Addicted to the Dead

by Shane McKenzie

  “You think they know I’m dead meat?” Sophia said.

  “Don’t call yourself that. You’re sick, okay? That’s all.”

  “But why were they staring at us like that?”

  Paco took a left turn a bit too sharp, and he squeezed the steering wheel when he felt the passenger side lift off the road. Sophia’s head snapped loosely to the right, and once Paco had control of the truck again, he was happy to see her head was sitting straighter atop her neck than before. She held Myron tight as they passed more and more hungry-looking wanderers zigzagging and shambling along the streets.

  Paco noticed a few hordes here and there, clusters of the skeleton-looking addicts surrounding large, heavily-muscled men and black SUVs. The men looked to be handing something out as money was exchanged. Some of the skinnies were trampling each other, fighting to get to the front of the group.

  “Paco, I’m scared. I don’t like it here.”

  “I know,” he said as he sped by, trying to keep his head low. “Me either. First motel we see, we’ll stop, get some sleep.”

  “But I’m not tired. Can’t we find a doctor now?”

  “It’s the middle of the night, Sophia. We have to wait for the morning, and I’m about to fall asleep right here while I’m driving. I need some rest.”

  She just nodded, ran her fingertips over the ribbon around her neck.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll call the doctor in the morning.”

  She shook her head and scraped her fingers over the silver duct tape wrapped around her stomach. “I’m dead. Just like Mama and Papa. I’m dead and nobody can help me.”

  He wanted to argue with her, tell her that she was wrong, that she wasn’t dead, just really really sick, that Mrs. Addington’s brother is the best doctor in the whole city and he can run tests, give her medicine, maybe perform some kind of miracle surgery on her to fix her. But he only squeezed the steering wheel tighter and swallowed a mouthful of spit that had dried up at the back of his throat before it could coat his sandpapery esophagus.

  At the end of the street, a motel sign flashing neon light on top of a big white pole grabbed Paco’s eyes, and he nearly screamed when he saw it. Just thinking about cool sheets over him, a soft pillow under his head almost made him doze off at the wheel.

  “There we go,” he said as he pushed down on the gas a bit more. “Now we can rest up, take a break before tomorrow morning.”

  Sophia said nothing. Myron lay on the dried blood coating the floorboard.

  Even from the inside of the truck, Paco could hear the buzzing from the sign, every other letter fighting to stay lit. He pulled into an empty parking spot just in front of the lobby, cut the truck off. He eyed the parking lot, shuddered when he saw even more of the same: scrawny meat addicts roaming the concrete. And the last thing they needed was to draw any more attention to him and his sister. The confused expressions on the man and woman’s faces back there in the street still made his stomach tingle with worry.

  There’s no way those people back there could smell Sophia. They didn’t know she was dead. They were surprised to see children, that’s what it was.

  The man and woman in the street had stared at Paco and his sister like they were a couple of unicorns driving an old pickup into town. Paco wondered if there were any kids in the city.

  “Stay close to me, okay?” He reached over and placed gentle fingers on the crook of her arm, but she yanked it away.

  “Why, so the people don’t eat me?” Her bottom lip, blue and dry, stuck out and her arms were crossed.

  “I’m sorry…I’m really sorry. But I’m not losing you, Sophia. You and me are all we’ve got left. The only family left in the world. We can’t give up. Mama and Papa would want—”

  “Mama and Papa are dead. They got taken away so people could eat them.”

  “Sophia—”

  “Why did Papa have to bring that dead thing home? Why? We would all still be alive if…” She started weeping with invisible tears, though she still ran her arm across her face.

  Paco squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s my fault. He did it because of me.”

  Sophia sniffled and looked up at him.

