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Dawsey, gonna stay in your room tonight, or are you going to find some more kids to kill? Dew asked.
I thought killing babies was your gig.
Dew shook his head. A G.o.dd.a.m.n baby-killer reference. Hed walked right into it, sure, but even drunk, that kid really knew how to push his b.u.t.tons.
You know what? Dew said. Im too old and too tired for this. Im going to bed. You go drink yourself into a coma. Just dont die on me, or Ill get into trouble.
He walked to his room, keyed in, then shut and locked the door behind him, leaving Dawsey standing in the snow.
Perry nodded. Dont die on me. Thats all he was to these people, an a.s.set. A freak. He keyed into his room, shut the door, then fell on the bed. He dropped his beer. It spilled on the carpet. That was okay, he had two more. He rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. It was spinning pretty good. Without looking away from the ceiling, he felt for another bottle, found it and twisted off the top. He upended it. Most of the beer splashed on his face or landed on the bed, but some of it went into his mouth, so it wasnt all bad.
I got some more, Bill, Perry said. I killed those motherf.u.c.kers.
Bill didnt answer. He never answered direct questions. He just piped up unexpectedly from time to time, told Perry to get a gun, to kill himself.
Bill. Why the f.u.c.k did Margo have to bring him up? Perry drank to forget Bill. Well, it didnt work. Nothing Perry ever did worked. Except when he wanted to hurt someone. To kill someone. That worked every time.
What the f.u.c.k was Dews problem, anyway? Pretending to get all p.i.s.sed about that family. Why didnt Dew and the others understand? Those people werent human anymore. They were weak. They didnt have discipline. That meant they needed to die. If one of them, any of them, was even trying to cut out the triangles, then Perry would let them live. Maybe. But it didnt matter, because so far no one had fought.
No one but him.
Why? Why was he special? He knew why: because his drunken, f.u.c.ked-up, wife-and child-beating father had toughened him up with a strap.
Perry set the beer bottle on the bed to the right side of his face. He tipped itthis time more made it into his mouth than onto the bed. His face was all wet and sticky.
He didnt feel a thing for the infected. Not a thing. That freakin toddler had rushed him, for crying out loud. They werent just infected, they were stupid.
That was the last thought to go through Perrys mind before he pa.s.sed out for the second time that night.
THE BACKYARD OF CHUY RODRIGUEZ