by B. C. Tweedt
Sam woke up from his death and began to poke the fire.
“They resorted to burning the diseased bodies.”
The wood collapsed and bright red flames leaped into the darkness with a wave of fresh heat.
“And when the first cases were reported in the center of the country, in the center of the largest gathering in Iowa history – the campgrounds of the Iowa State Fair – the Public Health Service was determined to stop the spread before it got out of control. Their main tactic, their only tactic for fighting the disease was to stop those with the disease from giving it to others. To stop the dying from killing.”
Sam snapped to attention and gazed out into the dark roadways to their left and right, searching for something.
“Quarantine.”
Jarryd breathed heavy and held to Liam. Nick rolled his eyes.
The governor leaned closer to the fire and let the light cast deep shadows on his face.
“The Public Health Service enlisted the help of the army. Soldiers swept to the campgrounds and encircled all the exits. No one was let in or out. Panic spread through the camp, but word was given. Anyone trying to escape would be shot!”
Sam aimed at Greyson and pulled the trigger. He frowned. Sam moved his aim to Jarryd and pulled the trigger again. Jarryd played along; he jerked, grabbed his heart, and fell over backward in his chair. The laughter died down quickly as the audience leaned in for the remainder of the story.
“As the days went by, the camp descended into chaos. Short of food, they fed on the cattle and swine who had days before been their prized possessions, competing for blue ribbons. And with limited medical care, quarantined campers were forced to bury their own dead. Still today we may be treading on the mass grave of hundreds of infected corpses…”
The solemn audience grimaced at their shoes.
“…if the government hadn’t dug them up and reburied them to hide the unfortunate history of it. They excavated the bones shortly after the disease had left the camp and reburied them on the fairgrounds, right before they covered it with a solid concrete foundation for a new building. No one knows which one, but you can bet that whichever one it is, it is haunted with angry, infected spirits.”
“Sounds like my school.”
“Shhh, Jarryd!”
“But we got ahead of ourselves. Amongst the poor souls who had to bury their own dead was one poor boy who was forced to bury his own mother and father. The next day, his girlfriend began suffering with the first stages of the flu and needed help that the camp could not provide. Armed only with desperation and a stolen ambulance, the boy smuggled his girlfriend out of camp. But did they live happily ever after?”
Sam looked longingly at his own hand and then smashed it to his lips in a wet and loud make-out session. Greyson wanted to punch him in the kisser.
The governor sighed deeply and stared into the fire. “I’m afraid not. The quarantine had been working. It had spared Iowa from much of the casualties other states were experiencing. But though the girlfriend lived for several more days, sixteen others who came into contact with her were struck down by the flu. Those sixteen spread the disease to seven other towns before they, too, passed away. The quarantine had failed and hundreds, perhaps thousands, died because of the boy’s selfishness. The government was doing what needed to be done for the best of the country. The boy was trying to do what he thought was the right thing, but did the worst.”
“What happened to him?” asked Jarryd.
“Some say after his girlfriend died in his arms, something snapped. On a rainy night in August, he walked to the center of a mile-long bridge and jumped into the Des Moines River, never to be seen again. Others say he still lives, and that no disaster will ever befall the fair until he passes away. And let’s see. He would be about 107 today. He could die any day.”
There was a long silence before Jarryd broke it. “Holy snap. It’s going to happen again, isn’t it, Greyson?”
“Well, we’re not going to explore some ancient grave-site to spot ghosts with the flu. If that’s what you’re asking.”
“No. But now that you mention it…”
-------------------
The Reckhemmers stayed until well past their bedtime, enjoying the company of “normal folks” after so many days on the campaign trail. They’d been at it all summer and were going to be back at it in the morning, shaking hands and giving stump speeches at the fair. Shaking hands with Sydney, Sam invited her to the speech the next evening and instructed his bodyguards to admit her backstage beforehand. With no hesitation, she said she would be there, and they had said their goodbyes waving at each other as a caravan of black SUVs escorted them down the winding, dirt street into the dark night.
The night had gotten slightly cooler and quieter as the campers began to retreat to the slumber of their RVs. Dads walked with their sons to the male side of the bathhouses with towels, sandals, and toothbrushes in hand. Many of the sons were still beaming from the exuberance of the day, after eating junk food, playing carnival games, and watching animal shows. Unknowingly, they walked underneath Greyson, who had found the perch on the bathhouse after sneaking out from their camp before the awkward goodbyes.
He sat far enough away from the buzzing, yellow streetlight to avoid the mass of insects crowding around its light, pulling at the rubber of his slingshot and thinking. Thoughts seemed to buzz through his head like the army of gnats to his right. One would rush in before the previous one had reached any sort of conclusion. Why does Sydney like Sam so much? And how could she ditch me so quickly? And what about the Plurb in the white shirt? Why had he run? And where had he gone? Would he come back? Can we find him tonight?
And then he imagined Sydney pressing on his throat again like she had after he had lost the Plurb. Her body weight pushed against his chest and he could see her blonde hair dangling in his eyes, a faint smile tugging at her angry lips. The blue shades in her eyes seemed like little triangles, overlapping one another like some sort of crystal, and they bounced back and forth to look into his, like her hips had swayed when dancing. He stopped pulling at the rubber for a moment and relaxed into the thought.
