 
Virus The Unknown

Larry Finhouse: self-publishing © 2014

Season 1 of Dying Hope

Episode 1

"When hope is busy dying, you should run and you should hide. But whatever you do, don't pray for hope."

– Season 1 of Dying Hope

1

Brody looked up at the sky, letting his gaze linger, and then rummaged through his pocket.

"Hey, what's that–" She grabbed for his hand and missed. "Lemme see."

"No." He rubbed his thumb over the rusted pocket watch; the initials P.L faded under a layer of scratch marks. It's amazing how time can strip away color, he thought. He looked up. The sun was nowhere to be seen. It hid behind a blanket of incoming gray.

Wind galloped through the forest. The breeze, a cold kiss on the neck, swept her hair up. As the leaves rustled and the wind whistled, she looked at his hand and licked her lips.

His hand jerked and the watch was gone. With mouth open, he looked at her little legs motoring away. "Pippa, come back!" He knew she wouldn't run far; it was only a matter of time until she'd turn. He stood still. He smiled when he realized it hadn't been the wind making that strange noise but her squealing laughter. He crossed his arms. She zigzagged forward, dodging trees as if it were a game, thinking she was being chased. He began tapping his foot. She's going to turn any minute. Her body disappeared behind a thicket of trees. "Oh, Pippa." He chuckled and glanced around. There wasn't any good place to sit, so he planted his behind on a heap of leaves. As the leaves cracked beneath him, he gazed at the tree ahead. He could see her shirt, a dirty pink, trying to hide. He scooped a handful of leaves and began flicking each one. If she wanted to play, then she could play, as long as she doesn't head out too far.

"Pippa," he muttered, "I can see you." Her shirt disappeared. And reappeared. He flicked another leaf and frowned. He looked at his hand. On the edge of the newly born autumn leaf trickled the strangest liquid; it was dark in color and rich in scent. He smelled his finger and winced. It reminded him of a handful of coins. He wiped the copper stench on his trousers and threw the leaf away.

"Okay, Pippa, you can come out now." She was still standing there, frozen, acting like she was invisible. His stomach burped. He lifted his shirt and looked at his milky ribs. "We'll have to," he patted his stomach, "get back soon." He thought about dinner and contemplated skinning Fred tonight. He closed his eyes and imagined picking up the knife. He was going to have to suffocate him first, then take the sharp end of the knife and start at his throat, then make a small cut, then wiggle the knife into his throat, and then pull the knife down. All that red blood. He was going to have to tap it into a bucket and save it for later. He nodded. And let's not forget about mother, Magna. Need to feed her, too.

He stood up and brushed his knees. "Okay, I'm leaving." He waited for a few seconds and scratched the back of his neck. A breeze lashed through the forest. Her shirt disappeared. A stream of leaves rustled past his feet. The wind lashed again. Branches snapped in the distance. He could hear them crash around. A shadow, large enough to engulf everything, washed over him. He looked at the sky and saw darker clouds eat lighter ones. They needed to go. Can't be getting wet when there's no hot water back at home. Her pink shirt appeared. He shook his head and called for her, telling her that he was leaving. He began walking in the opposite direction.

Soil tickled across his face. He scratched his eyes and sneezed a string of snot. He put it in his mouth and licked his fingers. He wiped his hand on his shirt and swung his body around. He had enough of waiting around. Playtime was over. The pink shirt waving at him was like a red flag to a bull. His jaw tightened. So did his fists.

"Pippa!" The shirt didn't move. "If you don't come now, I'll, I'll, I'll tell mother about this. You know what she's like." He knew he was lying; he would never tell Magna about this. Last time he complained about his sister, she stumbled out of bed, picked up a broken bottle, and then stabbed Pippa in the leg. For a few days he thought his sister was going to die. The blood. So much blood.

She disappeared behind the tree. "What's she doing?" It was as if she wanted to make him angry. He glanced away. The forest was becoming something else. Trees were giving birth to long shadows, leaves travelled in packs, and branches snapped; the voice of the forest. He was going to kill her, he thought. He began walking back. He was halfway toward the tree when he stopped. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but chose not to. A feeling he didn't like travelled up his legs. He reached for his waist and unbuckled his knife. Pippa's shirt (a piece of it) flew past. He licked the insides of his mouth and swallowed. He ran for the tree.

His eyes shot wide and the knife fell from his hand. He quickly picked it up. The tree in front of him still had a piece of her clothing attached to it. He plucked it from the branch and rubbed his hand across the cloth. She must've run past it and ... he didn't want to think about it. He tucked the cloth into his pocket and ran down the embankment.

He wasn't aware of his breathing until he stopped five minutes later. He leaned forward and held his knees. While trying to refill his lungs for another sprint, he craned his neck up and saw her standing not far away. But he was wrong, he saw that now; it was only his imagination playing. He was looking at a shadow on a tree. He took a deep breath and shouted. He cocked his head hoping to hear any returning sounds, but nothing came. He looked to his left; trees were shivering off leaves. He looked in front; it was a maze of wooden poles. He looked to his right, just more trees. He held his eyes. Everything went dark. If anything had happened to his sister, he might as well run away from home. His mother would skin him alive. She doesn't like it when they do stupid stuff. He imagined her climbing from her rat nest, and then picking up the first solid item, a bottle for sure, and then smacking him over the head. She was skinnier than a skeleton and stronger than an ox. He put his hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. His neck craned up. He looked around thinking that it was the wind, but a part of him knew it couldn't–

Brody!

He bolted as if a race had begun and almost tripped. He knew he was running in the right direction because he could hear his name getting louder and louder. Apart from feeling relieved, he felt afraid. Her shouting sounded urgent. The knife fell from his hand (again) and he picked it up (again). He saw a tree in the distance that looked like a spider on a peg. He ran past it and saw his sister. She was on her back. Hair mopped over face. Arms shielding her head. He fell to his knees and wiped her hair away. She screamed at the sight of him. When she realized it was him, she stopped screaming.

"Brody." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She nested her head and cried. While she sobbed in his arms, he carefully looked around. He pushed her arm's length away.

"Why did you run?"

"I-I thought you were chasing."

"What do you mean, you thought I–"

She dug her nails into his shoulder, opened her eyes wide, and gazed. "How far did you chase me?"

He rolled his eyes up. He had to think about it for a few seconds. "I didn't chase you."

She slapped his shoulder. "Yes, you did. I saw."

Brody had to ponder for a few seconds; he was trying to figure out if she was playing with him or not, but he didn't have to think for long. He knew she wasn't lying. A white face never lies. "What did you see?"

She wiped her cheek. "I was running, running and running. And I laughed cause you were going to catch up." She wiped her nose. "I looked behind and saw a big man, big tummy and big head, and he looked funny." She slapped his shoulder. "I thought it was you!"

"Calm down." He grinned. "Maybe you just saw a tree." Her face turned into a red balloon; she burst out crying all over again. "Hey, I'm only joking." He stood up and held his hand out. "Come, little sis. Let's go home."

She grabbed his hand.

2

He saw the trailer in the distance. The place they called home was tucked away in the middle of the forest. The trailer, once a delicious white junk, had every bit of paint scratched off it now. Brody took it upon himself to turn it into a metallic battleship, (took him a month to scratch all the paint off with a key). His mother didn't care; she didn't even know the paint was off. The window at the back was covered with newspaper because the window fell out a few months ago. The trailer stood on a foundation of bricks – the wheels had to be sold for money.

Brody put his hand on his sister's shoulder. "Hey, wait." She looked a lot better, he thought. Her face weren't so red anymore, the tears gone, and the only red part on her face was under her nose. He took the bottom of his shirt and wiped it. "Do me a favor, okay?" She nodded. He looked at his shirt and saw her goo on it. He took the other side of his shirt and wiped her face. "You look like one of those cute bunny rabbits on TV."

She chuckled. He glanced at the trailer and saw the bedroom light on. "Let's not tell mother about what happened." She quickly nodded. He patted her on the head. "Come, let's go see what I can make you for dinner."

For a moment he thought the trailer door was locked. He pulled and pulled. Then the door screamed; it was like opening a jar of mold. Trapped air forced itself out and fresh air forced itself in. He waved his hand in front of his face and smiled; this is how he knew that she hadn't been out.

"Mamma, we back home!" He helped his sister inside and closed the door. She waddled over to the chair and brushed off the cans. She jumped on and grabbed the remote. She pointed it at their new 19-inch TV. She clapped the remote.

"Think needs batteries," she said. She clapped the remote again.

"Chill, sis, clapping it won't help."

She stuck her tongue out. "Yes does. Did last time."

"Whatever." He opened the fridge. He thought it was the TV buzzing on, but then he saw the fly stuck on a plate. He laughed. "Hey, Pippa, come check this out."

"No." She said. "Not till you help me."

He pressed the fly's belly with his finger. The fly buzzed psychotically; its right wing broke off. Brody chuckled. He drew a circle around it and licked his buttery finger. "Poor little fly." He decided to leave it alone and scanned the fridge. There weren't much inside. Three beer cans (one with red lipstick all over), a packet of cheese slices, and that's about it. He heard his stomach grunt and grabbed the cheese. He shut the fridge and turned. He saw Pippa gone, but knew where she was. He heard the box rattle. And then she appeared holding the cage with a grin. She walked past and slammed the cage on the table – beer cans rolled off.

"Hello, Fred." She tapped the cage. "Hey, Fred!" She tapped the cage again.

"I don't think the squirrel likes that."

She frowned. "Why not?"

He had trouble opening the cupboard with no handle. "Because look at it."

"I don't understand." She tapped the cage.

Brody laughed. "It looks dead." She gave him a look that made him laugh all over again. "Calm down, just saying." He began cutting the cheese into blocks. He listened to her talk to the squirrel like it was a doll. He wiped his nose and gazed at Fred. It looks dead. That's good. We need meat, he thought, but he could already anticipate her reaction. He shook his head and–

"Dammit."

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yup." He wiped his bloody finger on his trousers. "Hey, sis."

She smiled at the cage and spoke gibberish.

"Pippa."

She glanced. "What?"

He waved the knife in the air. "You hungry?"

She rubbed her stomach, dropped her smile, and nodded. "Yeah."

He had to think of his words carefully. He looked at the TV. "You want me to fix that for you?"

She nodded with a smile.

He took a block of cheese over. "Here, have this."

She devoured it in one gulp. He looked at the squirrel. It was losing fur; maybe it had cancer or something. "You know our room?" He sat next to her. "I tell you what. I'll let you sleep on the big side for a whole month if you," he lingered his gaze at the cage, "if you–"

"No!" She grabbed the cage with her body. "I know what you gonna say."

Brody slapped his knee and got up. "Oh c'mon sis – let's kill it and eat it." He heard her mutter something behind closed lip. "I can skin it for us, drain the blood, make us something good, you know."

"Won't let you kill it."

"I'll fix the TV for you–"

"No," she said. He looked at the knife in his hand and wiped his forehead. "I want meat."

"So, so, go outside and–" she jumped in front of the approaching knife. "I said no!"

"Stupid – don't go jumping in front of knives."

A tear slid down the bridge of her nose. "He's only friend I got."

"He's a squirrel!"

"So!" She quickly wiped the tears from her face; she was afraid that he'd jump for Fred. He lowered the knife. Even though his stomach felt like an empty bucket, he didn't enjoy seeing his sister hurt.

"Fine. We'll," he looked longingly at the cage, "keep it alive." Even though the thing looked like a dirty sock with holes. "Come, let's eat." He turned around and walked. She jumped up and hugged him from behind.

"Thank you." She let go. "You can take my cheese if you real hungry. Now that I think 'bout it, I'm not really hungry."

He looked at the blocks of his cheese (the lack thereof, really). "It's okay." He divided it into two piles. He looked down the hall and contemplated cutting it into a third. "You eat so long, I'm going to go check on mom." He raised the knife. "And don't go feeding your share to Fred." She gave him a nod, which he knew meant: I'm going to feed Fred.

He put his ear on the door and listened. He heard the faintest rustling and then what sounded like a cough. He knocked. "Hey, Momma." He waited for a few seconds and tried again. "We back home, Momma. Can I come in?" He put his ear on the door again. He heard movement; she must've heard him. He leaned back and looked at Pippa, who was now feeding Fred with a block of cheese. He knew he wasn't allowed to open the door unless instructed, but he opened anyway.

The room was big enough for one mattress. The lack of ventilation made the room smell of the very thing he was going to eat tonight: cheese. He didn't understand why she doesn't just open the window; he knew she was lying when she said there was something wrong with the hinges; the other day he heard it crack open. He covered his nose as the cheese stench turned sour. She laid under three blankets. He tugged at the mattress.

"Hey, Magna." He knew she hated being called by her first name. He smiled and tried again, "Magna, wake up." He pulled the first blanket off her. He saw her hair, a crow's nest. "Momma, wake up please." He heard her wet lips babble. He didn't understand one word. He pulled another blanket off. Spoons fell to the ground; with them, a glass tube, a lighter, and a needle. She'd been doing the bad thing again. He'd never tried it himself, but he'd seen her do it a few times. Usually, she did the needle business on her own – said she didn't like it when they watched. But lately, she did it even when they sat in the living room; she did it with her new boyfriend, Smiley. He's the one that brought the new 19-inch TV; it still had the price tag on and everything.

