Bite

by K. S. Merbeth

  The other two are stony-faced. Dolly’s expression remains unchanged, not a flicker of emotion crossing her features as she stares at what’s left of Pretty Boy. Wolf’s face is unreadable, but he pats Tank on the shoulder a few times. The big man’s loud sobs are the only noise besides the wind for several minutes. My mind keeps replaying the explosion over and over again, the way Pretty Boy was gone in an instant and left only a mess of guts and scattered limbs behind. A person one second, meat the next. That’s the nature of the wastes.

  Eventually Wolf clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.

  “Well, I guess we should say something,” he says. Nobody answers. After an awkward stretch of silence, he looks over at Tank. “You go first, big guy.”

  Tank nods and takes a shaky breath. He stifles his sobs and controls himself before speaking.

  “He was my friend,” he says. “And maybe he wasn’t always the most reliable friend, but he was the best I had for a long time.” He looks down at the pile and clenches his jaw, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. “I would’ve taken the fall for you if I could, buddy. And I’m sorry there wasn’t anything I could do.”

  He stops and glances at me as if to signal that he’s done. I swallow hard, trying to dislodge a lump in my throat.

  There’s a lot I want to say, but I don’t really know how. I want to talk about how I think he tried a lot harder than anyone gave him credit for, and how he probably did the best he could to deal with a life he never wanted. I want to say he might’ve been a great guy in another world, but was never really cut out for this one. I want to express how unfair it is that he got blown up just when we were finally becoming friends. But the words stick on my tongue and I can’t quite bring myself to say them. I don’t think there’s really a point in saying them, anyway. It’s no good now.

  “We didn’t always get along,” I say, “but you were nice, um, toward the end. So thanks I guess. And sorry for throwing up on you that one time, though you kind of deserved it.”

  I shut my mouth and cross my arms over my chest. Wolf coughs in the quiet that follows, and when I glance over at him it almost looks like he’s smirking.

  The silence goes on for a while before we all look at Dolly.

  “I have nothing to say,” she says flatly when she notices us staring.

  “Aww, c’mon, Dolly. Say something,” Wolf says.

  “I didn’t like him.”

  “No, something nice.”

  She pauses and stares into the distance, apparently deep in thought.

  “He was…” she says haltingly. “Not so bad to look at.”

  Wolf lets out a sound like he’s choking. I slowly turn my head in his direction and find, to my amazement, he’s trying to stifle a laugh. When he notices all of us looking at him, he loses it. The laughter explodes out of him like it was tired of being cooped up for so long.

  “Look at this,” he says, laughing so hard his whole body shakes, “look at this fucking mess. It’s a goddamn arm. What kind of sick fucking funeral is this?” He pauses to gasp for breath and laugh some more.

  I’m shocked by his sudden mirth, offended by the idea that he would laugh with a freshly dead friend in front of us. I don’t even know what to say, and stare at him with my mouth gaping open.

  But then I look at the gory arm in front of us, the meat that used to be Pretty Boy, and, oddly enough, I feel it bubbling up within me: a laugh. It bursts out before I can suppress it, the laughter coming guiltily at first but then rising in volume and shamelessness. Soon even Tank is laughing, despite the tears running down his face. Dolly gives a small smile, as if not quite sure what the joke is but sharing in our amusement anyway. We stay like that, laughing in front of a makeshift grave, for a while. And in the end, drained of my tears and laughter, I feel lighter.

  “Rest in pieces,” Wolf says almost affectionately, “you motherfucker.”

  The ride is quiet without Pretty Boy. Occasionally someone tries to say something, but it’s too weird. There are awkward pauses where everyone waits for one of his dry comments or jabs at Wolf, empty moments where he should be but he isn’t anymore. Despite the fact he got blown to pieces right in front of me, his death doesn’t hit me right away. It’s like at first I don’t realize he’s really gone—gone forever. But as time goes on, it sinks in. I find myself expecting him to say something, and each time have to remind myself that he isn’t there, and he’s never going to be there again. And even though we had our issues, and even though he wasn’t exactly a good guy, I find myself still missing him. I guess that’s the best definition I have for death: You miss them being there, and you miss it forever.

