Mad Swine (Book 2): Dead Winter (19 page)

“Need some help?” he asked.

I paused with a paperback missile in my hand and turned toward the sound of his voice. He stood at the top of the stairs, leaning slightly over the half wall that also served as a railing. Slowly I put down the book and shook my head. Without a word, Brian turned away and went back downstairs where he was making his own piles of gear. I sat silently and listened to his footfalls thump down the carpeted stairs and then tap along the tiled floor of the lower level hallway.

After a deep breath, I assessed the damage. Thirteen books littered the living room and dining room. A couple of the heavier hardcover novels had been thrown with enough force that they left impressions in the drywall. Disgusted with myself for losing control, I stood up and started to pick up my mess. I gathered the books into my arms and set them in a stack on the dining room table and then set the fallen chair back on its legs.

In the living room, I sat at the edge of the sofa and looked at the photos on the end table. I picked up the photo of my children, the same one I had so rudely pulled from Lara’s grip. In the photo, Katie was wearing jeans and a pink shirt featuring Hello Kitty’s face. Mark wore khaki pants and a dark blue button down shirt. They stood in front of a large bear at the entrance to one of our favorite restaurants. Katie had her arm around her brother. Both children tilted their heads and were smiling at the camera. I could see the faint dip in Mark’s lip from where he had stitches after falling from his bed last year.

I folded the stand on the back on the frame and set the frame down on the sofa beside me. Next, I picked up a photograph of my wife. This was taken at a bridal shower for one of her friends. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The green of her shirt matched that of her eyes. Alyssa didn’t quite smile at the camera; instead she wore a mischievous grin and she was giving me the “sexy eyes.” I placed the photo on top of the first.

The next photo was a family photo from two years ago. We stood with Doc Brown in front of the Delorean from
Back to the Future
. Doc Brown was front and center, his hands on his hips, his pose defiant. He wore mirrored sunglasses and his white hair was wild. Alyssa gave him bunny ears. I laughed as I set that one into my pile.

After a few minutes, I ended up taking all of the frames that were set on the end table and adding them to the pile. Now I walked through the house taking other framed photos from the wall putting them on the pile. When I was done collecting, I removed the photos from their frames so that I could transport them more easily.

When I looked up, Brian was there again, leaning over the wall and watching me from behind his bangs. His eyes were mere shadows and his face unreadable. He watched me for a moment as I removed another photo from its frame. Finally he said, “There’s a photo album downstairs. I hope you don’t mind, but I packed it in my bag.”

I stared at my brother, waiting for him to say more. When he didn’t, I said, “Thanks.”

He nodded his head. This time he didn’t leave. He had something else on his mind. I set down the empty frame from which I just removed a photo and stood up. I walked over to Brian and leaned on the wall next to him, facing the opposite direction. I had a view of the carpeted stairs and from my vantage I could see how stained the carpet was. Alyssa was probably turning over beneath the roses.

The silence between us was noticeably thick enough to cut through with a knife. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to say to my brother. In the past, I had always been the one that wanted to talk, whether it was about the way he was living his life, or about finding another job, I always knew what to say. I was always full of pearls of wisdom; now I was as empty as an oyster without a grain of sand under its mantle to cover in nacre.

I don’t know how long the awkward moment would have rolled on if Brian hadn’t spoken. He said, “We haven’t talked much since I got back.”

Still searching the carpeted stairs for stains I said, “We had a heart-to-heart your first night back.”

More silence spun out like a spider web. Then: “I’m sorry if I made things complicated, Matt. That shit we talked about the other night? That…I don’t know what that shit was, man.”

“Those are called feelings,” I said, still feigning interest in the stained carpet. “It’s okay to talk about those things.”

“Quit being an asshole,” Brian said. He stood up and dug his hands into his pants pockets. “I’m trying to apologize so we can move past this shit and start figuring shit out. And you’re acting like a little pussy.”

I stood now and faced my brother, reacting sharply to his words. As I turned toward him, his hands came out of his pockets although he didn’t raise them, but his instinct forced him to be ready to respond to my reaction. My eyes locked on my brother and I burst out laughing, spraying spittle in his general direction. I laughed harder when he jump back a step to avoid the spray.

“Dude, what the fuck? What’s so funny?”

“Did you just call me a pussy?”

He was quiet a moment while he replayed his words in his head. Finally he said, “Yeah. Pussy.”

My brother continued to stare at me, taking me in with his eyes that were shrouded behind those stupid bangs.

“I’m telling Mom,” I said.

Now it was Brian’s turn to spit laughter. It was contagious laughter and I joined him, laughing until my stomach hurt and I couldn’t breathe anymore.

When we were both finally in control of ourselves, I grabbed the tail of the front of his T-shirt and stretched it to wipe the tears from my eyes.

“What the fuck, pussy!” Brian said and pushed me away. That had us both laughing for again what seemed like minutes.

* * *

I left Brian at my house to sift over our gear. I came to the conclusion it would be best for him to decide what was essential for the journey to the Finnegans’. I realized I was taking the easy way out again, but we all had to choose our battles and this wasn’t one I really wanted to fight right now.

Braving the cold, crisp air, I crossed through the community and up the slight hill toward the command post where I checked in with Sam to see how things were going with polling. There was a short line at the front door when I arrived so I entered through the garage. The lights were on, which was surprising, and Ray sat in his chair in the middle of the room. Cody’s head was on his lap and Ray was scratching the dog’s ears absently.

I closed the door softly behind me but the sound jarred Ray from his reverie and his eyes darted toward me. His face which had been slack, even handsome for a moment, took on the hard, haggard look that Ray had perfected over the years since he lost his legs and took the life of a family on vacation.

