Suckers (36 page)

Ray stuck out his arm, wanting the bottle back. “I had to start researching somewhere.”

“What are you thinking?” Dan asked. “Seriously.”

“I’m thinking I haven’t given them any blood,
won’t
give them any blood, and we’ll see who outlasts who. At any rate, you need to get out of here before it gets dark. They need you back there, and I don’t need you here when the blood urge starts up.”

“Are you feeling it yet?”

“No. I’m just freaked the fuck out about it.”

“Okay then.” Dan pulled the guitar back into his lap.

† † †

Shadows stretched along the floor. The toilet flushed. Dan studied the ceiling, waiting.

Ray stepped into the doorway with a beer. “You need to book if you’re gonna get there tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fuck you aren’t.”

“I’m not.” He pulled off his boots while Ray watched, dropped his feet on the table. Bare, because he’d never gotten around to socks before leaving that morning.

The whiskey bottle was a lot lighter than it had been.

“Fine,” Ray sighed, turning away from the doorway. “Help me pull the shades and get some blankets over the windows.”

† † †

When it got dark out—when the city was unsettlingly silent—Ray came out of his bedroom, pulling on his jacket.

“Where’re you going?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Out not here.”

Dan shoved his feet in his boots. The door shuddered closed when he was two steps away. He grabbed the handle and yanked it open. The latch on the storm door was cold against his hand. His breath fogged the glass. Night lay on the other side—night and those things.

Ray swung around the landing, starting down the steps.

Dan pushed the door open and stepped out.

The cold hit him full-on. No time to get a jacket. “Wait up.”

The footfalls stopped, started coming back up. Dan crossed the landing, giving a nervous glance to the sky beyond the porch’s overhang.

“Get the fuck back inside,” Ray said.

“Where you go, I go.”

Ray looked up and ducked a little. “Shit.” He came pounding back up the last few steps, grabbing Dan.

Wings flapped. Dan ducked, bringing a hand over his head. This could have been a really stupid idea.

Ray dragged him—“Come on”—and kept going, right back into the warm apartment. Once Dan was in, he slammed the door behind them.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ray asked.

Dan rubbed his arms. It must have been fifteen degrees out there. “Sticking with you.”

“Don’t make this harder than it is.”

“You’re the one making it fucking harder than it is. We have everything back in Deerfield. Tubes, needles. We can fucking take care of this.”

“And then what?” Ray said.

“And then we keep fucking going!”

Ray pushed off the door.

If
he
wasn’t taking his coat off, Dan was putting his on. He was cold anyway. Christ, he was going to have to stay awake all night to make sure Ray didn’t slip out. “We keep fucking going.” He followed Ray into the living room.

“Call your mom,” Ray said. “Let her know you’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Are you coming?”

He dropped into his chair, fishing for his cigarettes. “Nope.”

“Why? What the fuck are you accomplishing here?”

“Listen, you fucking get it or you don’t. Call Faye. She’ll be worried out of her skull.”

“I
want
to get it,” Dan said. “Help me fucking get it.”

Ray pointed the remote at the TV. A riot in New York flashed onto the screen.

Fuck him then. Dan dragged his phone out. Listened to it ring. When his mom answered, he said, “Hey—yeah, I’m fine. We’re fine. No, I’m not gonna be back tonight. I’m gonna stay at Ray’s awhile. Yeah, as long as it takes.” Watching Ray the whole time, Ray shaking his head, lighting his cigarette. “No, we’re good. We’ll be fine. How’s everything there?” He listened for a while, catching up. When he hung up, he said, “They could really use us there.”

“They could really use
you
there.”

“Jamie’s grudgingly willing to donate, but they’re worried about the drug use.”

Ray dragged on his cigarette, his face turned away.

Dan sat on the edge of the coffee table. “There’s seven donors to two infected, you know. You and Rich can still donate. He needs blood that isn’t his, you need blood that isn’t yours.”

“I don’t need any fucking blood. I told you.”

“Yeah. It’s a great plan. I’m fucking applauding you inside.”

Ray gave him the finger.

The phone jarred him from the uncomfortable armchair he’d parked in front of Ray’s bedroom door. As the ringtone played, Ray rolled over in bed. Dan fumbled it, trying to cut off the sound, and brought it to his ear. “Yeah.”

“How’re things going?” Buddy asked.

“Uneventful.”

“He coming back here?”

Dan scrubbed the sleep out of an eye. “Not yet.” He had to take a piss, and his neck sent a jolt of pain to his skull when he glanced toward the kitchen window. Early morning sunlight brightened the place at least, making the empty can of Spaghetti-Os on the counter look almost festive.

“Are you at Ray’s? Should I come by?”

“I am, and no.” He fought a yawn and lost to it.

“Tell him to get over himself and have some sense. We all came out here for safety in numbers, and two of our numbers aren’t fucking here anymore.”

“Will do.” He passed the message along when he hung up. Ray grunted. Dan unfolded himself, nudging the chair with his knee so he could get to the bathroom. He kept an ear out while he was pissing, just in case.

Once Ray was up and in the shower again, Dan turned on the TV, checking the news.

Ray came out, toweling his hair. “Anything new?”

“Nothing you’d want to hear about. What do you want to do today? We should find some food. You’ve got shit in your cabinets.”

“Yeah, I brought most of it to your mom’s.”

“You’re gonna need food to fight this off,” Dan said. “Keep your strength up if you’re going to outlast them.”

“You’re humoring me, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well. What else can I do?” He dragged his coat back on. He hadn’t bothered taking the boots off, just in case. He wished he’d fucking worn socks.

