Pariah

but Dabney’d made him his surrogate son and he hated the thought of losing him. He remembered ruffling Karl’s oily hair. Such a small thing, but he wanted to do it again. When Karl made it back he’d palm that boy’s head and mess that hair up good. And now that he’d been bathed a bit, it might even be like white-boy hair ought to be: dry and strawlike, like he imagined Opie’s would be. The thought made him smile until his brain converted “when” to “if.”

“God dammit.”

He tossed the bottle off the roof and, too loaded to go downstairs, tottered to his lean-to sleep it off.

Eddie yanked the last tooth from his catch’s mouth and flicked it from the pliers’ jaws onto the pile he’d made. He wore a necklace of ears around his tanned neck, having copped the idea from some ’Nam movie he’d seen. He reached over and retrieved a hacksaw from the box and commenced removing the forearm of the struggling wretch beneath his knees. Eddie hoped they felt pain. They made sounds like they did. Sweat dripped off his bare shoulders, the bandana stretched across his forehead keeping his eyes perspiration-free.

“Yeah, like buttah,” he grinned, as the blade sliced through the skin and muscle straight to the bone, then right on through that. These things were seriously malnourished. Sometimes their flesh fell away like well-cooked ribs, not that he had any appetite to try zombie meat. Certainly not since the Mona gravy train rolled in. But it was uncanny how some of these humps had tough, leathery hides and others fell apart like nothing. A few shredded to bits while they were still on the line. A couple of firm yanks to get them over the roof’s edge and they were meaty jigsaw puzzles. Disappointing.

Eddie held the extremity up and looked into the bones, which were hollow. Wasn’t there supposed to be marrow in there? Eddie’s pop had been a marrow sucker, which was totally gross. As a kid he’d watch his pop dig this nasty brown paste out of the bones of whatever meat dish mama had made, and then suck the bone. When Eddie was hungry he’d feel the acid in his stomach eating away the lining. He remembered hearing something about how when you’re starving you begin to digest yourself. That’s what these humps must be doing, only there was nothing left to digest.

At this point maybe it was just a waiting game. The Comet knew facts they didn’t.

“Smarter than the average bear,” Eddie said, beaming.

“What? Who?” Dave asked, his eyes averted from Eddie’s actions.

“The Comet. I’m conducting some scientific Frankenstein shit all up in this bitch. Who was onto Mona’s drug therapy? The Comet. Who knew the humps were falling apart? The Comet.” Sweat escaped the bandana and ran right into Eddie’s eyes. “Motherfucker,” he said with a wince. With one forearm he wiped away the offending liquid, with the other he pulverized the hump’s head with a wrench. “That’s a solid day’s work. Those bitches,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “they don’t have any appreciation for the work I’m doing up here. I’m breaking scientific ground like that nigger who made peanut butter.”

Dave shot a look over at Dabney.

“What?” Eddie beefed. “I’m paying him a compliment. I fuckin’ like peanut butter. Anyway, other than the spooky bitch, who else earns his keep around here? Who else is proactive? Remember that proactive and paradigm shit they used to throw at us at work?”

Dave nodded.

“Remember that time Staci Kulbertson-Tim McTaggert’s assistant-remember when she got loose at that company party? That was ill, bro. She was shakin’ that ass like she was trying to get rid of it. I’d of taken it off her hands, bro.”

Dave stared at Eddie, not knowing what to say. Where was this coming from?

“Man, I’m sweatin’ like a bitch,” Eddie said, grinning. “It’s man’s work wasting these humps. I wish it would rain again so I could shower, know what I’m sayin’?”

Dave nodded.

“Cat got your tongue, Davis?”

“No, Eddie.”

“So what’s the what, bro? Why the long fuckin’ face?”

“I can’t do this any more, Eddie” Dave said, tears beginning to moisten his cheeks. “This isn’t normal. This is some fucked-up Abu Ghraib shit you’re doing up here.”

“Technically that shit wasn’t torture,” Eddie sneered.

“Maybe. I can’t take much more, anyway. This is some seriously repugnant shit. It’s sickening. And if you weren’t so gaga from those pills-”

Eddie rose from his task, bloodied wrench gripped white-knuckle tight in his fist, disgust burning in his wide- open eyes. Dave edged away. Eddie’s eyes weren’t right. They danced in their sockets, animated by lunacy and carnage.

“Why don’t you blow me?” Eddie snarled.

“That’s real mature.”

“It wasn’t a figure of speech. I mean it. Blow me.”

“That gravy train’s over, Eddie,” Dave said, now stifling sobs. “Maybe it took the apocalypse to realize what I am, but it’s over. Seriously. We’re finished. Done. You’ve got your porn. You’ve got your hobby. You’ve got your problems. But me? Me you don’t get. Not any more,” Dave said, voice cracking. Then he spun around and made a break for it, leaping the low hurdles as he’d done countless times before. Eddie pursued, but his athleticism fell more into brute categories than those utilizing speed and agility. Dave got to the stairwell housing and down two flights of steps before his wolfish buddy was even to the middle roof that separated them.

“Fuckin’ little bitch cunt faggot!” Eddie screamed as the door slammed shut.

“Huh?” Dabney sputtered, coming to. “Whuzzat?”

“Go back to sleep, old man,” Eddie muttered as he slunk into the building, closing the door behind him.

37

“Typical,” Karl moaned, clicking the talk button. Nothing. The walkie-talkie was out of range.

The exterior of the bookstore was blackened, a fire having devastated the establishment. Though the doors were locked, the windows had burst and tiny fragments of safety glass littered the frontage.

“It’s trashed,” Mona said.

Duh, Karl thought. Instead he said, “Why didn’t you tell me before we got here? You must’ve been this way before. Did this just happen?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, we’re here. Might as well go in. Maybe there’s something salvageable.”

“I dunno.”

“Chicken?”

Karl felt penny ante for having utilized a grade school taunt, but it worked. Mona advanced toward the gaping maw of a former display window, gingerly poked at the jagged edge, flicking away some loose chips of glass, then stepped into the charred cavern of the store’s interior. Karl followed straightaway, wondering if he could just walk along unescorted. He wished he could stop sweating. He felt parched.

“So?” Mona shrugged.

“So now I browse. I promised Abe a few books. Plus, I need something, too.”

The air inside was heavy with the stench of charred matter; walls were festooned with peeling scablike wallpaper, scored and scorched. The display tables had either collapsed from the conflagration or stood like crude ziggurats, the books atop them stepped masses of blackened ruin. The floor was slathered in a thick charcoal paste of burnt paper and stagnant water, perhaps from the sprinkler system, and each step they took was accompanied by a voracious sucking sound. The downstairs was a washout, but maybe upstairs was better. Two escalators divided the main room, both leading up into pitch darkness.