Rags & Bones: New Twists on Timeless Tales (32 page)

In a world like that, if you could do something to lighten someone’s spirits, you did it. So Cole wanted that paw for Tyler.

When Cole caught up, Murray was holding it again, looking down on it with distaste, as if he wanted to be rid of the thing.

Just toss it in the trash
, Cole thought.
Or in
the gutter.

Murray paused outside a soup shop. The smell made Cole’s mouth water, but even with those bills in his pocket, he wasn’t tempted. Before Tyler worked for McClintock, he’d run errands
for these shops—killing rats down at the river and digging rotted vegetables out of the market trash. That’s what you could expect from prepared food in New Chicago.

Murray didn’t seem to know that.
The rich scent of hot soup caught his attention, and he followed it to the shop door. Then he paused and fingered the paw.

It’s dirty. Filthy,
Cole thought.
You’ll need to wash before you eat now. Just get rid of it.

Murray shoved the paw into his pocket and walked inside.

In the old days, this place wouldn’t have been considered a shop at all, much less a restaurant. Cole remembered restaurants.
Fast food ones mostly. Sometimes, now, he’d wake thinking he smelled fries and it would set him in a lousy mood all day. Tyler would tease that, of all the things you could miss, fried potatoes should rank near the bottom. But they both knew it wasn’t really the fries—it was the idea that you could walk into a big, gleaming restaurant, scrub your hands with free soap and water, and order hot,
safe food for less than half the twenty bucks your dad gave your brother when he decided to take you to the park that morning.

This soup shop would have fit in one of those fast food restrooms. Hell, it probably
had
been the restroom for this place, once a big department store, the top two floors now destroyed in the bombings, the remainder divvied up into a score of tiny, dark “shops.” There
were certainly no tables or chairs. You pushed your way up to the counter, got your soup, and pushed your way to a spot to eat it, standing. You could take it outside, but with November winds blowing through threadbare clothes, Cole suspected most patrons didn’t even really want the soup—it just gave them a chance to squeeze in someplace warm.

Murray would take his soup and go—Cole could tell
that by the contemptuous gazes the man shot around him. He even seemed to be reconsidering whether he wanted to remain long enough to get a meal. Cole had to act fast. He slid up behind Murray and got into position. Then, when a man left the counter, jostling and elbowing through the crowd, Cole knocked into Murray.

Murray spun on him, scowling.

“Sorry,” Cole said.

He offered a chagrined smile.
Murray muttered something, turned, and pushed his own way through the crowd, stalking out.

Cole watched him go. Then he glanced down at the paw in his hand. He smiled, shoved it deep into his pocket, and made his way out.

Tyler was in a foul mood, which was rare. It was usually Cole who grumbled while Tyler soldiered through. Today was different. Cole knew that as soon as he saw the candle burning.

Tyler often joked that they had a penthouse apartment. Not only was it on the top floor, but they even had a second story. The roof had been blasted off, so their upper floor was four walls with no ceiling. Those walls, though, cut most of the wind and they could spend the daylight hours up there and save their candles and lantern oil. If Tyler was staying on the first floor and burning a candle
mid-afternoon, something was wrong.

“Where were you?” Tyler demanded as Cole crawled in.

His brother was sitting on a chair—actually a crate, but they called them chairs. He was playing solitaire with a worn deck, slapping the cards down onto another crate, this one known as “the dining room table.”

“Just walking. Getting some air.”

“Did you finish your schoolwork?”

“I read three chapters
in history and two of
Moby-Dick
. I also swept and emptied the piss bucket, as you can see—and smell.”

Tyler sighed and gathered up the cards. “Sorry, bud. Rough day.”

“I see that. Catch.”

He tossed Tyler the remaining apple. The corners of his brother’s mouth quirked. “Thanks.” He started to take a bite and stopped. “Do you have one?”

“Already ate it.”

“Are you sure? You need more fruits
and vegetables. I—”

“I ate one, Ty. Go ahead.”

His brother worried that poor diet was the reason Cole was so small. He doubted it. He remembered kindergarten—his only year of school before the world went to hell. He’d been the smallest kid there, too. But Tyler still worried. Some days, Cole thought that was the only thing keeping his brother going—worries and problems and the faint hope that
he could fix them.

Tyler didn’t ask where the apple came from. Cole was in charge of the money and the shopping. Tyler considered it a practical application of his math lessons, which made it easy for Cole to sneak extra cash into the kitty and put extra food on the table.

Tyler took a bite of the apple, snuffed out the candle, and waved for them to go upstairs, where they pulled pillows and
thick old blankets out of a box. Cushioned and bundled against the cold, they rested, enjoying the faint warmth of the late-day sun.

“So what happened at work?” Cole asked.

“Same shit, different day.” Tyler paused and then looked
over. “When you were out, did you hear anything? Rumors? News?”

“Like what?”

Another pause, longer now, until Cole pressed.

“They say one of the infected got in,”
Tyler said.

“Again? What’s that? Third time this month?”

“Yeah. It’s getting worse. They always catch them, but the fact that they’re getting in … ” Tyler shook his head. “Just … be careful, okay? When you’re out?”

“I always am.”

After a moment, Tyler asked, “So, how much money do we have so far?”

