face was scratched from Janie’s nails. I think I had punched Texas…or maybe Carl. Janie had elbowed me in the belly and stomped on my toes. Carl had backhanded me or, more precisely, back-elbowed me. Texas was complaining that somebody had kneed him in the balls and Carl said his left shin had been laid raw.
I suppose if somebody had watched us in there with a hidden camera or something, they would have found it hilarious. Basically, four adults in a box beating the hell out of each other as they tried to kill the bugs. It reminded me of that Three Stooges episode where the boys get stuck in a phone booth together.
Anyway, it was your classic closet. No standing room, of course, with the coat rod there. It was hell being packed in like that and having to stoop over. Especially when we realized that it might be hours before the swarm got bored and moved on. They were buzzing loudly outside the door and being in the closet was like being tucked away in the cell of a bee honeycomb.
“Whose hand is on my ass?” Janie said. “Kindly remove it.”
“Where am I suppose to remove it to?” Texas Slim wanted to know. “I’m simply trying to make use of every available space for the comfort of the group, darling.”
“Leave that space alone.”
“This is bullshit,” Carl said. “We’re going to be fucking pretzels by the time we get out.”
Texas laughed. “Well, I’m betting you’ll make a really awful tasting pretzel, Carl.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck you.”
Carl shoved into me, knocking me and Janie against the wall. Texas shoved him and soon they were grappling and we were getting the worst of it. Go figure. I shoved back and Janie elbowed me and I made to push Texas and I cracked Janie alongside the head and she kicked me and Carl said we were all a bunch of fucking morons and brought his head back and nearly broke my nose.
“All right!” I finally shouted. “Knock this shit off!”
Everybody calmed a bit and we had three or four seconds of unbroken, cramped peace. Then Carl made a growling sound in his throat. “Texas? You’re jabbing me in the ass with your gun.”
“That ain’t my gun,” he said.
“You sonofabitch.”
More scuffling. I finally told them to knock it off and told Texas Slim to quit jabbing Carl with whatever he’d been jabbing him with-I didn’t want to know what-and we settled in and started waiting. The bloodsuckers were buzzing, bumping into the walls, crawling over the outside of the door and scratching at it, making those appalling sucking sounds that were terrible to hear. Carl switched on his flashlight and, sure enough, about a dozen of those proboscises had slipped through the aperture at the bottom of the door, the flared lips at the ends looking for something to attach to. We stomped them and the bloodsuckers made sharp trilling sounds, but after awhile they learned not to stick their beaks into the crack. That sweet scent they carried was so thick in the closet I thought we would asphyxiate.
We spent nearly three hours like that.
Three hours is a long time when you’re cramped and contorted. I defused a lot of fights between Carl and Texas Slim and prayed the insects would leave, but mostly I did a lot of thinking. And what I thought about most was not our predicament or the death that was held at bay by two inches of wood, but about Sean. Sean was dead. I had seen him get his brains blown out but I still couldn’t believe it. Sean who had pulled my ass out of the fryer again and again in places like Cleveland, Toledo, and Bowling Green. He was a good guy. Tough, loyal, smart, and very wise in his own way. A guy who had run guns, pushed meth and heroin, been a blood member and enforcer for the Warlocks motorcycle gang back east, and did time for armed robbery and aggravated assault…but when it was just he and I alone, I had gotten to know a side of the man no one would ever have suspected existed. A very wise and compassionate side.
“Nash,” he said one night as we sat on the shores of Lake Eerie in this little town called Vermilion. “Nash… what we gotta start doing here in this big crazy fucked up world of ours is forgetting about what we were and concentrating on what we are. The cavalry’s not coming over the hill and the U.S. Marines are just another piss- stain. The only luck we got is the luck we make and the only hope we got is the hope we carry. You dig this shit?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s gonna be up to guys like me and you. Especially you.”
“Me?”
Sean nodded. “That’s right. You’re special. We all know it. We can all feel it when we’re with you. You’re leading us somewhere and into something. Something important.” Before I could disagree, he said, “And it ain’t because The Shape let’s you pick out sacrifices for it. It could have chosen anyone to do that. It picked you because you’re on the road to something big. Might not be a good thing, might be real fucking ugly when you get there, but that’s where you’re going. That’s why The Shape is pushing you along. Because it’s out there. Your destiny. And I just got this freaky feeling that whatever it is, it’s important to the race, to all of us.”
He would always say things like that that made very little sense to me at the time. But, later, when I thought it out, I would understand. In his own way, the man was a prophet. He knew what I could not know and felt things he had no right feeling. But he was right. With what came later, he was absolutely right: I was on the road to something big. We all were. And it was more terrible than anything we could imagine.
Wedged into that closet, I just couldn’t believe he was gone. I didn’t know what I’d do without him. Without his insight and wisdom and his unshakable confidence in me. He was always the first guy into a fight to save us and the last one out. And he was always the guy who made everyone retreat to safety while he held off the “Indians” as he called them. And in the end, trying to protect us had cost him his life and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Thinking about him, I felt tears roll down my cheeks.
It was like losing a brother.
But like he had said so many times, I had to concentrate on the here and now and not the before. Sean was now part of the before and as much as it hurt, I had to let him go.
After the buzzing was gone for a good thirty minutes, we cracked the door. There were dozens of dead bloodsuckers on the floor. Cause of death: unknown. There were two or three living ones clinging to the walls, but they must have been old or sick or something because when we swatted them they fell to the floor, moving very sluggishly. The candles were both tipped over and out. Six bugs had died suctioned to the lantern like they were trying to fuck it. We peeled carapaces off our packs, made sure nothing had crawled inside, and gathered up our belongings.
“Looks like we’re clear,” Texas Slim said, appraising the parking lot through the shattered window. “Swarm’s gone.”
“Let’s get that Bronco,” I said.
We hurried downstairs, found a few more dead bugs, a couple sluggish ones that Carl took great joy in stomping, but other than that it was safe. When we got outside, the parking lot was a carpet of dead and dying insects. I didn’t know what had sickened them, but I was grateful for it. There were hundreds of them underfoot, a veritable mat of exoskeletons that made the most revolting crunching sounds as we walked over them. It was like the parking lot was carpeted with peanut shells. They were all over the Bronco, but thankfully the windows and doors had been closed. We brushed off what we could, loaded our stuff, and jumped in.
Judging by the sun in the hazy sky above, it must have been nearly noon by the time we pulled from the parking lot. There were so many dead bugs on the windshield that Carl turned on the wipers and made a grisly brown smear of them that took the wipers and squirting washer fluid some time to clear.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said.
5
My plan was to head it out of the city and keep rolling until we hit South Bend, because that’s where we had to go. Whether that was intuition on my part or The Shape planting ideas in my head, I didn’t know and didn’t really want to. We had a mission, I knew that much. We had to go west. And I had a feeling that we needed to get moving, that somewhere, somehow, time was running out.
