“Wow,” chuckled Jimmy. “And you kiss me with that mouth?”
It took every bit of restraint not to stick my finger in my mouth, trigger my gag reflex, and barf—maybe even twice.
Trina just folded her arms over her chest and pouted. Above us, the helicopter blades sent a chill through me. They weren’t just close anymore. They sounded like they were right on top of us.
“Do we, um, close the door?” asked Bullseye.
“No,” I said. “No movement. We don’t want them to see anything.”
“But what if they land?
“Then we hide in the way back with the jars of black goo.”
“Black goo?” said Jimmy and snorted. I chuckled a little—so sue me. Somehow, the thought of a dog, a crow, a guy in a wheelchair, two kids, and three teenagers standing quietly in a dirty, hundred-year-old basement in the woods struck me a little funny. Oh yeah, let’s not forget dead Ross Esi Allan III with half his head blown away.
“Shut up,” growled Trina.
“You shut up,” I snorted. “They aren’t going to land. They didn’t see us, and this is just a tiny little snag on our way to the beach, right?”
Trina just stared at me with a blank expression.
“Right, Trina?” I said again louder. “Let me hear you say it.”
I swear I could hear her teeth grinding together.
Instead, Sanjay spoke up. “Affirmative,” he said in a small voice with Poopy Puppy pressed to his ear. “Also yes, yeah, sure, certainly, absolutely, indeed, naturally, and surely.” He bit his lip and knitted his eyebrows. “Of course and sure thing, too.”
I smiled. “See, at least someone’s got with the program.”
Bullseye pulled his gun out of his pants and checked the chamber in the arc of Jimmy’s flashlight. Prianka inched her way closer to me and linked her fingers to mine. Trina folded her arms around Jimmy and kissed his ear.
“Sure thing, too,” squawked Andrew. Newfie woofed.
A long minute later, the sound of the whirring blades began to move away. It seemed as though the helicopter people were heading back toward the covered bridge where Dorcas and I took the ambulance, but that was just a guess. Underground, everything sounded muffled and weird.
“They’re leaving,” said Bullseye.
“Good,” I said. “Wanna holster your piece?”
“Huh?” said Bullseye.
“‘Holster your piece’?” repeated Trina as she rolled her eyes. “You watch too much TV, Tripp. A simple ‘put the gun away’ would do just fine.”
“Oh,” said Bullseye and tucked the pistol into the back of his pants. “I get it.” He put his elbow over his nose. “Can we leave now? They’re gone and it stinks in here.”
“I second that,” said Jimmy.
“Can I third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth, it, too?” grumbled Trina as she went to push the back of Jimmy’s chair.
“Don’t push my chair,” he said a little too harshly, probably out of habit. “And who’s our eighth?”
“Poopy Puppy,” said Sanjay like Jimmy was a monumental idiot. Yeah, duh, dude. The doll has a vote too. Welcome to Poxer World.
As we shuffled out of the cellar hole, Prianka turned to Ross Esi Allan III and said, “What about him?”
I was actually confused for a minute. He was dead. I didn’t even get what she was asking. The sad thing was, Ross Esi Allan III was just a guy. He wasn’t a poxer or a monster or even Diana. He was just a guy who got caught in a really bad situation and did the only thing he knew how to do.
He ended it.
I could feel a snarky remark rising in my throat but I bit my tongue to keep it from coming to the surface. If it had, I may have said something like ‘so what?’ or ‘who cares?’ The truth was that both of them were really bad responses.
Ross Esi Allan III was a man. He was born and he lived and he owned a store named Swifty’s. He wasn’t a poxer. Somehow I think that made a difference to Prianka.
“Do you, um, do you want to maybe say something?”
I think that was probably the last straw for my sister. Trina grumbled incoherently then pushed past Jimmy, leaving him behind to struggle up the dirt and gravel slope. Prianka looked at me and shook her head yes.
“Okay,” I said. “Go ahead. I’ll be right here.” I scooted Bullseye and Sanjay out the door, along with Newfie and Andrew, then stood by the earthen opening as Prianka crouched down against the far wall on the other side of the little hole in the ground from where Ross leaned against the wall.
