by Nancy Isaak
I skidded to a stop.
“Rhys,” I asked carefully, “what is it?”
My younger brother turned to me. His eyes were wide and he looked like he was about to cry. Slowly, he lowered his hand from his face, using it to point inside the bathroom.
“He…dead…blood.”
I holstered my gun and moved toward him. “Go downstairs, Rhys. There’s a bathroom there you can use. I’ll take care of this.”
Almost immediately, Rhys turned and ran by me, his footsteps echoing as he descended the staircase. A few moments later, I could hear his frantic words drifting up from below, as he explained what he’d discovered in the bathroom to Kieran.
Reluctantly, I moved forward.
* * * *
There was something sad and fragile about the way he looked.
A fallen angel—ethereal, heartbreaking.
His hair was dark—almost black—and it fell about his face like a feathery frame. He was reclining in the tub, leaning against the back, with one arm draped casually over the side. It was this arm that was the cause of all that blood on the floor. The boy had taken a razor and cut long slices into his veins—ten inches, straight up his arm.
Taking a towel from a rack nearby, I placed it gently over his body.
“I’m so sorry you thought you were alone,” I said. “I wish you had waited.”
For a few moments, I stood there, grieving for this lonely boy. Then—grateful for what I still had in this insane world—I turned and walked back downstairs to my brothers and to Ethan.
To my family.
* * * *
“Do you think it hurt?” asked Rhys. “What that kid did to himself?”
“I think his real pain was more emotional,” I answered, honestly. “Cutting himself was probably the only way he could think of to stop it.”
“That’s really sad.”
“Totally.”
“Wasn’t he that kid at school who sits by himself under that tree near the Performing Arts Center? He always brings his lunch in that weird box-thing.” said Kieran.
“It’s called a Bento box,” I told him. “I think it’s like a Japanese lunchbox.”
“I remember Brandon Keretsky and Frank Gornman making fun of him one day for using it. Then, Denny Passelmore went up and kicked it out of his hands.”
“Brandon and his goons are douches,” I growled.
“You know,” mused Kieran. “I don’t think I ever talked to Bento Box boy. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody talking to him—except teachers.”
Rhys, Kieran, and I were sitting downstairs in Mrs. Holly’s living room. It was just getting dark and the shadows were lengthening around us. In the bathroom upstairs we could hear Ethan splashing around in the bathtub.
“I feel really bad now that I never went over to talk to him,” I said. “Maybe he just needed a friend.”
“Do you think we should go back and bury him?” asked Kieran.
Truthfully—that was the last thing that I wanted to do.
“I think that’s a good idea,” I said.
Rhys immediately shook his head—violently back and forth. “I think it’s a very bad idea.”
“It’s okay, bud,” I told him. “You don’t have to come. Somebody needs to stay here with Ethan anyway. I don’t want him seeing the body.” I looked over at Kieran. “You don’t have to come either. I can bury him by myself.”
Kieran shrugged. “I’m fine with going. Besides, someone has to watch your back.”
There was a gurgling from upstairs as Ethan pulled out the plug in the bathtub. We all looked toward the ceiling, marveling at the noise.
“Do you think the water will always be there?” asked Kieran.
“I have no idea,” I said. “But I would guess that we’re just using up what’s still in the lines. Sooner or later we’ll probably run out.”
“We should get some bottled water then.”
“And some other things. Maybe create a storeroom of food or something,” I suggested. “Go to Ralphs and Vons and stock up.”
“Are we going to be moving back into our house?” asked Rhys. “Do you think it’s safe, yet?”
“I’d wait a little while longer,” I said. “Just in case.”
“Besides, we don’t even have to live in our house,” said Kieran. “We can move anywhere. All those empty houses out there, we can take our pick.”
“But I like our house,” said Rhys.
“Yeah, but wouldn’t you really like one of the big mansions?” grinned Kieran. “We could maybe even find one that has a bowling alley in it.”
Rhys’ eyes lit up. “A bowling alley?!”
“There’s lots of stuff like that in rich people’s houses.”
“Is that true?” asked Rhys, turning toward me.
I nodded. “There’s a movie room in Peyton Buckingham’s house over on Grey Rock Road—with popcorn and free sodas underneath this little counter just outside. And they’ve also got this other room—bigger than our bedroom—that’s just for wrapping presents. All that’s in there is this big table and, all along the walls, these rolls and rolls of wrapping paper and dozens of different colored bows.”
Rhys’ mouth fell open in amazement. “They must give each other a lot of presents!”
FLOWERS FOR THE BENTO BOX BOY
Like most brothers, Kieran and I had our ups and downs. We didn’t fight a lot but—when we did—it wasn’t pretty. Being so close in age, we were always trying to outdo the other. I was better than him at surfing, math, and pretty much any board game. He smoked me at biking, running—and talking up girls.