“If you came to talk me out of going you’re wasting your time,” Ray said. He continued to scratch Cody’s ears. The dog’s head remained in his master’s lap but his sad brown eyes tracked me as I moved across the room and sat at the edge of Ray’s bed.

“I’m not here to talk you out of anything,” I said. “But I am curious, Ray. Why are you so hot on making this trip?”

“What do you mean?” His suspicious eyes took me in.

“Well, it’s going to be a hard trip. It’s cold and there’s a lot of snow and slush out there, and you’re in your chair. Why take the risk? You’ve got everything you need right here; your radio, heat, food. So why risk the trip, Ray?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. Why are you hounding me? Go harass someone else.” To Cody he said, “Go lay down, boy.”

The dog lifted his head promptly from Ray’s lap and slowly walked to the bundle of quilts in the opposite corner where he circled and pawed the material for a moment before finally settling down with his muzzle over his paws. His brown eyes watched both Ray and I from across the room.

Ray wheeled his chair to his desk now, doing his best to avoid me. The empty desk offered him no activity to occupy himself, so he turned his chair to me again and wheeled right up to me. He stopped within inches of our knees touching. This close up, I could smell the man’s aftershave and sweat. The skin under his eyes was dark and mottled. White and black stubble peppered his cheeks and lip. His breath was hot and smelled like coffee.

“I won’t be bullied into staying behind and I won’t be psychoanalyzed—fuck that, interrogated—by you. Go bother someone else, will you? Just let me be.”

“Yeah, you’re a tough bastard, Ray. We all know it.” I fixed him with my best patient face, the one I had used with the men in my platoon who had disappointed me but I knew had potential to be good soldiers. “Look, Ray. I’m going to be straight with you. I think going out there in this weather, in your condition, is a mistake. And I think you know it is a mistake, too.”

Ray looked away from me now and grumbled something I didn’t quite understand. I continued, “The fact is, you’re going to slow us down out there, Ray. If you think otherwise you’re just bullshitting yourself. I’m responsible for these folks, Ray, and if you’re going to insist on coming with us and slowing us down, then I want to know why.”

“Fuck you,” Ray said. He tried to wheel himself away again, but I jammed my foot against the wheels halting him.

Gripping the arms of his chair tightly, I leaned in and locked eyes with the man. “Tell me why, Ray.”

“Leave me be why don’t you!”

“Tell me why or I will leave your ass behind, Ray.”

“I’m scared, all right?” Spittle flew from his lips and dripped down his chin. He balled his hands into fists and slammed them down against his unfeeling legs. “I don’t want to be left behind to die in this fucking place, okay? I won’t be left here to rot in this chair, in this garage. I don’t trust anyone else, okay? You keep me alive. I won’t survive without you. Is that what you want to
hear
?”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know why I was sitting here trying to break the man down; it was not my intention when I left the house this morning. Ray had just as much right as anyone to want to survive, and instead of encouraging that spirit, I spit all over it. I told myself that I was just being a good leader, looking out for the majority, but I didn’t believe it.

When Ray tried to wheel away, I didn’t stop him. He rotated the chair 180 degrees and with two quick thrusts on the wheels he crossed the room, stopping a few feet away from Cody. As I watched, the dog stood and came to Ray although he had not been called. The dog craned his neck and his pink tongue came out and licked the knuckles of Ray’s right hand. When Ray didn’t respond, Cody put his head on the man’s lap and looked up at him with his sad eyes.

Ashamed of myself, I stood. I started to speak and then didn’t know what to say so I just stood there. Ray’s hand finally found Cody’s head and softly scratched the dog’s ears. Seeing Ray with Cody in this tender moment made my heart sink a bit within my chest. For the first time, I realized how lonely Ray was and I could empathize.

“I’m sorry, Ray,” I said finally. I wasn’t sure if my words sounded sincere, but I meant it.

“Just get out,” Ray said, his back still to me.

I nodded to myself. I turned to leave but before I stepped into the kitchen, I said, “Have your stuff ready by tomorrow evening, Ray.”

* * *

The dining room was transformed to accommodate Sam’s polling station. She’d shifted the table itself so that it was now horizontal to the front door. Sam sat behind the table so that she could face the front door and those who entered. A green plastic box beside Sam held the pieces of paper upon which each resident of Randall Oaks would write their decision. Sam had cut typing paper into small squares. A few stacks of these makeshift ballots lay on the table in front with three or four pencils.

Reggie was on door duty. To ensure privacy for each resident, the Rev was only allowing one person in at a time. The table was positioned at least ten feet from the door, providing a buffer zone. Reggie also offered his council to any who felt they needed guidance. While one member of the community stood at the table making their mark, Reggie would allow one more in and sit them in a chair beside the door. As I entered, Reggie was crouched beside Margot Abernathy’s chair, talking to her in a hushed tone, his words only for her ears.

I sidled up next to Sam and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me and smiled and then went back to working on something in her inventory book. I looked up at the man who was currently deciding his fate.

“Hey, Harry,” I said. “You doing okay?”

“I’m as good as can be,” Harry said without looking up from his ballot. He finished scribbling on the piece of paper and folded it up. He handed it across the table and Sam accepted the paper, dropping it into the box without looking at it.

“I’m glad you’re going with us,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t be going if you weren’t.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“So I guess I’ll see you later, Mr. Danzig.”

“Yeah, take care, Harry. Start packing. Try to keep it light, okay?”

“You bet.”

Harry did an about face and took his leave. As I watched, Reggie stood from his crouch, put a hand on Margot’s shoulder and whispered something into her ear. She nodded her head in response. Reggie opened the door to allow Harry to exit, halted the next person in line with a few words, and then closed the door. He returned to his consultation with Margot.