Before she could begin, Sanjay pushed back by me with Andrew on his shoulder. He stood in front of her in that dank, ancient cellar then reached his hand out to her.
“Andrew says let me,” he said in a strange voice that sounded like a normal ten year old instead of the autistic boy we had been traveling with. Prianka stood and together they faced the dead body of the man who was not a poxer and never had been.
Sanjay was quiet for a moment, his humongous brain probably accessing some ancient death rite. Then he said, “Take him now, take him now, as he faces the end of this life. By the earth and wind and the fire and rain, he’s on his way, remember him. Take him now back to the earth from which he sprung and now returns. Help him cross over for now it is his turn. He is not afraid. Remember him.”
He stepped forward to the rank corpse, bent down, and touched Ross’s forehead. I could almost see Sanjay’s index finger sink in the rotted flesh—just a little. He pulled away and touched his own forehead before turning and touching Prianka’s. “Blood of my blood,” he said as he brushed her soft, brown skin.
Then he came to me and reached up and touched my cheek. “Bone of my bone,” he whispered. I had nothing to say back. I wasn’t even sure he was expecting me to say anything. Sanjay walked outside, up the small slope, and touched Bullseye’s shooting hand and said, “Flesh of my flesh.” To Trina, he touched her stomach and whispered, “Keep his soul alive. Help him live on.”
When he reached Jimmy, he lightly placed his hand over his chest and said. “Help him live on within your heart. Be not afraid. Remember him.”
It was all so bizarre. I didn’t know if I was the only one who thought so or not. Everyone else seemed to accept Sanjay’s ritual like it was normal. Maybe it was normal. Maybe this is how human death would be from now on. Someday, Sanjay would be saying this weird little ritual for me or Trina or Prianka or Jimmy or Bullseye. Maybe he would be saying it for one of the adults.
We were people. We weren’t monsters. Sanjay was right—we deserved to be remembered.
The somber mood was finally shattered when Sanjay said, “Beach—Poopy Puppy, Andrew, and Newfie all say beach.” Just like that his spell was broken. We all trudged back to the sunlit path and continued toward Black Point Fort like nothing ever happened, leaving a real dead person behind in an abandoned cellar in the woods.
40
UP AHEAD WAS A big birch tree covered with yellow leaves and a wooden arrow nailed to the bark. On the arrow in bright yellow letters it said ‘Black Point Fort—.5 miles.’ Another frickin’ .5 miles in the woods? Did I mention how much I hate the woods?
The sun beamed down on the tree and made the canopy glow. As a matter of fact, the sun was beating down on everything so much that the morning chill was wearing off. It wasn’t even sweatshirt weather anymore.
The forest was getting positively balmy.
“Why is it so hot?” said Trina. She plucked the words right out of my mouth.
“Indian Summer,” answered Jimmy as his wheels bumped along the dirt path. I could see the sweat beading up on his forehead, but I knew he didn’t mind. He was having the time of his life.
“Indian Summer—what’s that?” asked Bullseye as he tilted his head sideways and stopped to look at something off in the trees.
“Ask the Indians,” I said and motioned toward Prianka and Sanjay. Okay, so it was incredibly rude and socially inappropriate of me—but a little funny, right?
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Andrew took off from Sanjay’s shoulder and flapped his black wings a few times as he climbed in the air. He landed on one of the mid-level branches of the birch and sat there preening his feathers.
Prianka just bit her tongue and shook her head at me. Hey, I was the same Tripp Light that she had known since we were tiny tots. If she fell for me now, it must have had something to do with my sense of humor.
“Well?” she said to her brother. “Any thoughts on the definition of Indian Summer?”
Sanjay stared up at Andrew then promptly sat on the ground. Newfie sat down beside him, his great, slobbery tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“What’s that?” said Bullseye again.
“According to the 2009 and 2010 Old Farmer’s Almanac, the criteria for an Indian summer are warm mild days occurring between November eleventh and November twentieth,” he said.