He looked at the window and felt like opening it. He chose not to – he'd get into trouble. Instead, he pulled off the last cover. He shook his head. She lay completely naked. Her breasts were two droopy sacks with teats at the bottom. Her ribs visible. Her legs two sticks with no muscle. Her private area showed. He looked at the bushy area with curiosity and then frowned as she opened her eyes.

"Hey, baby." She coughed. "Where the needle at?"

"You want some clothes?"

She chuckled; it sounded like a fan about to break. She managed to heave herself up. Then she leaned forward and touched his feet. "Where you been at, baby?"

"Pippa and I went into the forest–"

"The bitch giving you trouble again?" She rubbed dangerously close to his crotch. He stepped back and out the door. He leaned back and saw his sister still feeding the squirrel. He hated it when she called Pippa a bitch. He didn't understand why. It must be some kind of a woman thing. "Momma, you hungry?"

She leaned back down and pulled a cover over her. "No, not at all. Where's needle?"

He sighed; sometimes he wished for a normal life. A normal family. He'd seen normal kids before. They have parents that smile and hold hands. They have parents that buy them things.

"If that bitch lays a finger on–"

He leaned inside. "Don't call her that."

"J-saying, baby."

"We got some cheese for dinner; you want me to–"

"Let me know if you find it."

He shook his head and closed the door. He went back into the living room.

"I told you not to feed that thing."

"But needs to eat like us." She stuck her fingers into the cage. "Come Fred, eat time."

"Have you eaten?" He rapped the knife on the cupboard. "Hey, I'm speaking."

"Yes," she said. He knew she was lying. He grabbed a handful of cheese and threw it into his mouth. It tasted funny. He swallowed it whole and walked over. She barely touched her dinner. "Eat your food."

She looked up, confused. "Why you so angry?"

Pippa wasn't as skinny as mother, he thought, but she still needed to eat. "If you don't eat, you'll get sick."

"Fine." She put a block on her tongue. "See."

He chuckled for some reason. "Now swallow."

Her eyes narrowed. "And what you gonna do if I–"

The bedroom door slammed open. "What's all the fuckin' fuss out here?" She stumbled out and fell against the wall. "Didn't I tell you to bring my stuff?" She locked her gaze on the cage.

"Momma, it's in your room."

"No, it ain't." She walked forward, using the wall for support. "Can't be fooling me, boy." She kept her eyes on the cage. "What's going on in here?"

Pippa crawled into a fetus position and stared at her hands.

"Go back to bed," Brody said. "I'll bring it to you."

She walked toward the fridge with her neck bent back, eyes locked on the table. "I think it's sleep time. Don't you?" The fridge shot open and the door crashed against the side. She ripped out a plate and let it fall. The ceramic pieces spat on the floor. "I want that cleaned up." She put her neck into the fridge. "Baby, when you going shopping?"

He looked at his sister, who was now cradling her body side to side. "I need money."

She slowly removed her head and glanced. Her lips were as thin as a blade. Her stare, locked. "You think I'm a bank, don't you, baby?" Brody had to think about his answer. He was just glad she put some underwear on.

"If it weren't for me, you and that slut over there would be selling your bodies." She laughed, and it sounded like wind scraping tin roof. She shut the fridge. Her gaze found its way to the cage. "Tell you guys what." She walked past Brody (tickling his chin with her finger). "I know what's wrong around here." She lunged for the cage and snatched it.

Brody's heart turned into burning coal. He watched in horror as his sister jumped up to protect the squirrel, but she quickly fell down as a hand met her face with equal force. She jumped up again – screaming – tears spilling. This time it wasn't just a hand slapping her back down but the cage as well.

"This here the problem." Magna ripped the cage open and snatched Fred.

"Momma, no!" Brody yelled. He jumped for her hands, but it was too late. She threw the squirrel on the floor and stepped on its head. Brody heard its little head pop like bubblegum. And then he saw a stream of squirrel blood. He looked at his mother, who was now laughing at the ceiling, and then he touched his head with both hands. As he listened to his mother cackle, and as he watched his sister cry, he wondered if his mother was really his mother; he wondered if rich kids' parents would do something like this. A pang inside his chest told him that rich kids' parents took care of their children. He shook his head and ran over to Pippa.

"Don't worry, we will–" She slapped his arm away and ran to her room.

Brody looked at his mother. He waited a few seconds, and then he sighed. "Why, Momma?"

She stumbled back and caught the wall. "Baby, where my needle at?"

3

Just outside their box-shaped window, the window that was big enough to fit a few fists, chirped an army of crickets. Brody knew these crickets weren't the normal type. They didn't have that beautiful lime-green coating. They didn't have the soothing chirps. These were sausage-colored bricks that could jump as high as the trailer. (Like they were doing now, jumping against the trailer – a continuous cha-kra-cha scrape sound.) It sounded like a box full of dry leaves shaking.

"Brody," she said, sniffing. "You think they want in?"

If it were any other night, he'd be laughing at her telling her, "Don't be silly, they just critters of the night jumping and dancing," or if he was in a sullen mood, "Just go to sleep Pippa; we'll talk in the morning," but after what had happened tonight, when mother stepped on her squirrel and how its little squirrel head popped, joking around with his sister was the last thing he wanted to do.

"No, they can't get in. Just the moon making them all crazy like."

She sat up and stared at the window. "I don't see the moon."

"It's hiding behind clouds." She didn't respond; she continued staring at the window. It had to be full moon, Brody thought. That's when the crickets went crazy – mating season and all. But as he peered through that little hole of a window, he couldn't see a sliver of white light, just night clouds. The moon had to be far behind them, touching the stars. The night clouds gave off their own kind of light: a darkening shadow that washed over everything, and Brody saw it all around them, even on his sister's face. He reached for her hand.

"How you feeling?"

Her chin dropped. Night painted one side of her face black. "I'm fine, why?"

She had to be in denial. How could she not be? He thought of something funny to say. "You want to hear a joke?"

She wiggled her body into the covers, turned her back, patted the pillow, pulled the cover they shared over herself, and began to whistle.

"We can try and find you a new squirrel tomorrow, if you'd want." She hummed louder and muttered something that sounded like, donwanta. He began playing with her hair. He hated it when she was like this, and when she began humming like that he knew her mood was beyond repair. She always hummed the same tune (Jingle Bells). It all started a few years ago when Momma began taking the strange needle injections. Her behavior got worse and worse until she started hitting Pippa. She always left him alone, for some reason, and attacked her instead. Must be that female thing again.

He stayed with his sister for a few hours until he was sure she had fallen asleep. (Which was easy because she stopped humming). He climbed out of bed, making sure not wake her up, and went to the living room.

The fridge door was wide open. On the floor lay the broken plate Momma threw earlier. He stepped over the ceramic, making sure not cut himself and heard a buzz. He turned and saw the fly from earlier trekking across the floor. Brody chuckled and knelt. The fly had no wings left, but it kept buzzing as if it had them. He leaned close enough to kiss it; he wanted to see if the fly had any hair on its head. "You look hurt." He pinned the fly down with his finger. "Where you running to, friend?" The fly stopped moving. Was it dead? He released his finger. The fly's tiny legs jumped into overdrive and pushed itself forward. "Knew you weren't dead."

"No-no – tzz – not dead," the fly said.

Brody began picking up the ceramic pieces. "Where you off to?"

"Tzz out."

He looked at the fridge. "You want to go back in there?"

"Take me. Where. Fresh air – izz."

He opened a trash bag, which had a moldy Corn Flakes box inside, and chuck the plates in. Marshy liquid began to drip from underneath. He wiped it with his foot and picked up the bag. But first, he picked up the fly and put it on top; the trash bag made its buzzing sound louder.

He didn't want wake Momma, so he made sure to open the door quietly, which failed. The hinges screamed, asking for oil. For a second, Brody thought the door was going to come loose. It didn't. Thank God. Don't want to be sleeping with an open door with things jumping inside.

The moonless sky made it impossible to see far. He could see a few trees around him, long black pipes that shot up, and he could hear the leaves rustle high above, or maybe it was all these crickets. A few of them wanted in to the trailer but he closed the door. "You sure you want to be out here?" he asked the fly. He looked at the bag and saw it gone. He looked at the floor and saw a pile of crickets on top of each other. He shook his head. He walked around the trailer until he found what he was looking for, a pile of junk: their previous TV, shampoo bottles, black bags, the odd wire, and mostly beer cans. He kicked a can into the night and screamed.

A rat the size of a cat (he was sure it was that big) came trundling down the mountain of junk. It stood on both legs and flashed its whiskers. Brody was also sure that it was waving its little hands at him – telling him to get lost. He stepped forward. "Shoo!" The rat held its position. The only part of its diseased body that moved were its wiry whiskers, and upon closer inspection, its two red eyes. "I said get, rat." Brody waved the bag at it; the rat jumped on the bag and used its teeth as grappling hooks. When the bag swung around, and when Brody realized that the rat was not on the pile of junk but the actual bag itself, he let go and fell on his behind. He thought he fell on a bag of chips when he heard a crunch. He stuck his hand under him and felt the innards of crickets: goo and legs. The rat climbed the bag and stood on both legs. Brody waved it away. "Have it, you stinking rat." He got up and stumbled away.

This time he didn't mind waking up the forest. He slammed the door shut. The living room light, a bulb that dangled from a long thread, and the only light source, began to flicker. He looked at the ceiling. "Got to be kidding me." He wiped a good chunk of goo from his behind and looked at his hand. His fingers flickered black. He could see a greenish liquid that reminded him of caramel. He smelled his fingers. Surprisingly, it didn't smell of anything. He shook his head and jumped on the couch. The light stopped flickering. He gave it a nod of approval. He reached for the remote and opened the back and changed the batteries around. A week ago they had an argument over what channel to watch, so to be in control, he changed the batteries around now. He chuckled. The screen washed into a bunch of silver lines, the box hummed, and color flashed.

"... you have already said that, Professor, but can you please tell our audience here at CNN what you mean by 'Viral Accumulation' and what this means for the future of America?"

Brody stuck his hand under the sofa and pulled out a roll of toilet paper. He plucked a few panels from the roll and turned his waist. He scrubbed his backside while he kept an eye on the TV. He didn't want to get his trousers dirty because he only had two: the one he had on and the other one he didn't like wearing much. He looked at the toilet paper. It looked like a number two on it – just greener (with legs). He continued wiping.

"... basically, think of the virus as a housing estate. It gathers all the white cells and stores them into one unit, thus rendering them useless. This is particularly dangerous because the virus not only negates the body's defenses but also hijacks certain organs like the lungs. This is why you see these people breathing as if they are slurping through a straw. And the worst part of it all, their lungs are being eaten from the inside out."

Brody threw the tissue over his shoulder and slumped against the sofa. He thought about Momma and the way she acted tonight. His head told him that Momma was only doing what she thought was right; however, his heart told him it was unacceptable. He didn't enjoy seeing his sister in pain, especially when Momma gets all wobbly with her feet and quick with her hands. It's that dirty needle she's taking. It changes her. Momma never used to be like this. A long time ago – Brody looked at the ceiling for answers – he couldn't remember when, but it was a long time ago that Momma used to smile. He remembered this one time, she took them down to Fred's Fries for takeaway food. He had a double cheeseburger with extra fries and a Coke. Pippa had a cheeseburger with Pepsi. Momma didn't have anything that day, but she smiled and kept saying, "I love you guys." Brody scratched under his foot and sighed. Sometimes he just wished Dad was still alive. Brody's eyes went wide. He pulled himself up and looked at the TV. His heart raced. "No," he said. "Please no." He jabbed his trousers, his shirt, and his tummy. The pocket watch was gone; it was the only thing he had from his father. He jumped up and looked under the sofa.

"... Professor, it's estimated that fifteen thousand people are already infected. New York City has reported that their wards are getting full. South Dakota just closed their borders. The worst seems to be in Lawton, Oklahoma. They say the people there are not only sick but are turning hostile."

Brody knelt, opened the kitchen cupboard, and stuck his head in. He saw a spider scurrying away. He brushed the bottles aside and sighed, defeated. He got up and held his forehead. He traced his steps back – trying to think where he had seen it last. Then it struck him. "Pippa." She had grabbed it out of his hand and run off with it. He cursed. He had already forgotten all about the incident. He'd just ask her in the morning. She better have it, he thought. Dad said the watch was some kind of magic item and that it'd keep me safe, and if I pointed it at a certain spot in the forest that it'd take me to secret treasures, he remembered. Brody relaxed his shoulders. He took a deep breath and yawned. There was an electronic clock above the fridge. Under a layer of grime, it flickered 04:13.

"... Let me clarify. We anticipate three stages, and we have color coded them, as you can see. If you get infected by the virus you are in stage one, the green stage. You can expect a mild headache, anything from a light fever to a heavy throb at the back of your head. People have reported hearing a whistle sound in their right ear. So let me make this clear – if you experience a sudden light headache and hear a whistle, make your way to a hospital. The good news is that we have antibodies to counter the virus; all you need is the injection. The sooner you take it the better. Some people are in this stage, which is rare, the amber. You can expect a lot of vomiting, a burning fever, and aching limbs – similar to flu. Now in the case of Lawton, Oklahoma, there are one or two people that are here, red zone. After analyzing the strain, we found the pathogens eerily similar to Rabies but with a twist. Rabies can take days, weeks, even months for the person to show symptoms. This new virus can take hold of its host in a matter of hours. This is why we urge people that have the symptoms to get injected as soon as possible, and most important of all, make sure you–"

Color disappeared from the TV. Brody threw the remote on the couch and yawned.

