by P. J. Post
I run after Carlton, down the hall and through a door on the right. He runs between desks and then into an office…
Larry is pacing in circles, lost to a full-on balling anxiety attack.
Patty is bleeding out on the floor, 2 bullet holes in the plaster wall above her.
Fuck.
Fuck!
I kneel down, but I’m wrong, she’s not bleeding out, she’s already dead.
Jesus Christ.
“Larry, Carlton, come on, let’s get you out of here, I didn’t know she was that sick. We’ll take care of her, don’t worry.” I look at them in the eye. “She’s in a better place now.”
I’m terrified for Emily, she can’t ever know. It’s not her fault. It’s too much guilt, besides, she can’t be afraid to pull the trigger — it’ll get her killed.
“She wasn’t sick,” Carlton says. “She was shot, I heard it. She was leaning against the wall, I saw her coat…”
“No, I looked, the shots missed her, and yeah…I’m pretty sure she was sick. There’s lots of weird shit going around, sometimes people don’t look sick and then they are…sometimes they bleed a lot.” I remember the news a few years ago and say the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s…Ebola, makes you bleed, you don’t even look sick and then…I’m sorry, guys. Let’s go.”
Samantha and Keats meet us at the doorway.
Larry is still crying. “Ebola, Ebola got Patty. She’s dead.”
“Ebola?” Keats asks.
I look at him and shake my head. “Yeah, Ebola. You kids, stay out here, Holly Hawk, look after them, and go cut Jem loose and lock Brenda in the office with the broom. Shinji, stay the fuck out of the way.”
Holly narrows her bluing eyes, and barely nods. She’s old enough and smart enough to know Larry is full of shit — which means I’m full of shit, but I can see that she still trusts me, or at least she’s not questioning me.
For now.
Keats and Samantha follow me through the maze of desks and into the back office, immediately realizing what has happened.
Keats rubs his hands over his head and looks out the windows over Freemont, his voice thick. “It never ends, does it?”
“Only when your number’s up,” I say.
“But Ebola?” He gives me a goofy sideways look.
“Hey, it was the first thing I thought of to account for all the blood.”
“Poor Emily, we can’t tell her,” Samantha says.
“What are we going to do with her?” Keats asks.
I shrug. “Nothing. We’ll lock the door and tell the kids we buried her or whatever while they were asleep. Tell them we don’t want them to get sick. We need to get out of here anyway, the fires are getting closer.”
“How?” Keats asks.
“There’s a cell tower across the alley. We’re going to knock it down, and crawl right the fuck over the Button Eyes. And then we’re going to get to that goddamned river and find a goddamned boat and get the fuck out of Freemont.”
“Knock it down?” he asks, not even trying to hide the skepticism from his tone.
“It’s either that or die here.”
“We’ll think of something,” he says.
“What about Emily and Casey?” Samantha asks. “And me? Is it too soon?”
“We’ll have to risk it.”
“Risk what?” Keats asks.
“Nothing, it’s personal.”
He gives me a long hard look, but lets it go.
I don’t think he’s recovered from watching me murder Allen.
“This day just gets worse and worse,” Keats says. He unzips a shoulder pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. His hands are shaking.
I pull out my Zippo. “Give me one.”
He hands me one as I light his.
I kneel down and hold Patty’s hand. She looks so sad, so helpless, so out of place on the floor, her nest of blankets bunched up around her among the coffee cups and random trash. “I don’t think she suffered much. Maybe that’s all we can ask for any more.”
“No,” Samantha insists as she drops to her knees next to me and slides a comforting arm around my shoulders. “We have to want more — we have to make it happen.”
“Which side of the truth are we on now?” I ask.
“The only side there is — the side we need it to be, ours.”
“Change your mind?”
“Nope, if we’re going to have a life, if we’re going to be happy — we have to find our own truth, we have to take it — make it real” She kisses me on the cheek.
She’s right, she’s always right.
