Part 19 (2/2)
”No. I'm not going anywhere, Robbie. I told you, this is something I have to do. Can't you understand that?”
Somebody made a wolf-whistle sound from one of the nearby buildings. Russ and Cranston glanced around. I reached for Christy again, but she backed up. Then, balancing on one foot, she put her shoe back on. Then she picked up the knife.
”I'm not going,” she repeated. ”And if you can't accept that, then just turn around now.”
Sighing, I clenched my teeth and turned around in a circle. I wanted to shout at her. To scream. To raise the pistol and fire a shot into the air, just to release my frustrations. But I did none of these things. Instead, I faced her again and said, ”Okay.”
Christy frowned. ”Okay, what?”
”Okay. I won't try to stop you. But I'm not turning around either. I'm going with you.”
She blinked. No smile. No protest. She didn't thank me or holler at me. She just blinked. I wasn't sure what that meant.
”For f.u.c.k's sake,” I continued, ”I don't know how you made it this far by yourself. Have you taken a good look around?”
She nodded. ”Yeah. I have.”
”Well, there you go.” I turned to Cranston and Russ. ”You guys don't have to come along if you don't want to.”
”If it's all the same to you guys,” Cranston said, ”I think I'm going to head back. No offense? I just-I can't take being out here. It's depressing and it stinks.”
He was right. It did stink. Between the bodies in the streets and the unseen bodies rotting inside houses, Walden smelled like the inside of a dead groundhog that had been lying along the roadside for three days.
”I can taste it in the back of my throat,” Cranston complained. ”The stench. It's burning the s.h.i.+t out of my sinuses, man. I just need to head back and get inside, so I don't have to smell it.”
”Suit yourself,” Russ said, and stepped past him. ”Just be careful.”
Cranston appeared stunned. ”You...you're not coming back with me?”
”No. I'll let you take the gun with you, if you want, but I'm staying. I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'm going to let Robbie and Christy wander around out here by themselves. Christy wants our help. It's the neighborly thing to do.”
Cranston stared back the way we'd come. Figures moved in the shadows, watching us. Swallowing hard, he glanced back at us again.
”You're right,” he said with a nervous grin. ”It's the neighborly thing to do. I'll come along, too.”
The four of us continued on our way. We didn't speak, but when I reached out and took Christy's hand, she didn't pull away, and I saw her smile. The smile vanished when we reached the pet store.
She'd been right. There were still animals alive inside. We heard them from about a block away-dogs mostly, barking and yipping. We pa.s.sed a man who asked us if we were interested in trading half an hour with Christy for some canned peas he was lugging around in a knapsack. It took everything I had not to shoot him. Instead, I just shoved past him. Christy had already hurried toward the store as soon as she heard the puppies. We had to run to keep up with her.
We raced through the door after her and skidded to a halt. Christy stood next to the counter, staring in shock. Remarkably, most of the animals were still alive. A few cages held dead pets, but the majority were still active, if somewhat weakened. Many of them growled or bared their teeth. I figured they'd probably been lacking human interaction and were beginning to turn feral. Others still seemed docile, even friendly. Or maybe they just wanted out of their f.u.c.king cages. The worst part was the stench. The store stank of dead bodies and s.h.i.+t-mostly the s.h.i.+t. Many of the pets had feces sticking to their fur. But with the exception of the ones that had turned feral, most of the animals seemed okay, other than the fact that they were hungry, thirsty, and hadn't had their litter changed. Four c.o.c.ker spaniel puppies pawed at their cage and whined at us. A group of kittens watched us shyly. Hamsters, gerbils, and mice scrabbled about, running on exercise wheels and burrowing through pine shavings. But Christy wasn't looking at any of this. Instead, she was looking at the man standing in the middle of the store.