4

Birds chirped, clouds were gone, and the sun made the morning leaves sparkle. Pippa was the first one to jump out. She shielded her eyes against first light and smiled. Brody stepped down and glanced to his side. He wondered if the rat was still there waiting for him. He imagined the rat to be standing on the bag, King Ratus guarding its territory. He glanced up. The sky could be seen through the leaves and branches, a mystic blue. It was going to be a good day, he thought.

"Where's your backpack?"

She patted her shoulder. "Oops."

"Go get it."

She nodded and walked toward the trailer. And stopped. Momma appeared from nowhere, like a snake leaving its hole. She held the entrance on either side. Her skeleton legs jerked at the sight of her two precious kids. If one stared long enough, one could see her nipples under a black dress that was too long for her. Her bony nose and dented cheeks were getting worse. She opened her mouth to say hello and revealed one or two or three white teeth. Brody couldn't understand why she put pink lipstick on each morning – like she was going out somewhere – which was never the case. She smiled a beautiful big smile, and then she did her rainbow wave.

"Hey, babies." She contemplated stepping down. Her eyes fell on Pippa. "Hey, beautiful, how are you?"

Pippa stepped behind Brody and held his hand.

"Look at you two," she said. "I'm so proud of you." She wiped saliva from her lips and smeared a line of pink across her cheek. "Baby, you going to town?"

Pippa pinched her brother's hand. He looked at the sky and thought about the question. Pippa pinched his hand again.

Magna wiped her lips. "Guess that's a no." She began coughing deep, hallow coughs. She looked at her children and coughed louder. "My lungs hurt so badly."

Each time his mother coughed, he felt a pang of guilt inside his stomach. He glanced behind. There was still a fresh handprint on Pippa's cheek. He shook his head and sighed. "You want us to go into town, Momma?"

Her coughing stopped. "Now that's my baby, all strong and wise." She disappeared inside.

"What is it?"

She shook her head and gazed at her feet. "I thought we were going to play today."

"We are."

She doodled the sand with her foot. "You know Momma gonna ask us 'bout him. I don't like him."

Brody didn't like Smiley either. He was almost as skinny as Momma, and for a man that's bad. A man needs muscle. Brody lifted his arm and checked his own body. He needed some muscle on him as well.

"He tried kiss me on lips last time."

"I know," Brody said. "I was there. I think he was just drunk, that's all."

Her cheeks twitched. Her lips pursed. She doodled the ground harder. "I don't like it."

He held her shoulders on both sides. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise." She frowned. "You believe me, don't you?"

"Here you go, baby!" Brody looked at her big purse, with more holes then he could count. He heard coins clatter. She pulled out a few notes. "Here you go; come get it." She slapped the notes in his hand and wiped hair from his forehead. "Buy me some cigarettes. Tell Smiley to come by tonight."

Brody heard his sister sigh. "Sure, Magna."

She tapped his shoulder. "Don't call me that. Now go before it's nighttime."

Brody chuckled inside. He looked at the blue sky. It was early morning and she was already thinking about nighttime. "Sure, Momma. Can we get something?"

She nodded and closed the door.

An hour later, Pippa was whistling at the trees. She held her brother's hand and tried swinging it all the way around.

"Why you so happy all of a sudden?" Brody asked.

"I like the forest," she said. Her eyes scanned the canopy above for any birds. When she saw nests, she would whistle at them. "So you mean what you said?"

"About?"

"We going to find me a new squirrel?"

"Of course." Brody thought she was doing a good job hiding her emotions. He hated when she kept her feelings bottled up. He always told her that it was better to let everything out and say it how it is. "We are going to do it like last time. Make a trap and then put it in the backpack. You got the strings and everything?"

She nodded. "What we using as bait?"

"We'll find a worm somewhere." He chuckled at her facial expression.

"Didn't we use a nut last time?"

"They eat worms too." He looked at her face and thought it was a good time to bring up the subject of the pocket watch. "We need to go do something first though."

She gave him a suspicious look.

"I take it you don't have my pocket watch."

She saw a nest and began whistling – ignoring his question completely. "Hello, birdies," she said. "Birdie birdies."

He tugged her shoulder. "Why you ignoring?"

"Cause I know what you going say."

"And what's that?"

"You want to go back where we were yesterday."

"That's exactly what I want to do." She let go of his hand. "Pippa, I need that watch."

"You think it'll take you to some magic in the forest. Stupid."

"No, stupid. It's because Dad gave it to me before he died." He watched her happy demeanor fall away. He felt guilt wash over him like a bucket of cold water.

"I'm sorry." He said. "Didn't mean to say it like that; you believe me, don't you?"

She nodded.

"But I need that watch, Pippa."

5

They were back where they were yesterday. Even though the forest makes a person think that everything looks the same, Brody knew better. He knew a certain rock when he saw one. He knew a certain tree when he saw one of those too. He saw the embankment from yesterday and pointed.

"There, not far now."

She looked around her as if something was going to jump from the trees. "I don't want to be here."

Brody laughed. "You scared of the forest?"

"No, that man from yesterday – one that chased me. Maybe he's still here."

Brody dropped his smile and sighed. "Forget about that man, was just your imagination playing tricks on you." He saw a bolder in the distance covered in moss. He also saw a tree with broken branches; he must've run past it yesterday. "We're not far now."

Pippa stepped on dry branches and jumped. She held her chest and smiled. But then she went back to her jerky movements. "Brody."

"What is it?"

"What if he comes?"

"Who, Smiley?"

"No... him." She looked genuinely afraid, Brody thought. He saw gooseflesh on her arms.

"Are you on about the man you didn't see?"

She slapped his shoulder. "Fine. You'll see." She walked away and pointed. "That way."

Brody knew she didn't see anyone yesterday. How could she? There was no one else in these parts. The only people living around here were the other trailer people and they were miles away. And there wasn't a fat man among them. He chuckled. She'd been watching too much of that new TV they got. Their previous TV was smaller than a head, but the new 19-inch Smiley brought over made the color seem real.

A flock of birds shot past high above – screaming – chirping. Brody looked up and saw a few more black spots fly past. "Damn mating season, everything going–" He stopped. His sister was standing a few feet away from him like a statute. "What's the matter?" She didn't respond. He looked up as more birds shot past. He reached for his waist and patted an empty hip. Knife must be in the backpack. He stepped closer. "Pippa?" She didn't respond. Why is she standing so still? he thought. He stood on his toes trying to see over her. A breeze brushed through the forest. He looked at her hair twirling to the side, and that's when she turned. He tried analyzing her facial expression – he couldn't. Not a single muscle moved.

"What is it?" He gritted his teeth. He was starting to feel afraid himself. He heard birds wrestle in trees and looked away from his sister. When he looked back she was still looking at him with a neutral expression. And then she burst out laughing and pointed at her feet.

"Look what I found!" Beneath her feet was the pocket watch. "I made you scared, didn't I?

"You think that's funny?" Brody asked. And then he couldn't help but laugh as well. He snatched the watch from her feet and looked at it with a smile. He rubbed his finger along the scratches, along the initials P.L. Their father's name, Phen Louie.

The forest whispered around them, a breeze strong enough to pick a few dead leaves and rustle them. A bird trotted along a branch to see what all the fuss was. It had a witch's nose for a beak, eyes similar to a human's, and it hopped with legs that looked like twigs.

Pippa rubbed her tiny button nose and sniffed. She looked at her brother with her eyes narrowed and then folded her arms. "I know what you–"

Brody screamed. The bird with the humanoid eyes and witch's nose screamed as well; its wings spread wide and blotted sparkling leaves. The bird jumped away and zipped through the trees – leaving a trail of feathers. Brody's face reddened with excitement. He held his watch toward the trees. "Take me to secret treasures, pocket watch!"

Pippa shook her head. "Not this again, Brody." She looked at her brother with sleepy eyes as he jumped onto a log and pointed it at the ground. She touched her stomach and heard it speak. "I'm hungry." Her brother brushed away leaves and put the watch on the ground as a doctor would do with his stethoscope. Pippa looked at her arms. The color of her skin was a muddy bronze. She scraped soil from her arms with her nails and frowned. "Need shower, Brody."

Brody looked up from the ground. "Momma says we only need a shower every two weeks."

Her lips turned upside down. She brushed as much soil as she could off herself and then rolled her sleeves down. "I know. Momma say as long our heads look clean everything clean." She gazed at her hand, frowned, and looked up.

He tapped the glass again, da-dah-da. "Think this damn ticking box just ran its last mile."

She reached for the sun and smiled. "Does that mean we can go?"

He turned the watch around. Damn thing was turning all rusty. That's why it ain't working, or maybe... he ticked the backside. Maybe it used batteries like the remote control. He glanced up at his sister. His smile turned into a grimace, his grimace into a horrifying frown.

She looked at his expression; her arms plummeted. She stepped two steps back and stopped. She held her stomach with her right hand and her neck with her left. "Brody?"

The watch fell from his hand and made a thump on the ground. He looked over his sister's shoulder and then edged his gaze at her. He slowly raised his hand to his mouth and made a shhh gesture. She nodded. He got up from the log, picked up a branch, and held it behind him. Her face drained color. Her lips turned purple. Branches could be heard snapping in the forest. Birds could be heard chirping. Brody swallowed and stepped forward. And then he pointed.

"It's the fat man!"

Pippa jolted away and screamed her lungs out. She ran to her brother and hugged him from behind. She cried – too afraid to look. She squeezed her face against his back and shut her eyes. Then she felt his stomach begin to wobble, and then she heard him begin to chuckle like an old train leaving station. Her eyes broke open. She pushed herself away (and peeked just to make sure) and slapped his shoulder as hard as she could.

"That's not funny, Brody!" Her arms locked. "I'm going to tell Momma." She wiped snot from her nose and pointed her finger. "You made me real scared."

When he was finished chuckling, he gave his sister a brotherly smile. "You should've seen your face." Her eyes narrowed into two slits. "Okay," he stretched his arms out, "I'm sorry."

"I don't want hug from you."

He grabbed her hand and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She acted like it was disgusting, but beneath her frowned lips was a hidden smile.

"Come, let's go to town."

6

Pippa let out the longest sigh of her life. "I don't like walking this far. My legs hurt. How much farther?" Then she saw a nest high up in a tree. "Look at that." She let go of her brother's hand and waddled over. "Can you hear that?"

Brody saw trees in the distance thin out. "We're almost in town, sis. Let's go."

She knocked the trunk with her fist. "Hello, birdies. Birdies, hello."

"Sometimes I think you're going crazy." He rolled his sleeve and scratched his forearm and saw a few pimples lined up.

"Who is birdie birdie?" She knocked the tree as if she were knocking on a door. She looked at her brother. "Can you hear them speak?"

"Yes, Pippa." He craned his head back and looked at the nest. He could hear them chirp, but the way they chirped didn't sound normal. It reminded him of a saw cutting a tree. It was that or their throats were dry. He watched his sister knock a few more times, and then he heard a thump. It came from behind the tree. Pippa heard it as well.

"What was–"

Thump. Again, thump. Again, thump. And then behind them – thump.

Brody scratched his ear. He looked up and saw a black pebble with feathers descend – thump. He looked up at the nest and saw the mother bird picking up her chick. She dangled it over the edge, swung her beak left to right, and let it go. The chick fell on the ground, thump. Pippa began stepping backward.

"I-I think I made them angry."

Brody turned around and stared into the forest. "I... don't think so." He tried registering what he was seeing. He tried registering what he was hearing. He tried registering what he was feeling. "Why – are the birds falling out their ne–"

Pippa swallowed a scream. She grabbed her mouth and whispered. "Look." She was pointing at a chick on the ground nested under branches. Its body, a see-through pink, wrestled the twigs. "Think it wants help." She knelt and reached for the bird–

"No." He grabbed her arm. He glanced over his shoulder and saw something that he instinctively knew was not right. It was raining birds. "Something's wrong." He pulled her toward him and just in time. The mother bird came swooping down and attacked her chick. She pinned the chick's pinkish body with her talon and ripped its right wing off in one tug. The mother opened her beak and screamed at her young; then she attacked again ripping the other wing off. The chick screamed a piercing whine as it died. The mother hopped off and searched for her other chicks with deadly precision.

"Let's get out of here." He dragged her hypnotizing gaze from the tree. The thumping didn't stop. The attacking didn't stop. The raining birds didn't stop. What they had just witnessed wasn't a one-time thing. The bigger birds (must've been the parents) were attacking the little ones – they were jabbing their razor beaks into – what was this? It was like they were trying to eradicate them or something.

"Why they hurting them?" Pippa asked. Brody wished he knew.

