need light to see where he was going; the streaks of moonlight beaming between the window blinds were more than enough. He continued making his way around the office, heading to the back where a giant cage stood from the floor to the ceiling. The cage was unlocked, as the workers left it most of the time. He noticed the gate was shut, a good thing. It meant the contents went untouched since The Burn, or the looters had good manners. Jarvis thought the latter was unlikely.
Standing in front of the cage reminded him of both bad and good times. He remembered Mike Braxton and the opportunities Mr. Mike gave him to succeed, and how he pissed it down the drain on many occasions. Relapsing was easy. Getting clean had been difficult. He remembered the day he raided the drug closet, stole every pain killer his pocket could fit, and how he nearly overdosed in the New Beginnings parking lot. A co-worker had found him later that day, half-hanging out his car, his eyes glazed over, and his hands twitching erratically.
Relapsing is easy, he thought, his mouth watering as he scanned the cage and the labels within. Staying clean is hard.
He popped open the latch on the cage's gate and the chain-link barrier swung inward, its ancient hinges squealing like rusty shackles. Jarvis stepped inside, immediately grabbing the contents on the middle rack. He stuffed what he could in his pockets until they were full. He turned to Chuck and said, “Grab a bag, if you can find one.” Chuck left and returned a minute later with a woman's brown leather purse. He dumped its contents on a nearby desk and offered the handbag to Jarvis.
“It's all I could find,” Chuck told him. “Take it or leave it.”
Sam smiled behind his hand.
Jarvis grabbed the purse, stuffing the necessary medicine inside.
“Do we really need that much?” Sam asked.
“You never know,” Jarvis said. “Besides, it's not all for Lilah. There are some other useful stuff in here. Coagulants—typically used for the wrist cutters. They help coagulate the blood—”
“I know what it is,” Sam said.
“Are we good to go?” Chuck asked. “This place is starting to freak me out, and I don't know if that's the wind outside, or someone's car.”
Matty paced in circles, his nerves swimming like a school of frightened fish. Brenda watched from the corner of the pharmacy as he followed the same pattern over and over again, staring down at his feet as if they held answers to the greatest secrets in the universe. She could see his mind was far from home; she could tell. Good mothers could, and Brenda was the best.
Am I?
Being without her children for over three months had practically killed her. Bob had done his best to comfort her, and saw her through those frequent panic attacks when the world spun too fast and her equilibrium couldn't catch up. He told her there was medicine for that, but Brenda would hear none of it. I need my children, she had said, that's all the medicine I need. And who was Bob to argue?
There had been dreams. Bad dreams. Dreams where Becky was hanging from meat hooks inside a butcher's freezer. This occurred after Malek had taken her hostage, when her world tilted off its axis and her mind constantly spun. The dreams didn't stop there. Once she dreamed Dana was being eaten by wolves. In the dream, Brenda could only watch and look on in horror as they tore her little girl limb from limb, until there was nothing left but blood and bones. In another, Matty was running from her, toward the edge of a cliff. The drop led to an endless black abyss. Matty had been laughing, but she didn't think the game was funny. She couldn't remember what her dream-self had been yelling, but it didn't matter. He reached the edge of the cliff, looked back, smiled, said something like “Don't worry, Mama”, something the real Matty Wright would never say, and jumped to his death. She remembered looking down at his broken body before the dream cut out and the image of Matty's limbs twisted and gnarled in unnatural ways haunted her more than Dana and the wolves.
The pacing ate at her sanity. She had never seen him like this. She knew her son had a pure soul and would care for a fly if it landed before him, broken and dying. Matty was compassionate, determined, devoted to whatever the cause. He put all his effort into things, never accomplished anything half-assed like his sister Becky. He got that from Sam, Brenda thought. Her ex-husband had put all his effort into things; too bad it was always the wrong thing. If he had spent half the amount of effort on things that mattered like family and their marriage instead of work, maybe things would have turned out differently. But she couldn't think about “what ifs.”
“Matty?” she said. “Why don't you come sit down?”
