The Complex (25 page)

He will keep them safe, he vows, as the smoke stings his eyes, making it impossible to see. He will keep them safe as long as he can, provided it doesn’t lead to his own death. He will protect them, just as he protects everybody else.

And this time, it won’t require a sacrifice.

The thought pleases him. It will be nice to do good without having to spill blood for a change. It will be nice not to need a sacrifice.

Finally, they pass beyond the burning ruins of their former home, and the smoke starts to dissipate. On their left now is the woods. To their right are a few more homes and garages. When the smoke has cleared enough to breathe again, the Exit halts. He lets go of Stephanie’s hand and wipes his stinging eyes. When his vision returns, he surveys them.

“Is everyone okay?”

Coughing and sputtering, they nod, wiping at their eyes and noses. The Exit notices that Grady has put the gun down and is flexing his right hand, as if the appendage has gone to sleep.

“Grady?”

“I’m fine,” the old man wheezes, picking up the gun. “Let’s move out.”

“Remember, try not to talk from here on out. We are almost to the end of the alley. When we reach Main Street, we’ll be more exposed than we are here.”

They all nod in understanding, even the boy, Caleb. The Exit is impressed by how well the child has endured tonight. He feels a swelling of admiration for him. He glances behind them, expecting to see Tick Tock, but there is no sign of the fat man. They haven’t seen a single pursuer since they all chased after Shaggy. The Exit wonders how much longer that luck will hold out. Then he leads them forward again.

A large, yellow cat slinks out of the woods to their left, green eyes appraising them curiously. Its bushy tail hangs low to the ground, twitching slowly back and forth. The movement reminds the Exit of Tick Tock’s head. The animal is obviously frightened and wary, but it doesn’t flee. He admires that.

Stephanie gasps, and the Exit turns to her.

“That’s one of Mrs. Carlucci’s cats,” she whispers. “That’s Hannibal.”

Before the Exit can stop her, Stephanie breaks ranks and slowly approaches the cat. The animal eyes her warily, but still doesn’t retreat back into the smoke-filled woods. Stephanie crouches down and holds out one hand, wiggling her fingers. It occurs to the Exit that although the girl was worried about her nudity before, that no longer seems to be a concern. Perhaps it is the cat who has put her at ease, although he doesn’t understand why. The older he gets, the more certain he becomes that he will never understand other people, and their emotions and motivations. At least, not completely.

He suddenly feels very alone.

Stephanie makes a kissing noise, wriggling her fingers more urgently. “Hannibal. Come here, kitty kitty kitty. Come on.”

Hannibal takes one step forward. Then two.

“That’s it.” Stephanie smiles.

“Stephanie,” the Exit whispers. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Then go on without me,” she mutters, not taking her eyes off the cat.

Sighing in frustration, the Exit glances around. The alley remains deserted, but the sounds of conflict still echo across the town—faded gunshots, muted screams, car tires screeching from far away.

Hannibal seems to relax as he approaches Stephanie. He consents to let her pet his head and scratch under his chin. He walks in tiny circles, vigorously rubbing each side of his face against her outstretched fingers. His purrs grow louder with each stroke, and the Exit worries for a moment that someone might hear them. Hannibal turns again, allowing Stephanie to scratch his back. Then he walks over to the rest of the group.

As Stephanie regains her feet, Terri and Caleb pause to pet the cat. The Exit’s annoyance with them grows, but he reminds himself that at least they are doing so quietly. Yes, they are creating a delay, but they aren’t attracting attention—at least as far as he can determine. It was possible a lone attacker or a group of lunatics were hiding in the shadows right now, watching the entire display. But he didn’t think so. From everything he’d seen so far tonight, and all of the behavior they had evidenced, the naked mob didn’t seem very keen on waiting. They tended to charge ahead instead.

Except for Mrs. Carlucci’s apartment,
he reminds himself.

Terri motions at Grady, indicating he should pet the cat. Grady raises his hand and waves, declining the opportunity.

