My stomach roiled and I felt like I was going to puke.
“Morning,” chirped Trina cheerfully as she leisurely walked through the t-shirt racks, stretching her arms over her head like everything was just peachy-keen in life and she had no worries in the world.
She might as well have used a bull horn and a gong. Trudy’s fat hand shot out and grabbed the first thing it could find.
Krystal.
The four-year-old screamed, and that’s all it took for all hell to break loose.
“What the . . .” Trina said as she finished her stretch.
“Get the kids away from Trudy,” screamed Aunt Ella. She had been sleeping on the floor next to Dorcas, who was still snoring away. “Tripp, get them away.”
Trina and I moved at the same time, from opposite ends of the room. The other sick peoples’ eyes fluttered open and they started spitting and snarling and straining against their bonds. My dad shot out of his chair, but he was still half asleep and his legs got tangled somehow. Both he and the chair went toppling over, dangerously close to my mom’s gnashing teeth.
Andrew flapped into the air in no particular direction, but because we were all moving at once, I think we spooked him. He had no place to go but around in circles like a demented bat in a haunted house, threatening to get tangled in our hair at any moment.
Trina grabbed Sanjay by the shirt and pulled him away from the chaos. I hopped over Nedra Stein and Randy Stephens, took a giant step, and planted one foot right in the middle of Trudy’s stomach. My intention was to go up and over her like she was a jelly-filled pillow in an obstacle course of the dead. But my foot sunk just a little and threw me off balance. I fell hard, my butt landing on the floor at Trudy’s feet. If your ass-end can see stars, mine was seeing the entire galaxy. It felt like I broke my tail bone, but I didn’t care about that. I cared about getting Krystal.
This time I was just too late.
Trudy, unable to get her girth up into a sitting position, managed to roll over on her side and pull the little girl to her mouth. I saw it all. I heard it all. The screaming, and Andrew flying in circles unable to find a place to land, and the other sick people, who were also probably poxers by now, popping and hissing.
Krystal, her tiny face filled with the worst kind horror—the kind reserved for much older people who know they have no hope—wailed in terror. That’s when Trudy bit down on her arm. Blood spilled out of her fat mouth as Krystal shrieked in pain.
“NO!” I screamed. How could we lose Krystal? How could everything be so unfair? Aunt Ella said Krystal’s whole family had been taken out by poxers. Now her? This wasn’t happening. It just wasn’t happening!
I was right.
Nothing happened. Trudy bit her, that’s for sure, and the bite was ugly, but it wasn’t—horrible. Her piggy, gray eyes looked at me as she lay sprawled out on the floor of Swifty’s. She wiped the blood from her mouth and belched loudly, like football loud—the kind of belch guys make when they’re watching the game and there aren’t any girls around to get grossed out.
“That’s not pizza,” rasped Trudy, her foul mouth covered in gore.
At first, it didn’t even register she was talking. Trudy let go of Krystal and fell backwards with a thud and lay motionless again. Frankly, I didn’t care about her. I cared about the four-year-old poxer who was going to go on a rampage at any moment, her baby teeth tearing at my dad or my aunt or anyone else she could find.
Krystal just wailed, gripping her arm as blood poured through her fingers.
What was happening? She’s not immune, unless by some bizarre miracle her family had been like mine. No—that wasn’t it. There was something else. Trudy had talked. She had said something about pizza. Poxers don’t talk—at least I don’t think they do.
What in the hell was going on?
“Boo-boo,” Krystal wailed hysterically, staring at us with wide, wet eyes. “Boo-boo, boo-boo.” We all wanted to run to her and scoop her up, but we didn’t dare. My aunt watched her warily—so did my dad. Trina and Sanjay were by the cash register, her fingers still gripping his shirt collar tightly.
Tense seconds passed as we waited for those awful parasites to go right to her brain and totally consume her, leaving behind a poxer-tot where there was once a little girl—but nothing happened.