They stumbled out the forest. A canvas of baby-blue sky greeted them. The sun was directly above their heads and had already begun baking their skin. Wind caressed their necks, but it wasn't enough to cool them down. They stood on the outskirts and peered inside. The sun lashing at their eyes made the forest appear darker than it really was. They could see shadows from trees, they could see shadows from rocks, they could see shadows from branches, and they could see shadows falling. Brody wiped his forehead and looked at the beads on his hand. He shook his head and murmured, "Let's go."

Town was busier than usual. It wasn't a big town. Wasn't even a small town. The locals called the place Toilet Town because that is what it was: people from the highway came here to fill their cars at the gas station (the only gas station for fifty miles), and then they sped off, leaving a trail of whirlwind dust. The only attraction was Fred's Fries. They made double cheeseburgers with recycled oil and even put a handful of cheese on the fries, but lately there'd been complaints about spitting in the food. Sleepy Black Motel was another favorite. They had a big neon sign outside that said SLEEP FOREVER $18.45 ROOMS. Rich people don't like sleeping in places like that; he's seen them pull funny faces, especially at the women outside it (with their big shoes and short skirts). But the town wasn't all bad. Brody's favorite place was the gas station. He would sit outside on a stack of tires, which were usually baking hot, and watch all the rich people ride in from faraway places. They always had nice cars. He would wave at the kids in the backseat, but they never returned the wave. They looked at him funny – like he was some kind of diseased rat. That was what he hated the most. All he wanted was a wave back.

"Where we going?" Pippa asked.

"Going to see the sheriff."

She looked at the sun and squinted. "Isn't he retired?"

He looked at her funny. "How you know what retired means?"

She lifted her chin proudly. "I read it."

"You know how to read?"

"I can say alphabet so I know how." A car drove past in a hurry. "Brody, what's happing to forest?"

They walked onto the sidewalk, and before they disappeared around the corner, he glanced back at the trees. "No idea. That's why we need to speak to the–"

A line of cars took his breath away. They were all queuing for the gas station. The car nearest to them had a bunch of kids with stuffed animals stuffed in the back. The boy had been crying; the flesh under his eyes was red and he had a droopy gaze. A man climbed out from a rich person's car. He had a suit and tie on. His hair was shiny. He pointed his hand toward the station and yelled at the people in front, asking them what the holdup was.

"I wonder why it's so busy," Brody said. "Must be holiday or something."

Pippa pointed at the car with the stuffed toys. "I want that bear."

"Don't be silly."

She tugged at his arm. "Please – I want it."

"Have you already forgotten about the birds?" She went quiet. "They need our help. Or, you want to leave–"

"No. Let's help the birds."

He smiled at her and then looked at the car with the bear. If he had enough time he would have stolen it for her. A toy like that would keep her happy for months. A toy like that would make her sleep well at night. He sighed silently and almost felt like abandoning the trip to the sheriff so that he could steal it. He looked at his sister and saw disappointment behind her eyes. He tickled the back of her neck.

"Someday I'll go to where the rich people live and buy you one."

She pouted. "Promise?"

"Yeah, course." She smiled like those cartoon characters on TV, and it made him feel good in the heart, but he knew he was lying to her. He'd never be able to afford expensive stuff, even if it was a teddy bear. But the thought of having one would keep her happy for a while.

The door burped open. Trapped air, which smelled of dirty, wet socks, forced itself out. Brody coughed and Pippa held her nose. "Come," Brody said, and took her hand. Black and white pictures hung along the wall. They were of previous sheriffs that had worked here, all in chronological order.

"Look!" Pippa pointed at a frame. It was the one nearest to the door. It was a man: big white smile, thick jaw, large warm eyes, and a forehead one could use as an ironing board. "I didn't know they had picture of Dad."

"Me neither." He rubbed his hand along the frame. "They probably decided to put it up." He reached for the door and pushed it open.

A group of men sitting around a table looked up. Their faces were devoid of emotion. One of them took his hat off and opened his mouth – showing a set of brown teeth and one gold one – he kept his mouth open for a while and then closed it. And then he opened his mouth again.

"What you want?" He asked.

Brody held his sister's hand. "I'm here to see the sheriff."

The skinniest man at the table, and also the palest, spat in his cup and swirled it. One eye was on his cup and the other on them. He swirled it a few more times and took a sip. He wiped his mouth and looked at the window behind them. "Waiting."

One of them threw cards on the table. "Your turn, Jalop."

He put the cup on the cards. "Folks here be needing help – fucking idiot." Everyone at the table giggled. "What you want?"

"You need to get to the forest." Brody said. "Birds are falling from the trees and onto the ground."

The room turned into an orchestra of ear-piercing laughter. One of them laughed so loud that he slid from his chair. They all (except Jalop) slammed the table with their fists, trying to regain composure. As laughter subsided, Jalop scratched his forehead. "Can you say that again, kid?"

"He's telling the tru–" Brody stopped his sister from talking.

"You need to go check out the forest."

"I know, you said," Jalop lifted his hand, "there are birds falling from trees." He turned around and looked at the men. "We've got ourselves a fuckin' terrorist attack." Fresh laughter erupted.

Brody let go of his sister's hand and picked up a photo frame of the sheriff. It flew over their heads and crashed against the wall. It shut them up good. One by one, they looked around at Brody. The room went silent. A fly could be heard buzzing. One of them stood up – Jalop put his hand on his shoulder.

"Sit down." And then Jalop stood up. He picked up his cup from the table and spat inside. He swirled it around, took a sip, and smiled. "Come over here, kid."

Pippa took her brother's hand.

"Here." Jalop said.

Pippa whispered, "Let's go."

Jalop spat in his cup again and walked a few steps forward.

Brody brushed his sister behind him. "You need to go to the forest."

Everyone at the table stood up. One of them disappeared behind a wall. Jalop stepped closer. "I need?" He lowered the cup to his side; a murky liquid spilled. "You thirsty, boy?"

"Let's go," Brody told his sister. They turned around and stopped. The man that disappeared was now standing at the entrance. He had his arms stretched, belly open, and holster showing. "I don't want any trouble."

"Then you shouldn't have–" Jalop slapped Brody across the face "–thrown that cup, you dirty trash." He readied himself for another strike. Pippa jumped in front of her brother.

"No!" She cried. Jalop slapped her, his hand big enough to fit her whole face. She stumbled away and against the wall.

Brody felt his lungs fill with hot water. His legs began to shake. His head turned into heavy stone. He used all his willpower to pry his eyes away from his sister, who was now crying and rubbing her cheeks in circles. Brody felt hate at its purest form. He looked at Jalop's jaw and didn't hesitate. His fist met flesh. Brody heard a faint gush of surprise from the men in the room and then struck again. And missed.

Jalop held his jaw and looked at his cup rolling on the floor. "Bad mistake." He drew both hands into fists and–

We need help! Someone shouted. Please help! The window behind Brody banged. A man ran inside. His face was white and his hands red. "People are going crazy at the gas station; we need help now!"

Jalop looked at Brody. Then at the man at the door. Then at Brody. Then at the man at the door. He licked his lips, bit his lower one, and dropped his hands. "Let's go."

They all disappeared through the door. When their shadows ran past the window, Pippa jumped up and ran to her brother.

"You okay?" He asked. She squeezed his waist harder. He shook his head and tried to calm himself down. He was still burning inside, his neck stiff. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. A surge of guilt ran up his body. He felt ashamed that he let someone hit his sister. He closed his eyes and brushed her hair. "I'm really sorry."

She pushed away and tried to smile. "For?"

"For letting that man hit you."

Her almost smile turned into a definite smile. She told him that it was okay and then she wiped her nose on his shirt.

7

They went into Fred's Fries. Brody told his sister to stay put while he went outside to check what all the fuss's about.

He shielded his eyes against the sun and heard the doorbell behind him ring. He lowered his arm and let his eyes adjust to the sun. When the bright white disappeared, he peered into the distance. He saw a lot of people standing around the gas station; almost everyone was out their cars. He heard screaming and shouting, something along the lines of, "It's my turn to get fuel," and "No bitch, it's mine." Brody shook his head and walked onto the road. He saw a lady with a bright orange dress and thought she looked beautiful – better looking than Momma. She held hands with her children. They walked past him toward the station. Brody looked at the woman's behind and thought the dress looked beautiful, too. Must've been expensive. He glanced around and saw the car with the teddy bear, and there wasn't anybody inside. He grinned.

The door opened easily. Rich people must have so much money, he thought, that they don't even lock their cars. He looked around and climbed inside. It smelled of peppermint. He rubbed his hand across the leather; he has never felt anything so soft. There was a baby bottle on the floor. He picked it up and tasted it. Tasted like normal milk, just warmer. He saw two Starbucks cups. He opened one lid. Must be coffee, he thought. He opened the other, a milky brown; it must be hot chocolate. He tasted it. He was right. Pippa's going to enjoy the hot chocolate, he thought to himself as he grabbed the cups and the bear. Before climbing out, he took a deep peppermint breath in and thought, I'm going to win the lottery one day and buy a car just like this. Then I'll take Pippa to the zoo. He gave his thinking a nod of approval and climbed out.

He was halfway toward Fred's Fries and had both cups against his chest and bear under his chin when he heard a voice behind. "Hey. You."

Brody swallowed. He slowly turned around. To his surprise, it was another boy, similar in age. He had a black shirt on with white letters that said AC/DC. He looked a little sleepy, a little drowsy, but he had a strong voice. He wiped his curly hair from his forehead, nodded, and said, "What's up?"

Brody looked at the cups and at the bear. "Nothing, you?"

"Chillin. You live around here?"

Brody felt extremely confused; no rich kid had ever spoken to him like this. This guy must want something, he thought. "I, yes – I, live over there." He jabbed his chin toward the forest.

ACDC leaned forward. "You live in the forest?"

"Yup."

He laughed. "No, man, for real. Where do you live?"

Brody laughed as well. "The forest."

"Oh, okay. That's cool."

People screamed in the distance. Brody could see a few fists flying. "So, where do you live?"

He pointed. "Far away that way. Just want to chill in the swimming pool, you know?"

"You got a swimming pool?" Brody never got the whole pool thing. Why not just take a bath?

"Yeah, my dad just put a Jacuzzi in for my sis. She's, like, a model and everything."

A model? Brody thought. He wasn't going to ask what it meant because he didn't want to look stupid. "That's cool."

ACDC folded his arms. "Yeah, but I bet that's nothing. You must have like a big pool – you know, living in the forest and all."

Brody nodded. He glanced behind and thought of Pippa.

He kicked a rock. "So what happened to your face?"

"Sorry?"

"You got a red mark on your cheek, yo."

Brody caressed his cheek. "I was in a fight."

"That's awesome!" He stretched his fist. "Give me some love, man."

He looked at his fist and felt confused. "I don't want to be rude, but I need to–"

He held his arms up. "Of course, bro, don't let me hold you up. Before you go, what's your name?"

Brody smiled; how something so simple could make him feel so good. "It's Brody."

"Name's AJ. I'll catch you later."

Brody nodded. "Sure, I'll – catch – see you later." He watched AJ walk away swinging his arms. He peered into the distance. People were still standing around the station. Some were pointing, some were whispering in each other's ears, some were talking on their phones, but at least the shouting had stopped and the fists weren't flying. He wondered what all the fuss was about and then looked at the bear under his chin. He tried finding AJ amid the crowd of onlookers, but he couldn't find him.

He pushed the door open with his elbow; the bell tinged. A woman who looked like a man and who wore baggy clothing and a trucker's hat lifted her cup at Brody and grinned at the bear he was holding. The woman serving behind the counter ate a chocolate roll while wiping the till and slapped the sweat off her neck with the cloth she'd been cleaning with. She craned her door-like body forward and asked the woman with the trucker's hat if she'd like another coffee. Brody scanned the diner for his sister and couldn't see her. What he could see were a lot of out of town folks. They sat at the back away from the locals – as if they were scared of contracting rat poison from their breath. Brody didn't blame them. The difference between the two sides was the difference between blood and snow; one side had nice clothing and clean skin while the other side looked like a bunch of malnourished miners about to shoot needle.

A few rich people turned and looked at Brody. He felt his hands go sweaty. He hoped the bear under his chin and the two Starbucks cups against his chest weren't theirs. He walked past an aisle and heard the slap of sizzle next to him; he smelled a meaty aroma and a hint of pepper, which made his stomach roar. He walked around the corner and saw his sister's body split in half. He smiled and walked on. He could see her arms extended. He walked along the wall and then when he saw who was sitting there, he shook his head. She looked uncomfortable. Her chin was lowered, her gaze fixed on a spoon, and by the look of it, she didn't enjoy his hand on top of hers.

Brody smacked the two cups down.

Smiley's hand slithered off Pippa's. He leaned back against the seat, put his arms behind his head, and smiled so wide that every tooth showed. "Big man! Big man!" he slapped the table "–was taking care of lil' Pip for you. Where were you?"

"Let's go, Pippa." Her eyes turned into two plates when she saw the bear. She wiggled out of the cubicle–

Smiley grabbed her hand. "Tell your Momma that I miss her, okay?" Pippa didn't look at him; she nodded. He licked his lips, still holding Pippa's hand, and glanced at Brody. "How's your Momma?"

