A bitter substance shot down his throat. It was the sourest thing he had ever ingested. He felt it sticking to the inside of his throat, melting into his innards like some kind of misty acid. His vision turned inward and traveled inside his own body. He watched as a purplish rain incinerated his organs. His heart bubbled and withered to nothing. The charge running through his body was blissfully painful. It was the most euphoric feeling he had ever experienced.
And it was just a little too much.
Johnny let loose a cough, and then another, and another, and so on. Each cough struck a match against his lungs; so intense yet so pleasurable at the same time.
He heard the Goths laughing from every direction. “What…what is this?” he managed to spit out.
A chubby hand clasped his shoulder. “The Brit calls it Jericho. We just call it ‘purple’. We don’t know much else, besides it’s fuckin’ killer.”
If Johnny had been capable of saying anything else, he would have absolutely agreed on the Goth’s last statement, but everything was spinning so fast he could barely keep his own balance, let alone speak. He saw the line of lockers, then the Goths, then a door, then the Goths, then the dogs, then the lockers again all in a matter of nanoseconds.
Hold up. Dogs?
All around, surrounding him and the three Goths. Closing in, drooling, stomachs growling. Hellhounds of the universe.
Suddenly it was all so clear to him. The hungry canines had been there this entire time. Whatever he had just sprayed down his throat, it had opened up a brand new way of seeing the world. A world in which flesh-craving dogs now roamed.
He wondered if perhaps it would be better to live in a world where such monstrosities were not visible to the human eye. He desperately yearned to return. But then he thought, if he couldn’t see them, would they still be able to attack? He gulped. Dying by the fangs of hounds you couldn’t even see would be the worst death ever. It was a miracle he had stumbled upon these obese Goths before it was too late.
Johnny looked at the kid on the left, who thus far had been deafeningly silent. “Why haven’t you said anything? People aren’t that quiet. Who are you? Imposter!” The imposter clamped his hand over his mouth and looked away, embarrassed. What was he hiding?
Dog collar kid laughed. “Nah, his voice is just extremely feminine.”
“Oh,” Johnny said. “My bad.”
“It’s okay,” the quiet Goth squeaked. Dog collar kid was right. His voice was indeed incredibly girly.
“So, how do you feel?” asked devilock kid. He was smiling.
Johnny reached into the fruit backpack and grabbed a handful of its contents. “I feel like graping some dogs,” he said.
And that’s just what they did.
NOW
DAY
ONE
EGG
Chapter One
And Then There Were Three
Months had passed. The merry-go-round remained still. The group of teenagers had returned, minus one, making it only three now. This time instead of pot they passed around a bottle of tequila. None of them were exactly in the right spirit to be spinning so they just sat there and drank.
Candy Blossom took three turns for every single turn. The other two didn’t mind.
“I just can’t believe it,” Connor said after a while.
Addison shook her head. “Out of everyone I ever knew, Johnny was one person I never thought would do something like this.”
Connor gave her a hurtful look. “What about me?”
Addison shrugged. “It’s the way it is, baby.”
“Bitch.”
“Either way, I still can’t believe it,” Addison said.
“Well, believe it,” Candy said coldly. She stared into the pearly night sky with damp eyes and wondered why people were the way they were. Despite how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to come up with an answer.
Connor ran his fingers through his overgrown red hair, trying his best to comprehend the situation. “I mean, his ma wins the lotto and bam, he transforms into a totally new person. It all seems like a strange dream, ya know?”
“Yeah.” Addison nodded.
“Candy,” Connor said, “what exactly happened when you went over there? What did he do to you?”
“Gimmie.” Candy snatched the tequila from Addison. She took a long swig, paused, and took another. “I went up there to his new place to, like, surprise him, you know? Have you guys been there? It’s fuckin’ huge, I kid you not.”
“Yeah,” Connor said. “I’ve been there a few times. I don’t think Addy has, though.”
“No, I haven’t gotten around to it, yet.”
“Don’t bother.” Candy splashed more liquor down her throat. Her piercings glistened in the shadows of the forgotten park. “I get up there, right? He ain’t alone. And I’m not talking about his family, either. Bastard goes to a new school not even barely two months and he’s already screwing some slut. He answered the door in his underwear and she was standing behind him wrapped in a blanket. I guess everyone else was out on errands or something.”
Connor turned to her, staring incredulously. “Are you serious?”
Candy returned the look. “Why would I make something like that up?”
Addison kicked his foot. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“He told me he was now among a more superior, civilized class of human beings and I would no longer be required of any further services,” Candy continued. “Those are his exact words. Can you believe that shit? I told him all that money changed him and he said he didn’t change, he just grew up. I told him no, you just grew down. Then I spat in his face and left. I’m never talking to that piece of shit again, I swear to God.”
“I’m sorry, Candy.” Addison put her arm around her. “That’s horrible. Know that we’re here for you, okay?”
“Thanks. That helps.”
Connor stood up and walked out a few feet away. He finished the last of the tequila and whipped it off into a nearby field of weeds. The sound of the glass shattering interrupted the night’s eerie silence.