  It was the same with my papa. Losing someone doesn’t hit you straight-on, it creeps up on you. Just when you think you’re done feeling like a part of your life is missing, it hits you again out of nowhere and the grief is like a fresh wound. I know how it is, and I think everyone else does, too. I know Dolly has been through loss, and judging from the looks on Wolf’s and Tank’s faces they have as well.

  But when it comes down to it, we don’t have time to grieve. The wastelands aren’t going to sit and wait for us to suck it up, and neither is Saint. Every passing hour is another hour he gets to prepare for our arrival, and we really can’t afford that. Before too long Wolf starts pulling out his maps again and talking strategy in a low voice with Dolly, and Tank and I start killing time by playing “I Spy.” It’s a damn slow game out in the middle of nowhere, but at least it’s a distraction.

  Eventually I build up the courage to speak to Wolf.

  “So, uh… what’s our plan now?” I ask. We’ve unanimously decided that taking a back route isn’t an option anymore. We don’t know how far the minefield extends, or if any other traps lay waiting for us.

  “We-ell…” The look on his face clearly says he has no idea. But of course Wolf would never admit that, so instead he wings it. “We’re gonna charge in from the front after all.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” he says, voice growing more confident as he plunges ahead. “We drive the big truck right in through their front door, and start tossin’ out grenades. They’ll never see it coming.”

  “Didn’t you say we couldn’t do that ’cause it’s too dumb?”

  “Well, yeah, but that’s the genius. It’s so fuckin’ dumb they’re never gonna expect us to actually do it. Element of surprise.”

  This is where Pretty Boy would say this sounds like a bad idea, or declare there’s no way in hell he’s going on this mission. Everyone is probably thinking the same thing, because nobody says anything for a while. Or maybe everyone’s just thinking about what a shitty plan this is.

  “Okay,” I say finally, unable to take the silence any longer. “I guess we’ve done stupider things before.”

  “Damn right we have!” Wolf says cheerfully. He claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll need to stop soon, divvy up the guns and grenades and other goodies. All of us load up, go in guns blazing.”

  It sounds like the kind of idea that could get us all killed, but I’m not gonna be the one to say that. We don’t have a lot of options, anyway.

  Wolf soon declares it’s time to stop and prep for arrival. We pull onto the side of the road and everyone crams into the back compartment with all of the boxes.

  Wolf has sorted most of the goods into helpful piles, including guns, big guns, and “really fuckin’ huge” guns. The explosives have also been lumped together in one very dangerous-looking pile. I sit as far away from it as possible.

  Wolf gives each of us a bulletproof vest and some guns to start with. My vest is way too big and looks ridiculous, but I have it better than Tank, who can barely squeeze into his. His big belly protrudes from underneath, so it doesn’t really look like it’s protecting anything.

  Everyone else gets some big, hefty, deadly-looking guns, and I get a pistol. Wolf says he doesn’t trust me with anything bigger, and I’d probably shoot myself or one of the others with anything autom
atic. Honestly, I’m just happy to have a gun in my hands. He gives me a new knife, too: a big and scary-looking one that looks sharp enough to slice through bone. It’s definitely a lot more intimidating than my old one, but I keep that, too, just in case. It’s gotten me out of a few tight spots.

  “All right, so,” Wolf says. He unfurls a piece of paper with a very crude drawing on it. “I mapped out the place so we can—”

  “Wait, where’s the actual map?”

  “You insulting my handiwork, Kid?”

  “Umm, no…” I scrutinize the so-called map for another few seconds, and still can’t make any sense out of the wobbly circles and squares. It looks like something a kid with too much radiation to the brain would draw. “I mean, I just… you didn’t get one from the townies?”

  “They didn’t have any of the inside, but they knew the basics. Are you sayin’ there’s something wrong with my map?”

  “Er, no. It’s, uh, great.”

