baser world he had known and loved even as it now repelled him.
Now there was just…Benny Shore, the principal of Greenlawn High School. Just Mr. Shore and his stern voice and disapproving glare. No running in the halls! Where’s your hall pass? Don’t throw food in the cafeteria! What’s wrong with you kids? What are you, animals? Savages? Do you think this school is somewhere to run free and wild? Is that it?
A block away from his house, Shore stopped his Jeep and jerked at the reflection of himself. That silly, sweating, trembling middle aged man who was broken, shattered, reduced to pieces like Humpty fucking Dumpty. He had to think, he had to reason.
Yes, he had to get home.
To Phyllis and little Stevie and Melody. Yes, he had to get to them and gather them up, get them out of town before the madness got them, too, and they did something truly horrible. He would not let his family be sullied like that. He could not and would not allow it.
Drive, you idiot.
He made Tessler and saw people standing on the street, looking either lost or mad and maybe they were both. Some woman was laughing uncontrollably on the sidewalk. Just beside herself. And as Shore passed he saw why. There was a little hill that led down through the grass to the river. And in the water, maybe ten feet out, was a baby stroller bobbing…something small and pink bobbing next to it. She had pushed it down the hill, laughing maniacally as it bumped its way to the river and went into the drink.
Shore sped up.
They were all crazy just as he had been. Down the block from his own house a girl was getting raped by a couple men, right there on the lawn of a house. And like the crazy mother, she was not only laughing, but crying out with mad ecstasy. Yes, this was the world, the new and not so shiny world of Greenlawn.
Shore pulled into his driveway and ran up to the porch.
He could smell supper cooking as he entered the door…spices and herbs. Phyllis was preparing the evening meal, humming as she always did. He could hear her chopping things and dicing things on the cutting board. Water was boiling and steam made the air in the house heavier than it already was. Shore mopped perspiration from his face.
“Phyllis!” he called out. “Phyllis!”
She kept humming and he darted into the kitchen. There were carrots and celery and potatoes chopped on the table. Two big pots of water boiling on the stove. The oven preheating. Jesus, the heat in there was unbearable, just stagnant and consuming like midday in a tropical jungle. The windows above the sink were steamed white. Water was dripping.
“Phyllis!” he called again.
“What is it, Benny?” her voice said, coming from the doorway that led into the pantry.
“We have to leave! We have to get out of town!” he said, pulling off his coat and loosening his tie. “C’mon, something’s happening out there! We have to get out of here right now! Get the kids and your Aunt Una! We have to go right now!”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, dear,” Phyllis said. “You’re overreacting. We’ll have supper and talk about it.”
“Goddammit, we’re leaving! We’re leaving right now!”
Before he could make the pantry door, Phyllis came walking out, completely naked, her body moist with a sheen of sweat. Her eyes glittered like jewels, shining and glimmering, an odd almost reddish tint to them.
And her head was shaven completely bald.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Shore said, even though something in his belly already knew the answer to that one.
“I’m making supper,” she said, her eyes wide and staring.
He kept shaking his head. “But your hair…Phyllis, listen to me, we’re leaving-”
“Oh, no we’re not,” she said and came right at him, was on him well before he could do anything about it. “We’re staying, Benny, we’re all staying, staying, staying…”
And as she spoke, the gleaming butcher knife kept coming down, finding Shore’s throat, his eyes, his chest, his belly, until he fell at her feet and still the knife came and kept coming until the hairless, insane thing that had been his wife was spattered with drops of blood…
32
Mike Hack had the girl roped-up and he dragged her down the alley, kicking her when she wouldn’t move. He had caught her digging through an overturned garbage can and jumped on her, beating her senseless. Like him, she was naked. A scavenger. Once she was unconscious, he dragged her into the Sinclair’s backyard. Then he cut some clothesline from their clothes poles and tied her up.
Bring me some gee-gee, some nice young gee-gee and don’t come back without it.
That’s what Mr. Chalmers had said.
He would be pleased with what Mike brought him.
“Move piggy!” Mike told the girl, yanking her along. “Move, piggy, piggy, piggy!”
The girl snarled at him. She was naked, streaked with dirt, her hair hanging over her face, stinking like the garbage she had been feeding on. Mike did not know who she was. He had never seen her before. He figured she was from some other neighborhood, come raiding, stealing what was theirs.
Those other neighborhoods, they’re gonna try and take what we got, so we got to hit them first. We gotta take what they got. Their women, their food, their weapons.
Oh yes, Mr. Chalmers was going to be pleased that Mike captured one of them. And a young one, too. Female. When she was out cold, Mike had fondled her pert, upturned breasts and the wetness between her legs. It was the smell of this more than anything that had intrigued him.
But he was hungry.
God, how hungry he was.
He had been thinking of meat ever since Matt and he had tried to steal the meat in that yard and were ambushed. Now Matt was dead. The others had gotten him. Mike felt no remorse over this. His simple reptile brain had inserted its practical impulses: feed, fight, flee, find shelter.
The girl hissed at him and Mike kicked her, being careful never to get in too close so she could use her nails or teeth on him.
Up until five or six hours before, her name had been Leslie Towers. She was an honor roll student, a member of the Key Club and president of the freshman student body. That was five or six hours before. Now who and what she was was really anyone’s guess.
Mike kicked her again and paused.
He was smelling meat again. Savory, juicy meat. But not raw. Cooked. A pleasant, mouth-watering odor of smoked meat. Delicious. He forgot about Mr. Chalmers momentarily and followed the meat smell. He dragged the girl along down the alley until he reached the Kenning’s yard.
Oh, the meat.
A carcass of dog was spitted over a low fire, the air redolent with the fine, juicy smells of its dripping shanks. Mr. Kenning was squatting there, slowly turning it over the flames with absolute patience and absolute rapture. His primitive mind was fascinated by the cooking meat, the flickering flames.
Mike knew he had to have some of that meat.
One way or another.
But the girl snarled again and Mr. Kenning turned. He had a knife in one hand. He rose from the fire, his body greasy with yellow dog fat he had smeared over it and slicked his hair back with.
“ Are you hungry, boy?” he said.
Mike nodded.
“ I have a nice dog here. It’s very tasty. I will share it with you if you will share what you have with me.”
Mike’s simple brain tried to reason it out, but reasoning was getting harder and harder. Mr. Chalmers would