Finally, Sanjay said, “Not sick.” Andrew, who had landed on top of one of the candy hoppers, zeroed in on his voice and immediately flapped over to him and landed on his head.
“Yeah,” said Jimmy, who finally decided to join the party. “What gives?” He wheeled over to Trina. I guess I hadn’t noticed, but he had seen the whole thing.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t get it.”
Eddie with the fake hair, who was lying on the floor next to Trudy Aiken, whispered, “Water,” in a hoarse voice. He was echoed by a couple of the others in gravel-filled monotones.
“Water, please. Yes, water.”
All the while Krystal wailed. “Boo-boo,” she cried, her arms dripping with blood. “Boo-boo. Boo-boo.”
32
OKAY, SO THEIR skin was gray, their eyes were gray, and if Eddie with the fake hair was a little bit shorter and his eyes were a little bit bigger, he would actually look like one of those creepy little gray aliens that are supposed to abduct people and do rectal examinations.
One thing was certain. Not one of them had Necropoxy.
Everyone who had been sick was now awake—weak, but awake. You could see by looking at them they were still fighting off something, but it was clear they were winning the battle. As a matter of fact, it looked like the disease was reversing itself.
Everything was happening so fast. My dad even remarked that parasitic infections usually don’t clobber you over the head so quickly then go running for the hills in the space of a day. Apparently, Necropoxy was the exception.
All I knew was I still had my mom. That’s what I really cared about. Everything had been so tense and weird that it was nice to breathe a sigh of relief for a change. I had almost forgotten what that felt like.
Trudy Aiken lay on her side, unwilling to look at any of us. She was so ashamed of what she had done she just couldn’t shake the feeling. When she finally realized that the red, salty stuff that lingered on her tongue wasn’t the kind of sauce that comes with mozzarella and anchovies, she cried black tears. That was bizarre all by itself, but probably part of the whole poxer thing. Thankfully, the special of the day wasn’t little girl with pineapple and pepperoni, after all.
As for everyone else—Nedra, Randy, Eddie, Freaky Big Bird, and my mom—they just wanted water. Dad said that was a good thing. Water would help flush the necro-buggers out of their systems—and make them pee a lot.
While Aunt Ella and Dorcas tended to everyone, Dad worked on Krystal’s arm. He had to stitch her wound in a couple of spots because Trudy’s bite broke the skin. Krystal sobbed and cried, so my dad gave her one of those giant lollypops that Aunt Ella had been sucking on last night. Krystal concentrated on the rainbow swirls instead of her arm, and in a few minutes the job was done. She was a tough little girl. I liked that about her. What’s more, she had Trina and Prianka as role models. A little time spent with the two of them and she would be icy and tough—a winning combination in a world filled with poxers.
Sanjay watched my dad, fascinated by everything he was doing.
“Human bites are bad,” said my dad as he finished sewing the last stich on Krystal’s tiny arm.
Sanjay nodded. “Poopy Puppy says human bite wounds are notoriously deceptive and are often underestimated and undertreated.” Andrew chirped when Sanjay spoke, so he added, “Andrew says so, too.”
“That’s true,” said my dad with a little bit of a smile on his face. I think he found Sanjay’s particular form of autism fascinating.
Sanjay continued. “There are controversies regarding best care practices, but meticulous wound care is paramount.”
My dad’s grin grew a little bigger. H
e wrapped a clean bandage around Krystal’s arm and pulled the lollypop out of her mouth. “Not too much of that, young lady. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, obviously with no intention of listening to him. He might as well have said oogity-boogity-boogity—Krystal could have cared less. She was too focused on coating her molars with sugar.
“It is important to minimize the soft tissue deformity,” added Sanjay. “That’s why early, aggressive treatment is mandatory to prevent infection and associated complications.”
My dad snorted. Sanjay fixed him in the eye, which was really uncommon for him. He usually didn’t like to look at anyone directly in the eye. “Are you being early and aggressive in your mandatory treatment to prevent infection and associated complications?” he asked. It would have almost been funny if Sanjay wasn’t so dead serious.