Brody wedged his hand under Smiley's skinny wrist and helped his sister out. "She's fine." He didn't seem to mind having his hand pushed away. He needs to start eating more, Brody thought. "Why you so skinny?"

He laughed as if it was the funniest joke. He looked at his bony knuckles and nodded. "You're right, big man! I'm a skinny bugger, aren't I? I'll tell you why–" he leaned closer and put his hand in front of mouth as if passing a secret "–skinny people survive longer than fat ones."

"Not really," Brody said. "They got more food stored inside."

Smiley picked up a fork and lingered his gaze on it. "That what you think? Well, you're wrong. When all the food runs out, we just need a handful of bread to survive," he pried his eyes from the fork and grinned at them, "and they need buckets of it."

Brody felt like saying "whatever," but smiled at his sister instead and walked away. But this time, Smiley grabbed his arm, squeezed it and smiled.

"Your Momma said anything about me?"

Brody felt his lungs turn cold. That reminded him, Momma did ask about him, and she did want him to come over. He contemplated telling Smiley. And then it occurred to him (as strongly as the slap from earlier) that he couldn't lie. Momma would find out. She always does. Smiley would eventually turn up to the trailer, and then Momma would ask him if he'd asked. She would then take her frustration out on Pippa.

"I want go." Pippa said.

Brody felt his stomach drop. However, he didn't give anything away on his face. "She did say something about, if, you'd want to come–"

"Great!" He slapped him on the shoulder. "Tell her I'll be over tonight and that I'll bring some good food."

Brody didn't respond. He took his sister's hand and walked toward the exit. The woman with the trucker's hat lifted her cup at them and grinned. The doorbell tinged.

The sun above the building in front of them blinded their eyes. As white lines dissipated, Pippa grabbed his arm. "He's not really coming, is he?"

Brody looked over her head. People were back in their cars. The concave of onlookers was gone from the station as well. There were a few pockets of people idling, talking, but no fists. An engine rumbled. A red pickup truck, with a missing side mirror, rode past. The man, who had a beard as long as his arm, looked at them and flicked a cigarette out. Brody looked at the cigarette and then at his body. "Dammit."

"What is it?"

"Go stand there. I'll be right back," Brody said. He went back into the diner. The woman with the trucker's hat was gone, and so was the woman behind the counter. He saw a family of five at the back. The man, must be the father, was telling jokes. They all giggled and laughed. Brody smiled, but it was a hallow smile. Around the corner he saw Smiley cleaning a table. He walked past hoping that he wouldn't–

"Big man, you're back!"

Brody continued walking. "I'm just getting–"

"You looking for this?"

He glanced and saw what he was looking for. Smiley held the bear by its nose. Brody looked at Smiley's other hand. He was holding a plastic bag full of rubbish, and in it, two Starbucks cups.

Smiley dug his arm inside and pulled out the cup, which was leaking a steady stream of brown. "You want this as well?"

As if on cue to annoy Brody further, a fly the size of pebble came coughing over his head. He swatted at it. "No. Just the bear."

He held his arm out.

"Thanks–"

He jerked the toy away. "Where did you get it?"

"None of your business. Give me–"

His mouth was a constant smile, thin lips stretched wide. "Or what, big man?"

Brody wasn't stupid. He knew where this was going and felt his stomach drop further. He wasn't going to give it. He could see it on his facial expression. That bony nose of his said it all. Brody tried something different, "Please, Smiley, just give it."

"Not till you tell me where you got it from."

"I stole it okay – there, you happy?"

He frowned. "Am I happy? Son, your Daddy would kill himself all over again if he found out what his son had turned into." Brody clenched his fists, not because of anger, but because he felt like crying. Smiley put his hand on his shoulder and caressed it. "I tell you what, big man. I'm going to do your mommy good tonight, and then I'll give Pippa the bear myself. How 'bout it?"

Brody felt a sting in his eye. He brushed his arm and walked away. He could hear the laughter of a man he hated with all his heart, echoing. Before leaving the diner, he went into the toilet.

The pebble fly must've followed him. It was that, or it was the fly's cousin because this one was just as fat and hairy and noisy. The room stank of feces and had a powerful urine stench. The toilet flushed, the door smacked open, and a man with a belly the size of a car wheel waddled out. He wiped snot, which was leaking into his mouth, and glanced at Brody. It was when the man glanced up that Brody saw how white his face was. His cheeks were puffed up like a blowfish, and they had purple veins bulging like a pit of worms. He grabbed his mouth and coughed. Coughed so loud that it sounded like a bomb explosion. He coughed again. He knelt. Coughed again. Saliva seeped through the slits of his fingers. While he knelt, and while he had both hands on his mouth, he reached for the wall with his one arm and kept the other planted on his lips.

"You okay, mister?"

He craned his spine up and released his mouth. A puddle of saliva fell. It had blood in it. He nodded. "I'm good as they get," he said with a touch of humor, "thank y–" he arched forward – grabbed his knees – and coughed.

"Maybe I should get some help." Brody watched in horror as the man began coughing streams of blood. He grabbed toilet paper from the wall and held his arm out. "Here, take this."

The man swiped his arm, knocking the roll away. Brody picked it up, thinking that the man did it by accident, and tried giving it again. The purple veins began swirling around his cheeks as if they had a life of their own. Brody swallowed. The man shot his arm back again, knocking the roll away for a second time. He fell to his knees and began crying, murmuring words of pain. Brody jumped for the door. The man grabbed his shin; the man grabbed it so quick and with such force that it startled Brody into screaming.

"Let me get you help, mister." He tried wiggling his leg loose. "You're hurting me!"

The man didn't respond to his cry. Instead, he whispered in pain, "My chest – help." He looked up. The dim light painted his face a yellowy bronze. The veins were moving around, Brody thought. They were now in his neck. "Think. Heart – tack."

"So let me go get you help!" The man let go of his leg. Brody stumbled backward against the sink. "Just stay where you are; I'll be back in second." Brody felt sick – the way the man frowned at him made him think (made him know) that he was in serious trouble.

The door closed behind. "Man in toilet needs help!" Brody shouted. A few faces turned, including Smiley, and then they went back to doing whatever they were doing. Brody licked his lips and scratched his head. He looked at Smiley, felt his stomach drop again. He looked at the ceiling; a fan was throwing away dust motes as he felt his stomach drop further. The only people that seemed to care were a family of rich people at the back; they looked at him like he was a terrorist kid about to blow himself up. Brody licked his lips again. He scratched his head again. He thought about the man in the toilet and knew he needed help. He ran to the till.

"Whatcha scaring the folks for, boy?" she said. She turned the till around and started wiping grime.

"You need to call ambulance, you need to go help the man in the toilet, you need to help, he's real–"

She held her hand up, twirled gum in her mouth, and blew a bubble. Pop. "Is he white or black?"

The question caught him off-guard. He had to think about it. "He's – he's white. Why?"

She stuck her whole hand into her mouth and scraped. "Hate it when that happens." She pulled out a string of dirty-pink gum. She lowered her voice. "Is he in town or outa town person?"

A hand gripped Brody's shoulder.

"Ah, good, there you are." She stuck the gum back into her mouth. "You know this boy, dontcha?"

"Sure do," Smiley said.

"Yeah thought so – you know – seen you playing with his Momma." She shook her head at Brody. "I got work to do." She walked away and blew a bubble.

"What's got into you?" He tapped Brody's shoulders again. "Hey – said what's got into you? You want to get me fired for saying bad things to poor..."

... Brody wasn't listening to him, heard his voice as a distance echo. Brody was too busy looking out the window at his sister, still standing outside – not alone. Suddenly, he forgot all about the man in the toilet. He could feel acid swirling in his stomach.

"... you listening to me?"

Brody glanced at him and said in a flat voice, "I'll see you at the trailer tonight." He then walked out.

Standing around his sister was four men. Jalop was one of them. He held his sister's shoulder and had a grimace plastered around his lips. Brody then knew leaving his sister alone outside was a mistake. He glanced down the road in hopes that there would be people, but most of the cars were gone now and only a sliver of metal remained far away. He thought about the man in the bathroom and how he coughed blood onto the floor and how he grabbed his leg, asking for help. He looked at his sister. She had her shoulders slumped and eyes focused on her toes. He put on a brave face and stepped forward.

"What do you want?" Brody asked.

Jalop pointed his soil-stained nails. "Whole town going crazy and you two sitting in the diner eating."

"We weren't eating."

"You and I have some unfinished business, kid." He removed his belt. "So what it going to be." He ran his finger along the dusty leather. "Either she's getting it or–"

"No." He stepped onto the road. "She's got nothing to do with this." He saw a tear sparkle down her nose. "I'll go with you."

Jalop put his hand on her head. He looked at the belt in his hand. He looked at the sun above. He then looked at the gas station down the road. He looked back at the belt. "Run along, girl."

She wrapped her arms around herself and gave herself a hug. Her eyes rolled up.

"Do as he says," Brody said.

"That's right," Jalop said. "Listen to your brother. Go now."

She looked up at the sky and squinted. "What, home?"

"Yes," Brody said.

Her eyes widened. "But, the forest. I don't want to."

He forgot all about the forest as well. He looked at the gas station. A woman was filling her car, on her cell laughing. "Pippa, you know the way. You'll be fine. I'll see you back at the trailer."

"No!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Jalop laughed. He cracked his belt – it startled her.

"Just take the long way round," Brody said. "It's fine." It wasn't fine. He thought about the birds and could hear them falling all over again. The pinkish rocks. The thump, thump, thump. How the mother bird darted down and finished the killing. How she pinned and ripped. Brody shook his head. Pippa was gone. He glanced to his side and saw her trotting away with her chin down.

Jalop opened his arms. "Come, kid. I promise it'll be over soon. Very fuckin' soon."

8

He heard himself breathe. Except, at first, he didn't know whose breathing it was. The only thing he knew was that he didn't like the sound of that person's breathing. It sounded like a stone whetting a sword. When it dawned on him that the hoarse breathing was his own, the only thing he wanted to do was open his eyes. He tried and failed. Everything was dark around him. A curse from hell. He was sent to the darkest corners of his imagination, he thought. But for what? What did he do to deserve something like this? Was it because he stole cookies from a jar when he was little? Or was it because he once smacked his sister on the shoulder?

He tried opening his eyes again. It worked. He saw hazy black; he saw it all around him. He swallowed. His spit tasted of blood; he didn't swallow saliva – he swallowed a bucket of salt. His hazy vision tried correcting itself. He was trying to forage fragmented memories, but the only thing he could remember was the man in the bathroom.

Think. Heart – tack,

My chest – help,

The man cried. How the veins in his cheeks moved around like slithering snakes. How he spilled blood from his mouth. Brody remembered how the man looked up at him, how the bathroom light painted his face a sickly yellow, and how he didn't want him to leave–

Brody tried sitting up. He managed to raise his body halfway and then fell onto something soft. But there was something wrong; thinking about it turned his spine into a long, brittle icicle. His back was completely soaked with liquid – and not any liquid. It was warm and sticky. It made sliding left to right easy. He knew what it was without needing to look. He could smell the copper. It was blood. His back was full of blood, and his back was on fire.

He didn't have the energy to cry. He channeled the energy he did have into opening his eyes. The hazy black disappeared and was replaced by a ceiling. It was nighttime, he thought. It was either that or he was locked in a very dark room. He glanced to his side and saw a bedside table. On it was a clock that said it was ten past midnight. Brody began to chuckle. Stupid clock. It couldn't be that late. His chuckles turned into sobs of pain. He glanced to his other side where he saw a tattered wall. There was a painting askew. It was of a cowboy drinking beer; the letters said DRINK UP, BABY. Brody's head hurt. He tried remembering what had happened and then memories flushed in. He remembered the beating. He remembered the laughter. He remembered Jalop howling, "That'll teach you." He remembered the belt on his backside. He remembered being thrown in here. And most important of all, he remembered the screaming that came afterward.

Brody rolled off the bed. He landed on his face and grunted. He slapped a hand on the bed and pulled himself up. There was a window not far from him draped with a bed sheet. He looked at the door, he looked at the window, and then he looked at a cracked mirror. He walked toward it, every step another lash on his back. His face looked distorted in the mirror; he looked like one of the aliens in his comic books.

He touched his back and winced. He looked at his red hand and shook his head. They lashed him well. He touched his back again and felt ridges of open skin. He slid his shirt off. At first he was too afraid to turn, too afraid to look, and then he mustered enough courage.

He didn't need any light to see the whip marks; they were thick black lines that crisscrossed everywhere. He shook his head and decided that he was going to kill them. He tried turning on the light. Nothing. Just a flick. He walked over to the window and removed the sheet. Moonlight spilled inside and painted the floor a wispy white. He clicked the latch and pushed the window open. And then he heard screaming. It was the faintest sound, and it must've been far away, but it was definitely screaming. He tried leaning his head out, but the window slit was too small. He breathed moonlit air; the night was crispy cool and tasted of dew. He cocked his head to one side and listened to the screaming. It faded away. Maybe he was imagining it, he thought.

The door wasn't locked.

"Hello?" The hallway was pitch black. He tried saying hello again, but there was no response. He had to use the wall for guidance as he walked down. He heard the roof crack; it was the sound of metal cooling.