Keats looks down at us through the smoke. “You two scare the shit out of me.”
§§§§§
I feel like an asshole not including everyone, but my Truth is that I don’t care about everyone like I do my girls — besides, I only have so much blood to go around.
I’ve decided to do it like they do for immunizing little kids, a little at a time. I’ll get everyone a taste today, and maybe that’s all they need. If not, I’ll give them more tomorrow.
Holly Hawk, Casey, Emily, Jem and Samantha are downstairs dealing with Patty, as far as the others know. Shinji was a pain in the ass, but Keats got him and the others up on the roof. Keats is supposed to be figuring out how to take the cell tower down.
I can feel it, distancing myself from them — shedding responsibility, while at the same time, embracing my tribe, my family, Samantha and the kids. We’re sitting around a one-liter coke bottle standing on an old break-room table.
Samantha talked to the kids last night about what happened in the hall, and about Brenda and Patty later. Holly didn’t have family with the hilltop group, and apart from Shinji, not many friends, so she was able to help talk to the others, help Samantha talk to them about what Brenda had to say.
Emily was a huge help too, she was there, she witnessed the attack, saw her new friends killed by Casey’s and Jem’s families.
There are always two sides, but we only seem to see the one that helps us sleep. Is that what Samantha meant last night?
The only Truth that matters is the one that gives us hope?
I’m not sure what to do about Brenda’s revelation, or how to fix it.
They’ve all seen ugly death and seen it up close.
Even had to wait days to wash it off.
Bu this, they must feel betrayed.
I’m not sorry for Allen though.
It sucks, but I’m not really sorry for Brenda either, except that the whole thing scared the shit out of Emily and Jem.
We decide that keeping Patty a secret from Emily is the only way to go; the truth serves no purpose at all, even worse — it would be cruel.
And now we’re down here, before dawn after almost no sleep, in a break room, lit up from the outside by emergency lights and the fires that are burning Freemont to the ground — to have our first blood ritual.
Jesus, just…Jesus.
I wrap a bandage around the new wound in my arm.
They’re all staring, shifting their attention between the coke bottle and the knife I used to open the spigot. I’m not even sure they’re blinking.
“I know it sounds gross, but it’s true. Holly did it last night. That’s why her hair is turning white, like Jem’s, and her eyes blue,” I say.
The plastic bottle is a third full of my blood and water and strawberry punch flavoring. I even found a bendy straw.
“Okay, you shouldn’t feel anything now, but later on today, you’ll feel — well, you’ll feel better, about everything, sort of. It’ll be fun, it’ll be fun. Ready?”
They don’t look ready at all.
Pixie barks and begins to growl and suddenly a sharp pain rips through my mind and Jem gasps. She’s holding her head too.
I look around to see Pixie jump up on the table, bleeding a lot from one leg. She’s bitten through the skin.
Her intention is pretty clear.
I grab the bottle as she limps
over to me, and I add her blood to the mixture. The buzzing in my head continues, but the pain fades.
I knew Pixie was special, but now I don’t know what she is. How did she know what we were even doing? She chewed through her own leg, did she know that I’d never cut her again, so she did it herself?
Suddenly the sun is shining inside the room…I can still see the girls around the table, see them shifting nervously, their heads bobbing slightly, Casey’s pigtails wiggling because she’s swinging her feet under the table; it’s a vision, playing over them like a movie from a projector…a very real movie: I’m standing on the boardwalk in Jersey, the sky is crystal blue and huge, I’m eating vanilla ice cream while the sun beats down on me, it’s soothing, comforting, relaxing — I can feel the breeze in my hair, the cold texture of the waffle cone against my tongue, hear the turquoise beach whispering promises to me as the salt mists swirl out over the shops — but the waking-dream has no context, no reason — until I see her; she’s wearing a white half-shirt and faded jean shorts, the cuffs rolled up extra short, her legs are long and tan, she’s got on white Keds, and she’s smiling with big dimples as she licks her own ice cream cone, the chocolate melting down her hand, she’s laughing, her crystal blue eyes clear and bright — she smells of suntan lotion.