Connor turned back to the girls. “And don’t worry,” he said to Candy. “He won’t get away with this. He will suffer the consequences of his actions.”
“What did you have in mind?” Candy sniffled.
“Uh, I don’t know, I guess we could, like, set a bag of dog poo on fire and leave it on his porch…or something.”
The two girls stared at him. Candy sighed and lay down on the merry-go-round.
Addison shook her head at him. “God, you’re such a nerd.”
Chapter Two
The Cotton Candy-Haired Demon
“Stay behind the yellow line, please.”
The prisoner in the neon blue jumpsuit ground his teeth together. It took every ounce of him to resist jumping over the line, reaching under the bulletproof glass, and choking the guard until he coughed up the goods. It was awful tempting.
He tried to keep his cool, shaking away the violent urges he so desperately wanted to act out. “My candy is missing,” he calmly explained. “I would like it returned.”
“Look, dipshit,” said the guard. “I already done tol’ ya, ain’t no candy here, ain’t no candy to give ya.”
The prisoner cracked his neck. He had gone ten years without any candy, he could surely hold off his craving another couple of hours. It probably wasn’t even that long of a walk to the nearest gas station, anyway. There was around fifty bucks in his wallet—assuming the Ratman hadn’t snatched that, as well. The amount would suffice well enough to satisfy his sugar-withdrawals.
The guard pushed the prisoner’s personal belongings through the slot in the window. He spoke into the intercom: “Now, if you’re done throwin’ a fit, please change out of your uniform and back into your original source of clothing. Where I can see you, if ya don’t mind. You’re still a con ‘til you leave these doors, as far as I’m concerned.”
The prisoner unzipped his
jumpsuit, stepped forward, traded the uniform for the garbage bag laying there, and returned behind the yellow line. He changed into the street clothes he had been wearing when he’d arrived here all those years ago. They were a little tight, which was pretty believable, considering the weightlifting he’d done while locked up.
Boxers, socks, jeans, combat boots, white T-shirt, a faded light blue jean jacket. He snuggled the Cubs cap around his bald scalp and risked a weak smile. After ten whole years, he was no longer Prisoner #070411. No longer was he a serial number. Once again, he was a man with a name.
Maddox Kane.
“I don’t give a shit who you are,” said the Ratman. “Now get out of my prison before I decide to throw your ass back in. You’ll be hearing from your PO by tomorrow, so make sure that address is still valid. Otherwise I’ll be seeing you soon, cupcake.”
Maddox made it two feet outside the prison before stopping. This was different from being out on the yard. There was no longer barbed wire around him. Sure, there were still towers everywhere, but the guards had ceased pointing their rifles at him. They didn’t even give him a second look as he walked away. It was so goddamn beautiful.
The air, it smelled different. It’d been quite a while since he had breathed air this clean. He was a free man now. Everything was going to be better. Even the snowflakes floating down on his cheeks felt wonderful, and he had never really been much for the cold, either.
Maddox walked away from Megaton Corrections a free man.
He wondered how many others were allowed such a privilege. Most of the cons he had encountered inside were either in for life, held an appointment with Old Sparky, or succumbed to the piercing bite of a burnt toothbrush. Sure, there had been a few instances when Maddox was the one wielding the toothbrush, but then again, when it’s shank or be shanked, there’s only so much you can do.
He turned onto the long narrow road leading from Megaton to the parking lot some miles away—or “drop-off”, as they called it. Cherry-top escorted the convict to drop-off and a bus transported them to their new hellhole, for however many times the judge pounded his mallet. It was a cycle repeated each week. Of course, friends and family were allowed to travel this road as well, whether it was visits or release pick-ups.
No one would be coming to pick up Maddox, though. He thought the art of surprise would be in his favor. Otherwise a certain someone might just decide to up and run—such as his ex-wife. And that would be a very bad thing indeed. He and she still had some things to talk about.
So he walked, figuring he’d hitch a ride once he reached the drop-off. He buttoned his jacket and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The snow fell in light clouds.
Maddox had never really been one for winter. He’d rather live somewhere that was warm all year—a place where you could play a game of catch without having to suffocate yourself with an Eskimo coat. Someplace like…Florida? Nah, Florida was for retirees and Marlins fans. And he wasn’t that old yet; only turned thirty-three two months ago, for Christ’s sake. Maybe in twenty, twenty-five more years, then maybe he’d begin to consider the idea. Florida, a place for golfers and alligator poachers. No thanks, man, that’s quite all right.
California, he thought, and smiled; that’s where. L.A., Lake Tahoe, maybe San Francisco—who knew. California, now there was baseball weather if he had ever seen it. He’d been down there a couple times working a few jobs for a man named Vincent King. A couple drug deals with some big-time Hollywood execs looking to get their noses white, and knowing King was the man you went to when you needed such a thing. It was pretty nice, he thought—possibly even perfect. He imagined buying himself a little boat, settling down somewhere in the Pacific with his family, fishing and relaxing, playing baseball wherever they docked. He liked this idea, intending to follow through with it, despite how impossible it probably was in reality. He was, after all, on parole. California, if it could happen, was still a long way.