  “I wanted to try it. Everybody eats it, everybody. I was just…I was so scared of dying, scared of what would happen. I was scared for all of us. I begged him…brought it up to him and Mama so many times. And now he’s dead. Everyone’s dead…” He leaned his head forward so it was resting on the steering wheel. Tears and mucus ran from his face and dripped onto his jeans, sprinkling his thighs with dark spots. His shoulders jerked with each powerful sob and only slowed when the cold fingers wrapped around his wrist. He opened his arms and Sophia melted into him. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, and when they finally detached, they both had coy smiles. Paco ran his fingers through her hair and she giggled. “How about we go get a room, maybe watch some TV?”

  “Yeah, okay. Can we watch cartoons?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  He made her wait in the car as he walked around to the passenger side to let her out. Her hand was nearly crushed in his as he gripped it with more strength than he meant to. They both kept their heads down as the emaciated passersby chattered under their breath. When they stepped into the lobby, a bell above the door jingled.

  “How can I help you?” the man behind the desk said as he peeled his eyes away from the novel in his grasp. Paco caught a glimpse of a skull and bones on the cover and just the word Succulent before the man turned it over.

  “Yeah, could we…uh…get a room, please?” Sophia hid behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

  Oh, God, again? Yes, we’re kids. Get over it!

  The man stood from his chair, knocking the novel away. His jaw worked up and down like he was chewing on something. “You…what…where?”

  “Huh? We just need a room, mister. Please. We’re tired and I’ve got money.”

  A long toothy smile opened the man’s head and he rubbed his hands together, then plucked a key from the wall. After handing it to Paco, he leaned forward, his smile shattering into a grimace. “Look here, now. You two are the first kids I seen in, shit, five six years? You best be careful ‘round here. Folks ain’t too friendly, know what I mean?”

  “Yeah…thanks.”

  “But you came to the right place. I’ll keep ya safe, won’t let nobody mess with ya.”

  No kids in six years?

  Paco began to wonder if he should just load Sophia back into the pickup and drive back to Bear Creek, convince Mrs. Addington to phone her brother and have him make a house call or something.

  “And I’ll tell you what. Room’s on the house.”

  Paco held Sophia extra close as they left the lobby. The man never took his eyes off of them for a second, that grin rising back to life.

  ***

  Sylvester watched the boy and girl walk out of the lobby. The boy kept looking over his shoulder, his arm locked around the girl like a boa constrictor.

  Jesus, what are they doing here? Those kids are lucky to be alive.

  The second they were out of eyeshot, he scrambled for the phone, dropped it twice before gripping it tight and dialing the number.

  “Hello? Hey, it’s Sylvester…down at the hotel…yeah…yeah, that’s right. No, nothing like that, business is good as usual. Look…I’ve got some news that needs to be passed on to…yes, yes. You’re not gonna believe what just walked in. Tell him I’ve got two kids here…alone.”

  Sylvester hung up, leaned back in his chair and grinned as he rubbed his sweaty palms together. He’d been hoping to get in good with the boss one of these days, and he knew the man and his wife would be pleased. They were always looking for children. Sylvester didn’t know what they did with them once they got them, but he didn’t give a shit. He had visions of a promotion. He could get the fuck out of the hotel lobby and into some work that he could really sink his fingers into.

  Keep them there and keep them safe, the man on the phon
e had said. I’ll pass on the news. Feed them good, make them happy. You can expect Mr. Harrell in the morning.

  - Chapter 12 -

  “Keep your arms steady…there you go. Aim, uh huh, now fire.”

  The pellet hit the wall, missing the Coke can completely. Beauty grunted, turned to face Calico with a mouthful of gibberish.

  “It’s okay, baby girl, just try again. We’ll get it.” He stood behind her, ran his palm over the top of her head. Reloading the pellet gun for her, he held her arms up, aimed the gun at the can. She held it as steady as she always did—which was shaky at best—clicked her teeth once and pulled the trigger.

  The can backflipped off of the cinder block and Beauty spun her head with a pop of her neck to face Calico. “Aanghuu…”

  “Yes, you did it! Good job, baby. Good job.” He pulled her in for a hug, tried to ignore the whirring of the cameras behind him, the blinking red light under her face. The clock in the kitchen said it was nearly time for the sun to rise, and Calico had been working with Beauty all night. Just last week, he had her hitting the can at least every other shot. Tonight, it took over an hour just to get that one hit, but he knew he had to be patient, knew that the simple fact she could hit it at all was miraculous. But she was always a smart girl, Calico thought. Was always sharp, always bright.