Kieran was a natural schmoozer while I was more introverted. He was also less emotional. That’s why I was so surprised to see tears in his eyes as we lowered the boy’s body into the ground the next day.
“Dude,” I said, astonished. “You’re crying.”
“Screw you,” was his response.
Then he turned and stalked off.
* * * *
I tamped down the last of the dirt over top of the grave.
We had laid the Bento Box boy to rest in a corner of his yard, using shovels we had found in a nearby garage. It had been at least five minutes since Kieran had stormed off and I figured that he had probably returned to Mrs. Holly’s.
I was wrong.
Just as I stepped back from the grave to survey my efforts, he came around the corner of the house—carrying a box filled with flowers.
But they weren’t cut flowers; these were individual plants that still had their dirty root balls and bulbs attached. He must have pulled them out of nearby gardens.
Kneeling down, Kieran placed the box beside the grave. He didn’t speak, just began planting the flowers—one-by-one—around the edges.
I knelt down across from him and picked up a flower.
* * * *
Later, we walked back across Sumac Park, heading toward Mrs. Holly’s. It was close to noon and we were both looking forward to a quick shower and some lunch.
“How come you did that?” I asked. “Plant those flowers?”
Kieran shrugged, as if it should have been obvious. “I didn’t want him to be alone anymore.”
* * * *
“There…see it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Just watch for a minute,” said Kieran. “You’ll see what I mean.”
It was well after midnight and Kieran and I were standing at Mrs. Holly’s window, looking past our house, into the darkness beyond. Kieran had risen a few minutes earlier, to go to the bathroom. On his way back he had stopped at the window and something had caught his eye.
“It’s too dark,” I argued, wanting to go back to bed.
“Keep watching,” urged Kieran.
And then I saw it.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
It was a flicker of light—on the next block over—as if someone carrying a candle had just passed in front of a window.
�
�I think they’re in that grey cement house on the corner—the one that has the courtyard,” said Kieran.
“With the big cactus out front?”
He nodded.
“Crap,” I said. “That’s really close to us…too close.”
“I’ve only seen one light so maybe it isn’t those guys.”
“But you can’t be sure.”
Kieran shook his head. “What are we going to do?”
“We don’t have a choice,” I said. “We have to find out who it is. If it’s the juvies, then we need to get out of here before they find us.”
“And if it’s someone else?”
I shrugged. “I guess that would depend on who that someone else is.”
Kieran thought about that for a moment. “We need to go check now, don’t we?” he said, unhappy at the thought.
I nodded. “If it’s dark there’s a better chance that they won’t see us.”
“Doesn’t that work both ways?” asked Kieran. “If it’s dark, there’s also a better chance that we won’t see them.”
* * * *
Neither of us wanted to wake up Rhys and Ethan. The two of them were sleeping side-by-side on the big guest bed. Rhys was curled up around a pillow and Ethan was flat on his back beside him, snoring—his teddy bear on his stomach.
“We better come back,” whispered Kieran. “Can you imagine Rhys if he wakes up and we’re not here?”
“We’re coming back,” I said, quietly. “Don’t be so negative.”
I handed Kieran his Glock and he placed it into his shoulder holster. Meanwhile, I tucked my Sig into the holster on my belt.
Kieran smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“I just realized that I have a Social Sciences essay due today.”
* * * *
The house was dark and silent.
We could just make out the giant Saguaro cactus in the rock garden out front. A side gate lay open, but it was too dark for us to see through into the backyard.
Keeping low, I sprinted across the next door neighbor’s front yard, ducking down behind a hedge. A moment later, Kieran followed, kneeling down beside me.
“See anything?” Kieran asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Maybe it’s not this house.”
“It’s this house. I’m sure of it.”
“We need to get closer,” I whispered.
Rising up quickly, I raced the rest of the way to the house, dropping to my knees just below a front window, my back against the wall. Kieran remained where he was, back at the hedge.
I wondered why he hadn’t joined me.
Then I suddenly realized.
There was a shadow on the ground in front of me.
And it hadn’t been there before!
* * * *
It took a moment for me to understand the significance.
The shadow was coming from someone standing at the window just above where I was kneeling. They must have heard me running across the rock garden and opened the curtains to investigate.
Whatever candle they were holding was responsible for casting the shadow that—even now—was beginning to shrink as its owner stepped backwards. Slowly—trying not to make any noise—I reached for my holster and unclipped my gun.
“Dude…are you kidding me?!” I looked up to see Kieran, walking quickly toward me.
But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at the window behind me.
I quickly chambered a bullet, preparing to spin around and fire.
“No, don’t!” Kieran yelled at me. “Don’t shoot, Jacob…it’s Porter!”
* * * *
To the right of me, the door to the house burst open and a figure suddenly ran out.