  “Damn right it is. Now keep your dumb mouth shut, I’m explainin’ a plan here.” He clears his throat and points a long and dirty fingernail at a big circle. “Now this here is the radio tower. It’s not actually a circle, it’s a big fuckin’ tall metal thing. And, according to the townies, it’s a little harder to blow up than I first imagined. So-o, with that in mind, we’re not gonna go right for that one. Instead…” He circles his finger around slowly and stops it on a square next to the circle. “We’re gonna go here.”

  A moment of silence falls. I stare at the map, struggling to keep my mouth shut like Wolf said, until finally Tank speaks up instead.

  “And what the hell is that supposed to be?”

  “It’s the control room, ya big dumb fuck. It’s the place they’ve actually got all the equipment and shit for their brainwashin’.” He taps the square a few times, nodding thoughtfully. “So we get in here, we shoot some guys, we blow the shit up. Most importantly, we kill the fuck out of Saint.” He looks up at us, his expression sobering for a moment. “That’s the most important bit. Remember what I said about people with power, and all the ‘law and order’ bullshit this asshole is trying to pull. This is our entire way of life at stake. The guy’s gotta go down, no matter what happens.”

  “Right, boss,” Tank says, while Dolly nods. After a moment’s hesitation, I nod my agreement as well. Wolf is right: Saint has to die. Especially with the Queen gone, he’ll have far too much rein here if we don’t pull this off.

  “So what’s the rest of the plan?” I ask.

  “Uh… that’s it. Then we get out. Easy.” He grins triumphantly, rolls his map up, and sticks it into his back pocket. He looks around at us as if expecting applause. Everyone stares at him.

  “Well,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic, “I guess that doesn’t sound too hard.”

  “Child’s play,” Wolf says confidently.

  “And we’re just gonna drive the truck right into the place?”

  “Yup. I figure someone drives, the rest of us hide in the back, we crash through the front of the building, and—bam! All pile out and give ’em a hell of a surprise.”

  “And what if we accidentally blow ourselves up?”

  “Well that would be fuckin’ unfortunate, wouldn’t it, Kid?” Wolf grins, as unconcerned as always. He looks between me and Tank, who both look a little dubious. “Aww, come on. Why can’t you guys just be nice and quiet and follow along with the whole thing like Dolly does?”

  Dolly glances up at the mention of her name, and then returns to scrutinizing guns, which seems much more important to her.

  “So this is really happening,” I say. It still doesn’t feel real to me. Looting towns and the like is one thing, but this is something else entirely.

  “Yep,” Wolf says. “Don’t worry, Kid. It’ll be fun.”

  “Yeah, fun,” Tank says, and not sarcastically. “Plenty of people to shoot. And look how big our guns are! No way they have bigger guns than these.”

  “Yeah, no way we can lose with guns this big.”

  I shake my head at them, but can’t help but laugh.

  “Seriously, though,” Tank says. “Don’t worry, Kid. I’ll be looking out for you.”

  “Me, too,” Dolly says quietly behind me.

  “I’ll be way too busy killing people, but I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Wolf says.

  XXVII

  The Radio Tower

  Next thing I know, I’m in a truck full of explosives barreling straight at a brick building. Tank, Dolly, and I are in the back of the truck, clinging desperately to boxes for support. The truck sways and shudders. It’s clearly not built to drive this fast. I’m half-worried the thing will fall apart before we hit the building, half-worried it won’t. Judging from the nauseous look on Tank’s face, he shares the sentiment. Dolly’s face is blank. With one gun in her hand, another strapped to her back, and a belt stocked with grenades and extra ammo, she looks ready for anything. I imagine Wolf is having the time of his life up front, pushing the pedal to the floor and not giving a shit about the consequences.

  “Here it comes!” Wolf shouts over the walkie-talkie. I squeeze myself in between two stacks of boxes, close my eyes, and hold on for dear life.

  We slam into the building.

  I feel the impact go through the truck like a wave. There’s an awful crashing sound, and I can tell from the noise that we made it through the wall. Boxes topple over around me and something falls on top of my head—a can of food, I think. I ignore it and stay crouched down. The truck keeps going for a short while and slams into something else.