  A knock at the door.

  I’ve got another few hours before our first job. What the hell do they want?

  He peered into the camera’s eye as it focused on him, bared his teeth, and cracked his knuckles. Time with his daughter was short enough, and to be interrupted like this nearly caused him to rip the cameras from the walls and stomp them into sheet metal. But the last time that happened, he hadn’t seen Beauty for a month, and he’d nearly been beaten to death. The Ughs and Grunts were idiots, but a horde of them, all muscle and piss and vinegar, was too much for him to handle. Sure, he’d hurt more than a few of them, even turned one into a walking corpse, but in the end, he was reduced to a wheezing pile of flesh at their feet.

  As he neared the door, his palms itched to squeeze the hilt of his Bowie knife, but he curled them into fists to calm the shakes. With the door having no locks, they could have just barged right in, but they never did. Always knocked. Calico knew it was out of fear rather than respect.

  He opened the door and faced three of Fleet’s men, the two in the back with their pistols out and hanging at their sides.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “We heard you’ve got a gun in here. No firearms allowed, you know that,” the Ugh in front said. Calico thought he recognized the man’s stature as Lucha Libre from the snuff set.

  “It’s my daughter’s pellet gun. Fleet knows about it, take it up with him.” Calico tried to shut the door in their faces, but a steel-toed boot prevented it.

  “Who the fuck you think sent us up for it? Bring us the gun so we don’t have to come in and get it.” The man snickered over his shoulder at the other two men, and they returned it with smug smiles.

  Calico’s jaw ached as he clenched his teeth and nearly tore the doorknob off. As he stared into the men’s eyes, their smiles dissipated and their faces became all business, that familiar fear lingering in their expressions.

  “We don’t want no trouble, man. Just following orders.”

  It took every ounce of will power he had for Calico not to reach out and tear Lucha Libre’s face off like a fresh scab. He had it all calculated in his head already. Taking out the one in front would be no problem, a flick of the wrist, but the cronies in back, pistols in hand, would be more difficult. But when he heard Beauty’s dragging footsteps behind him and the curious gurgle, he exhaled the breath he’d been holding and let his shoulders slump.

  He pulled the gun from Beauty’s cold hands, though she tried her best to keep it. Calico kissed her on the forehead. “It’s okay, baby girl. The big bad bossman wants your toy.” He stood, handed the pellet gun to the men. “You tell Fleet I hope he feels better now that the scary dead girl is weaponless. I hope he sleeps real good.” Calico stared right into the camera as he said it.

  - Chapter 13 -

  The knock at the door woke Paco, and he went from a deep sleep into a sitting position, confusion and sudden terror clouding his thoughts. In his dream, he lay on a table, not strapped down but still unable to move. Mama, Papa, and Sophia sat around him, holding hands, Papa saying grace just like he always did. Paco tried to speak, but couldn’t. Then his family started tearing chunks of him away, biting into the handfuls of bleeding flesh like ripe mangos.

  As he sat in the hard, itchy hotel bed, he started when he saw Sophia sitting on the edge, the image of her chewing on his skin still fresh in his mind. She had been sitting in the exact same spot when Paco had fallen asleep, staring at the television with wide, dried-out eyes. A tiny smile curved her mouth, but when the knock came again, she snapped out of her trance and crawled under the covers, curled into a ball.

  “Who is it, Paco? Make them go away.”

  “Kids? You awake?” Paco recognized the voice as the man that checked them in. Another knock came. “I brought you guys something to eat…eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Free of charge of course.”

  Paco’s stomach churned in response, and he nearly asked his sister if she was hungry, but caught the words just before they exited his mouth and swallowed them back down. She poked her head out from under the sheets, looked at Paco with a furrowed brow, and shook her head.

  “No, don’t open the door. He’s…he’s lying.”

