Suckers (37 page)

Dan searched the faces of rescue workers, looking for anyone he knew.

Ray sat on the other end of the couch, his forehead braced on tented fingers.

“Bad, huh?” Dan asked, meaning the headache.

Ray’s eyelids creased. His teeth clenched. “I wish you’d go the fuck away. You’re making it worse.”

“Probably.” He popped a handful of popcorn in his mouth. It was a little singed—he hadn’t shaken the pan enough—but it’d been one of the few snack foods left at the grocery store; he wasn’t about to waste it.

“Can you turn it the fuck off? I don’t want to hear this shit anymore.”

Dan pointed the remote, then dropped back on the couch. “You want me to put on some music?”

“I want you to fucking leave.” He propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his skull with both hands.

“Buzzing bad?”

“You know what’s going to fucking happen. Is that what you want? I attack you, get a taste of blood, fuck up my entire plan, and you think I’ll go back to Deerfield with you?”

Dan tossed another kernel in his mouth. “I don’t care whether you do or don’t go to Deerfield. I just care that I’m with you whatever you do. You and me, baby. ’Cause Two Tons of Dirt is nothing without both of us. I wish one of us had brought a laptop. We could watch Netflix.”

Ray’s phone rang. Ray didn’t move. Dan picked it up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Buddy said. “Ray around?”

Dan turned a little on the couch. “You want to talk to your brother?”

Ray shook his head.

“He’s not feeling well,” Dan told him. “Headache.” He listened to Buddy describe the ways he was going to strangle Ray, then asked a few questions about the state of things out there. When he hung up, he set the phone down saying, “Jane wants to know when she’s going to see her Uncle Ray again. She’s having nightmares, thinking you’re dead already.”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t need to watch that happen firsthand.”

“Wouldn’t have to if you’d give up your martyrdom and go back.”

“I’m gonna go lie down.”

He waited till Ray was out of the room before dropping back on the couch and pressing his hands against his eyes. He could find rope—tie him up, put him in the trunk, haul him back. At the same time, he wanted to be
here
. Maybe as much as Ray did. He just didn’t want Ray killing himself in the process.

† † †

He made Hamburger Helper without hamburger, brought a plate to Ray in the dark bedroom.

“Beets for dessert if you finish that,” he said.

“Fuck off.” Ray rolled over, shoving his head under a pillow. Muffled, he said, “I can’t even fucking hit you. I want to beat the shit out of you right now, and I can’t even fucking hit you because it might draw blood.”

“Good thing I haven’t been shaving,” Dan said on his way back to the kitchen. “A razor nick could be your undoing.”

“I should just fucking leave,” Ray called. “Fuck worrying about you getting bitten if you’re dumb enough to follow.”

His phone rang while he was picking up his plate from the counter. His mom’s number. He knew he’d have to talk to her again, knew she wouldn’t be happy.

Instead, Buddy’s voice said, “Jesus, I’ve been trying to get through for hours.”

Blood ran cold down Dan’s scalp.

“I was just putting my boots on to come see you in person. First things first: we’ve got it under control.”

He lowered his voice. “What happened?” Leaving the plate. Opening the back door. Getting out onto the landing, where Ray wouldn’t hear.

“Your mom’s been bitten, but we’ve got it under control. She’s not hurt.”

He felt like he was trapped in rock, weight and silence pressing on every inch of him. Leadenly he pushed the storm door shut till it latched. “What happened?”

“One got in the garage somehow. She went down to scoop some rice out of the tub, and it got her while she was bent over.”

He paced, heat rushing over his skin, making him clammy. Making him sick. Two infected, and only three uninfected to take care of them. And no way Ray would go back there now, add to the load. No way was Ray
not
going to insist he went back. Three for two—it wouldn’t be enough.

Fuck
.

“We’re thinking of moving,” Buddy said.

“What? Where?” The WMUR newscast flared into his head, smoking rubble. “They blew up a fucking hospital today.” Dan had no idea who ‘they’ actually were, but it was someone willing to sacrifice the uninfected to get rid of the infected.

“Yeah, we heard it on the news,” Buddy said.

“Where are you gonna go?” Where
could
they go? “You’re not thinking of the shelters. They’ll separate you guys—you, Sarah, and Jane one way, Mom and Rich the other.”

“There’s a place that’s not doing that. They’re doing what we’re doing. Up in Vermont.”

“Vermont?”

“It used to be a school, a little south of Burlington. It’s probably mobbed to hell by now, but we’re going to try it. Listen, I’ll tell you more when I get there.”

“No, don’t come.” Dan looked toward the bedroom.

“Dan, come on. He’s my fucking
brother
.”

Dan pushed his hand into his hair, pulling till it hurt. With his eyes closed, he said, “If you’re leaving in the morning, you guys have a lot to do. And you don’t—man, you don’t fucking need to come out to Manchester and maybe get yourself killed when they need you. The
hospital
, Bud. They blew up the fucking
hospital
. That’s not even a mile from here.”

He could almost hear Buddy’s jaw grinding through the phone. Finally, Buddy said, “Talk to Ray. We’re leaving in the morning. Talk him into coming. It’s his kind of shit, everyone banding together to help each other.”

“Vermont,” Ray said, wrapped in a quilt, perched on the edge of the couch. The blankets were back over the windows. The only light was the glow of the TV.

The Hamburger Helper had no charm without the beef in it, especially when it was half cold. Especially when his brain kept replaying the scene of his mom’s garage: the blue Rubbermaid tub they were storing the rice in, its lid resting against its side while his mom scooped a measuring cup through the grains. The quick beat of wings, the lights flickering over the walls as the thing swooped toward her stooped shape.