“I’m more of a dog person,” he whispers.

The Exit clears his throat softly. They all look at him, including the cat. He cocks his head and starts walking again. The group begins to follow. Hannibal trots along at Stephanie’s side, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, ears twitching. He is obviously alert, and it occurs to the Exit that maybe the cat isn’t so bad to have along, after all.

They come to a two-car garage on their right that is under construction. In the yard next to it is a wooden pallet stacked high with bags of concrete, another filled with roofing tiles, and a third with loose lengths of rebar.

Well,
the Exit thinks,
I saw several of them armed with rebar tonight. Now I know where they got it from.

He grabs a length for himself. Stephanie and Terri follow suit. The Exit is pleased with these new acquisitions. The weapons will only help to serve their disguise.

The alley comes to an end at the corner of a Chinese restaurant called Fortune Garden. The Exit thinks that’s a perfect omen. They could use a garden of good fortune right about now. And indeed, he spots a second good omen as they pass the rear of restaurant. Someone—he assumes probably the owner—has been growing vegetables on a small plot of dirt behind the building. Plump, ripe tomatoes dangle heavily from their vines, as do several varieties of peppers that he doesn’t recognize, and something that looks like a zucchini but is bigger and rounder. The Exit glances around, listens, and then studies the cat. When Hannibal shows no signs of immediate distress, the Exit trots up a small embankment and plucks a tomato from the vine. He bites into it, relishing the taste as juice and pulp and seeds squirt into his mouth. The effect on his system is immediate. He doesn’t know if it’s real or merely psychological, but he feels rejuvenated and refreshed. He takes another bite. He turns silently to the others and points at the garden, asking if anyone else would like a tomato. Stephanie nods, and Terri holds up two fingers. He places his rebar to the side and picks a tomato for each of them. As he hands them down, he glances at Grady. The old man seems oblivious and disinterested.

No,
the Exit decides, after a moment.
That’s not what he seems. What he seems is tired
.

While the others enjoy their quick snack, he retrieves his weapon, tiptoes back down the embankment and creeps to the end of the alley. Seeing no activity in the immediate vicinity, he motions at the others to follow him. They do. Caleb wipes tomato seeds from his chin.

The Exit turns left, stepping out onto Main Street. The others follow, their naked feet padding along softly behind him. It occurs to him then how quiet the town has now become. The sounds he’d heard a few minutes ago—the gunshots and screams and screeching tires—have all faded. Now, there is only silence. The Exit wonders if they are the only ones left alive.

They continue on, passing by a Rite-Aid and a Hardees fast food restaurant. Neither establishment has escaped unscathed. The windows are smashed and debris is scattered throughout the parking lots. Some of the debris is human. A lone naked man kneels at the restaurant’s drive-thru window, calmly using a bloody hacksaw to separate the arm off a victim. He glances up at them with feral eyes. The Exit does his best to return the gesture, apparently convincing the madman. They continue on, unscathed.

A little farther up the left hand side of the street is a storm drain. The iron grating that covered it has been removed and tossed out into the road. As they walk by it, the Exit glances down. The storm drain has been filled with severed heads—men, women, children, all staring up sightlessly, mouths hanging open in death. He glances back at Terri and nods toward the hole. She manages to divert Caleb’s attention from it until they are past. It occurs to the Exit that this was perhaps foolish. After all, the boy has seen a multitude of other atrocities tonight. Why should they be so concerned about him seeing this one? But if it keeps the boy quiet, and prevents him from reacting in such a way that their cover is blown, then it’s better to take precautions.

Movement in the sky catches his attention. The Exit glances upward and sees the pale oval of a searchlight moving across the clouds. Then he looks at the horizon and sees that it is glowing—not from a fire or from sunrise, but from an array of bright electric lights. It’s the National Guard perimeter, and he wants to cheer. Instead, he motions at it, making sure the others see. Their expressions mirror his own—relief, joy, and determination.