Samantha?
My throat tightens and my eyes sting…
Why is Samantha in my memories?
I can reach out…she’s right in front of me…the chocolate dripping…she’s giggling, she doesn’t see…it’s going to hit her shoe…stain it…
“Sam…”
Is this Pixie again? Is she…what…sending...thoughts to me? She’s not talking to me, but maybe our brains don’t sync up like mine and Jem’s did — because she’s a dog?
I remember that day at the beach, I can still smell the hot carnival asphalt; did I really see Samantha, was she really there that day, so close, so perfect — so happy?
Is Pixie taunting me with my own memories? That makes no sense, or is it something else? Is she teasing out memories with strong emotions, feelings…is she trying to communicate through my memories, or is this some other fucked up thing?
I try to hold on to the vision, Samantha’s freckles and sunburned cheeks, her shiny pink lips, she’s probably fourteen or so…but…but the sun melts just like her ice cream, the happiness of her perfect smile eroding. The dream from the Del Ray Motor Inn overlays the Jersey Boardwalk…darkening the sky as Samantha leans against the old convertible. She’s the same, but the dream never quite feels real.
The beach does.
“Lane?” Samantha asks.
So my mind is responding to Pixie with triggered memories, memory interpretations of Pixie’s thoughts? That’s fucked up, but kind of cool too, if I can figure out what the fuck she’s getting at.
Jem’s face is strained.
She’s not telling anyone about what she’s dealing with either.
I wonder if she’s suffering too.
I try to think at her, asking her if she’s sensing anything, but she doesn’t respond. I have no idea how this telepathy shit works, except that Pixie is at the center of it.
“Lane?” Samantha asks again, louder.
“Sorry, I was…never mind,” I say, dodging her question. I must have called her name aloud.
She gives me one of her indecipherable looks and lets it go.
But I think I have this one sorted out, Pixie’s letting me know that she understands I won’t hurt her again, won’t make her donate any more blood, but she believes in what I’m doing here.
She wants to help.
Or maybe it has to be her blood — first generation nanobots or whatever, mine might be too diluted?
Is that even a thing?
She looks up at me, big sad eyes and her little tongue panting, so pathetic against her filthy fur.
“We have to drink Pixie’s blood? Are we doggie vampires?” Casey asks, her face pale.
I sigh, trying to push the vision away. “Now you know. Casey…”
“Yeah?” Her eyes are cartoonishly wide. I wonder if she’s going to grow up wearing her emotions on her sleeve, as the saying goes. I’ll have to teach her to never play poker.
I hunch over, like we’re planning a conspiracy. “We are,” I pause and look around, as if making sure no one overhears us, and then lean across the table, “doggie vampires, but it’s a secret.”
Her mouth makes an O and she leans back, confused, fear working its way in.
“No, no, no, honey, he’s playing,” Samantha says, taking her hands as she comes to the rescue. “We’re not doggie anything, Pixie is helping us, she’s a special puppy. But Lane is an asshat sometimes.”
“Asshat.” Casey giggles. “That’s a fun one.”
Samantha gives me a don’t-look-at-me-like-that look.
“Sorry, Casey, not very funny, but that’s what it looks like, huh?”
She nods; her eyes have shrunk back to their normal bigness.
“So anyway, it’s not me, it’s Pixie, it was always Pixie, but we can’t tell anyone. If anyone knew, like the people at the Red Cross tent, remember them? If they knew about Pixie, they might try to hurt her. And we can’t let that happen.”
“Pixie was my special medicine?” Jem asks.
“That night up on the cliff, remember?”
“Nut-uh. I think I understand better now.” She points to her head with both hands, and makes circles around her ears and crosses her eyes.
The other girls giggle, although they don’t understand what Jem’s getting at.
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask.