"Anyone here?" he asked, standing on top of the stairs. He squinted and saw a table he recognized. He was at the sheriff's. Confusion struck Brody. What was he still doing in town? Staircase cracked. Did they beat him up until he was unconscious and leave him in the room? A hunch in his stomach told him it was so.

He picked up a glass from the table and took a sip. He spat out the alcohol or whatever it was. He wiped his mouth and walked around the corner. He heard a fridge buzz and saw a person looking at him through a window in the corner. The person outside disappeared. It happened so quick that he stood there for a few seconds pondering if what he saw was actually a person or just a fleeting shadow – maybe from a tree outside. He tried turning on the kitchen's light. It didn't work. He opened the fridge and had to squint. He saw a bottle of water and grabbed it. The icy liquid spilling down his throat felt good. He wiped his lips and looked behind.

"Hello?" he asked. He had heard a door close. He looked at the window behind him and walked toward it. It was open. He leaned his head out. It was the backyard. He could see a few trees. A few bushes. Could hear water trickling into a pond. He looked up at the starry sky and couldn't see the moon directly, but he could hear strange things in the distance. Again, it was the sound of screaming. Faint screaming. He didn't know why, but he had the strongest urge to close the window, which he did. He turned around–

"Is anyone here?" He scratched under his chin. This must be some kind of nightmare; he should be back at the trailer with Pippa and Magna. The thought made his stomach tickle with anger. He thought about what Smiley had said earlier,

Son, your Daddy would kill himself all over again if he found out what his son had turned into,

Tell you what, big man. I'm going to do your mommy good tonight, and then I'll give Pippa the bear myself. How 'bout it?

He hoped with all his heart Pippa got home safe, and that Smiley didn't go to see Momma. If there is one thing that Brody didn't like – not one bit – it was leaving his sister alone with Momma and that skinny bone. His hands turned into fists just thinking about it.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" he asked himself. He had to make sure. He pinched his arm and felt a shot of pain. Then he felt a cold whisper on his neck. He frowned. The window was closed, he thought. He turned. The contents of his stomach, which weren't much, swirled around. His heart began to gallop. Fear was starting to set; each second that went by was another layer. If this wasn't a dream, then what the hell was he still doing in town at midnight?

It was cold outside, colder than he expected, and there was not a single cloud in the night sky, not a single breeze. The stars were restless. Some flickered on and off while others remained still, a constant bright. Brody tasted fear, and it tasted as cold as the bottle of water he had from the fridge. He didn't waste any time in idling and began walking down the road. For some strange reason, he didn't mind walking in town in the middle of the night. For some strange reason, he didn't mind the marks on his back. But what he did strongly mind, and his thumping heart agreed with, was being all alone in town. He walked around the corner and saw Fred's Fries; that's when he realized he wasn't alone. Under a street lamp were four people around a body on the ground. They were trying to help the person up. He could hear one of them cry, and one of them say, "It'll be fine. Hold on." Brody began walking toward them. Fear washed away from his skin. He felt his shoulders slump, and he felt his tongue rest. He never knew people could make him feel so happy. He began thinking about what to say. They were going to ask him about his lash marks, and there were a few marks that ran out his shirt and down his neck.

The streetlamp formed a perfect circle of dim-yellow light around them, and it painted their backsides a ghostly color. "Excuse me," Brody said. He heard the woman cry. She was holding the man's hand and telling him that it'd be fine – to just hold on. The standing ones shook their heads side to side. "Sorry, excuse me." Brody walked closer. He was trying to see what shape the man was in on the ground. They were blocking his view; it was like a wall of bodies watching a schoolyard fight. He wanted to speak again, and he wanted to ask them for help, but he wiggled his head between them instead. He felt his tongue go raw. He heard himself gulp. While he felt the warmth on his cheeks from the people on either side, he gulped again.

"Don't worry," the woman said. "It'll be okay." She stuck her hand into the man's head and scooped a string of bleeding brain as if she was scooping a bowl of sweeties. She licked her fingers. It reminded Brody of a KFC advert he once saw, IT'S FINGER LICKIN' GOOD. He felt his head begin to shake, and then he glanced up at the people next to him. The person on his right had no cheeks, no nose, and grinned a perfect smile. The person on his left had cheeks, had a nose, but no mouth. He cocked his head toward Brody and tried to smile with no lips; red water spilled through toothless jaw.

"Want some?" she asked, holding up a handful of head. "It sure is nice."

Brody screamed and bumped into a wall – of body.

"My stomach hurts," a voice said behind.

"Mine too," another.

"I'm. Hungary," another.

Brody glanced and saw eyes staring at his throat. Tongues swung like pendulum clocks and dripped saliva. The moon behind them painted their silhouettes silver, which made them look like temporary angels. Brody walked backward and bumped into soft flesh.

"Watch – going."

"Want some?" the woman asked. "It sure is nice."

Brody swallowed a scream and grabbed his mouth, making sure to cover his nose. He could smell them. They smelled like milk that had gone off. He swallowed another scream. His body spurted so much adrenaline that it made him feel dizzy. Every inch of his skin told him to run but he couldn't. His feet had turned into ice, and it was heavy. His icy feet shattered into a hundred shards when a hand touched his shoulder; he knew from the way the fingers wrapped around that it was time to leave. He choked on screams and stumbled away. He tripped. He got up. He glanced behind and saw them following.

"Go away!" He wiped mucus from his nose. "I said go away!" They looked at each other confused, as if the kid in front of them spoke a different language. The faster he walked, the faster they walked. He wiped his hair, which plastered his forehead, and looked behind him. They were still following. He began to jog. And it was when he began to jog that Satan blew his fiery pistol – The race was on! Satan chortled.

The people howled sickening screams, the people slapped their heads left to right, and the people shot forward – running as fast as their legs were able. Brody wasn't jogging anymore; he was running for his life. He disappeared around the corner and knew it was only a matter of–

They burst around the corner – five of them – six of them – seven of them. Their hollers sounded like underwater screaming. Some of them fell. Some of them stumbled over each other. Some of them galloped over faces.

Brody glanced behind, back forward (instinctively dodging a pole), and glanced behind again. They were nearing him. They had their arms stretched. They were going to kill him. Rip his skin off with their nails. He bit his lips and tried running faster. It was working – he thought. He was going to get away. He wiped a waterfall of sweat from his forehead and ran around another corner. There was a door in the distance; it was hard to tell if it was open. Town looked awfully different during the night: shutters were drawn, shadows crawled over walls, cars stood idle and cold, and a sense of aliveness depleted.

The door was closed; chains snaked around the lock. Must've been the moonlight that fooled him. Suddenly, his throat felt dry and sick. He could hear them nearing the wall, and he knew he wouldn't be able to run for much longer, so he did the only thing he could think of. He crawled under a car...

While he wiggled his body under pipes, a stream of legs ran past. He dug his chin into the soil beneath and shut his eyes. He began screaming in his mind; he tried blocking out all the horrible squealing running past. He stopped screaming in his mind when he felt fingers touch his ankle; it felt wet, he thought, wet fingers. He cocked his head back as far as he could. In his peripheral, he didn't see any fingers. It was the wind tickling his foot, that, and a bit of soil. He smiled. He smiled as far as his lips would allow. And then he began chuckling as the screams faded into the night.

9

The pipes above his head made noise. Tapping noise. He woke up and felt soil beneath his chin. Hot. He coughed, and then he felt sick in the chest for making noise, but it was fine. He thought. He cocked his head back and scanned the area from a ground's perspective. He couldn't see any legs, he couldn't hear any screaming, and he couldn't smell any rotten milk. He heard the tapping noise again. The car was baking under the heat. He felt the back of his neck tickle. He tried reaching it but couldn't.

"Kid, you better make a run for it," the ant said. It crawled over Brody's hand. Its antennas wiggled. "That's what I'm doing, running."

"Easy for you," Brody said. He looked at the ant walk into the blanket of sunlight. He scanned the area again. He couldn't see anything. The lack of people made him nervous. Spit trundled down his barren throat as he tried to swallow. He was going to cough – but stopped himself. The pain on his back was slowly emerging; it was waking up with him and telling him, "Rise and shine, baby." Brody was so focused at looking around him that he failed to notice his bladder breaking; hot liquid slid down his legs. He frowned and imagined it to be a dirty orange color. He knew it was orange because that's what orange urine smelled like, and that is what it felt like, hot and sticky.

Five minutes later, he pushed himself out. The sun slapped him in the face. He arched his hand over his eyes and glanced around. The red pickup truck he saw yesterday stood in the middle of the road not far from him. Its windows were shattered, its wheels punctured, and if Brody wasn't mistaking, there was an arm over the steering wheel. He looked at the building nearest to him. A banner hung askew and said SALLY'S BEAUTY PARLOR. He recognized the place because there was a girl that worked there that he thought was pretty. She had long blonde hair, which he thought looked tasty, and small green eyes that made her look–

"What are you still doing here?" the ant asked. Its antennas wiggled "Did you piss yourself?"

This was a different ant, he thought. Or maybe it was the same one. "Yes, I couldn't help it. I'm leaving now."

"Good." The ant began walking away. "Because they are coming."

As if on cue, a scream travelled over the buildings. It was a different type of scream – not like the ones he had heard last night. This scream sounded normal. Brody's body made the decision for him – he began running toward the red pickup truck.

He was right. It was an arm. An arm with a dozen flies buzzing around it. And just an arm. No body. Dizziness struck Brody behind the head. He held his throat and felt acid bubbling up. Dizziness grabbed Brody by the shoulders and spun him. The acid made its way into his mouth and then spilled against the truck's door. While his empty stomach emptied itself, he looked at the arm again. There were flies running across it. There were flies sitting on the stumpy bit with all the veins poking out. Brody grabbed the door for support (feeling wet on his hand) and looked at the floor. He took deep breaths in and out. He had to get himself under control. He had to act like a man and not a kid. He had to think like his father. What would he do? How would he act? Would he be puking like a sissy boy? Brody wiped his mouth. No. Father would be thinking of a plan, and that is what he needed to do. He heard the wind howl, or maybe it was screams. He looked at Sally's Beauty Parlor and then back at the truck. He grabbed his mouth and opened the door. He climbed inside and began looking for anything he could use. While flies buzzed over his eyes, he saw a cell on the floor. He looked at the red, glossy arm, and imagined the flies picking it up and using it as a puppet. He looked the other way and reached down – and screamed. The arm slithered off the wheel and onto his shoulder; flies jumped off and went crazy, tickling his neck.

Brody stumbled out and shut the door. The flies opted to stay indoors with their arm. Even though his arms were shaking and head was hurting, and even though he felt dazed to the point of passing out, he felt a little excited. He's never had a cell before – not like this one. This was a rich person's cell. He looked for the buttons on it and saw none. "Dammit, how do you turn this thing on?" He shook the cell (he knew it wouldn't do anything; he felt doing it) and saw a small button on top. He pressed it down. The screen flashed on and said SLIDE TO UNLOCK at the bottom. He did what the cell asked him and saw color pop. He pressed the call button and dialed 911. It didn't take long for a woman to answer – Brody turned the phone around – he heard her better. He told the woman that he was in trouble and that there were people dead everywhere. He told her about the arm in the truck, and he told her about the people that had chased him. She cut him off mid-sentence, her voice almost annoyed as if he was wasting her time, and she told him he'd better turn on the TV and get the latest, and that she will take his request onboard and see what she can do. He tried telling her that he's far from home and–

The phone beeped. Brody didn't understand. He thought 911 people were helpful; he had seen countless movies where the operator goes, "We'll be right over," but this woman seemed out of breath. He wanted to call again, but he thought about what she had said, that she'd take this request onboard. He tucked the cell into his pocket and almost felt bad for stealing something so expensive, but the man in the truck wouldn't be needing it anymore. He looked up at the sun and squinted. He heard gunfire far away, with it, screams. He looked at his wet, sticky trousers and felt an itch between his legs. He ignored it and began walking down the road. He needed to get to the trailer. Thinking about it made him feel dizzy all over again. He hadn't thought about Pippa for a while and didn't know if he wanted to. If anything had happened to her, he'd never forgive himself. He thought about his Momma and hoped she was okay, too. He thought about Smiley and hoped he was dea–

No. He hoped Smiley was okay, too. His father always said, wishing harm against others only hurts the person wishing it in the end, or something like that, but his father was a smart man so he'd take his word.

He held the side of the building and peeked. He saw a few bodies on the floor and a lot of cracked windows. In the middle of the road, there were two cars kissing bumper to bumper with all doors open. For some reason looking at this made him think of the people that had chased him. He needed to get back to the forest – he needed to get back to Pippa.

But she's dead, a voice in his head said. Smiley had his way with your Momma and then his way with Pippa. You can forget all about that teddy bear – it's probably covered in blood by now.

Brody pushed his thoughts away and stepped out in the open and stopped.

"Help!" a woman screamed. She stumbled from a café down the road. She held her bleeding arms and franticly glanced around. When she didn't see anyone she screamed for help again. "Anyone out here!" Brody found himself stepping backward and behind the wall. He wrapped his fingers around the sunbaked wall and peeked. Her arms were bleeding pretty bad.

