Part 18 (1/2)

”Yeah, okay,” I said. And then, a moment later: ”Wait ... go where?”

”Shhhh ... tomorrow. I'll show you tomorrow.”

I grunted again. And then the Vicodin caught me. It grabbed hold like a warm wave, lifting me up high, then was.h.i.+ng me back down, into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.

Danny showed up in the morning. He was seated at the kitchen table with Charlie when I finally made it downstairs. Taylor was standing at the camp stove.

”Good morning,” Taylor said, greeting me with a warm smile and a cup of coffee. She looked relaxed and happy. ”You looked tired, so I let you sleep.”

”Yeah, it's-what?-ten-thirty?” Danny said, giving me a nod. ”I've been up since five. And I swear, I'd kill everyone in the city just to keep your type of hours.” I blushed as soon as I saw him, suddenly struck by the memory of his stubbled head bobbing up and down in my lap. He, for his part, didn't seem at all embarra.s.sed, giving me that perfunctory nod as if there was nothing at all strange between us. Perhaps there wasn't. Perhaps I was the queer one here, unsure of the protocol, unable to look him in the eye.

I've never been accused of being a prude, but Danny's utter nonchalance made me feel old-fas.h.i.+oned and out of step.

”I got a fresh load of data,” he said, nodding toward Charlie, who was once again seated at his notebook computer. I could see the thumb drive jutting from the computer's side.

Charlie looked up and smiled, beaming with pride. ”It worked. Your post ... it posted. And you've already got comments.” He spun the computer around, gesturing me toward an empty seat.

A flutter of nerves erupted in my chest.

I immediately recognized the website: Chasing the S. As far as message boards go, this one was fairly standard; there were countless more just like it out there on the Net, all a.s.sembled from the same free software packages. The view on Charlie's screen was a simplified version of the site. All the standard images were missing: there was no black-and-white banner at the top of the page, featuring the name of the site flanked by satellite imagery of Spokane itself, and there were no tiny avatars to the left of each posting. Charlie had streamlined his application. He had programmed it to pick up text and formatting information while leaving all the bulky pictures and ads behind. The resulting design was stark and no-nonsense, and more than a little disconcerting.

I quickly scrolled through the topics on the front page. The t.i.tle of my post-”Photos of Spokane: Views from Inside (week 1)”-was at the top of the list. According to the stats next to my entry, there were already seventy-six comments and over five thousand page views.

”It was up for twelve hours before Danny sc.r.a.ped the forum,” Charlie said, following my eyes on the page. ”Right now it's the only post getting any attention.”

I hesitated before clicking through to my thread. I was more than a little nervous. What if they hated my pictures? What if those seventy-six replies were all negative, nothing but dismissive mockery?

I braced myself and clicked through. Beneath my dismembered post-Charlie's program had stripped away all the photos, leaving just a couple of sentences and a line of broken links-there was an avalanche of comments, a mad rush of words.

Is this for real??? Is this bulls.h.i.+t???

Please, can someone confirm?

It's Spokane. That's Riverfront Park, and I recognize that storefront with all the people. It was a Tully's before they evacuated us.

It's Photoshopped, you morons! They aren't letting anyone in. You've seen the barricades and checkpoints!

But that's not true! There are civies inside! They catch people going in and out all the time!

They're real. According to the tags, someone used Photoshop (a student CS edition), but probably just to resize ... It's not so hard to believe, is it? We know there are people in there, and they can't be in too good shape by now. h.e.l.l, even the weather matches. That's Eastern Was.h.i.+ngton at the start of winter.

Where's the ghosts?

Why aren't we seeing this s.h.i.+t on the news? It's a disaster area in the middle of America! It's Katrina all over again!

It is _not_ Katrina. These morons can leave anytime they like. h.e.l.l, they'd get _paid_ to leave! Big fat government checks!

Where's the ghosts???

After a half hour of short, gut-level reactions, the postings started to get longer, and they started to address me directly.

Nice pictures, intheimage [this was the name I used on the forum, dating back to the summer months, when the first vague news stories had begun to escape Spokane]. Tell us more about the city, if you've got time. What are the conditions like? The people look dest.i.tute, how do they get along? And what is the military doing?

If you are, indeed, in there (and I have my doubts), how'd you do it? You've got a picture of soldiers there, did you have to bribe your way in? I've heard people talk about that, here, but I want some firsthand info. Are they willing? How much would it cost?