“You tell me,” said my dad.
Andrew preened his feathers while Sanjay pulled Poopy Puppy to his ear. He nodded his head a few times while my dad watched with interest.
“There’s another way,” Sanjay finally said.
“And what would that be?” asked my dad.
Sanjay stood up and raised his arms over Krystal. She didn’t notice because she was still focused on the lollypop and how many licks it was going to take to wear away the whole thing. He cleared his throat and chanted:
“Urinate upon the wound.
Nary tally, do it soon.
Fill with maggots for a while.
Let them eat the pus and bile.
When the blood runs clean and bright
Take the bugs from off the site.
Do this thrice upon the week
You will find the health you seek.”
I gulped. “Whatever he just said, I think that’s messed up.”
“He’s not wrong,” Dad laughed. “Urine has been thought to be a sterilizer and maggot therapy is sometimes used in big-city hospitals to clear away dead tissue.”
“Sorry,” I said. “That’s gross. Cool, but gross.”
Aunt Ella was holding Freaky Big Bird’s head in her hand, helping her to sip a glass of water. “It’s my books,” she said. “Sanjay must have picked that spell out of one of my books.” She smiled. “He’s our little witch doctor.”
Sanjay stroked Andrew’s feathers. “A witch doctor is a type of healer who treats ailments with sorcery,” he said. “It’s also used to refer to those who practice alternative medicine.” He looked straight at my dad again. “Or quacks,” he added.
“Quacks,” said Andrew.
“Quacks,” repeated Sanjay.
My dad was no quack. Whatever he did last night seemed to work. Maybe getting fluids into them is what did it, or maybe the disease just worked its way out of their systems by itself because of something that Diana and the eggheads at Site 37 had done to them. Maybe Dorcas blew smoke on them and that’s why they healed.
It could have been one of a thousand different things.
Still, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Krystal like I was missing something. Trudy seemed to have a raging case of the poxers when she bit into her arm, but Krystal didn’t get sick. She didn’t get anything but a lot of attention, a cool bunch of stitches that would leave a scar that she would be able to brag about someday, and a giant lollypop.
Not that I wanted to see her turn into a poxer. Of course I didn’t. Still, I couldn’t figure out why she was still the same Krystal and not some mini-me of Tattoo Guy or Roger’s Millie, or any of the other billions of people on the planet who were now staggering around like mindless vegetables.
Nothing made sense. I mean, true—Trudy hadn’t really turned into a poxer, but she had turned into something for a bit. Wouldn’t you think she should have passed something on to Krystal?
Anything?
Anything at all?
33
“YOU GAVE MY sister a hickey?” I snapped at Jimmy.
He grinned. “She gave me one too.” He pulled his t-shirt collar down and tilted his neck to one side. “Sweet, right?”
I stared at the angry blue and purple bruise. “No, it’s not sweet. My parents are right inside. Have you seen my dad? He’d squash you like a . . . like a Tonka toy.”
Jimmy’s smile disappeared. “Is that a joke about the wheels, because if it is, that’s so uncool.”
Trina rolled her eyes and got up from Jimmy’s lap. “Once again, Tripp, you’re just jealous.”
The three of us were hanging out in front of Swifty’s while my dad, Aunt Ella, and Dorcas tended to the sick people inside. Even though everyone was getting better, they were still in pretty bad shape. My plan of leaving as soon as we could was pretty much a wash.
Still, I kept looking at the skies and expecting helicopter people to come over the tree tops at any moment.
The air was colder than it had been over the past week. It was windy, too. Leaves rained down on the parking lot at a steady clip, and it occurred to me that no one was ever going to take out a leaf blower to clean them up. Pretty soon they would mound into a blanket of death. Next spring, creepy little mushrooms would bloom on the wet leaf litter.
“Shut up with the jealousy crap, Trina. If you haven’t noticed, I’m with Prianka.”