"Please, anyone," she cried. She fell to her knees. "I have my baby in there. I need help!" She had expensive clothes on, Brody thought. He glanced behind when he heard footsteps – a lot of them. A stampede. He didn't know where it was coming from, but they were coming. He looked at the woman. She stood up and looked around. Her face said it all. She knew what was coming. Brody could hear her murmur, "Please – my baby." He glanced behind one more time to make sure there was no behind and held his arm out toward the woman.

"Come here," Brody said. She didn't hear him. Her attention was elsewhere – at somebody else – another man. Somebody else was trying to help her. He was tiptoeing toward her with a knife. He kept looking around him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her away, but she insisted that she had to get her baby. The man told her they were coming. And then Brody witnessed horror in its purest form. He dug his nails into the wall as he watched the woman turn from helpless victim to devil's little puppet. She jumped on the man's back and jammed her mouth into his neck. The man screamed, but it was over quick. His neck squirted blood – he tried swinging his knife around – and then he fell down. The woman chuckled and continued tearing pieces from his neck. Brody didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think, so he just stared. He heard running, he heard hollers, and then a group of hungry-looking people stormed down the road. They fell to their knees and joined the feast. Brody recognized one of them; he worked at the gas station. He still had his blue cap with the letters TJ on. His name was Mark, and Mark didn't pump gas anymore.

Brody heard breathing behind him. He then felt hot breath puff against his neck – arms shot around his face and covered his mouth.

"Don't make a sound," he said. Brody kicked as hard as he could. The hand squeezed his mouth harder. "I said – don't." A few seconds later. "I'm going to leave your mouth now, and if you make too much sound they'll hear you, so don't." The hand slid off. Brody turned. He instantly recognized the man, a gut feeling, but couldn't remember where from. He was good looking in a TV-anchor-man kind of way and was big enough to probably throw a few men around. His face was matted with dirt and a hint of red.

"What's going on?" Brody asked.

"Wish I knew." They both glanced to their sides when they heard a thump. "We can't be in the open like this, need to get inside."

"I need to get out of here," Brody said. He turned and peeked. The people were still ripping off flesh. He shook his head. "I need to get to the forest."

He put his hand on his shoulder. "Are you mad?"

Brody could hear them chortling while eating. He was mad, he thought. "My sister, I need to get to her."

"Who, Pippa?"

Brody frowned and glanced. "You know my sister?"

He pointed to a building not far away. "Let's get inside. We can't be standing in the open."

As if on cue, a barrage of screams came from down the road; sounded like violin strings snapping. Brody felt a chill rub his chest, and by the man's facial expression, fear rubbed his chest as well. Brody nodded.

They climbed through the shattered window. Glass cracked under their feet. Brody stepped over boxes of cereal and canned food. He saw a fridge down the aisle and on the ground, bottles of milk. He walked toward it.

"Hey where–"

Brody fell to his knees and licked the floor. He grabbed a bottle. He tipped it up and let the goodness of white wash down. He heard his stomach grunt. While swallowing a stream of white, he saw a body in his peripheral. He slowly lowered the bottle and glanced. It was a woman, maybe the storekeeper. She lay on her side with mouth open. The milk, under her head, had turned into red stripes and red splotches. To his surprise, he ignored it and continued sipping milk until the bottle was empty.

"You finished?"

"Almost." Brody said. He stepped over the body and looked for anything to eat. There were cans in the next aisle leaking tomato soup and corn. He ignored them and went over to the ones still standing up. He chose the one with corn and grabbed a loaf of bread.

"Now?"

The voice startled Brody, but he turned around as if he was fine. "Yes. Let's go." While they walked up a flight of stairs, Brody attacked the bread and dipped it into the can. "Where do I know you from?"

He tried opening a door. "You don't remember–" The door budged forward "–something's blocking–" He used his shoulder "–damn door." Brody put the can down and helped him. The door opened a bit more. And then it swiped open with a thump. They stumbled inside. Brody winced when he saw what blocked the door. A body. An old man with little hair and a dark blue face. Brody saw a rope around his neck.

"He killed himself." Brody said.

"Saw scratch marks on the door," he said. "Probably killed himself before they killed him." He walked over to a computer and tapped the keyboard. The screen remained black.

"So, you going to tell me your name?"

"Rillan." He tapped the keyboard again. "You don't remember me?"

Brody fetched his bread and can. He stuck his hand into the watery soup. "I do."

"Knew your father," he said. "He was a good man. Still can't believe he..."

"Killed himself?" He licked corn water from his fingers and stuffed his mouth with bread. "Neither can I." Brody walked over to a bookshelf and saw a lot of dusty covers. He licked his hands clean, licked his lips, and pulled out a Herman Melville book. He looked at the cover. He slid the book back into its slot and brushed his hand on his trousers.

"Rillan, you have any idea what's going on?"

He gazed at the window with a joyless expression. His expression said two things: I wish I knew, and I've seen things I wish I haven't. "I had business to attend. Came here. Then." He shook his head, and continued searching the table.

While Brody churned bread in his mouth, he lingered his gaze on Rillan. Yes, he thought. He remembered now. He once saw Rillan and his father sharing a joke, but it was a long time ago, a time when he was still learning to walk. The memory was misty, cluttered in fragments of time.

"You know Magna?"

He rolled his eyes up and pressed his lips together. "Yeah, how is she?"

Brody licked corn syrup from his fingers, put the can down, and went over to the window. A hundred dust motes danced around a blanket that covered the window. He tugged it, and it didn't need much tugging to come crashing down. A hundred dust motes multiplied into five hundred; they washed across the floor and bounced back up and colored the air with glitters. Brody coughed and coughed some more.

"You okay?"

"Y-es–" his throat tickled "–I'm fine." He looked outside. "Damn rug – it's like it's been stuck in this room for five years."

Rillan chuckled and slapped papers down. "You sound just like your old man."

Brody squinted away from the window. While turning his head, and in his peripheral, he caught a glimpse of Rillan pulling a strange facial expression, as if he had said the wrong thing. Rillan went back to searching the table. Brody felt a tingle of confusion. Rillan said it like his father was still alive. He thought the thought foolish, and he let it go, but the insides of his stomach scratched at him.

Brody did the only thing he could think of; he chuckled. "You said it like my dad's still alive." Brody laughed some more (so that he didn't seem crazy) and looked away but kept Rillan in his peripheral to gauge his reaction. Brody swallowed; the scratch in his stomach scratched up toward his heart. He saw a glimpse of guilt on Rillan's face – then it disappeared into a normal expression.

He stuck his hand under the table. "See anything outside?"

"No. Not a–"

They both looked up, startled. Music screamed. It was heavy rock, and the man raping the guitar shouted BABY BABY BABY BABY WAIT!

Rillan looked at Brody, and Brody looked at himself. He stuck his hand into his trousers and pulled the cell.

"Turn it off!"

"I-darn I," he tapped everywhere on the screen. The ringtone disappeared; a voice answered. He put the cell on his ear, "Hello?"

This is an automated message from the government of America. Please, do not hang up. Please, do not hang up. As of now, a quarter to three, July the fifth, all inbound and outbound calls will be disabled. Due to unforeseen circumstances, and due to the recent freak outbreak, government has declared a full-scale Martial Law across America. Do not exit your home. Do you not travel by car. Do not come in contact with people. Do not try and contact for help. Do not panic. Please keep up with the latest via any electronic available. Please lock all doors. Please wait for armed personnel. Please stay calm. This is an automated message from the government of America. Please, do not hang up. Please, do not–

Brody lowered his hand.

"Shit." Rillan said. "Everything's going sour." He continued tapping under the table. "A lot of people are going to," wood snapped, "die."

"What's Martial Law?"

He pulled out a little box, which reminded Brody of a radio he once saw in a war movie on TV. "Think of it as a big curfew for everyone."

"What's in your hand?"

"It's a beacon."

Brody put the cell on the windowsill and frowned. "A beacon for what?"

He dusted the sides and then kissed it. "Thank you, God," he said to the ceiling. "Come, Brody. Let's go." He walked over and grabbed his arm.

Brody jerked his arm away. "What is going on?"

He shook his head and peeked out the window. "Let's get out of here first."

"Okay, and, to where?"

Rillan smiled. "To a safe place."

Brody folded his arms. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Shit." He leaned away from the window and then leaned back in. "We've got zombies incoming."

He shook his head. Zombies? He laughed.

Rillan looked at him. One look was all it took–

–to make Brody remember. To make him remember about the things he had seen. The arm, with its parade of partying flies, dangling over the steering wheel. The woman who licked her fingers and chuckled, "Want some? It sure is nice." The mob of frenzied hollers chasing him. The people with no cheeks. The people with no noses. The rivers of blood. And the woman who cried "Help – my baby" and then ate a man's neck.

A shadow walked over Brody's feet. He reached for the wall. He heard Rillan say something, but it sounded distant. He couldn't control his head. He felt his hands get clammy. He felt beads of sweat run down his neck. He opened his mouth and said something, but he didn't think Rillan heard him. He tried again, "I – I need." The windowsill turned into crayon gray. "I need to find my sister–" he said, forcing his words out. And then he collapsed.

10

Who's the kid? a voice thundered.

Phen's son.

Didn't know he had a son.

He doesn't like to talk about it.

So, what, you taking the kid back to him?

I take it the kid hasn't opened the pocket watch.

Brody felt his cheeks bob, and then he heard soil spit. He was moving. Maybe a car. He slowly opened his eyes, the hazy gray still around him, making sure not to make any sound. He swallowed. He was on the backseat. Rillan was sitting in front with the beacon. There was another man, the driver, in printed clothing. Brody saw Rillan's head turn – he closed his eyes.

"Poor kid. You should see his mother."

"I've heard the stories," he chuckled. "Don't have to tell me."

Brody contemplated opening his eyes; he imagined Rillan to still be staring.

"We've got trouble," the guy said. "Two o'clock."

"It's okay, we've got this." Brody opened his eyes so that he could see what "we've got this" was. Rillan was pointing at the beacon on his lap. "But just to make sure, drive slowly."

"Look at them. Turkey on a boat."

"Don't be fooled, Rick. They may seem docile, but–" he flicked his thumb "–they can turn like that."

"I know. Gives me the creeps when they do." The car began speeding up. "We need to fill this baby up before we head out. Know where?"

"There's a gas station just a few blocks from here. Turn left."

Brody opened his eyes again. There was a Santa Claus toy with a gun dangling from the rearview mirror. The seats were a glossy black leather. The windows were tinted a misty charcoal gray. Brody lifted his sticky cheek from the leather and put it back down, and then he closed his eyes. He thought about the only person that mattered to him, his sister. He imagined her to be either lying in her own pool of blood or to be running around in the forest with her arms up and screaming. He felt his blood turn cold. If she was dead, then he was going to kill himself because he had always promised her protection; however, when he thought about his mother, he had mixed feelings, and he felt guilty for thinking like that.

"There," Rillan said. "Fill her up good. It's going to be a long trip."

The car stuttered. "You're climbing out with me, you know that right?" Leather snapped. "Take that. You're protecting me while I fill her up."

"And how do I use this?"

Brody opened his eyes into two little slits. He saw Rillan holding a mean-looking gun.

"For a smart guy, you're pretty dumb." The car slowed. "You press that. That'll take the safety off, and then you point it if anything attacks us or runs toward us or makes funny noises like agh-ragh-ragh, and then you hold down that lever over–"

"I get it. Let's be quick."

The car stopped. "What about the kid?"

"What about him? Look at him, he's out cold."

"Maybe we should use him as bait." The driver chuckled. "Christ, don't look at me like that, I'm only joking." The door opened. Closed. Another opened. Closed.

Brody opened his eyes. He saw eyes looking back at him and felt the air leave his lungs. It was the reflection of Rillan walking past the windshield. He sat up and looked around him. The pain in his body didn't feel as bad anymore. He stretched his shoulders and saw the key in the ignition. He also saw the beacon on the passenger seat, that strange dome-like box. He looked closer and saw a red arrow pointing up its side with bold letters OPEN WITH CARE. He peeked over the dashboard and saw Rillan looking around nervously and holding the rifle close to his chest. On the other side was the man in printed uniform, smiling.

"You know how to drive, don't you?" Brody nodded. Press down a few peddles, look over the dashboard, look in the rearview mirror when reversing, and put on a brave face. He looked at the beacon and then at the ignition and then over the dashboard. Rillan was pointing. Brody glanced behind. Through the charcoal-colored window was a woman strolling down the street and looking at the clouds. Above her head, in the distance, Brody could see the forest. His eyes widened. Adrenaline as thick as paint shot through his veins. He didn't think twice – he grabbed for the door and opened it.

"Hey!" Rillan shouted. The other man just stared while pumping gas. "Don't!"

Brody shook his head. "I need to find my sister!" And then he ran. Sweat licked his forehead, and he wondered if Rillan was going to shoot him in the back; he was too scared and too pumped up with adrenaline to glance. While he ran as fast as he could, and while he dodged past a building (and still in view of the gas station), he imagined hearing a terrifying snap. He was convinced that he had been shot. He glanced; Rillan was still holding the gun, shaking his head, probably thinking that he was crazy. Maybe he was crazy, and then Brody nodded in agreement. He was crazy – crazy to find his sister.

