Quarantine: The Loners (5 page)

Hang tight in there. We’re doing the best we can.” The screen went dead, and one of the soldiers muttered into his headset microphone. The steel doors swung open from the outside. One by one, the soldiers backed out of the school with swift precision. There was a sudden surge of sound as kids shouted every possible question they could think of, all at once. But within seconds, the soldiers were all gone, and the doors were securely shut. Kids rushed the entrance. Some went straight for the doors, bashing against them in the hope they would give way. They didn’t. Most gathered around the testing booth, pushing and pulling for a chance to get their finger scanned.

Will looked to David. He smiled with excitement. It was the first happy moment David had shared with his brother in months. David imagined those steel doors in the foyer opening up for them both.

A Nerd and a Freak fought over who could use the scanner next. Both of their gangs got involved, and the area around the machine became a messy brawl. A Varsity was hit by an errant elbow meant for a Freak, and the rest of Varsity joined the violent tumult. David tugged Will away from the spectacle, and they rushed back to their supply closet home.

David and Will sat and talked for hours. They dreamed of the day they’d get out. They each made big plans for their first day back on the outside. They convinced themselves the outside would be safe again by the time they transitioned out of the virus. They talked about how differently they’d live their lives once they had a taste of real sunshine, fresh food, and natural air again.

All they had to do was stay alive.

ONE YEAR LATER

DAVID LEAPT OVER A BLUE-HAIRED FREAK.

The drop was in full swing. Red, blue, black, and yellow heads of hair swirled and collided with each other all around him. A mound of boxes, packaged supplies, and glinting silver bags of powdered soup sat in the middle of the dead brown grass of the quad. People tore away at the edges of that central pile as fast as their hands could grab the items.

A fight erupted between a Skater with a triple Mohawk and a stocky Geek whose black hair had a thick orange stripe down the side. They fought over a box of salt and tumbled into David’s path. David roll-dodged around them and kept sprinting. He felt like he was back on the football field, running it all the way to the end zone.

A red-haired Slut to his left got cracked in the head when she stooped to pick up a package of men’s briefs. There was a lot of blood. Scalp wounds always bled a lot.

David doubled back to face the central mound again. The multicolored battle in front of him looked like a blood-soaked Skittles commercial. David actually liked that each gang had its own signature hair. It helped him gauge danger. If there were too many of any one color, he knew to steer clear of that area.

Know what you want, grab it, and get out. That was David’s rule for the drops. He kept running, swaying with the sea of lunging bodies, and scanning the ground for neon-green boxes of detergent. Most people went for food and clothes and blankets and the like before they worried about laundry supplies. David’s livelihood depended on things staying that way.

A string of bulky figures in stained white athletic jerseys and football helmets advanced in unison, creating a moving wall toward the densest group of boxes—the food. Varsity laid claim to most of the food, every time. The shrink-wrapped clusters of military rations and canned goods shimmered in the dim sunlight that passed through the gray canopy. When a pint-size band Geek tried to dart through an opening in the jock blockade to get to the food, the nearest Varsity member reached out and clotheslined him. The kid dropped like a sack of rocks, then gasped for air on the ground.

David heard a chain reaction of laughter to his right. He turned to see a group of girls jumping up and down, clapping and letting bloodthirsty screams rip. Their hair was the color of lemon sherbet, and it undulated with the bounce of their bodies.

“Kick that Geek in the face!” yelled one.

Their skirts swished side to side with every gleeful cheer, giving anyone who dared to look a peek at their perfect legs.

“Make him bleeeed, Varsity!” squealed another.

David loved and hated the Pretty Ones. His body wanted them, they were the prettiest after all, but his mind knew it was smarter to fear them. They were partnered up with Varsity, and David still made consistent daily efforts to fly under Varsity’s radar.

David spotted a fellow Scrap on the sidelines, another white-haired kid like him, with no gang. The Scrap’s face was gouged with scars, and two thirds of his right eyebrow was gone. The kid ran into the fray as fast as he could with his limp. He made a grab for two shining soup bags on the ground. A pack of Freaks sprinted past, knocking him down and trampling his hand. The kid barked in pain and abandoned the soup. He scurried back to the sidelines, holding his bent claw with his good hand.

David needed to keep his mind on the game, but he couldn’t.

That Scrap would probably starve if that hand didn’t heal. He ran an arc around a cluster of people who fought over a new pair of jeans. He snatched up the soup packets and tossed them to the Scrap. The kid picked them up, smiled at David with genuine surprise, and staggered away. Whatever grungy mouse hole that kid was crawling back to, at least he’d have something to eat there.

David caught a glimpse of neon green through the flickering of running legs. A box of laundry detergent sat perfectly on top of a hot plate. He sprinted toward it.

As David wove his way through the fray, a giant Varsity was doing the same from the other direction, his eyes fixated on the hot plate. David could try to snag the hot plate too. It would catch a good price in the market. But a broken leg could cost him everything, and then Will would have no one to look after him. David plucked up the detergent and kept running. The trihawked Skater from earlier, his box of salt locked under his arm, pounced on the hot plate. He had it in his hand for only an instant before the Varsity steamrolled him into a concrete bench. The Pretty Ones erupted into more cheers as the Varsity did an end-zone celebration dance.

David made one last circle around the edge of the drop.

One box of detergent was all he needed, but if he could get another, or a replacement sewing kit for tailoring jobs, that wouldn’t hurt. There were fewer people fighting now, and the bigger items were already taken. Skaters loaded their loot into their cage on wheels, constructed out of sprinkler pipes and duct tape. Most of the movement on the quad came from the writhing of the wounded.