A white bus became visible in the distance. As it neared, black painted letters on the side came into focus, reading MEGATON CORRECTIONAL FACILITY. He remembered how he had leaned his head against the window, watching the vanilla fields as they went by, wondering what starting for the Cubs would have been like.
The bus honked as it drove by, the driver tipping his Stetson at him—Jesus, he thought, realizing it was the same cowboy who’d been driving a decade before. He remembered the hat clear as day, the hick spitting out globs of snuff wherever he pleased—especially at the feet of his passengers. He could still smell the driver’s hideous breath and nearly gagged.
Maddox shot him the bird and continued on walking.
* * * * *
Two hours later he finally reached drop-off, which was about as busy as the pisshole road he’d just traveled. He hopped over the little guardrail, boots slapping against the icy black pavement. The parking lot was too big for a small dingy office like that.
Maddox debated whether or not to go inside and search for something to drink or eat, but decided the clerk, used to dealing with ex-cons just released, would probably treat him like some kind of lowlife thug. And he wasn’t a lowlife, no sir. He wasn’t some tweaker or rockhead. He’d actually earned his high school diploma; even went through two semesters of college before being drafted down to Mesa for the Rookie leagues, working his way up the A-ladder. Of course, he was never exactly Mr. Do-Right either. He’d been prone to commit numerous different crimes. Grand theft auto? Nothing difficult about that. Drug trafficking? Easy peasy. Murder? Well, never anyone that didn’t already deserve it in the first place. No, he was no lowlife, that was for sure, but it still made him angry just thinking someone would accuse him of such.
Lowlife.
He was no thug, either. Maddox had decided a long time ago that he was putting all that shit behind him. There was no more jeopardizing his future. He was free now—and intended on keeping it that way. There weren’t many second chances in this world, but if there ever was, this was one of them. He needed to stick around and provide for his little girl—make up for all the lost time he caused.
He tried to think of different legal jobs he could acquire now that he was a free man, but always seemed to end up in the middle of a bank robbing daydream. He was sure there were other ways to make money besides living a life of crime. Maybe he could become a car salesman.
Supposedly his parole officer was going to set him up with a job at some factory come Monday, so at least there was that.
Maddox approached one of the few vehicles left in the parking lot, a minivan that had just pulled up. A woman stepped out of the driver’s seat and slid the backdoor open, grabbing a crying baby from the backseat as he neared closer. No doubt going to check-in at the office up ahead. Probably to visit the infant’s homicidal father.
“Why, hello there,” Maddox said. He hoped his tone sounded friendly enough. It’d been a long time since he’d held a conversation with someone out of a uniform.
The woman turned around quickly, surprised. She gave Maddox one look and backed against the van, protectively squeezing her child against her chest. “What do you want?” she asked, quick and to the point.
He cracked a smile to lighten the mood. “Relax, ma’am, no need to be scared. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“You’re going to rape and kill me, aren’t you?” the woman asked, becoming teary-eyed. “Oh God, not in front of my baby girl!”
“What? No, why would you think such a thing?” He didn’t look that incriminating, did he?
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you had escaped from the prison.”
“I was just released.”
“How was it?” She shuffled the wailing baby in her arms.
“It was okay.”
“That’s nice. What do you want?”
“Was wondering if you could give me a ride into town.”
“Not a chance.” The woman turned around and walked toward the office.
“Well, um, thanks,” he mumbled
, and ventured forth to try his luck with the next car. After five more turndowns, he finally said screw it and hotwired the minivan, taking off with that familiar rush running through his body. He skidded away from the parking lot, speeding down a street he hoped led into town, wondering how long it would take for the police to pick him up again. The woman would undoubtedly be able to identify him in a lineup. They sure talked long enough.
The drop-off probably had cameras, too, Maddox was thinking, and sighed.
So much for staying clean.
* * * * *
Maddox strolled up and dropped the items in his arms on the counter. The cashier gave him a funny look and he exchanged it with a wink.
“That sure is a lot of candy and cupcakes,” she said.
“And the Pepsi.” Maddox held up his fountain drink.
“Of course.” The girl rang up the contents.
He hesitated, offering a guilty smile. That grand theft auto couldn’t just go unaccounted for. Such deeds had to be reciprocated. “You might as well charge me for two sodas. I downed one back there and refilled it.”
“I saw.” The girl gave Maddox a look like he was a cute little puppy. “It’s no biggie. Everyone does it.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Maddox watched her package the sweets into a plastic bag, facial piercings swinging with her every movement. She couldn’t have been any older than what, seventeen, eighteen? About the same age as his own daughter. Except this girl possessed spiky pink cotton candy hair while Addy’s was long and black.
He paid and made toward the door, but something drew him back. He’d never had a single spot on his body pierced before. He had never really understood the point of a chunk of metal hanging from your flesh twenty-four seven. Now, tattoos, on the other hand, were a completely different story.
Toxicity Page 3
