Tommy Nightmare (Jenny Pox #2) (25 page)

“Charleston has too many people,” Jenny
said.

“My dad’s insisting. I have to go there
because they ‘have the right focus on global market integration.’”
Seth jabbed a fist in the air as he imitated his dad’s voice.

“Ooh, are we talking about Charleston?” Darcy
asked. She'd joined them on the bleachers, and now stood on the far
side of Seth from Jenny. “I can't wait! Can you?”

Jenny shrugged.

“When are you guys going for orientation?”
Darcy asked.

“I'm supposed to go in a couple of weeks,”
Seth said. “Meet up with some of my friends from Grayson
Academy.”

Jenny didn't like the sound of that. Before
high school, Seth had attended an all-boys private school with a
bunch of other rich kids. He’d only come back to Fallen Oak for
high school because of his parents’ weird ideas about tradition.
Jenny had met a couple of Grayson types at the Barrett Christmas
party, and they were jerks.

“Ooh, nifty,” Darcy said. “Do you think I
could hook a ride with you guys? My parents won't take me. They're
still mad about the precious miracle in my belly. I'm giving it up
for adoption, so it's not like it's gonna matter, but....” Darcy
shrugged.

“You can ride with Seth,” Jenny said, and
Seth gave her a sharp look. “Right, Seth?'

“Well, yeah...” Seth said. “It's just,
there's the big music festival that weekend. Lots of drunk people,
crowds...”

“Ooh, yeah,” Darcy said. “I want to go to a
music festival.”

“Really?” Seth asked.

“Hell yeah. I never have any fun,” Darcy
said.

“Darcy Metcalf,” Jenny asked, in a
mock-scolding tone. “Did you just swear?”

“Fuck yeah I did!” Darcy said, and Jenny and
Seth laughed. “I'm graduating. I can do what I want.”

“So you're taking her, Seth?” Jenny asked.
She smiled. How much trouble could Seth get into with Darcy Metcalf
up his ass?

“Uhhh...” Seth said.

Darcy beamed at him.

“Yeah, okay,” Seth sighed. “It'll be
fun.”

“Bet your bumpers it will be!” Darcy
said.

When the students were assembled, Assistant
Principal Varney approached the loudspeaker podium on a little
platform in front of the students. She addressed the parents and
other audience members.

“Parents, students, and members of our Fallen
Oak High community,” she said. “We all know this has been a
difficult year for our town. But today is a happy day, when so many
of our young people move forward to begin their lives in the
world...” After a few platitudes, she introduced Reverend Bailey
for the commencement address.

“Brothers and sisters in Christ,” he began.
The man looked a little stooped, and much grayer than Jenny
remembered. His daughter Neesha was among the missing—and Jenny
knew that all the “missing” were really dead. “In this time of
need, let us remember and celebrate those we have lost. And let us
also remember that, wherever they are, the Lord watches over
them...Let us pray for understanding. Let us pray for hope. Let us
pray.” He bowed his head, and everyone else in the stadium did the
same.

The Reverend's prayer referred to the Book of
Job and trials and tribulations. When he mentioned Job's affliction
of boils and disease, Jenny peeked open one eye to see if anyone
was looking at her, but nobody was.

Then Mrs. Varney returned to introduce the
class valedictorian, Raquisha Higgins, who said things like “now we
move on into the springtime of our lives, like butterflies hatching
from the high school cocoon...”

At least I saved us from one last speech
by Ashleigh
, Jenny thought.

Mrs. Varney called the students to receive
their diplomas.

The whole experience was surreal. Jenny was
the reason so many people were gone, but nobody knew except Seth
and Jenny’s dad. Seth was adamant that she shouldn't turn herself
in—but if he was moving away from her, how much could he really
care?

Out in the audience, half the people were
crying. So were some of the students around her. The short list of
graduates made it clear how many people they had lost.

She looked at her dad. He didn't look happy,
either.

Then she looked at Seth. What kind of person
was she, if she could kill so many people and still worry about her
own happiness? So what if Seth moved away? She deserved far worse.
She was a monster.

Seth took her hand and gave her a small
smile, but Jenny wasn't feeling it at all.