There was nothing left to grab. David peered to the southeast corner, his rendezvous point with Will. His brother wasn’t there. Nausea curdled his stomach. He whipped his head back in the direction of the drop, looking frantically for his brother, sweat stinging his eyes.

Finally, he spotted Will, not far from where the Skater met the bench. He was making out with a Scrap girl with tangled white hair. David jogged to them. Their mouths were mashed together with such force that David didn’t know if he was watching two people kiss or a mother bird feeding her baby.

Will was bigger now, thanks to a recent growth spurt. He looked like a young man; there was no trace of boy anymore.

His body was lean and wiry, and apparently it was working on the ladies.

“Will,” David said with a grin.

The mouth-mashers separated, their lips still wet. David had to stifle a laugh; he knew the girl, she was Weird Peggy.

Scratch that big brother pride he’d just felt. Peggy was David’s year, and she used to come to school every day in an old top hat, the same one that lay at her feet at the moment.

She prided herself on being as unique as possible, but David never really thought she had a choice. Grooming, normal conversation, and pauses that weren’t painfully awkward were all things beyond her capabilities. He would have been more impressed if he found Will making out with his own shoe.

“Oh. Wow, I didn’t know you two were together,” David said.

Weird Peggy brightened at the notion.

“We’re not, we’re nothing,” Will said.

Weird Peggy held a frown for a moment then shrugged, put her top hat back on, and ambled away.

“After everything that’s been destroyed, why did that hat have to survive?” David said.

Will said nothing. He wiped his white mop of hair from his brow, shoveled his loot from the drop onto his threadbare sheet, and bundled it together into a sack. Will stood and avoided David’s eyes.

“So . . . Peggy?” David said.

“Lay off it.”

“Hey, I think it’s great you have girlfriend—”

“She’s not my—you listen, you’re not allowed to give me shit about this,” Will said.

“I don’t know . . . see, I kind of feel another comment coming on.”

“Oh, yeah? Sure about that? Then I guess you don’t want any of this then.”

Will produced a plastic jar from his sack with an inch and a half of creamy peanut butter at the bottom of it. David could almost smell the nuttiness through the jar. Thick, oily, and dense but still dripping, oozing. Pure fat packed together with so much body it might as well have been meat. He imagined it coating his mouth, working its way between his teeth, a gorgeous, glistening glue spreading its sweet butter over the back of his tongue and leaving a film that would linger on his taste buds for days.

“You traded for this?” David asked.

“Guilty,” Will said with a smile.

Will popped the jar back in his sack and strutted away.

David remained under the peanut butter’s enchantment for a moment, before he caught up with Will.

“What did you trade, a testicle?”

Fifteen minutes later, David pulled his tools from a rolling backpack and laid them out on a towel on the crusted bathroom floor: the new detergent, two buckets of soapy water, one ripped yellow dishwashing glove, three toothbrushes for heavy stains, a penknife for gunk, a plunger handle, an eyedropper, chalk dust for grease, salt for blood, and a soda bottle of ammonia. David took a bundle of white clothes out of the backpack and plunged it into one of the buckets. He agitated the garments with the plunger handle.

Laundry was David’s daily routine. It wasn’t what he wanted to do; nothing about it was fun, and there was no end to it. It was what he had to do to keep them alive; this was his job.

Naturally, Will did nothing to help. He did push-ups in the corner. Again.

“If you’re not watching the door, help me wash,” David said.

“I’m watchin’ it.”

“You’re staring at the floor.”

Will groaned.

“What good does it do anyway? Not like there’s a back exit,” Will said. He sprang to his feet. “If a gang finds us, they’ll jump us. If they don’t, they won’t.”

“Right, right. If we starve, then we starve, why worry?” Will stayed silent. He interlocked his fingers behind his back and stretched his chest.

“Do something for once. Humor me,” David said.

“On it,” Will said. He flexed his triceps at himself in the mirror.

David sighed, Will was never going to learn. He bore down on a brown stain, scrubbing the blouse’s fabric into itself and grinding in the gritty salt.

“When I graduate,” David said, “you’re not gonna have anybody to mooch off of.”

Will rolled his eyes.

“You’re gonna need a trade. Lemme teach you my system.”

“I don’t want to learn your system.”

But he sure loved eating the system this bought.

“You gonna flex for food?” David said.

“I’ll come up with something. Something good.”

“One person can’t survive off only what they get at the drops. You’re not Gonzalo.”

“Whatever I do,” Will said, “it won’t be washing blood out of other people’s clothes.”

David stood, squared his shoulders to Will. Tossed the garment aside.

“Hey,” David said, “Straight up. I want you to answer me.” Will tensed up, ready to defend himself.

“Was it the top hat that turned you on?” David said.

Will managed a laugh, but he was still keyed up.

“Yeah, fine. Fine. I hooked up with Weird Peggy,” Will said.

“You happy? It’s your fault.”

“Interesting. Explain that to me.”

“Tell me who I’m supposed to date. Can’t date girls in gangs.

And that’s pretty much every girl. Off limits. Whose fault is that?”

He didn’t say it like a joke; his words had teeth. He wondered if Will would ever forgive him for the life they had to lead.

“So,” Will continued, “there’s Scraps. Weird little losers scattered through the school, hiding in their holes, probably eating their shoes, and hoping no one hits them that day.

That’s who I get to pick from. Thanks.”

Will returned to the corner and dropped to the floor to knock out reps. David’s desire to win the argument died somewhere during Will’s speech. David faced himself in the mirror. He examined his white hair, the stained clothes in his hands, the filthy bathroom behind him; it was just nasty enough that no one else would want to use it, a place where David could feel safe that no mob of kids would wander in and rob him. He could handle these indignities for the handful of months he had left. But he knew Will couldn’t, he knew Will wouldn’t try. And he was scared of what Will would try when David was no longer around.