He set his plate on the coffee table.

“What happens when they get there and it’s not that?” Ray asked. “When it’s been overrun or shut down, or it never was to begin with?”

Dan washed what he’d had of dinner down with a glass of water.

“It’s out of control.” Ray pulled the blanket tighter.

Dan rubbed his eyes. He hated to admit it, but this was a weight off—their families would go, and maybe they’d do all right. But he’d never know, not unless this whole shit fiasco got resolved. And until then, he could imagine them on their way to Vermont, Buddy’s truck, Rich’s car, everyone nervous and hopeful. His mom on the passenger side, smiling a little, maybe, as she slipped her hand into Rich’s. She deserved that, right? Not to be alone at the end?

“This just makes me more fucking convinced,” Ray said.

“Of?”

“That I’m not fucking giving in to these things. And that you need to go the fuck home.” He rose and walked out of the room, the blanket hugged around him like a shroud.

† † †

Dan slept with his neck at an odd angle again, a stab of pain going up behind his ear when he jerked upright, confused in the pitch blackness of drawn shades. The claws of sleep gripped him. His ears strained for what had woken him.

Something moved in the dark. Bare feet on bare wood. The thump of a nightstand against a wall.

He got his limbs moving, scrambling over the top of the chair, toppling it, nearly landing on his chin on the linoleum. Crouching on the balls of his feet, he shoved the chair between them, keeping low, ready to dart in whichever direction he could. His breath hit the back of the chair as he peered over the top.

“
Ray
,” he whispered quickly.

A heel came down in the dark in front of the chair, hard and unsteady, making the floor vibrate under Dan’s boots.

“
Ray.
”

Ray lumbered into the doorway, face like a sliver of moon in what light the kitchen offered. His shin banged the front of the chair, jolting in Dan’s hands. He clutched it harder, his muscles cocked, ready to jump. Ray moaned. His hands reached in the air like a blind man’s.

His shin knocked the chair again. Dan did the only thing he could think of, jerking the chair back, then shoving it forward, hard. The shove sent Ray stumbling backward. He tripped over his own foot, landed hard on the wood floor. Dan reflexively thought of the downstairs neighbors—but he hadn’t heard anyone else in the building since he’d arrived.

He jerked the chair out of the way and lunged for the door, stretching inside of the bedroom, right over Ray, to grasp the knob.

Ray gripped his calf, his thin fingers digging into his leg. He hung on to the knob and the doorjamb, shaking his foot, trying to get free.

Ray’s fingers dragged at him. His mouth opened, his teeth flashing in what little light the room held.

Dan kicked out, knocking Ray in the chest, jarring his teeth shut with a
click
. Ray’s mouth popped right back open, lunging for him.

With a grunt, Dan kicked, swift and sharp, then yanked his leg back, wrenching it free of Ray’s grip.

Ray’s teeth snapped together.

“
Fuck
.” He needed to get Ray out of the way of the fucking door. He searched the darkness, keeping one eye toward Ray while he tried to think,
fast
. The closest thing at hand was the chair. With one last kick at Ray, he scrambled back, grabbed the chair, and put it between them. Digging his boots against the floor, he steamrolled Ray backward with the chair. Ray’s sweatpants slid over the hardwood. His fingers clawed at the chair’s seat cushion.

There was a
snap
—Ray’s fingernail breaking as he tried to haul himself up by the chair’s wooden arm.

Dan braced his feet and gave one more heave, cramming Ray between the chair and the bed. He backpedaled, boot heels clicking. He grasped the knob and hauled the door shut with a sharp
clap
.

He sank to the floor with his back against the door, clutching the knob.

The legs of the chair slid behind the door.

Hard knocks came across the floor, like knees hitting it.

Ray’s fingernails scraped wood just behind Dan’s head.

The knob jiggled.

Dan gripped harder.

Ray made a croaking noise that drew the skin behind Dan’s ears tight. Ray’s palms made the door bounce against Dan’s skull.

His heart thudded into his breastbone, like one of the fucking things out there throwing itself against a window.

A parasite smacked the kitchen window like a rotten pumpkin, rattling the glass, making Dan push his back against the door and grip the knob tighter.

Something pushed under the door, poking him. He slid sideways enough to put a hand on it. The tips of Ray’s fingers. Then they were gone. Ray hit the door again, higher, then higher, getting back to his feet. The doorknob twisted. Dan held on with both hands, hanging his weight off it.

It went on for long minutes—Ray, not even really
Ray
, on the other side of the door. Dan’s temples ached from gritting his teeth. His thigh muscles screamed from holding his crouch. His knuckles felt like they’d locked up, gripping the doorknob so long.

A
thud
shook the floor.

He held his breath, listening in the silence, mind racing. He could grab a knife from the drawer, make one small fucking cut in his own skin, and end the whole thing. Force Ray to give up and go to Vermont.

He pressed his forehead against his fists, still clutching the knob. Ray would never forgive him. Maybe if this whole problem got sorted out and things got back to normal, he’d get over it. But would he ever trust him again? Deep down? Or would he go to his grave resenting him for not letting him play his conviction out?

However much he
wanted
to make Ray do what they knew worked, he couldn’t, not without his consent, because however much Ray might have wanted to take
him
to the hospital, he never had—not as long as Dan was saying he didn’t want to go. Even when Dan had been ready to give up and go in, Ray had kept his eye on the ball, come up with another plan. Got him through the fucking thing.

He owed him that.

His knees creaked as he pulled to his feet. There had to be something in the drawers. He
hoped
there was something in the drawers, because if he wasn’t going to go against Ray’s wishes, and if he wasn’t going to leave and let Ray deal with it by himself, then he had to do his part to make it work.