Plague
Page 38
“Yeah, well, no one is immune,” Edilio would shout back.
“How am I supposed to eat?”
“I guess you’ll be hungry for a day. Give us time to work things out.”
“Is this the thing with bugs coming out of your body?”
How had that news spread so fast? Everyone knew about Roscoe being locked up. No phones, no texts, no email, nothing, and still kids heard things almost instantly.
“No, no, this is just flu,” Edilio said, stretching the truth almost to the breaking point. “Coughing and fever. One kid’s already died, so just do what I’m asking, okay?”
In fact, three kids had died. Pookie and a girl named Melissa and Jennifer H. Three, not one. And maybe more than that, no way to know what was happening in every house in this ghost town. No point in spreading more panic than was necessary.
One death should be enough to get their attention. Three deaths, on top of the bugs some kids were nicknaming maggots and others were calling gut-roaches, that was enough to create panic.
Edilio had no idea if a quarantine would work. He would get his guys to try and enforce it: the sheriffs at least would still be on the street. But what were they supposed to do if kids decided to ignore it? Shoot them to save them?
He couldn’t tell people to wash their hands: no one had washing water in their home. He couldn’t tell them to use hand sanitizer: not enough to go around and what they had was just for the so-called hospital.
Nothing they could do but ask kids to stay home.
Probably too late.
Three dead. So far.
Edilio thought of Roscoe locked in his prison. Were the bugs eating him from the inside yet?
He thought of Brianna—Lana’s healing touch had fixed her, but the Breeze was shaken up. Scared.
He thought of the monstrous thing that was both Drake and Brittney.
He thought of Orc. No one had seen him. Plenty had heard him, and there were a few smashed cars testifying to his previous presence.
He thought of Howard, out walking the streets looking for Orc, refusing to stop, even when Edilio ordered him to get to some shelter and stay inside.
And he thought of the two people who had held his job before him: Sam and Astrid. Both beaten into despair by trying to hold this group of kids together in the face of one disaster after another. Both of them now happy to let Edilio handle it.
“No wonder,” Edilio muttered.
“Stay inside unless absolutely necessary,” Edilio shouted, and not for the first or last time wished he was still just Sam’s faithful sidekick.
Chapter Sixteen
33 HOURS, 40 MINUTES
BLAZING SUNLIGHT, DIRECTLY overhead, woke Orc.
It took him quite a while to sort out where he was. There were desks. The kind they had in school. He was on the floor, a cold linoleum-tile floor, and the desks were tossed and piled around him. Like someone had tossed them all around in a rage.
Someone had.
There was a chalkboard. Something was written on it, but Orc’s eyes wouldn’t focus well enough to read it.
The really confusing thing was the hole in the ceiling and part of the wall that allowed sunlight to pour so directly on his face, on his blinking eyes. The wall had been partly torn down, and without support a part of the ceiling had collapsed.
He felt something in his right hand. A hunk of wallboard.
He had done it. He had attacked the desks and the windows and the walls.
The memories were flashes of desaturated color and wild, jerky motion. He saw, as if standing outside himself, a drunken rock-bodied monster storming and rampaging and finally beating at the walls with great stone fists.
Orc groaned. His head was pounding like someone was using a sledgehammer on it. He was thirsty. His stomach felt as if it had been filled with coals.
Other memories were coming back. Drake. He had let that psycho creep get loose.
Howard would . . . well, actually, Howard wouldn’t say much. Howard knew better than to ever really attack Orc.
But what about Sam? And Astrid?
Sudden fear. Astrid. Drake would go after her. Drake hated Astrid.
He should do something. Go and . . . and find Drake. Or guard Astrid. Or something. Astrid had always been good to him. She’d always treated him nice, like he wasn’t a monster. Even back in school.
Suddenly Orc recognized the room. It was the room they used for after-school detention. Astrid would sometimes come tutor him there.
Truth was, he had always liked it better in detention than at home.
Orc squeezed his eyes shut. He needed a bottle. Too many things coming into his head. Too many pictures and feelings.
He noticed an awful smell and knew right away what had caused it. When he had passed out his muscles had all gone slack. He’d wet himself and worse.
He was lying in a puddle of urine and feces.
With a sob he rolled over onto hands and knees. The fatguy sweatpants he wore were stained and reeking.
Now he would have to walk down to the beach to clean off. He’d have to walk down there like this, like this depraved, disgusting, drunken, stinking monster.
Which was what he was. What he’d always been.
And then, one more memory. A sick little boy. A stop sign.
God, no. God . . . no.
Orc stumbled from the room, sick and weeping and hating himself so much more than anyone else could ever hate him.
Drake became conscious and was likewise confused about where he was and why.
His hands were tied behind his back and the wire cut uncomfortably into the pulpy flesh of his whip hand.
“Untie me,” he snapped at Jamal, who was dozing with his back against a palm tree, rifle cuddled to his chest like a stuffed animal. Jamal looked about six years old when he was asleep.
