Pocket Apocalypse
Page 60
The road in front of the car suddenly lit up. We all froze, barely allowing ourselves to breathe as the police cars that had earlier rushed by on their way to the meadow went roaring in the other direction. Apparently, there was only so much they were willing to do about a bunch of dead sheep after dark, even if the field looked more like a slaughterhouse than it had any right to.
“Right,” said Riley, and started the engine. “Let’s go see who’s unhappy to see us.”
Everyone was unhappy to see us.
We pulled up in front of the temporary headquarters of the Thirty-Six Society to find the whole place lit up like a Christmas tree, to the point where our little walk through the woods—something these people seemed ungodly fond of—was a joke: no one was going to drive past this compound and not realize that something was going on just past that thin layer of foliage and forestry. There were too many angry voices raised from the direction of the house, and the floodlights weren’t even in the neighborhood of what I’d call “subtle.”
“Oh, what are these bastards doing now?” Riley scowled and barreled forward, shoving his way through the underbrush. It sprang back with almost cartoonish speed, closing the path behind him.
“Sorry, kids, I need to go make sure Riley doesn’t murder anyone for no good reason,” said Charlotte. She started to dart after him.
Shelby grabbed her mother’s elbow. “What if there’s a good reason?” she asked.
“Then I’m going to help him hide the bodies.” Charlotte shook off her daughter’s hand and dove into the brush. Again, it snapped back into place behind her with frustrating quickness, leaving no path for us to follow.
“They do this,” said Raina, continuing forward at an only slightly hurried pace. “It’s best if you just let them get it out of their systems.”
“Daddy’s frustrated because he can’t punch werewolves without getting infected, and Mum just wants him to stop being tempted to try,” added Gabby, pulling back a branch. “It’s business as usual. I’m surprised Shelly didn’t tell you about it before she brought you here.”
“I’m not,” I said, flashing Shelby a quick, tight smile. “She wanted me to actually come.”
Shelby shrugged, an unrepentant smile on her face. “You were going to have to meet them eventually.”
“It might have been nice to do it under less crisis-ridden circumstances,” I said, and pushed forward through the brush, following her parents. When I reached the other side I stopped, blinking rapidly against the glare, and just stared. I heard the Tanner sisters come crashing out of the woods behind me; then all three of them stopped as well, and we were briefly, unexpectedly united in our sheer bemusement at the scene in front of us.
What looked like the entire Thirty-Six Society was gathered on the lawn. The question of how they moved their equipment through the woods was answered by a row of little red wagons—literal little red wagons—laden with guns, ammunition, and some more exotic weaponry. I had to admire the Evil Dead-level dedication that went into thinking “I’ll take a chainsaw into battle against a werewolf,” even as I wanted to find out who thought it was a good idea and shake them until they realized the error of their ways.
Almost everyone was shouting. Some were shouting at each other; some were shouting for the sake of shouting; and a ring had formed around Riley and Charlotte, all of them gesturing wildly while they shouted at the Tanners. It was the very picture of chaos, and for one ignoble moment I was tempted to grab Shelby’s hand, skirt the crowd, and return to the quarantine house, where we could lock ourselves in and let the Thirty-Sixers shout themselves out.
The moment passed. I started forward, ignoring the twinging from my injured left arm, and pushed my way through the ring that had formed around Charlotte and Riley. Roughly half the people who had previously been yelling at them stopped dead, looking confused by my sudden appearance. I kept pushing, finally coming to a stop next to Riley. “What’s going on?” I had to half-shout to make myself heard, thus continuing the vicious chain reaction of the crowd.
“Someone told all these people that we were dead!” Riley roared. There were no half-measures for him: he was making sure that everyone in range heard him as loudly and clearly as possible. I had to admire that, even as I started really wishing for a pair of earplugs. “Said we’d been ravaged by werewolves in the south meadow, and now no one wants to believe what’s in front of their eyes!”
“Wait, who said that?” I asked. “I mean, that seems sort of important—”
“You’re standing there with a werewolf!” someone shouted, not waiting for me to finish. “You expect us to believe you when you’re standing there with a werewolf?”
“Fuck off, North,” shouted Charlotte, somehow manage to make the suggestion sound almost genteel. That was a talent she definitely shared with her daughter, who could sound perfectly pleasant while suggesting anatomical impossibilities. I’d just never heard it done quite so loudly before. “Alex has a clean bill of health from a doctor and the Aeslin mice.”
North—whoever that was—didn’t reply. Apparently, “the mice said he’s okay” was starting to carry weight with these people, probably because they were desperate and the old books all said that Aeslin mice were trustworthy. I made a mental note to give the mice extra cake at their next banquet.
Sadly, the rest of the shouting just redoubled in the wake of Charlotte’s words, becoming a loud, muddled mess from which only the occasional syllable could be picked free. Shelby pushed her way through the crowd next to me, a worried look on her face.
“I think these folks are likely to get violent soon,” she said. “Not that I mind a little rumble, but does anybody know how to calm them down?”
“They’re your people,” I said. “When my whole family fights, we do it in one room, not an entire yard.” Maybe there was something to be said for not having that many members. Fewer people to help, sure, but that also meant fewer people to fight with you. “Who told them we were all dead?”
Shelby scowled at me for a moment before her eyes lit up and her scowl became a grin. “You’re right! They’re my people! Daddy, cover your eyes.”