But what if she had kept pressing? Pressing her forearm into his throat, pressing, pressing, until something cracked and he couldn’t get air. He would gasp and choke until the world dimmed, faded, and sucked into black.
Again the thoughts. Where would I wake up? Or would I? Do bodies just decompose and that’s the end? Are all the infected skeletons beneath the campgrounds the only thing left of people who were just like me? Maybe that was it, he thought. If there’s no waking up after you die, then this is all there is.
His body was the most important thing in the world.
His heart beat faster and he thought about it, too. How often did he think about his heart? Beating, beating, beating. His lungs? His brain? If they stopped, it was over – and he didn’t even think about them! And he couldn’t control them. If his heart began to falter, or his lungs to squeeze tight and not release, what could he do?
Suddenly he felt very frail and very afraid. He scooted back from the edge of the roof a little and his fingers felt at the shingles just as the explosions started.
He jumped and flailed backward as the impacts rocked his chest and the light illuminated his frightened face, but a wave of relief passed over it as soon as the colors caught his eye. Fireworks. To mark the end of the nightly concert in the Grandstands there was a display. The explosions could be seen just over the tree line and the impacts felt a few moments after.
Letting his heart slow down, Greyson watched the colors ignite the tops of the RVs in purples and blues and reds with the pops of the distance blasts. It was beautiful. Just when he had calmed, another sound startled him from behind and again he clutched at the roof. But the roof was not collapsing. The sound had come from the back of the building where Sydney was climbing the same tree he had used. Scrambling to his feet, he ran to her just in time to help her with the final
step from the precarious branch.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
She wiped bark fragments from her jeans and pumped her eyebrows first at him and then the fireworks behind.
“How’d you find me?” he asked between the blasts.
“Kip.”
He nodded and led her back to his perch overlooking the hills of the camp, watching the light from the fireworks roll over the dark shapes of RVs on the hills. There were more rectangles of light coming from windows of the awake, and streetlamps lit splotches of roadways in all directions; there were only a few tractor taxis running out of the fair and none going in. The fireworks would keep all but the hardest sleeper awake until the last boom, but the camp was in general retreat. In the distance they could see the outline of the fair’s buildings and the multi-colored Ferris wheel still spinning at Midway. The fair would belong to young adults until 1 AM.
Only after the last had gone would he make his move.
As the booms and lights increased to finale frenzy, Sydney scooted a little closer to Greyson and flashed him a smile. If he weren’t mad at her, he’d put his arm around her or something. But then again, he didn’t really know exactly what to do without having her slap him or ending with an awkward retreat. He decided to just take the shoulder contact as a minor victory.
After the last hard booms faded and a satisfying sigh, Sydney turned to him. “This is a great spot! Never thought of it before. It’ll be even better when they do the lighting contest tomorrow night,” she said, scooting away, pretending to stretch for a better view.
He started to reach toward her to make sure she didn’t slip, but she eyed him awkwardly until he retreated, sheepishly pulling at his slingshot. Thankfully, the sounds of crickets and the hum of the streetlight to their right filled the muggy air as they sat next to each other, debating what to say next. A few kids were scampering around below, playing hide and seek without a worry in the world, their joyous, youthful voices betraying Greyson’s somber mood.
“So, what are you really doing up here? Target practice?”
Greyson smirked, put a pebble into the pocket, and clinked a trashcan across the street.
“Nice.”
“Thanks. Kip send you to check on me?”
She laughed. “No. I asked where you went. He told me, but decided to stay himself. I think he wanted to help your mom clean up.” She shrugged. “It’s cute.”
“Okay.”
“So, what’s up? Why’d you sneak out?”
Greyson looked straight ahead at nothing in particular. “So you noticed?”
Sydney sighed. “Yeah. You’re not very stealthy.”
Don’t smile. He was angry with her.
“So why’d you leave?”
“I don’t like goodbyes.”
“Really?”
It was partially true. Goodbyes had never gone well with him. “Yeah. And I kind of got sick of him.”
Sydney nodded softly, throwing a pebble from the roof. “Sam?”
“Yeah.” Why am I telling her this?
“Jealous?”
No. “Yeah.”
Ugh! I’m so stupid.
Sydney turned to him and waited for him to at least glance at her. She waited until finally he managed a shy look out of the side of his eyes and whispered, “So?”
Sydney’s heart was feeling lighter. “That’s like… refreshing. What you said.”
“What? Why?” He loaded another pebble and searched for a target to occupy his thoughts and avoid the awkwardness.
“Because, how many guys would admit to being jealous? That’s basically admitting that you see someone else as more appealing than you.”
He lowered the slingshot and turned to her slowly. Realizing what she had said, Sydney stammered. “Uh…I meant…you know…it’s a good thing. A humble thing.”
A humble thing? To admit I am jealous? Then geez, maybe I’ll admit to her that I want to punch him in the face and watch him bleed.
“Humility is attractive…” she said softly.
Greyson pulled back the rubber and found a target.