He was slightly overweight, thirtyish, and balding. He had that Ben Franklin look-long hair in the back, but nothing on top except scalp. He wore thick, c.o.ke-bottle gla.s.ses. It had been a long time since I'd seen a pair like that. One of the lenses had a big crack in it, and it gave the illusion that one of his eyes was distorted. White surgical tape had been wrapped around the nose bridge, holding the gla.s.ses together. He wore frayed cutoff shorts, white bedroom slippers, white tube socks pulled up almost to his knees, and the ugliest Hawaiian flower s.h.i.+rt I'd ever seen. The s.h.i.+rt was unb.u.t.toned, and beneath it, he wore a white wife-beater s.h.i.+rt. It looked like at some point he'd spilled vegetable soup down the front of it.
But it wasn't his appearance or unexpected presence that made us stare. It was what the man was holding in his hands that captured our attention. He had a large, red helium balloon with a string hanging down from it. Apparently, we'd interrupted him in the process of tying the string around the tail of a struggling mouse he held in his other hand. Behind him, I glimpsed two portable helium tanks and a cardboard box full of deflated balloons. A spool of string and a pair of scissors lay on top of a nearby dog cage.
”Howdy,” he said, smiling and nodding, as if we were old friends.
”h.e.l.lo,” Russ replied. ”We don't want any trouble.”
”That's good. Neither do I. You folks scared me for a second. I thought you might be looters or something. Figured you might want to steal my helium.”
Cranston reached between the wire mesh of a cage and absentmindedly patted a kitten. Russ nodded at the man as if what he said made perfect sense. Christy and I just continued to stare.
”This was the last tank the party store had,” the man continued. ”And I'm not sure where to find more, so I've got to protect it, you see. I need it for the experiments.”
Russ scratched his chin. ”Experiments?”
”Yes. Come on. I'll show you.”
He took a step toward us. My grip tightened on the pistol, and Christy raised her knife. The man just smiled.
”Are those guns loaded? If so, I'd appreciate it if you pointed them down at the floor. I don't need any holes-not in me or in my balloons. That would really halt my progress.”
He threw his head back and laughed. When none of us joined him, his laughter died abruptly.
”Sorry,” he apologized. ”It just struck me as funny. A little scientific humor.”
”You're a scientist?” Cranston asked.
”I am now. These days, we can be whatever we want to be. The apocalypse is sort of freeing, don't you think?”
Cranston shrugged. The rest of us said nothing.
”Come on,” the man said again. ”I'll show you my experiment. It's really quite fascinating.”
He walked past us, still smiling and nodding. We glanced at each other in confusion and then followed him out onto the sidewalk. The man finished tying the string around the tiny mouse's tail, and then, before we could stop him, he released the balloon. Both it and the mouse drifted up into the sky. The mouse twitched and struggled, squeaking in terror as it rose higher. The balloon climbed slowly, weighed down with its unwilling pa.s.senger, but continued going up. The man pulled a pen and a small notebook out of his pocket and jotted something down.
”That's number seven,” he said. ”Seven is a good number, don't you think? I think seven is enough. Now I'll move on to the chameleons. Might be tricky. Don't their tails come off if you tug them too hard?”
”Yes,” Cranston replied, sounding confused.
”I thought so. Oh well. I guess I can tie the string to their feet, instead.”
I glanced up, but the balloon and the mouse had already vanished. If they were still up there, then they were either too high to see, or the darkness had swallowed them already.
”Don't take offense,” Russ said, ”but exactly what the h.e.l.l are you doing?”
”Experiments. I told you-I'm a scientist now. Before, I was just an accountant, but reality has. .h.i.t the reset b.u.t.ton. We get to do things over again. I always wanted to be a scientist, so now I am.”
Russ held up a hand. ”But what is it that you're doing? What is the experiment?”
”Well, I'm trying to determine how far up the darkness is, and how it interacts with various living things.”
”But...” Russ paused, and took a deep breath. ”Why?”
The man seemed nonplussed by the question. ”Because somebody has to do something.”
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