Part 14 (2/2)

”Why didn't he want to talk?” I ask, the hairs on my arms still standing up.

Clay shrugs and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. ”Probably as scared of us as we are of him.”

I shake my head. ”I wanna get out of here.”

Clay pulls the can opener out of his pocket and hands it to Ethan. ”We have to get gas and that's going to mean digging through this h.e.l.l hole. We do that after we eat. We're safer in here than out there if there's something to fuss about.”

I say nothing, but can't shake the feeling of dread.

We open the canned corn and eat until our bellies are stuffed. Then we fill our packs with water jugs and a hose and bucket Clay found in the janitor's closet. Clay scrambles over the window ledge and jumps down. I pa.s.s Ethan to him and then lower myself down.

The bright daylight lances my eyes. I cover them and squint into the distance. The scene outside is just as creepy. The street is deadly silent. The buildings sit as lifeless and desolate as ever. A few birds call and a squeaky hinge squeals from somewhere downtown. Penetrating tragedy is the only thing that would leave a town this empty. Yet, someone survived. Who is this stranger slinking around in the night? Then a gruesome thought grips me. Maybe he killed all these people. I scan the dark windows and alleys as we walk.

We head down the abandoned street to the big yellow sea sh.e.l.l billboard that Clay says marks a gas station. When we find it, the roof covering has collapsed and has mangled at least half of the pumps. Clay fiddles with a remaining pump, pus.h.i.+ng b.u.t.tons, looking into the metal nozzle, but even if the tanks still had gas, with no power, they won't pump. I watch as he scans the busted concrete until his eyes light on a metal disk nestled in the pavement. He heads into the little shop attached to the gas station.

”What're you doing?” I call.

He returns with a long metal rod, rusted, but still st.u.r.dy. Then he sets to digging out the cover. When he dislodges the cap, we all gather around the hole. It's an underground tank. Clay picks up a pebble and drops it in the dark hole. It clanks against metal. This gas station is tapped out. Of course it is.

We wander into the little store behind the pumps. The store named Tom and Jerry's is little help, either. It's lined with toppled shelves and more trash. We spread out, looking for any usable items. Ethan pulls out a little packet of pills that must be medicine. Clay holds up an empty gas can triumphantly. I want to be excited, but empty cans will get us nowhere. My hands reach under toppled metal shelves and fallen light casings, until I find something plastic and crinkly. I pull out the wrapper sure it's trash, but this one has weight. A candy bar-Baby Ruth, according to the label. Both boys stare at it like I've just found gold.

”We'll split it three ways,” I say, opening it.

It's been smashed and melted and hardened several times, but when I put the chocolate in my mouth, the sugary flavor explodes over my tongue. It's so sweet it puckers my lips. A grin spreads over Ethan's mouth as he chews. Clay licks his fingers when his portion is gone.

”Find another one of those,” he says.

But I can't. We dig through the piles for a while until our fingers are grimy and I've sc.r.a.ped the skin off two knuckles. The best I can do is a bag of chips that has been pulverized to crumbs. We take turns sliding the tiny salty crumbs into our mouths until the bag is gone. Then Clay nods to the door.

”Let's go get some gas before it gets dark.”

We head back toward the front gate. We pa.s.s several abandoned buildings with nothing but rodents, debris and more trash. Then we come up to a dumpy brown building with a flaking sign. Clay reads: ”Urgent Care Medical Clinic. Hang here. I want to see if there's any drugs in there. We can trade 'em in the next town over for what we need.”

I know how expensive medicine can be. Arn would trade months worth of pelts for a few pills or salve or even iodine. The three of us file in through the frosted gla.s.s doors.

Something's very wrong. The putrid stench sends everyone's hands over their mouths. Flies buzz in the hundreds and their carca.s.ses line the front windowsill and the floor. Broken needles, dirty bandaging and a dried mess that looks like old vomit cover the floor. I stagger back toward the door. I don't care what's salvageable in here. My brain is telling me to run. Then I see dark mounds blocking the hallway.

Corpses. The pile of bodies is three feet high and stretches down the hallway. The stained sheets cover many, but to my left a clawed hand dangles over a soiled table. Lank, blond hair sprouts from under a sheet near the front. Another is slumped in a chair, his legs purple, his face a bloat mask of decay.

We gotta get out. I grab Ethan and pull him with me as I run out of the building.