  Paco stopped in his tracks, bit his lip. She did have a point, though his stomach begged him to overlook his apprehension. When they’d checked in, the man did seem way too eager to help them out, and he had this…smile that sent chills up Paco’s back. They’d only been in the city for one night, and already he knew they couldn’t really trust anyone. And if they really were the only kids in the city, he had to start thinking about some crazy person possibly trying to kidnap them or something.

  We need to find a doctor…today. Then once Sophia is cured, we can go back home, start a new life.

  “I’ll just leave the food here for you,” the man said with a soft, non-threatening voice. “I just thought you kids might be hungry is all. It’s here if you want it.”

  Paco put his ear to the door, heard the rattling of plates and silverware as the man set the tray down. Then retreating footsteps. He waited another few minutes before he turned to Sophia, who was back under the sheets.

  “He’s gone,” Paco said. “And I’m starving. I’ll just grab the food real quick, then I’ll lock back up, okay?”

  She didn’t answer, just whimpered and curled herself tighter. Paco noticed her smell was getting stronger, the stench of rot heavy in the air. Strangely, the odor caused his stomach to growl again, his mouth to water.

  “It’ll be fine.”

  She didn’t respond.

  There was enough uncertainty in his mind for him to grab Officer Southard’s pistol before retrieving the food. He slid the chain back, pulled the door open, pointed the gun.

  Into the face of a man.

  “Hello, son. No need for that, I assure you.” Though the man was well-dressed—baby-blue button-up shirt, creased black slacks, shiny polished shoes—he had a bit of the same look as all the others: sunken face, thin as a cancer patient. He did have a friendly smile, though.

  Paco kept the gun pointed at the man’s face. “Who the hell are you? Why are you here?” He eyed the tray of food between him and the man, wiped the saliva from his lip.

  “Please, eat your breakfast. Don’t let me interrupt. I’m sure you’re hungry after your trip.” He smiled again, showed both his hands palm out so he didn’t look threatening.

  “How’d you know we took a trip here?” Gun still pointed.

  “You think you could lower…? Okay, okay. You had to have taken a trip here because there aren’t any children in the city.”

  I knew it. We need to get out of here, get back
home as soon as possible.

  Paco bent down, his eyes and gun still pointed at the man, and snatched a pancake from the plate, stood back up quickly. He took a hefty bite, his stomach roiling, and let the buttery cake slide down his throat. “But the city is big, way bigger than my home town. How can there be no kids here? There has to be at least some.”

  “Where are you from, son?”

  “Don’t call me son!” Paco thrust the gun in the man’s direction.

  The man took a step backward, his palms still out. He cracked a smile. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I understand you’re probably confused right now, but let me ask you, how many kids did you know where you come from?”

  Paco didn’t answer as he stuffed the rest of the pancake into his mouth and chewed. He stared the man right in the eyes.

  “Not many, right?” The man leaned on the railing behind him, almost shoved his hands into his pockets, but crossed them over his chest instead. “It’s the meat.”

  Paco caught another quick whiff of Sophia, stepped outside and eased the door shut behind him. He scooped up a strip of bacon and bit it in half. “I know that. Everyone knows that.”

  The man chuckled, ran his fingernails across his neck under his chin. “Smart man. But do you know why?”

  “Well…I saw a show about it on TV. It just said that the meat makes it so people can’t make babies anymore.” Paco had lowered the gun as he enjoyed the rest of his bacon strip, but when the man took a slight step toward him, the gun shot back up, aimed at chest level.

  The man arched his mouth and nodded, took a step back. “Yes, that’s right. Something about the dead meat makes women infertile, as you said…they can’t have babies anymore. The chemicals in the meat destroys a woman’s eggs, does the same to a man’s sperm.” He laughed, stuck his hands into his pockets. “But you don’t want to hear about that, do you? Anyway, it’s gotten to the point now that everyone’s eating the stuff, so naturally, the kids grew up, none of them able to bare children of their own, so they just sort of…disappeared.”