Heather got to work early Monday morning,
which was her new habit. The CDC had continued testing the bodies,
and still failed to come up with anything that might explain their
horrific demise. Heather couldn't leave it alone, so she kept
checking the data for any developments.

Fallen Oak presented her with two big
anomalies: the day of death and the teenage baby boom. Heather had
crunched the numbers on that and determined that most of the
conceptions must have happened in late October and early November,
almost as if a single event were responsible for the whole thing.
She wondered what had been happening in Fallen Oak on
Halloween.

There was no more information on Ashleigh
Goodling, or her parents. They hadn't been identified among the
bodies. The whole family seemed to have vanished in a puff of
smoke. She found that extremely suspicious, but it was getting her
nowhere.

There was, of course, no explanation for the
magical disappearing pathogen, either. Over two hundred people had
simply developed extreme symptoms for no reason. That was good
enough for the White House, so long as the event didn't recur. It
wasn't good enough for Heather. She came in early and worked late
to crunch the numbers collected by the lab techs. The government
was keeping the bodies in frozen storage now, presumably in case
some new information or investigative technique turned up, and
fending off inquiries from the families. Most of the bodies
currently in storage were officially “missing” instead of deceased,
in order to downplay the scale of the event.

That didn't sit right with Heather, either,
but it was beyond her control. The White House, no doubt, had no
interest in her opinion. Not in an election year.

The phone rang, which surprised her. She
wasn't officially here for another half hour. She thought about
letting it go to voice mail, but then she noticed the area code:
803. That was South Carolina, maybe Fallen Oak.

“Dr. Reynard,” she answered.

“Um, hi.” The voice on the other end was
young, female, and very nervous. “Is this, um, Dr. Reynard?”

“Yes.”

“Um, hi,” the voice repeated. “You were in
Fallen Oak when all the stuff was happening?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I think I met you. My name is Darcy.
Metcalf.”

Dr. Reynard tried to put a face with the
name, but couldn’t. She had screened a lot of the girls in town.
She wrote “Darcy Metcalf” on a Post-It pad.

“Yeah,” the girl said. Her voice fell to a
whisper. “I tried to tell you about Jenny. About the witchcraft, or
whatever it is.”

Dr. Reynard remembered a mousey-haired
pregnant girl pushing her angry father’s wheelchair.

“Oh, Darcy!” she said. “I remember you.”

“Okay, good,” Darcy said. “Now, I’ve thought
about it a lot, and I think maybe it’s not witchcraft.”

“I’m sure it isn’t, Darcy.”

“No, there’s gotta be some science involved.
Like she carries the disease, but it doesn’t hurt her, but she can
infect other people. Is there a word for that? You know, like how
mosquitos can infect you but they don’t get sick themselves?”

“An immune carrier?”

“That sounds right! She could be an ‘immune
carrier.’”

“Who are we talking about?” Heather didn’t
know what to make of this phone call yet.

“Jenny Pox. I mean, Jenny Morton. Jenny Pox
is just what people call her.”

“Why do they call her that?”

“Because, like I said, she can infect people
and make ‘em sick. But she doesn’t really get sick. She can suck it
back in when she’s done.”

“Darcy, you’re whispering too low. I can
barely hear you.”

“Okay, sorry. It’s just, I don’t want my dad
to know I’m talking to you.”

“Why not?”

“Cause he’d get mad. Cause he doesn’t want me
to get involved. Nobody wants to get involved. But I think you
should know about it.”

“Well, thanks for calling, Darcy. Is there
anything else?”

“You don’t understand,” Darcy said. “I have
pictures. I have to email them to you.”

“What kind of pictures?”

“Of Jenny. Only she’s all infected and gunk.
Just like the people who died in the square.”

“Did you see what happened in the square,
Darcy?” Heather asked.

“No. But everybody kinda knows. It was Jenny,
she flared up with her disease and infected people. They die fast
once they get it. That’s why everyone’s scared to talk. Everyone’s
scared of her.”

“Well, send me the pictures, Darcy—”

“I already did. Can you look at ‘em now?
Please?”

Heather sighed. She opened her Outlook and
saw the email from Darcy. She opened the attachment.