Your pictures are pretty mundane, considering the reports we've been reading. Are the stories overblown? Have you seen anything strange?

Cool! Post more!

Please, intheimage, I don't know if you'll get this, but I was wondering if you've met someone named Travis Paulson in the city? He's thirty-two years old, brown eyes, brown hair (though he usually wears it shaved bald). He lived in a house on W. Garland, up north. Here's a picture of him, from about a year ago. [Where the picture should have been, there was nothing but a small red x. Charlie's program had left the picture behind.] We haven't heard from him since they closed the city, and his family is terrified. Please, please, please email me with anything.

There was more, but after that last message, I didn't go on. I got the gist of the thread. There was healthy skepticism, doubt, and a lot of questions. But nothing d.a.m.ning. There was no derision or outright dismissal. And perhaps the most heartening thing here was the sheer number of replies and the number of eyeb.a.l.l.s that had found my work. Over five thousand page views in the first twelve hours! That was good exposure. The thought of all of those people looking at my photographs got my heart racing.

Now I needed to figure out my next move.

Obviously, I had to post again, but what should I include? The spider with the human finger? The face in the wall? The underground tunnels? Should I continue to take it slow, or should I jump right into the strange heart of the city?

”I don't have anything ready to go out today,” I said, ”but I might have something tomorrow or the next day. A new post. More pictures. Will that work?” I looked up at Charlie, then across the table at Danny. Danny was smiling.

”Yeah,” Danny said. ”I think we can make that work.”

”But not now,” Taylor said. She was standing at the camp stove, sc.r.a.ping eggs out of a sizzling pan. She cast me a significant look as she carried over a plate of eggs and toasted bread. ”You're having breakfast, Dean, and then we're going out. We've got errands to run and people to see.”

My stomach growled at the sight and smell of food. I hadn't had much appet.i.te in the last couple of days. My stomach had been tied in knots of anxiety, confusion, and fear, not to mention the nausea caused by my wounds and infection. But after reading those replies, I felt suddenly ravenous.

I was headed in the right direction, it seemed, and that did a lot to allay my fears.

I downed my antibiotics with my last swallow of coffee. I didn't bother with the Vicodin or oxycodone. My hand was feeling pretty good. h.e.l.l, I was feeling pretty good. Then Taylor and I hit the streets.

It was surprisingly warm out, and almost all the snow had melted from the ground. The only remaining patches of white were hidden away in the shadows: circles around the trunks of trees, small drifts piled against houses. I watched Taylor as she walked beside me. She wasn't watching the pavement in front of her feet. Instead, she was looking far into the distance. It made her look strong. She wasn't squinting despite the bright sun overhead. Her skin was perfectly smooth, a beautiful tea-soaked ceramic. I wanted to touch her, to run my thumb across her smooth cheek. But I could imagine her pulling away in horror, recoiling from my touch, and the thought of that reaction was enough to hold me back. I didn't want to cause her any type of distress.

She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. ”Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, a perplexed smile appearing on her lips. ”You're kinda freaking me out here, Dean.”

”I'm just thinking about taking your picture,” I said. ”I'm thinking about capturing the way the sun illuminates your skin and sets your eyes on fire. I'm thinking about the lens I'd use, the framing I'd try to get, the stuff I'd keep in the background.”

We continued to walk, and I continued to study her face.

When I didn't move to unholster my camera, Taylor let out a warm laugh and shook her head. ”Okay, Dean. Just keep thinking about that photograph.”

”Always.”

As we continued downtown, she kept glancing my way, a self-conscious smile on her lips. I watched as her cheeks blushed a gentle shade of red-a rosy, pinkish red-and my chest filled with warmth. There was a smile on my lips. It felt goofy-big and unrestrained-but I couldn't dial it down. It had taken over my entire face and wouldn't let go.

Looking back now, this was by far my happiest time in Spokane. I was with Taylor, and I'd managed to make her happy; maybe I made her feel beautiful and loved.

And maybe, for a time, she made me feel the same.

”Let me do the talking,” Taylor said as we turned south on Monroe. ”These guys are all right, but they can be pretty intense. They're territorial and very touchy.”

”Homestead?” I asked, guessing at our destination. I recognized the street from my first day in the city. Weasel had escorted me past these very buildings, b.i.t.c.hing about the Homestead and all of its rules. I remembered people staring out at us distastefully, peering from doors and windows. But looking back, I realized that those disgusted looks might have had more to do with Weasel than with the stranger entering the city for the first time.