Jem grins as she scratches her forearm and chest, and then young sarcasm takes its first tentative steps into the wild. “I’m just super okay, thanks.” She curls her lip and looks for all the world like the teenage girls I knew back in school.
Pixie looks over to Jem and barks, and Jem reaches across the table and strokes her tail.
“So we agree, no one hurts Pixie?” I ask.
They all shake their heads in unison.
I run my hand over Pixie’s thick fur as the last drops of blood drop from her paw. “Pixie’s our friend. She’s saved us, just like Jem has.”
“I pledge to protect her, the same as all of you, just like Lane takes care of us,” Holly Hawk says slowly, but with determination. I think she’s played too many questing video games, but her heart is in it.
I trust her.
Emily looks solemn, bites her lip and smiles. “We’re like the Three Musketeers, I mean, the one, two, three, four, five, six — six Musketeers, sorry Pixie, seven.”
Pixie whimper-barks and rolls over on her side as the bleeding stops and crawls on her belly across the table to Jem, and licks her wound.
Jem buries her face into Pixie’s dirty fur and I swear I can hear Pixie purr.
The coke bottle is half full now.
I lay my thumb over the top and give it a good shake before dropping in the straw.
I take a magic marker and draw lines on the bottle so they know how much each of them needs to drink.
Casey, Emily and Samantha get full doses, Holly gets a small booster, while me and Jem will share the last sips.
Casey takes a quick slurp and sticks her tongue out doing her best Pixie impression. “Ew, this is icky.”
“It’s medicine,” Samantha says matter of factly. “It’s supposed to be icky.”
Casey tries again, slurping her portion down as quickly as possible. As soon as she’s done she grabs a water bottle and drinks half of it. “Yuck.”
“Emily, you’re up,” I say as I slide the bottle in front of her.
“What’s going to happen?” Emily asks.
“Nothing. Well, you’ll feel a little stronger, be a little faster.”
“Will I be able to keep up with Jem?” she asks, winking at Jem.
Jem blushes.
That’s a first.
“I’m not sure anyone can do that, but you’l
l be close,” I say.
Emily bends over and takes her medicine without complaint. She licks her lips and wipes the blood off her mouth with the back of her hand before sliding the bottle to Samantha.
Samantha takes a sip and coughs. “Casey wasn’t joking. I’m not sure the strawberry flavoring is really helping, just for future reference there, asshat.” And then she finishes.
“Fine, no artificial flavoring…Holly?”
Sam helps her hold the straw. “Do it from the other side, try not to suck with that side of…yeah...no…that’s better, it takes some time to get used to it.” Samantha gently rubs her shoulder.
It’s no fun, but Holly gets it done.
“Okay, remember, you won’t be invincible…” I begin.
Casey holds up her hand. “What does invis…invis-u…what does that word mean?”
Sam gently pulls on one of Casey’s pigtails. “It means you can’t be hurt.”
I lean forward. “Except you can. You still get hurt, hurt bad, you still feel the pain, keep the scars, but you won’t become one of those things and you won’t die. That’s how me and Jem survived getting bit. It will keep you from getting really sick, and get you well faster if you do. That’s why Holly is already up and around after…”
“And it still hurts,” she says, “but I know it’s not as bad as it would have been, without…” She points at the coke bottle.
Jem rubs her chest. “Back at the school, the thing that got me?”
“Pixie saved you from that too,” I say. “You’ll be a little smarter too, there’s other things you should know; I’m still trying to figure it out, though. Just know there’s stuff in Pixie’s blood, special medicine, okay?”
Emily pulls her .38, routinely checks the safety and then spins it on the table by the trigger, staring at each of us one by one as her face splits into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. “Don’t you know what this means?”
Sam and me look at each other. “What?”
“We’re the Pixie Girls,” she says.
The other girls giggle.
“Pixie Girls rule!” Jem joins in.
“Pixie Girls forever!” Holly shouts as loudly as she can.
“Me too?” Casey asks, her voice small.