† † †

They scouted everywhere they could think of in Ray’s car, managed to scrounge up a few grocery bags of stuff they could use. It meant breaking into a Market Basket, but they hadn’t been the first—all they had to do was step through smashed glass. They’d picked through what was left on the shelves, Dan asking, “How do you feel about beets?” Ray’d made a face. Dan put them in the sack anyway.

“Let’s hit the Vista on Main,” Dan said.

“You want to go by your place?”

“Nah.” He wanted to go by Dunkin’ Donuts, which was no doubt shuttered like everything else. But still…he wanted to go by, see for himself. Patricia clung to his thoughts, all mixed up with what’d happened to Bethany that night her husband had gone nuts.

“How are you holding up?” Dan said.

“Neck’s a little itchy,” Ray said.

“Yeah, I picked up on that.”

“Headache’s there too. I threw some aspirin in the bag.”

“That won’t help much,” Dan said.

“I like to feel like I’m doing something proactive.”

“Like reading a kid’s book about parasites?”

“You should try it. It was interesting. I wanted
The Behavioral Ecology of Parasites
too, but I guess UPS stopped delivering to residences around the time I was expecting it to show up.”

“Slow up,” Dan said, putting a hand on the dash, looking past Ray to the brick-and-beige coffee shop on the corner. Parking lot empty. Lights off. Two windows smashed, glass glittering on the pavement in the sunlight. He dropped back into his seat, his insides feeling like they’d been dragged through that glass.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” He stared at the other side of the street, across to the mill buildings on the river. Nothing was going to be all right.

They brought the groceries up in a single trip while a man in another yard crossed his arms and watched them make the trek up the stairs. Dan hoped the guy wasn’t thinking about their food. He broadened his shoulders, tried to make them look less worth coming after. Of course, if the guy had a gun…

When they were locked back in Ray’s kitchen, Ray said, “Will you please just leave? Take care of Jane for me. Help Buddy and Sarah out. Take care of your fucking mom. You left her with Jamie, of all people.”

Dan pulled a few dented boxes of rice from the bag and headed for a cabinet.

“They need you,” Ray said. “And I need you the fuck out of here.”

“Mmhm.”

He called his mom enough ahead of dinnertime to tell her not to set plates for them.

† † †

At two in the morning, when Dan had his eyes closed, fabric brushed his knee. He peeled his eyes open.

Ray was dressed—boots, coat, ready to go. He crept across the dark kitchen. A floorboard creaked.

Dan grasped the doorframe and pulled himself up from the chair. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere if you’re smart.”

“Are you trying the leave-in-the-middle-of-the-night-so-Dan-won’t-follow thing again?”

“Yep.”

Dan shrugged into his coat. “I’m following.”

“Do whatever the fuck you want.” Ray jerked the door open. The windowpanes rattled.

“When we get back,” Dan said, “can I borrow some socks?” His toes squished in his boots. He must have been sweating while he slept.

“You could go home and get yourself some socks.” Ray crossed the landing in quick strides, hands shoved in his pockets. Turning the corner, he started down the stairs, the heels of his boots giving a sharp
rat-a-tat
.

Dan flipped the collar up on his jacket, pushed his hands in his own pockets, and hunched in as he followed, one eye on the night sky.

His breath streamed out white in the cold.

The neighborhood was so silent it seemed breakable, like a sheet of ice.

Ray got to the bottom of the two flights, stopped, swore, and started marching back up, barreling right into Dan, who grabbed the railing and turned to let him by.

He gave another quick glance toward the sky—things flying in the moonlight—before hurrying up after Ray.

Wings flapped like sheaves of paper, fast.

His boot caught the edge of the stair tread. He shot his hands out, touching wood with his fingertips long enough to right himself. When he hit the landing, the thing slammed into his shoulder. He threw a hand against the wall to stay on his feet and covered the back of his neck with his other hand.

Ray held the door open, an arm outstretched, his gaze darting to the sky, where a mass of parasites circled and dove.

A fat, black body banged into the wall ahead of Dan. He drew back, then rushed by before it could pick itself up. He ducked through the door. Ray jumped in behind, yanking it shut.

The thing slammed the storm door’s glass, making them jump. Ray threw the heavier door shut. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he whispered.

“It takes one to know one.”

Ray jerked out of his jacket, his lips pressed together, his cheeks ruddy from the cold.

“About those socks…” Dan said.

“How about a shower while you’re at it?” Ray shot back.

“You’re either going to have to put up with the stink or come to Deerfield, ’cause I’m not letting you slip away while I clean up.”

Ray went into his bedroom. A drawer rattled open, slammed shut. He threw a pair of socks onto the chair in the doorway. A moment later, a t-shirt and a pair of sweats followed.

Dan smiled.

† † †

In the early morning, the apartment’s windows rattled with an explosion. Dan pulled the shades and looked out, but the window facing where the sound had come from had another building fifteen feet in front of it. He could barely see the edge of the sky over it.

“The world is going to shit,” Ray said.

Dan made coffee—weak so their stash would last—and took his out on the porch, which faced the wrong way to see anything. A few of the neighbors had gathered in the middle of the street, their hair sticking up every which way, eyes bleary, one of them with a blanket tugged around her shoulders.

“What happened?” he called down.

No one knew.

Elliot Hospital was on WMUR, half of it a heap of smoking rubble, emergency crews carrying bodies out of the part that was still standing. The fourth floor had been a quarantine unit for suckers; someone must have decided to get rid of them in one swoop.