“No,” said Bullseye as he shielded the sun from his eyes with his shooting hand. “What’s that?” He pointed thought the trees, their leaves twirling toward the ground like slow, heavy rain. There was something moving there. I shielded my eyes so I could get a better look. Newfie hoisted himself to his feet and stood erect, his ears held alert against his massive head like two giant ear muffs.
“Andrew, to me,” said Jimmy and held out his arm, but Andrew didn’t move. His beady little bird eyes were targeting the strange movement in the trees.
We all watched whatever it was lumbering in the woods. Then I caught a glimpse of purple and red and I knew.
“Poxer,” quipped Andrew.
“Damn, really?” snapped Trina. “Can’t we have just one day of peace?”
“What would a poxer be doing out here?” whispered Prianka, her hand slipping into mine.
“Dunno,” I said. “Fast food?”
“Hey,” Jimmy said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not interested in being on the dollar menu.”
The movement in the trees stopped. By now, we could clearly make out a figure standing there. It was eerie, like it had just run out of juice and was waiting for a fill-up. Then it abruptly turned and faced us, and we all saw for sure that whoever was in the woods was now on the extra crispy side of poxified.
She was a woman—about the same age as my mom, with a red bandana on her forehead, wearing hiking shorts and boots. She also had a purple backpack with the straps looped under her arms and around her waist.
She was dressed in plaid—all plaid—this year’s L.L. Bean zombie-catalog fall collection.
Jimmy pulled out his paper bag of supplies.
“Can’t do that, bro.” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. “It’s been way too dry, lately. The last thing we need is a forest fire.”
“Because only you can prevent forest fires,” added Trina and giggled. We high-fived each other.
“Do you want me to shoot her?” asked Bullseye.
“No,” we all snapped in unison.
“But what do you . . .” he began, but I cut him off.
“Helicopter people,” I said and pointed up into the sky. “They’ll hear.”
How sucky can sucky be? I couldn’t help thinking the same thing as Trina. Geez. Can’t we get cut a break for one lousy day—just one lousy morning?
Sanjay hid himself behind Prianka and buried his face in Poopy Puppy’s new patch-worked body.
Jimmy started pumping the wheels of his chair toward where the arrow on the birch was pointing. “Let’s just lead it to the water,” he said. “We can deal with it there.”
He was right. In the fire and water version of rock, paper, scissors, water beat out fire every time.
“Fine. Can we just hurry then?” grumbled Trina and started after him.
I looked at Prianka and gave her a sad, little smile. ‘Sorry,” I said and sort of shrugged.
“What are you sorry about? It’s not your fault.”
“I don’t know,” I said as we started following after Jimmy and Trina with the dead backpacker now trailing behind us on the swath of path.
“Then don’t apologize.”
Prianka was right. None of this was my fault, but somehow I couldn’t shake the idea that it was. “It’s my fault the helicopter people are after us,” I said as I stared at pebbles running away from my sneakers each time I kicked at the ground.
“Or your sister’s,” she reminded me as she put her arm around my waist and kissed my ear. “Both of you are immune. If push comes to shove, they can have her. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said. I turned to keep an eye on the poxer slowly staggering after us. She was just one more thing to worry about in a sea full of worry.
41
NEWFIE’S A BIG DOG, like probably the biggest I’ve ever seen. He kept growling and showing his teeth at the poxer, but I held on to his collar so he wouldn’t bolt after her. I was lucky. I think he would have taken my arm along with him if he had bothered to wrench free.
By the time we had halved the distance to Black Point Fort from the birch tree, I realized that something was a little off. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. I think it was the smell that finally gave it away.
“Does anyone smell that?” I said.
“Smell what?” asked Bullseye.
Trina snorted. “The one who smelt it, dealt it.” And they call me immature.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I smell something funny.”
“Like chemicals,” said Prianka. She stopped and was looking at one of the trees on the side of the dirt road.
“Pri? What’s up?”