  The engine whines like a dying animal. Everything else is silent as we all attempt to regain our bearings.

  “You all right, ladies?” Tank asks.

  “Fine,” Dolly says.

  “I’m okay.” I realize my eyes are still closed and force them open. The back of the truck is an absolute mess, the boxes now scattered all over the floor. I stand up and brush myself off.

  “All right,” Tank says. He steps over fallen boxes and supplies and makes his way to the back doors. He places a hand on the latch and turns to look back. “Kid, you run up front and make sure Wolf’s crazy ass is still alive. Dolly and I will cover you.”

  “Got it.”

  Tank opens the latch and pushes one door open. He pauses for a second behind the other door, waiting for gunfire, but none comes. He nods at us and steps outside. Dolly slips out after him. I follow with my pistol held ready.

  The room outside is full of dust. I wave a hand as I step out, trying to get a clear look at anything, but it’s impossible. I can’t even tell how big the room is. I pull part of my shirt over my face to avoid breathing in dust and inch along the side of the truck, using touch to guide me. I keep my gun out. By the time I reach the front of the truck, the dust is starting to settle. The vehicle is a wreck, the hood dented in where it smashed into the wall, and the windshield is shattered. I struggle to pry open the door, and it falls off completely.

  Wolf is in the driver’s seat and looks relatively unharmed, which means his ridiculous plan actually worked. He’s covered from the neck down in pillows. Pillows of various shapes and colors, all strapped to his torso and limbs for protection. It makes him look like a giant, fluffy scarecrow. He has a blanket over his head, too, which kept all the broken glass off him. He got pissed at us for laughing at him while he was tying them on, so I try to refrain from laughing now, but it’s hard. He’s struggling to undo his seat belt. He can barely even move around in his seat, and the seat belt is stretched as tight as it can go across him.

  I reach over to undo the seat belt and grab one of his pillow-arms, half-dragging him out of the truck. Once he steps down, he stumbles for a second before falling flat on his padded stomach. It releases a soft fffshh of air as the pillows beneath him deflate slightly. He shakes off the blanket covering his head, dispatching shards of glass with it, and I can no longer stop myself from laughing.

  “Fuckin’ told you it would work!” Wolf says gl
eefully. He sits up with visible effort, and needs my help to stand.

  “Yeah, it’s… genius,” I say, laughing again at the sight of him. His arms and legs look ludicrously thick, and the padding on his stomach makes him look fatter than Tank.

  With the dust all settled down, the room we destroyed becomes visible. It’s small, some sort of entrance lobby. It’s plain aside from a few paintings on the wall, one of which is now dangling crookedly and about to fall off. It looks like our truck smashed right through the front desk, and there are at least two mangled bodies in the wake of the tires. There’s no sign of anyone alive. After sweeping the room and checking all the corners, Tank and Dolly return to us.

  “This is a bit of a letdown, honestly,” Wolf says. “I was expecting a gunfight right off the bat.”

  “Yeah, what a shame, that getup would have been real intimidating,” Tank says.

  “Fuck you. Safety first.” Wolf waddles over to the truck, which is releasing an alarming amount of smoke from under its hood. He grabs a sawed-off shotgun and a metal baseball bat for himself, and a heavy-looking backpack, which he tosses at me. I scramble to catch it, but it hits the ground. I bend down to pick it up.

  “Whoa, Kid, watch it. That thing is full of grenades an’ shit.”

  “W-What!?” I nearly drop it again. “Well don’t be throwing it around like that! And why do I have to carry it?”

  “’Cause everyone else has big-ass guns to worry about. Just remember, you mess up and you’ll blow us all to hell.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I secure the straps around my shoulders. It isn’t as heavy as I expected, but I feel nervous with it on my back. “I feel like a suicide bomber.”

  “Don’t worry, that’s only our last-resort plan,” Wolf says. He starts removing his pillows one by one. Before I can figure out how serious he is, or he can finish de-pillowing himself, a door near us bursts open. The three others immediately turn their guns toward it, and I fumble to get my pistol out of my belt.