“…he’s the one who should be jealous.”
The rubber snapped forward and a cat screamed as it flew out of the trashcan and scurried underneath the nearest RV.
Sydney gaped at him. “Did you know it was in there?”
“Maybe.”
“What do you have against cats?”
“Their existence.”
She smiled and shook her head. For a long moment they sat silently, kicking at the air and watching the trees sway back and forth through the starry sky above. Neither wanted to continue the last conversation and Greyson searched his thoughts for something less awkward to talk about.
“Are you afraid of dying?” he asked out of the blue, almost instantly regretting it.
Sydney leaned back to her elbows. “Hmm. I don’t think so. Mostly because I don’t think about it. But when I do, I guess I am.”
“Yeah.”
“You?”
Greyson fiddled with the slingshot. “Kind of. I just want to be where my dad is. But I don’t know where he is.”
“Hmm.”
“Maybe heaven?” Greyson asked no one, glancing at the stars. “Maybe a skeleton? Maybe hell?”
“Hey!” Sydney hit him on the shoulder. “Don’t say that. Don’t be stupid.”
“Well, I don’t know! What if he killed someone before he died? Or if he didn’t have the right religion?”
Sydney got off her elbows and turned her body to face his. “Wasn’t he Christian? And why would he kill someone?”
“Yeah. I think so. But we didn’t talk about it much. And who knows if that’s the right one? And I’ve killed someone; why couldn’t he?”
“Look. How can we know? Why worry about stuff we can’t control?”
“But what if we can? What if God has some sort of requirement to get in to heaven? What if Dad found out what it is and I don’t? Or if he didn’t…and I do?”
Sydney paused for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around what he had said. Suddenly she knew that she had no idea what to say, and to say what she didn’t fully understand might confuse things even more.
“Geez, I don’t know. I didn’t know you were such a deep thinker, either.”
Greyson shrugged and loaded another pebble. “Sorry.”
Visions of sleep coming to mind, Sydney yawned. “No, it’s good. Thinking’s good. Just maybe not so late at night. My mind’s all fuzzy.”
Before she could get up to leave, they heard voices and footsteps approaching from a dirt road. Two figures emerged from the darkness into the beam of a streetlight. Nick and Jarryd were kicking at the dirt, carrying towels over their bare shoulders and toiletry bags in their hands. Late-night showers.
Greyson turned to Sydney, a smile on his face and fingers around the ammunition. She bit her lower lip and smiled back. Then, pulling the rubber back to a mild range, he aimed and released.
Snap. Smack! “Owwwwwahh! What the heck?”
They erupted into laughter and pulled their feet up to the roof to hide.
“Right in the sternum, geez! Greyson? There’s a welt already, Greyson! I mean, Nolan! Geez, look at it Nick! It’s all red and lumpy.” He rubbed at it, still searching for them. “It’s a frickin’ third nipple!”
“Just throwing a turd at an infant,” he spoke into the dark.
“Oh, ha ha. Was that your little toy?”
“Dang right.”
“Guess it does pack a punch. Especially when you’re shirtless. We had to convince mom we were going to take showers.”
“Gotcha. Now get up here to plan before I shoot you again.”
He felt Sydney looking at him, so he spoke before she could chew him out. “We were going to invite you…”
“Yeah?” she asked, tensing for a fight. “To what? What are you planning?”
He knew better than to try to keep anything from her. “We’re going
to the fair. Tonight.”
“What? Again? Are you serious? To search for your little, infected gravesite with spooky spirits? Or is it because of the Plurb guy? Is that why?”
Greyson watched Jarryd and Nick disappear around the corner, making their way to the tree in the back. As he did so, words were forming in his mind. Words that would win her over. Words that would help her see what a great guy he was. Specifically, words that would make him appear better than Sam. She may like his humility, but how could he know that would be enough? She needed to see something that set him apart. Something she would know that he had and Sam didn’t. His thing – not Sam’s. She needed to see his daring.
“Why are you going?” she shouted, startling him.
And then the words just came out. “Because of my thing.”
The gnats seemed to stop mid-flight, frozen in the streetlight as the world paused to look at him. Sydney watched along with them, her mouth agape and eyes scrunched in disgust.
What did I just say? It took a moment for him to realize how the words had escaped, but when he did, the embarrassment flashed hot inside of him and he quickly had to extinguish it.
“No, no, no! I mean, my daring! My thing is daring…I mean daring is my thing…it’s just…I don’t know. I’m sorry – I say what I’m thinking you know? But I wasn’t thinking about that…I was just…oh geez.”
Sydney’s disgust barely faded, but it had started.
He rushed to put it out altogether. “I need to be daring, you know? That’s what I do. I think something’s wrong, I got to check it out. It’s my thing.”
Sydney cleared her throat and listened for the creaking branches behind them. “Right. Let’s stop talking about your thing and help these guys up.”
Greyson was up on his feet in a flash, thankful for a distraction. He wiped at his burning cheeks and breathed out a sigh.
Stopping at the back of the roof, she turned, a fire in her eyes. “And don’t even think about leaving me out. I’m going with you – that’s my thing.”