“This,” she said as she tentatively poked at the bark. “What is this?” There was sticky stuff on the tree, like someone had plastered the lower part of the trunk with something dark and gooey. She pulled her hand away, smelled it, and wrinkled her nose. “It sort of smells like gasoline.” Prianka moved to another tree, and then another. “You know what, guys. There’s this sticky stuff on all the trees. Can’t you smell it?”
She was right. The air smelled off, like we were in a mechanic’s garage. So much for the sweet aroma of fall in New England—the whole forest reeked.
“Maybe it’s part of a study from the University,” pondered Jimmy. “Sometimes they come out . . . I mean came out here to study the trees and how they grow. Maybe that stuff is part of a project or something, you know? Like a special kind of fertilizer.”
“A stinky fertilizer,” said Bullseye and turned to keep watch on our trailing poxer.
“All fertilizer is stinky,” said Trina.
“No stinkier than poxer-lady,” I said. “Let’s get to the beach and torch her, please.”
Prianka still sniffed at her hand. Something was bothering her. I could see her trying to work it out in her head like she was trying to remember something important. Usually Sanjay was our answer man, but he only dawdled along with us, staring at the trees and looking up at the sun as it warmed his copper skin. Andrew sat dutifully on his shoulder. Poopy Puppy hung at his side.
God, my life was weird, but I couldn’t quite figure out what I thought was the weirdest part. Was it the poxers? Maybe it was Sanjay and his mega-brain. Could it be Diana and her mad scientist version of ruling the world?
I decided it was the fact that I was sort of going steady with Prianka Patel. If anyone from high school was still alive and found out, I think they’d die laughing.
The two of us dating was just so wrong, but somehow, so right, too. I smiled to myself. Life’s weird—really, really weird
A few minutes more and we could see the woods opening up in the distance. Newfie kept turning his head and eyeing the backpack lady while making this deep, throaty growl. We weren’t in any danger yet—none that I could see, anyway. We were walking faster than her.
The path ended at the water.
“Wow,” whispered Bullseye when he saw the Quabbin Reservoir for the first time. Jimmy whistled. Wow was right.
The reservoir was amazing. It was huge, with islands blooming out of the still, dark, bl
ue depths. As far as you could see, in both directions, water reflected the blue sky and the brilliantly colored trees along the shore.
“I told you,” exclaimed Jimmy. “Awesome, right?”
It was awesome. How could I have lived my whole life within an hour’s drive from this place and never come here?
It made me think how much we all used to stumble through our own little existences, playing video games and surfing the Net. There was so much in the world to see. Looking at the Quabbin made me want to see it all.
Over to our left, about a half mile away, was Black Point Fort. It hung out over the water on a spit of land that reached into the reservoir like a bony finger. The building was made of stone, which is kind of rare for New England. I have, or used to have, family in Philadelphia. Every time we went down for a visit, it was weird to see all the houses made out of stone. My dad’s cousin Harris told us it was because Philadelphia was built on granite. When they started building the city, stone was the easiest stuff to find.
In New England, however, stone buildings are rare. I didn’t expect Black Point Fort to look so medieval. There were dark windows that marred its rough surface and several jeeps in the parking lot that looked like they were parked a little too orderly—a little too militarily. At the edge of the parking lot was a paved road that went off into the woods.
“I wonder where that road leads,” I said.
“Not here,” said Trina. “Look.” There was a little foot bridge that crossed over a marshy area between us and the fort, but it dipped into the water halfway through the marsh and disappeared. It looked as though someone had cut the rope railing and let the bridge slip into the muck.
I got the willies. There was something off about Black Point Fort. The place seemed like it was alive, you know? Like it was breathing.
Like it was a site.
Jimmy spun his wheel chair around to face the poxer that had been trailing us. She was still about a hundred feet away. “Do you think if we all went into the water she would follow us?” he said. “We could torch her there, away from the woods.”
I still eyed Black Point Fort. In that little part of my stomach called the pit, something roiled.
The Dead (a Lot) Trilogy (Book 2): Wicked Dead Page 17