As soon as I hit fresh air, I vomit on the sidewalk, my corn lunch splattering against the wall. I close my eyes, but I can't see anything except rows of bodies. The flies swarming around them. The smell. I spit and swipe at my nose trying to get the smell out. I hear Ethan gagging beside me. Then Clay follows. He pulls at my wrist.

His face is green and slack. ”Come on. Gotta get away.”

We jog and then run up the road. My stomach lurches again and I stop and throw up what's left of my lunch. Then we find a three-foot high brick wall surrounding a parking lot and sit with our backs to it. I can't stop my hands from shaking as I drink from the water bottle and pa.s.s it along. Visions of the bodies swim in my mind.

”What happened to them?” I ask.

Clay shakes his head and sips from the bottle. ”Disease. All those needles, the sick beds. Probably some flu epidemic. G.o.d.”

Ethan looks up at him, the whites of his eyes large in his terror. ”Are we going to die?”

Clay shakes his head and pulls Ethan closer to him. ”No. We're fine.” But when he glances at me over Ethan's head, I can tell that answer is hollow.

I grip my water bottle between my shaking hands. ”We can't go back there. I don't care what kind of meds we find. We can't catch whatever killed those people.”

Clay rests his head on Ethan's for a moment. ”You get no protest from me.”

I clutch my arms, trying to hold myself together. Up the road, the desolate buildings stretch on endlessly. A broken streetlight sways in the wind. Dark, empty shops, their windows smashed, their contents spilling into the street, wait for us. Now more than ever I want to leave and there's only one way I can. I stand up and grab the empty gas jug and hose.

”Let's get that gas and get the h.e.l.l out of dodge.”

The first car we find is empty. And the second. With the third I manage to get a mouth full of gasoline, but after I get the gas flowing into the hose, we get about a gallon before that tank runs dry. We walk several more streets and find one more car. This time Clay gets a mouth full of gasoline and another gallon and a half. The sun is sinking low and we only have enough gas to get us a few miles down the road.

”This sucks!” I scream, hurling the hose against the car and then kicking the tires. I want to dump the gas on something and set fire to it. A little of my common sense kicks in and I just kick a hunk of broken sidewalk into the road.

Clay puts a hand on my shoulder. ”It's okay, Riley. We'll try again tomorrow.”

I whirl around. ”I don't want to sleep here again! It's a graveyard! If we get stuck here much longer, we're going to die just like them!” I flap my arms in the direction of the medical clinic. I'm behaving so badly, but I can't stop. I pick up a chunk of brick and hurl it through one of the only intact windows in town. The gla.s.s explodes with a satisfying smash. I watch the shards rain onto the ground.

Ethan's grown stiff and pale beside me. I see his lip starting to tremble. I've scared him. What have I done?

Clay takes Ethan by the hand. ”Well, if our neighbor didn't know where we are, he sure does now. We're going back.” He pauses and looks at me. ”You done or you need to break something else?”

Exhausted and embarra.s.sed, my shoulders slump. I'm done being mad. Now I feel like cowpie on a boot sole. I lower my head and follow behind, back to the school, trying hard not to cry.

When we get back to the cla.s.sroom, I can barely pull Ethan into the room when Clay pushes him up. They settle down and start digging into the can of corn, but my stomach churns from the gasoline and the scene at the medical clinic. I curl into the little beanbag, grateful that I can escape for a little while. Sleep comes hard and fast.

When I wake, the room is dark. Ethan breathes evenly beside me. Clay leans against the window ledge, lit by a little square of moonlight. A pair of wire-rimmed gla.s.ses perches on his nose. I've never seen him wear those. To top it off, he's holding a crinkled book up to the light. It the moonlight he looks entirely transformed from the rugged gunslinger of the day.

”You know how to read?” I ask, sitting up.

He startles and looks up. His hand strays to the gla.s.ses and yanks them off, a blush so red rising up his cheeks that I can see it in the dark. He tucks the frames in his breast pocket and slips the book behind his back.

”I was just ... looking for something.” He rubs a hand over his neck and gives me a sheepish grin.

He's embarra.s.sed. G.o.d, how adorable. I point to the book. ”What is it?”

He blushes again and shrugs.

”It's okay,” I say. ”I really want to learn to read. I've tried, but ...” I shake my head.

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