He looked up from his feet and found his mother's concerned eyes. She tapped the empty spot on the floor next to her. Matty looked back to Lilah, examined her sleeping body, and figured it was safe to take a break from panicking. He shuffled toward his mother, watching the smile spread across her face with each step. Sitting down next to her, he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering back to Lilah. She lay motionless and Matty hoped her dreams were better than this real-life nightmare.
“Oh, Matty,” his mother said, throwing an arm around him and pulling him close. She rested her chin on top of his head and closed her eyes. She wanted to cry, but wouldn't; she'd have to stay strong for him. His body trembled as if a January chill passed through him. She hugged him closer. “You really like this girl?”
“Yes.”
“I know it's killing you inside,” Brenda continued. “But your father will come back with the others and they'll have what she needs to get better.”
Doubt cramped his smile.
“It's okay to be afraid,” she told him. “It's okay to show it.”
He looked up, tears quickly filling his eyes. “I want her to be okay. I want her to get better, but there's nothing I can do to help. All I can do is wait.”
Brenda pushed his shaggy hair away from his face, pressing her lips against his forehead.
“You know,” she said, forcing her eyes dry, “when you and your sisters were little, one of you was always sick. If it wasn't you, it was Becky. If it wasn't Becky, it was Dana. And there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it. I felt helpless, too.”
Matty said he understood, but she wasn't convinced.
“She'll be okay,” Brenda said and hugged her son again.
“I hope so,” he said, and cried into her shoulder.
-10-
Bob watched Brenda and Matty from the corner of the pharmacy, holding back tears of his own. He loved Matty as if he were his own son, and hated seeing him like this. He'd feel the same way if it had been Becky or Dana hurting. Bob had no kids of his own; his ex-wife had been unable to carry his seed to term and although they had discussed adoption, nothing ever came of it, which ended up being a good thing. Procreating with that wretched woman would have meant communicating with her after the divorce, and Bob relished in the fact he'd never have to see her face again.
Matty's tears tugged Bob's heart. He wished there was something he could do or say. He was fairly confident that Sam and the others would retrieve the proper medication and save the day. Call it a feeling, but Bob had positive vibes and his intuitions usually proved themselves correct. He was right about finding the kids again. Well, one-third right. Becky and Dana were still out there somewhere. The world was large, but he continued to promise Brenda they'd find them.
He almost believed it himself.
An idea came to him as he watched Matty and his wife end their embrace. They were still sitting close together, making small talk, and avoiding what really occupied their minds. He walked over to the
m, unaware of the smile slowly spreading across his face.
“Hey, guys,” he said, waving at them. “How is everyone holding up?”
Matty didn't care to answer. Brenda shot him a look: how-do-you-think-genius?
“Right,” Bob said. He knelt next to Matty and clasped his hand on his stepson's shoulder. “I'm really sorry this is happening, buddy. It upsets me, too. I know you can't help her right now by getting medicine and all, but maybe you can help in a different way.” Matty raised his head. “Help all of us, I mean. Once we're ready to push on.”
“What?” Matty asked. The tears had slowed.
“I noticed a sporting goods store when we first got to town. Figured maybe we could use more supplies. What do you say?”
Matty looked to his mother for permission, which she gave in silence. Matty looked back to Bob.
“Okay. Sure...”
“Great. It'll be good to get out and get your mind off things.” Bob ruffled Matty's hair. “I'll get ready—”
“Maybe she should go with him,” Brenda said, nodding to Tina, who was down the aisle, standing in front of a rack stocked with sappy romance novels and beauty magazines. She was glancing at the back jacket of a western romance, the front cover displaying a stock photo of a half-naked cowboy sporting sculpted abs and a lasso wrapped around his bare shoulder. “Tina.”
“Her?” Bob asked. He didn't understand.
“Well, she has a gun and she used to be a cop. Maybe it'd be better if she went. And you stayed here. With me.”
Bob mulled it over for a minute. “Sure. Yeah. He'll be safer with her.”
Brenda smiled and pinched her husband's cheek. “I ever tell you how adorable you are?”
Matty made a puking noise and got to his feet. “I'm outta here.”
The light blinded them. Jarvis put his hands over his eyes and stopped walking. Chuck muttered, “What the fuck?” and Sam turned away. The red and blue ambiance Jarvis was familiar with cloaked the front of New Beginnings.
