paths. So her first sight of the town was surprising. In those early days, forever children were still numerous enough that they were still accepted as children. They hadn’t started to really scare anyone at that point and everyone was more worried about the dead.
Dawn saw her first walking dead man in Severance. It terrified her-and her mother too. Part of the reason they had traveled to Nurserywood was to stay clear of the Change and the dangers it brought. They weren’t in Severance five minutes before a dead man stepped right out of the rain.
They were taking shelter from a downpour by the eaves of an old building. People still got out of the rain back then, because they thought it might stop. But the building had boards where its windows should be. Her mother said that was not the way things were when she had visited a year before on a trading mission. They were snuggling under her mother’s long woolen cloak when the dead man appeared.
He hurried in with his collar pulled around his ears. One of his eyes was missing-just a hole of twisted flesh instead, and there was a great piece of skin hanging down from one cheek that exposed the teeth on that side. His clothes were like rags. He stood there looking terrible and awkward before staggering into the rain again and he was gone.
“So,” Mr. Jay continued, “the living people decided one day to chase the dead people away. And they did. They formed a big group, with the sheriff and the police helping, and they ordered every dead person out of town. The dead people didn’t know what to think; they were surprised by the action. Never imagined their neighbors could do this. So they left, and the living people celebrated.” Her friend chuckled sadly. “But that was a mistake. The dead people went harmlessly enough. It all looked fine and the people of Severance tried to return to their lives like nothing had happened. But the dead gathered just outside of town. They were angry-outraged being thrown out of their homes. And they decided to fight for what was theirs.” He rubbed his knees. “You see the living made a mistake. It turned out that they had the most to lose in a fight.”
Dawn’s mother managed to get a job cooking for a restaurant on the main street-she had coaxed the owner with the spices and recipes she brought from the fields near Nurserywood. For about two weeks Dawn helped at the restaurant. She could not remember the name of the place but remembered the owner was a black man who smoked too much. Dawn was happy at that time, if she did feel a little exposed and over-pinched. All the women in Severance loved her dark curls and her big brown eyes. They squeezed and pinched her every day.
But she could remember the man who owned the restaurant chasing dead people away, even if they just wanted a glass of water, and he pushed them from the sidewalk out front. She remembered him taking a big gun and going with the others to send the dead people away.
“One night, the dead decided that the time had come,” Mr. Jay said in hushed tones. “They had lived their lives in Severance, and they were not about to lose it in death.” The magician’s features flickered in the eerie candlelight. “So they marched into town. The living suspected such a thing might happen, and had kept a watch. So the dead people met a blockade of living people at the edge of town.” Genuine sadness softened his features.
“One story said a living man threw the first punch, and the other said the dead started it. But it didn’t matter it was going to happen anyway.” Mr. Jay pulled at his beard. “You’ve got to remember, this was fifteen years after the Change and these people were terrified-all of them. And things just exploded!”
Dawn could remember the night. She was napping in the little room the restaurant owner had lent them-her mother was still finishing up the last of the dishes. But Dawn came out of a dream into a nightmare. There were explosions and screams-the light that usually burned yellow outside their little room was gone. In its place was a blue-white flickering-like broken wires or lightning. More screaming followed, and the loud bang, bang, bang of guns. Then her mother screamed. Dawn ran out of the little room and into the strange blue-white light, her eyes blurry with sleep. She ran along the hallway that led to the kitchen. There was another scream and then a big crash of glass.
She hurried into the dining area and dove for cover behind the counter. There was a great dark group of people filling up the whole building. The air was musty and smelled of smoke. She didn’t recognize the people. Dawn remembered most that they were monsters in the eerie light-faces white and round-eyed and their hands were more like claws than fingers. There were loud sounds: snapping and cracking, struggling grunting, glass breaking and crunching under foot, and screaming and screaming.
When she finally gathered her courage to look up again-the restaurant was empty. Both of the big windows were broken; chairs were thrown around and tables upset. She had a stark memory of a man’s leg lying under a table looking strange, it sock and shoe twitching. There was nothing else. “Mommy?” was all she could say.
“And so the story goes that the whole town burned that night.” Mr. Jay grew more somber with the telling. His eyes were sad. “And when authorities finally got there to help, there was no one left. There were a few dead people limping and crawling, too badly damaged to go wherever the others went or tell what happened-but I never heard more than what I’ve told you. No one else was ever found.”
“But, so.” Dawn’s eyes felt heavy with the memory. “What do you think happened?”
“Nobody knows, Dawn.” Mr. Jay moved over, knelt beside her and rested a hand on her forehead. “Nothing good.”
The forever girl couldn’t remember much more. She could remember a terrible feeling, little more and she could conjure up images of blood and destruction-and loneliness for days and days. And she remembered trying to find Nurserywood and hiding and eating garbage and sneaking into old buildings to get cans of food. She didn’t know how long she wandered. But wherever her spirit had gone for that time, she remembered it first coming back when she heard Mr. Jay singing by a campfire.
18 – Morning After
Sister Karen Cawood woke with the smell of liquor and cigarettes hot and suffocating around her face. Her stomach lurched and she gasped, gulping for air. Above her, flickering fluorescent light burned through her eyelids. She pushed at the sheets with numb hands, wrestled them off her body. Kicking, she rolled over. A man grumbled. Pressed to her right side was a thick muscled back, skin as black as soot. She squirmed, turned the other way: another man. This one was white, completely covered with tattoos. An orange moustache drooped away from his lips.
He smiled blearily and growled, “Hey baby!”
She pushed away dizzy, vomit rising in her throat. Head lifted, waves of sickness buffeted her. Naked, she wobbled to her knees. The tattooed man pulled at her forearm-snarling and nauseous she slapped at him. He laughed.
The black man rolled over, his face gray. “Chill out, baby.” A long fingered hand reached out to steady her. “It’s late. You’re at my place…”
“Don’t touch me!” She pulled away, pressing her hands to her face; their sour smell turned her stomach.
“It’s just me,” said the black man. He turned his harsh gaze at the other man. “What the fuck you do to her, Sam?”
“Nothing man! I crashed just like you and now she’s going all- fuck!” The tattooed man pushed himself up on his elbows. “She’s just coming down man, freaking out.” He scratched at his pierced genitals, and Cawood slapped a hand over her mouth, barely catching the vomit.
We drive you from us, unclean spirits all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects.
“Oh, fuck baby!” The black man frowned. She knew his name, but couldn’t find it. “Shit, man she sicked up in the bed!”
“Not my fault.” The tattooed man lit a cigarette. “Anyways, she wasn’t sick earlier.”
“Sorry…” Cawood muttered from behind her slimy hands, and then tumbled off the bed. Her breasts and belly slapped the cold tiles. A beer bottle rolled noisily away.
“You’re right man!” the black man said and laughed, distracted from his own hangover. Cawood crawled away. “Maybe she eat too much.”
“Yeah, sister ate lots!” Sam chuckled. “Fuck, that’s a sweet ass!”
Cawood vomited harshly, noisily.