“Yeah, about that,” she said with her hands on her hips. “Where is she?”
Jimmy rubbed the orange stubble on his face. “Where’s Bullseye?”
I sat down on the front steps next to the little fishing bear. Newfie was with us, lying with his head on his paws. He looked at me with those big, liquid eyes of his like he didn’t want to get involved. I stared back at him. Finally, he sighed and closed them again.
“Last I saw her, Prianka was out back with Bullseye playing damage control,” I said. She was taking a long time. I guess there was a lot of damage to control.
“I figured as much,” said Jimmy. “He was righteously pissed off when you left last night.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “He gave me an earful about that.”
“You can’t blame him,” Jimmy shrugged. “The kid’s lost so much, and the whole gun thing got a little weird.”
“What do you mean?” said Trina as she leaned up against one of the rugged posts holding up the porch. Her eyes gazed past the parking lot and down the road to where more leaves were swirling in the breeze and making mini multicolored wind funnels of maple and oak.
“Remember when you blew the lock off the door last night?” said Jimmy. “Now, all the adults think you’re a loose cannon and they definitely think Bullseye’s a little dangerous. At least it’s coming off that way. They’re probably a little scared of all of us.”
“I am not a loose cannon,” she grumbled.
“No,” I said. “Just loose.”
It was good for a laugh. Well, at least I laughed.
Finally, Trina blew air out her nose. “I want a shower,” she said. “A nice, hot shower with soap and bubbles.”
“There’s a shower at Stella Rathbone’s back in Greenfield,” said Jimmy. We had met the author of ‘Urban Green’, the definitive book on living urban while still being off the grid, on our first pass through Greenfield. She was snug like a bug in a rug in her huge apartment above a used bookstore.
“No,” both Trina and I shouted in unison.
“We need to leave Stella out of all this,” I said. “She’s like our safe house, you know? Like our last resort. Meanwhile, we still have to find a place that’s a little less exposed than, well, here. I know there’s food and all, but every time that stupid chimney blows smoke I feel like we can be seen for miles.”
“What do you mean?” said Trina.
“The helicopters,” I said. “I’ve seen them twice in one day. How long do you think it’ll take for them to find us? And what are we going to do if they come and we’re still here?”
“Then we shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“Easy in theory,” I said. “Not so easy when you have a bunch of adults fighting the zombie pox.”
Prianka came w
alking around the side of the building, holding Bullseye’s hand. He looked like he had cooled off a lot since our little misunderstanding earlier. As a matter of fact, he came over to the steps and sat down not too far from me and rubbed Newfie’s head.
Prianka sat down on the step below me and leaned back against my legs.
“Not that I want to overstate the obvious,” she said to Trina and Jimmy as she eyed their dual hickies, “But the two of you look like you have some sort of rash.”
“Really?” said Trina. “You, too?”
“Yeah,” I said with a grin. “I’m rubbing off on her.” I kissed her and squeezed her shoulders. Then I turned and eyeballed Bullseye. He wouldn’t look at me, but I could tell that his little hissy fit was over. “We cool?” I said to him quietly.
“For now,” he grumbled. “But I might want to punch you again.”
“Go for it, dude. If that’s what makes you happy.”
“Maybe.”
I gently pushed Prianka forward and stood up. Newfie raised his head and Bullseye tracked me. “We’ll be right back,” I said to everyone else and motioned for Bullseye to follow me. Newfie lumbered after us as we walked across the parking lot to the edge of the road. I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but I knew I had to say something. I waited and hoped that the smart part of my brain would kick in and start talking.
Finally, the words came. “I have black and blue marks from where you punched me.”
“I miss my family,” he said. Newfie walked between us. Bullseye put one hand on the dog’s back and let the giant furball guide him along.
“I’d be a dick if I said I understood, because I don’t,” I told him. “All I know is that I wouldn’t have been as strong as you if I had lost everyone I love.”
The Dead (a Lot) Trilogy (Book 2): Wicked Dead Page 14