A moment later, a skinny dude raced across the rock garden and threw himself at Kieran. They gave each other a bro-hug, following it up with a couple of punches to each other’s shoulders.
“I thought it was you!” cried the skinny kid. “That blond hair of yours was reflecting the moonlight like nobody’s business. Who else could it have been?”
“Is this your house?” asked Kieran. “I thought you lived over on the hill across Kanan.”
“It’s my grandma’s. I came over yesterday to see if she was here.” The kid’s enthusiasm suddenly waned. “She wasn’t, though. Nobody’s anywhere.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Weird, huh?”
As I moved over beside them, my foot disturbed one of the rocks in the garden. The clacking sound caused the kid to spin around.
“Holy crap!” he cried, almost falling over.
Kieran reached out a hand to steady him. “Porter, it’s my brother…it’s Jacob.”
I stepped closer, so that he could see me better. His eyes went wide and I realized that I was still holding the Sig. Quickly, I placed it back in its holster.
“Um,” he stuttered, “like—uh—you’ve got a gun.”
“I do, too,” said Kieran proudly, tapping the Glock in his arm holster.
“We should probably get inside,” I advised Kieran, in a quiet voice. “We’ve been making a lot of noise.”
Kieran put his hand on the skinny kid’s shoulder. “Dude,” he said, “there are some things that you really need to know.”
* * * *
The room in the basement had no windows, so we felt comfortable using the hurricane lanterns. Porter moved around, lighting each lantern with a large fireplace match.
“My gran has another guest room upstairs, but I’ve always liked this one, because then I can game and the noise won’t bother her,” he explained.
“Nice set-up,” said Kieran, admiring the 52-inch flat screen on the wall opposite the bed. Bose speakers hung down from the ceiling, four of them—one in each corner. “Sound must be killer.”
“It was,” Porter sighed. “Now those speakers just hang there, mocking me. Needless to say, I’m in the midst of Halo-withdrawal!” There was a box of Oreos and a case of Diet coke beside the bed. Porter motioned toward the cookies. “Chocolate’s a poor substitute. Help yourself, by the way.”
I reached down and grabbed a cookie. “You haven’t seen anyone at all?” I asked, taking a bite.
Porter shook his head. “No one. You’re the first people I’ve seen since it happened.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed his own cookie. “What about you guys?” he asked. “Have you seen anyone?”
* * * *
Porter McIntyre was probably one of the nicer kids at Agoura High. He was 15-years old and in the 10th grade—a year ahead of Kieran—because he was so smart and had skipped a grade. I didn’t have him in any of my classes, but I’d seen him around in the hallways and cafeteria.
He was a good-looking enough kid, but with a slightly big nose and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that made him look Big Bang-geeky. On weekends, he worked at Vons, bagging groceries and collecting shopping carts. I’d seen him there any number of times, when I went with my mom to buy food. He seemed to be a hard-working and very competent employee—just a regular all-round good guy.
* * * *
“You sure they were from the camp on Encinal?” asked Porter.
“They were wearing those orange suits,” I said.
He nodded, thinking. “Sure sounds like them,” he agreed.
Kieran was at Porter’s computer, checking out the ergonomic keyboard. He tapped at it a few times, then turned toward Porter. “And you’ve got another set-up like this at your house?” he asked, astounded.
Porter nodded. “I worked a lot of overtime at Christmas. I paid for everything but the flat screen. That was Gran’s Christmas present to me.”
“Dude,” said Kieran, patting the computer. “This stuff is righteous!”
“Thanks,” said Porter. He turned back to me. “So the guys from Juvie, the kid from the townhouses over by Chumash, and the Bento Box guy on the other side of Sumac.”
“Except the Bento Box boy was dead,” I said. “Other than that, the only other
person we’ve seen is you.”
“Wibbly wobbly,” murmured Porter, thinking hard.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, grinning. “It’s a “Doctor Who” reference. I was just thinking about how all the survivors you guys have seen have something in common.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Kieran turned around, interested.
“A dick,” said Porter. “They’re all guys.”
“We were thinking the same thing,” said Kieran. “What do you think it means?”
“Well, that’s the wibbly wobbly part of it,” he said.
Kieran and I looked at him, expectantly.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Porter shrugged. “Which is exactly what makes it so wibbly wobbly.”
* * * *
Rhys and Ethan loved having another boy in the house. Especially one like Porter—who came bearing gifts of Oreo cookies and a big bucket of Legos. Within minutes, the three of them were sitting on the living room floor, snapping little bricks together.
Kieran and I left them there, heading into the backyard to set up the grill for a breakfast of bacon and eggs. Sadly—we figured that this would probably be our last meal with meat for a while. We had been storing our food in the freezer out in the garage. The large blocks of frozen food inside had acted like ice when the power went out—keeping everything cool.