“How am I supposed to eat?”
“I guess you’ll be hungry for a day. Give us time to work things out.”
“Is this the thing with bugs coming out of your body?”
How had that news spread so fast? Everyone knew about Roscoe being locked up. No phones, no texts, no email, nothing, and still kids heard things almost instantly.
“No, no, this is just flu,” Edilio said, stretching the truth almost to the breaking point. “Coughing and fever. One kid’s already died, so just do what I’m asking, okay?”
In fact, three kids had died. Pookie and a girl named Melissa and Jennifer H. Three, not one. And maybe more than that, no way to know what was happening in every house in this ghost town. No point in spreading more panic than was necessary.
One death should be enough to get their attention. Three deaths, on top of the bugs some kids were nicknaming maggots and others were calling gut-roaches, that was enough to create panic.
Edilio had no idea if a quarantine would work. He would get his guys to try and enforce it: the sheriffs at least would still be on the street. But what were they supposed to do if kids decided to ignore it? Shoot them to save them?
He couldn’t tell people to wash their hands: no one had washing water in their home. He couldn’t tell them to use hand sanitizer: not enough to go around and what they had was just for the so-called hospital.
Nothing they could do but ask kids to stay home.
Probably too late.
Three dead. So far.
Edilio thought of Roscoe locked in his prison. Were the bugs eating him from the inside yet?
He thought of Brianna—Lana’s healing touch had fixed her, but the Breeze was shaken up. Scared.
He thought of the monstrous thing that was both Drake and Brittney.
He thought of Orc. No one had seen him. Plenty had heard him, and there were a few smashed cars testifying to his previous presence.
He thought of Howard, out walking the streets looking for Orc, refusing to stop, even when Edilio ordered him to get to some shelter and stay inside.
And he thought of the two people who had held his job before him: Sam and Astrid. Both beaten into despair by trying to hold this group of kids together in the face of one disaster after another. Both of them now happy to let Edilio handle it.
“No wonder,” Edilio muttered.
“Stay inside unless absolutely necessary,” Edilio shouted, and not for the first or last time wished he was still just Sam’s faithful sidekick.
Chapter Sixteen
33 HOURS, 40 MINUTES
BLAZING SUNLIGHT, DIRECTLY overhead, woke Orc.
It took him quite a while to sort out where he was. There were desks. The kind they had in school. He was on the floor, a cold linoleum-tile floor, and the desks were tossed and piled around him. Like someone had tossed them all around in a rage.
Someone had.
There was a chalkboard. Something was written on it, but Orc’s eyes wouldn’t focus well enough to read it.
The really confusing thing was the hole in the ceiling and part of the wall that allowed sunlight to pour so directly on his face, on his blinking eyes. The wall had been partly torn down, and without support a part of the ceiling had collapsed.
He felt something in his right hand. A hunk of wallboard.
He had done it. He had attacked the desks and the windows and the walls.
The memories were flashes of desaturated color and wild, jerky motion. He saw, as if standing outside himself, a drunken rock-bodied monster storming and rampaging and finally beating at the walls with great stone fists.
Orc groaned. His head was pounding like someone was using a sledgehammer on it. He was thirsty. His stomach felt as if it had been filled with coals.
Other memories were coming back. Drake. He had let that psycho creep get loose.
Howard would . . . well, actually, Howard wouldn’t say much. Howard knew better than to ever really attack Orc.
But what about Sam? And Astrid?
Sudden fear. Astrid. Drake would go after her. Drake hated Astrid.
He should do something. Go and . . . and find Drake. Or guard Astrid. Or something. Astrid had always been good to him. She’d always treated him nice, like he wasn’t a monster. Even back in school.
Suddenly Orc recognized the room. It was the room they used for after-school detention. Astrid would sometimes come tutor him there.
Truth was, he had always liked it better in detention than at home.
Orc squeezed his eyes shut. He needed a bottle. Too many things coming into his head. Too many pictures and feelings.
He noticed an awful smell and knew right away what had caused it. When he had passed out his muscles had all gone slack. He’d wet himself and worse.
He was lying in a puddle of urine and feces.
With a sob he rolled over onto hands and knees. The fatguy sweatpants he wore were stained and reeking.
Now he would have to walk down to the beach to clean off. He’d have to walk down there like this, like this depraved, disgusting, drunken, stinking monster.
Which was what he was. What he’d always been.
And then, one more memory. A sick little boy. A stop sign.
God, no. God . . . no.
Orc stumbled from the room, sick and weeping and hating himself so much more than anyone else could ever hate him.
Drake became conscious and was likewise confused about where he was and why.
His hands were tied behind his back and the wire cut uncomfortably into the pulpy flesh of his whip hand.
“Untie me,” he snapped at Jamal, who was dozing with his back against a palm tree, rifle cuddled to his chest like a stuffed animal. Jamal looked about six years old when he was asleep.