A photo of Jenny Morton filled her screen.
The girl leaned close to a blond-haired boy, who looked drowsy or
asleep, and she had pried his mouth open with her fingers. Her chin
and lips were full of leaking blisters and broken pustules. Her
tongue was fully extended, reaching down towards his mouth,
dripping pus, blood, and clear fluid onto the boy’s lips and
face.

Heather sat up in her chair. The girl had the
symptoms of “Fallen Oak syndrome,” the mystery killer that they
couldn’t identify. She was the first live suspected case.

“Darcy,” Heather said. “When was this picture
taken?”

“That’s from, like, months ago,” Darcy said.
“Somebody took it during Christmas break, I think.”

“This isn’t recent?”

“No. Like I said, she brings it out, then she
threatens people with it, then she sucks it back in. Or, you know.
Kills people. She says she can get away with it because it’s not
murder, it’s disease. And she laughs. She terrorizes people with
it. The whole town’s like in fear of her.”

“Darcy, listen to me very carefully,” Heather
said. “Is what you’re telling me true? All of it? Or is there any
part you might be exaggerating, or not explaining clearly?”

“It’s true,” Darcy said. “And I prayed on it,
and then I started thinking maybe it’s not witchcraft, maybe it’s
science. Like that immune carrier thingy you were talking
about.”

“But you’re saying she can express her
symptoms at will?” Heather said.

“Yeah. Or maybe she can’t really control
it—like when I get hives on my butt after I eat cheese—it breaks
out, and then she just acts mean when it breaks out. I dunno. I’ve
been thinking about it too much.”

“So you’re saying she has occasional
breakouts, but then they go away?” Heather asked.

“Right,” Darcy said. “But you don’t want to
touch her because she’s contagious. That’s why she wears gloves all
the time. Jenny Mittens, that’s something else people call her.
She’s kind of a freako.”

Heather remembered her visit to Jenny’s
house. The girl had been wearing a pair of blue cloth gloves—that
stuck out because it had been a hot, sticky day, no reason for her
to wear them. The gloves were too clean and lightweight for
gardening. Also, Heather thought it was odd that the girl never
took them off, even when Heather was examining her, until Heather
asked to take her blood.

And Heather remembered one more thing—the
girl had sighed in relief when Heather strapped on the disposable
rubber gloves. She remembered that because
nobody
felt
relief at the sight of a doctor slipping on gloves. Taking them
off, maybe.

“Dr. Reynard?” Darcy asked.

“Yes. Hold on a moment.” Heather’s mind was
racing. There were three possibilities. One, the photo was a fake
of some kind. Two, the girl Jenny had previously been infected with
the x-pathogen, but showed no signs when Heather examined her.
Three, the picture was newer than Darcy said, and Jenny had become
infected after Heather examined.

Options two and three each indicated a
separate outbreak from the single incident they knew about. Either
possibility required immediate action.

“Okay, Darcy?” Heather said.

“Yeah?”

“What else can you tell me about this?”

“Uh…that’s about it, I guess.”

“How certain are you about when this picture
was taken?”

“Kids were passing it around school in
January. That’s all I really know.”

“Okay. If you think of anything else, you
call me. In fact, here’s my cell number.” Heather gave it to her.
“Have you seen Jenny lately?”

“Just around town,” Darcy said. “She’s
usually riding with Seth Barrett. He’s the boy in the picture. He
never gets sick, though.”

“You’ve seen her since you saw this
picture?”

“Oh, yeah. That picture’s from a while ago. I
kept it ‘cause it was so weird.”

“Does she look sick to you?”

“No, she looks fine,” Darcy said. “Like I
said, that disease thing comes and goes with her.”

“Okay. Thank you so much, Darcy. I’ll call
you back if I have any questions.”

“Um, better text my cell phone,” Darcy said.
“My dad’s kind of a lame-o. He gets mad if the phone rings too
much.”

“Okay, I’ll text you. Bye, Darcy.”

Heather looked up Jenny Morton’s lab results
on the investigation database. If there was anything unusual, it
was the girl’s completely perfect health.

She wasn’t satisfied. Never mind the lab
reports—she wanted to go look at the specimens herself.

But first, she would stop by Schwartzman’s
office. He would know somebody discreet at Homeland Security,
somebody who could get her every available piece of information on
Jenny Morton. And on the Goodlings, while they were at it.