All except Grady’s. His expression is slack. His mouth hangs open, and his eyes droop. He is limping badly, favoring his injured ankle.

The Exit touches his shoulder, staring inquisitively. Grady motions at him to keep going. Frowning, the Exit starts down the sidewalk. The others follow behind.

The houses on Main Street mirror those in the rest of the town. If anything, the damage is even more extensive here. A swath of destruction has been carved through them, and no home remains unscathed. The dead are everywhere—in the street, in cars, hanging out of windows, porches, and yards—and although the corpses are composed of both sides in tonight’s war, those wearing clothes far outnumber the naked.

They pass an empty State Police car, tipped over on its driver’s side. The vehicle leaks gasoline and oil and antifreeze onto the road. They find a second police car half a block away from the first. This one remains upright, but it has been flattened by what the Exit can only assume were a pack of crazies armed with sledgehammers. The roof is even with the hood of the car, and the doors and side panels have collapsed. The two state troopers inside the vehicle are even flatter than the car itself—recognizable only by their blood-soaked uniforms.

Gunfire echoes ahead of them, from somewhere in the direction of the perimeter, shattering the stillness. Judging by the sound, it’s a heavy caliber automatic weapon. A National Guardsman holding the line, perhaps? The sound gives him hope. Safety is at hand. And if not safety, then at least shelter. At least a brief respite.

All they have to do is make it there.

That’s when Grady collapses, crumpling to the pavement like a falling leaf. The Exit cringes at the sound the old man’s head makes as it strikes the pavement. The pistol clatters out into the street and slides under the rear tire of a parked car. The bullets he’d carried in his other hand are scattered across the road and sidewalk. The others cry out in surprise and dismay. Casting aside their rebar clubs, they rush to him, all pretense of disguising themselves gone.

The Exit pushes his way through the others and crouches down next to Grady. He is surprised to discover that he feels concern for his neighbor, and is even more surprised by the relief that washes over him when he sees that Grady’s eyes are open and alert. The old man’s expression is one of agony, and he claws weakly at his chest.

“My…heart…”

“I’ll carry you.” The Exit slides one arm under the elderly man’s legs.

“Bullshit,” Grady rasps. “Can’t go…anymore, Mendez. I’m done.”

“No, you’re not. We are less than a mile from the perimeter. I can carry you that far.”

Grimacing, Grady waves his hand. “Slow you…down.”

“His head,” Stephanie whispers.

The Exit sees blood spreading out onto the sidewalk from beneath Grady’s head. He scowls, feeling a rage build inside of him.

“I don’t…” the Exit pauses. “I don’t have anybody, Grady. In my life, I mean. There’s no one. I’m alone. And yet…there is you. I have you.”

Stephanie, Terri, and Caleb stare at him. Grady looks up, smiling.

“Listen to me…Mendez. Everything I had…burned up tonight…in that…fire. I’ve got nothing…except my daughter. She’s out there…somewhere. You all need to make it…out of here and… tell her. All I have is her and…the rest of you. I need you to go on…”

“You are coming with us,” the Exit insists. Then he turns to the others. “Help me lift him. We have to do it carefully.”

“No…”

Grady’s pained expression is replaced with one of resolve. He raises one trembling, liver-spotted hand and points back toward town. The others turn to look.

Tick Tock is a block away, limping toward them, at the head of a pack two-dozen strong, if not more.

Hissing, Hannibal turns and runs into the night, leaving the others behind. The Exit stares after the cat for a second, and then turns his attention back to Grady.

“Never did…trust cats…” Grady groans.

“Hurry,” the Exit says, and slips his other hand beneath Grady’s shoulders. He feels warm, sticky blood on his fingers.

“Goddamn it,” Grady wheezes. “Leave me…be and get… going.”

“What happened to no man left behind, Grady?”

“What happened to…you can’t die…Mendez?”

The Exit pauses. He looks into the old man’s eyes. Grady smiles, nods slightly, and then grimaces in pain.