11

Flies have infiltrated the forest; their collective buzz and whirlpool embodiment made the forest sound like a sprinkler system and look like an ill-lighted cave with pockets of light. It quickly became apparent where all (or most) of the people ran to when all of this started.

There to greet Brody into the forest, like a salesman at a supermarket door, was a woman who had once looked beautiful. She lay against a tree as if ready to climb, and would have probably done so if she had arms. Her hair was full of leaves, and one side of her face looked normal. The other, Brody couldn't bear to look. He walked past her and kept his chin high. He never knew flesh had a smell until now; he could smell it all around him.

A few feet away, two bodies crisscrossed over each other. One lay with his arms splayed out and the other with her arms splayed under. Her washed-out jeans weren't the color of white but the color of stained soil; on her behind, the letters LEVI faded under red scratches. All of this death and decay should have paralyzed Brody, but it had the strangest effect on him. His eyes saw the dead ones, but his heart didn't. It was as if his body understood that there wasn't any time to mope or, worse, feel any sympathy. A part of him understood that if he began focusing on the destruction, which was ample, that it would only multiply and hamper his movement.

Water tapped in the distance. He heard it behind a tree that was tall enough to touch the clouds. It was the mother tree of the forest, he thought. Her canopy of leaves negated the sunrays and left the floor beneath dark; it was a halo of satanic soil. The second he touched the bark, his hand smeared; it felt like touching a snail's belly. He winced and looked at his hand, a diluted maroon. He shook his head, frowned, and brushed his hand on his trousers. He walked around.

It was a lonely stream that stretched for miles. The remaining sunlight, which glittered above, painted each rock in the water a different color. Some were bronze, some were ill-green, some were a fading brown, some were azure, and some, a blackish red. Brody fell to his knees and scooped up a handful of water. He saw a face and wondered: was he ever going to be the same? His heart gave him an answer: a resounding no. How could anyone possibly go back to normality after seeing so much death and decay? He shook his head and scooped another hand of water. While he slurped, he saw the lines on his forehead. He was dirty enough to win a dirty competition. He could also see his eyes, which wobbled in the water, two black marbles. He quenched his thirst and dipped his head into the shallow pool. He rubbed his forehead with his nails and craned his neck up. Murky drops slid down his face. He closed his eyes, rubbed them, and opened. A face wobbled in the ripples below. He saw the reflection of a new person. He saw a few more lines on his cheeks and scooped more water. He rubbed his cheeks in circles; the drops spat from his fingers and played with the water below. He scooped both hands into the water and splashed his face. He felt refreshed. He was about to get up when his peripheral registered movement. A hand with a finger missing drifted past. It was as if it was a paper boat a kid had made. Brody watched the hand sail past and kept his gaze on it until it disappeared. When it was out of sight, and a dot, which looked like a piece of log, he shook his head and continued walking.

It didn't get any better across the stream. The deeper he descended into the woods, the more the ground became littered with baby birds. A pile of them lay stacked up. Brody could hear a few of them tweet, but he knew it was only his imagination toying with him, but then he doubted himself.

A chick trickled down the pile of birds. It landed on its undeveloped beak and jumped up. Its pinkish body stood on legs that didn't look like legs. It began flapping wings it didn't have and then waddled toward Brody.

"Mom ripped wings," the chick said. "Mom ripped wings," it said again. "Mom ripped wings." It continued.

Brody closed his eyes and told himself that he was seeing things. He opened his eyes and saw the chick back on the pile. He walked past, ready to defend himself if the bird decided to jump back up. It never did.

There were a few times where Brody thought he was being chased. It was the forest's stillness that frightened him the most; it was not the anticipated screams and hollers, or their bleeding mouths and frenzied eyes that made Brody's heart beat faster, but the sound of falling leaves and clacking rocks and snapping twigs – it was this, the stillness, the unknown, that made his chest ache with fear.

The leaves above were switching off their lights. Night approached. Parts of the forest had already switched off for the night. Trees were crawling with shadows. The ground had gone black. An owl crawled from its nest and waddled across the branch. It swung its head all the way around and observed the mess, but it didn't care it just did what it did best – observe.

The closer Brody got to home, the more fear he felt. A part of him began to question if coming out here was a good thing. Maybe he should've stayed with Rillan and his beacon. Maybe he should have stayed with them in the car and gone wherever they went; it would have been a lot safer and a lot easier. But he knew deep down that it would have never come to that. If Pippa was still alive – his spine ached. The word, if, made him feel sick. He couldn't even remember when he saw her last. He tried remembering, but failed. So much had happened in between, so much horror. As he looked at the trees around him, which would have scared the bravest child, he wondered if she even made it back to the trailer. If she was alive and well, do they even know of this so-called Martial Law and the things that are running around? Brody scratched the side of his arm, and then remembered when he saw her last. It was outside Fred's Fries. He told her to go back to the trailer, and she said she was too scared to travel alone in the forest. He told her that there was nothing to be afraid of. He sighed and heard twigs snap. He glanced behind and saw the forest dark. He couldn't even see the pocket of light above anymore. He saw a bird – no, not a bird, couldn't be a bird – must be an owl or a bat. It flew from tree to tree. When Brody looked back in front, he saw another one. It shot from a tree – breaking branches – and into the sky. Brody followed its black body and gazed at the heavens. The sky was a filthy orange with one or two stars. He lowered his gaze and saw a shadow in the distance. Behind a bush. Staring back. The shadow remained constant. It didn't move. An owl hooted. The shadow remained still. His facial muscles twitched. His breathing increased. For the first time he could smell the forest's scent: wet leaves and morning soil. His brain told him that he was fine and that it wasn't anything. He believed his brain, but he needed more proof.

"Who are you?" Brody asked. "I have a weapon with me if you–" Brody looked around him and up at the sky. The filthy orange was gone; the sky was now purple. Something snapped in the distance. Something loud, like a string of some sort breaking under weight. Icy lines ran down his back. He felt fear tickle up his legs. He searched for a weapon and picked up a rock. He felt like shouting. He held the rock in the air and walked forward. The problem with night, he thought, is that it brought more shadows – just like the humanoid one in front. Brody thought about his sister, his mother, and knew that they might be needing his help, so he mustered courage and jogged forward. He kept his hand high. A few feet away from the bush, the shadow disappeared – just, magically, disappeared into thin air. He knew he was in danger. He could feel his instinct telling him that being in the forest was a bad idea. It was hard to tell what was real and what was shadow. He lowered the rock and screamed. He grabbed his mouth – almost knocking himself unconscious with his own weapon.

An owl just above him, looked at him and hooted a piercing cry. Brody bit his lips and felt like throwing the stone at it, but he shook his head instead and continued walking.

Brody was ten minutes away from the trailer. He knew it was ten minutes because he had just walked past a tree he knew well. It had his name, and his sister's name, carved onto the wood. The thought of being so close to home brought no comfort. It only made it worse. He could imagine some part of his brain convincing him to turn around, and in another world, that Brody might have listened. He wouldn't blame that Brody. When he looked at the trees around him, which looked like long black nails, and when he thought about everything that had happened, the amount of pain it had caused, he wouldn't blame that Brody for running away at all. The only good thing he could think of so far was the lack of bodies and birds near his home. He hasn't seen anything for a while, which made him happy, and fearful at the same time. Because in the movies, he thought, the guy gets to the end and thinks everything is fine – and then, out of nowhere, True Horror jumps out of his little box and rattles a rusty knife.

But Brody knew stuff like that only happened in movies. In life, it's ten times worse.

He saw a wheelbarrow in the distance; he could see the metal sparkle white. It was time to prepare himself mentally. He began to jump up and down while walking, like he was warming up for a jog. He didn't know why, but he wanted his muscles warm. If anything was waiting for him, he'd be ready for it. But the hardest part, he quickly realized, wasn't the physical part – it was the mental part. His sister could be on the trailer steps, her body torn apart piece by piece – innards protruding like red bananas. He wiped his forehead. The sweat on his forehead smelled like the riverbed from earlier. He was now pulling his legs.

He stopped at the wheelbarrow and for a good reason. As he touched the cold metal, the cold wet metal, and as he looked up at the starry sky, and as he listened to the forest growling – branches snapping – owls screaming, he could see his home in the distance. He could see the top of the trailer, and behind a tree he could the side of the trailer.

12

Brody swung the door open like he didn't have a care in the world. The TV lay on its face on the floor, and around it, a crispy layer of glass. When Brody put a foot on the step and cocked his head up, a wave of stale air trundled past his cheeks. It smelled of a locker room after a gruesome game. When the stench had found new open air, and after some of it stuck on Brody's neck like bad perfume, Brody stepped inside and closed the door.

Waiting for Brody to come home was a person sitting under broken light. It wasn't Pippa, and it wasn't Magna. The person's black silhouette was bigger than a woman's body. The unknown person, he sat still. He was on the edge of the sofa, under blackened moonlight, and seemed to sit with his arms over his face. Suddenly, Brody wished he had left the trailer door open.

"Hello?" Brody said, but he didn't say anything – he said hello in his mind. For a moment, he thought the words had actually left his mouth. He chewed on his lips. A dead shadow, maybe. If only there were more light in here, and then it struck Brody hard – like a person catching himself or herself putting milk in the wrong cupboard – he hadn't tried the lights. He stepped backward, over cracked glass, and reached for the wall. His hand kissed the ragged wallpaper until he found what he was looking for: a switch. He flicked it. Ancient generators began burping and coughing in the backyard. Electricity slurped into the trailer, which sounded like rats running in drain pipes. Light flicked on but only for the briefest moment. Four flickering bursts of light, the color of morning piss, was all it took to reveal who sat in the darkest corner.

The light that had flickered made Brody's vision worse – made it all extra black. "S... miley?" Brody's arm shot back and flicked the light. Electricity was done for the night. He reached for the trailer door to let in starry light, and that's when he heard him choke broken words. It sounded like: plo-no-I-ho, but Brody's brain registered the mumble and assembled the words into order and clarity. What Smiley had said was, "Please don't go." Brody pushed the door open. Gray milk spilled across the floor; the light ran over his feet and toward the kitchen.

"Why you sitting like that? What's going on? Where's my momma?"

The early morning stillness made it sound worse; it sounded like an amateur violinist caressing first strings; he whined and burst into tears. Behind his wall of tears and sobs, he kept muttering how sorry he was. But sorry for what, Brody thought.

As if on cue to answer his thought, "Big man, so – sorry. They all dead!"

Brody rumbled into laughter; he laughed so loud that it made him laugh even louder. He stumbled across broken glass and reached for the wall. "They not dead, silly!" He wiped saliva from his lips, the byproduct of good laughter. He felt a hot tear slide down his nose and then another. "They not dead, silly!" He laughed some more.

"I couldn't save them. Pippa dead. I couldn't save them. Magna dead – blood everywhere – don't go into her room–" Smiley jumped up. "Don't!"

Brody kicked his momma's door open. Flies tickled past his face. His laughter turned silent. Her shattered window, seeping ill-moonlight, brushed the bodies on the floor a graveyard gray. A few flies, which decided to stay and lay their eggs on open flesh, made the room sound like an underwater aquarium. Brody's stomach churned. Acid grabbed his throat. He retched. He retched. And retched again. He grabbed the handle and closed the door. He stumbled backward against the wall and glanced.

"Happened?"

Smiley looked at his stomach and sniffed. "I had to kill."

"You what?"

"I had to kill them, big man."

Brody nodded at the door. "Okay." He nodded again. "Okay, kill them." He tapped the wall behind him with his fist. "Kill them. Right."

Smiley sat back down. He dipped his head between his legs and scratched his head. Brody glanced at him and actually felt sorry. Brody's heart filled with hot blood, and then the hot blood trickled over his heart and into his stomach. His body warmed up. He walked over to Smiley and put his hand onto his shoulder. The man had been crying for hours, Brody thought. His body wet with sweat. Smiley coughed saliva and carried on crying. His throat sounded hoarse. He went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard. He took out a glass and filled it under the tap; greenish water came out, but it was water. He held the glass at the rim and opened another cupboard. He picked up a knife, which he knew was blunt.

"Here you go, Smiley."

Smiley looked up, and smiled. He wiped a string of goo from his lips and took the glass. "Thank you, thank you very much." He took a long sip, looked at the floor, and shook his head. "I just. Don't know what happ–"

With all the strength Brody had left, he held the knife with both hands – and slammed it into the back of Smiley's neck. To his surprise, it slid easier into his flesh than a hot knife into butter. Smiley gargled screams and jumped up. Brody rode his rodeo bull. They swung in vicious circles, and when the glass from his hand flung against the far wall, shattering, Smiley fell on the ground.

"You did this!" Brody screamed. He pushed the knife deeper – Smiley didn't move. Brody gazed at the hot liquid on his hands and carried on pushing.

"B-B-Brody?"

With both hands on the knife, he glanced to his side. Standing there, looking pretty in red, was his sister.

END OF EPISODE ONE

About the Author

Larry Finhouse used to be a chef, until he got tired and fired for burning food. At first he thought it was the end of the world (he says, he saw fire rain from the heavens), but then an angel appeared and told him, "Stay away from oven. Write stories." He now lives in England and devotes his time to writing stories that he hopes is somewhat better than black toast.