“What—” began Riley. Charlotte, who was slightly faster on the uptake, reached up and clapped her hand over her husband’s eyes, interrupting him before he could say anything else.
“Right,” said Riley, and started the engine. “Let’s go see who’s unhappy to see us.”
Everyone was unhappy to see us.
We pulled up in front of the temporary headquarters of the Thirty-Six Society to find the whole place lit up like a Christmas tree, to the point where our little walk through the woods—something these people seemed ungodly fond of—was a joke: no one was going to drive past this compound and not realize that something was going on just past that thin layer of foliage and forestry. There were too many angry voices raised from the direction of the house, and the floodlights weren’t even in the neighborhood of what I’d call “subtle.”
“Oh, what are these bastards doing now?” Riley scowled and barreled forward, shoving his way through the underbrush. It sprang back with almost cartoonish speed, closing the path behind him.
“Sorry, kids, I need to go make sure Riley doesn’t murder anyone for no good reason,” said Charlotte. She started to dart after him.
Shelby grabbed her mother’s elbow. “What if there’s a good reason?” she asked.
“Then I’m going to help him hide the bodies.” Charlotte shook off her daughter’s hand and dove into the brush. Again, it snapped back into place behind her with frustrating quickness, leaving no path for us to follow.
“They do this,” said Raina, continuing forward at an only slightly hurried pace. “It’s best if you just let them get it out of their systems.”
“Daddy’s frustrated because he can’t punch werewolves without getting infected, and Mum just wants him to stop being tempted to try,” added Gabby, pulling back a branch. “It’s business as usual. I’m surprised Shelly didn’t tell you about it before she brought you here.”
“I’m not,” I said, flashing Shelby a quick, tight smile. “She wanted me to actually come.”
Shelby shrugged, an unrepentant smile on her face. “You were going to have to meet them eventually.”
“It might have been nice to do it under less crisis-ridden circumstances,” I said, and pushed forward through the brush, following her parents. When I reached the other side I stopped, blinking rapidly against the glare, and just stared. I heard the Tanner sisters come crashing out of the woods behind me; then all three of them stopped as well, and we were briefly, unexpectedly united in our sheer bemusement at the scene in front of us.
What looked like the entire Thirty-Six Society was gathered on the lawn. The question of how they moved their equipment through the woods was answered by a row of little red wagons—literal little red wagons—laden with guns, ammunition, and some more exotic weaponry. I had to admire the Evil Dead-level dedication that went into thinking “I’ll take a chainsaw into battle against a werewolf,” even as I wanted to find out who thought it was a good idea and shake them until they realized the error of their ways.
Almost everyone was shouting. Some were shouting at each other; some were shouting for the sake of shouting; and a ring had formed around Riley and Charlotte, all of them gesturing wildly while they shouted at the Tanners. It was the very picture of chaos, and for one ignoble moment I was tempted to grab Shelby’s hand, skirt the crowd, and return to the quarantine house, where we could lock ourselves in and let the Thirty-Sixers shout themselves out.
The moment passed. I started forward, ignoring the twinging from my injured left arm, and pushed my way through the ring that had formed around Charlotte and Riley. Roughly half the people who had previously been yelling at them stopped dead, looking confused by my sudden appearance. I kept pushing, finally coming to a stop next to Riley. “What’s going on?” I had to half-shout to make myself heard, thus continuing the vicious chain reaction of the crowd.
“Someone told all these people that we were dead!” Riley roared. There were no half-measures for him: he was making sure that everyone in range heard him as loudly and clearly as possible. I had to admire that, even as I started really wishing for a pair of earplugs. “Said we’d been ravaged by werewolves in the south meadow, and now no one wants to believe what’s in front of their eyes!”
“Wait, who said that?” I asked. “I mean, that seems sort of important—”
“You’re standing there with a werewolf!” someone shouted, not waiting for me to finish. “You expect us to believe you when you’re standing there with a werewolf?”
“Fuck off, North,” shouted Charlotte, somehow manage to make the suggestion sound almost genteel. That was a talent she definitely shared with her daughter, who could sound perfectly pleasant while suggesting anatomical impossibilities. I’d just never heard it done quite so loudly before. “Alex has a clean bill of health from a doctor and the Aeslin mice.”
North—whoever that was—didn’t reply. Apparently, “the mice said he’s okay” was starting to carry weight with these people, probably because they were desperate and the old books all said that Aeslin mice were trustworthy. I made a mental note to give the mice extra cake at their next banquet.
Sadly, the rest of the shouting just redoubled in the wake of Charlotte’s words, becoming a loud, muddled mess from which only the occasional syllable could be picked free. Shelby pushed her way through the crowd next to me, a worried look on her face.
“I think these folks are likely to get violent soon,” she said. “Not that I mind a little rumble, but does anybody know how to calm them down?”
“They’re your people,” I said. “When my whole family fights, we do it in one room, not an entire yard.” Maybe there was something to be said for not having that many members. Fewer people to help, sure, but that also meant fewer people to fight with you. “Who told them we were all dead?”
Shelby scowled at me for a moment before her eyes lit up and her scowl became a grin. “You’re right! They’re my people! Daddy, cover your eyes.”
“What—” began Riley. Charlotte, who was slightly faster on the uptake, reached up and clapped her hand over her husband’s eyes, interrupting him before he could say anything else.