He said it casually, just an offhand question, but Cole knew it wasn’t offhand at all. This
was what was really bothering his brother—that the situation in New Chicago seemed to worsen so much faster than their stash grew.

“Four hundred and sixty-eight dollars to go,” Cole said.

Tyler swore.

“We’ll make it,” Cole said. “Less than a year, I bet.”

“I used to earn that much in a month, mowing lawns. Then I’d blow it on video games and movies.”

“We’ll get there.”

Silence fell for at
least five minutes. Then, without looking over, Tyler said, “We have enough to get you in.”

“No.”

“But we could—”

“No. We go together, or we stay together. If you want to make money faster, let me work. McClintock offered me a job—”

“No.”

“But if I was working, we’d have enough by—”

“No.”

And there was the impasse. Cole wouldn’t go without Tyler, and Tyler wouldn’t let him work for McClintock.
Cole’s “job” was studying. There were real careers in Garfield Park, like in the old days—doctors and businessmen and teachers. Most kids Cole’s age couldn’t even read and write. That would give him an advantage, Tyler said. Cole couldn’t see how taking a few months off would make much difference, but he knew it wasn’t really about that. It was about Cole staying away from McClintock and the
life he offered.

“We’ll get there,” Cole said.

Tyler tried for a smile, pushed to his feet, and rumpled his brother’s hair. “I know we will. I’m just in a mood. I need to go back to work. Big job tonight. It’ll be late.”

“I’ll lock up.”

Tyler laughed. “Yeah. You do that. And see if you can’t get another couple of chapters read before the light’s gone.”

It was only after Tyler left that Cole
remembered the paw. He was sitting there, trying to come up with other ways to make money, when he remembered it. Even then, he didn’t think “I can wish for money!” He wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he took it out, turned it over in his hands, and wondered how much he could get for it.

You could just wish for the money
, he imagined Tyler saying.

His brother would laugh when he said it, but there’d
be a little piece that wouldn’t be laughing. A piece that would be hoping, even if he’d never admit it. Tyler would make that wish, just in case.

Cole chuckled softly to himself as he fingered the mangy fur. “All right, then. I wish—”

No, the old man said he had to be careful. Be specific.

Cole closed his eyes. “I wish for five hundred dollars.”

He sat there, clutching the paw. It felt familiar,
and it took him a moment to realize why. Because it reminded him of another paw he’d had once—a rabbit’s foot that he’d insisted on buying on their last family road trip before H2N3 hit. His lucky rabbit’s foot. He’d carried it everywhere for a month and then stuffed it away in a drawer. The last time he’d seen it, he’d been making a wish. Clutching it and praying that the bite on his mother’s
arm hadn’t infected her. Praying she’d walk out of the quarantine ward and come home and see the rabbit’s foot, laugh, and say, “Good god, Cole. Do you still have that flea-bitten old thing?”

Of course, she hadn’t come out. She’d been infected, so they put her down.

Put down.

They had a dog once that had to be put down. It wasn’t the same thing.

When Cole opened his eyes, he could feel tears
prickling. He swiped them away with a scowl and then turned that scowl on the monkey’s paw.

Yeah, you’ll make me some money all right. As soon as I figure out how to sell you.

Cole scoured the commercial section of New Chicago—the market and the shops—trying to figure out where he could sell the paw. The old man had talked like people knew what it was, and Murray said he did. Was it a famous
superstition, like a rabbit’s foot? If it was, it had to be rarer—there were a whole lot more rabbits around than monkeys. But if it was
too
rare, could he sell it without someone realizing that he’d stolen it?

He was walking past the hope peddlers, when someone called, “You! Boy!” He glanced over his shoulder to see the old man, bearing down on him. Cole tensed to run, but he couldn’t, not without
causing a scene that would mean he’d be remembered here for weeks.

He waited for the man to catch up. “If you want that money back, you said I could have it.”

“No, it’s not that.”

The old man waved him to the side. He looked agitated. Upset, not angry. Cole relaxed a little.

“If you need
some
of the money back, I could—” he began.

“No.” The old man turned. “It’s something else. There was
a paw.”

“A what?”

“A monkey’s paw.”

Cole fixed the man with his best look of confusion. “A paw from a monkey? I took that money, and only because you said I could. If you dropped anything else, I didn’t see—”

“I gave the paw to a man.”

Cole stiffened. “If you’re accusing me of stealing—”

“I don’t care if you filched it or found it.” He met Cole’s gaze imploringly. “This is very important,
son. Do you have the paw?”

Cole felt a flicker of guilt. Maybe he could just give … No, it might be a trick, forcing him to admit to theft.

“I don’t have anything like that.” Cole opened his jacket. “Go ahead and check.” He’d left the paw safely in their cubby.

The old man shook his head. “All right. I’m sorry, son. That’s what the money was for, so I thought maybe you’d followed the man who
got it. He says it was pinched from his pocket.”

“He probably changed his mind and wants his money, without
giving you the paw back. People do that kind of thing. They’ll take whatever they can get here.”

“I know.” The old man’s words came out on a sigh.

“I could look for it,” Cole said. “I’m pretty good at finding things.”

A faint smile. “No. With any luck, it’s gone for good. I only hope
that bastard got a chance to try it first.”

“Try it?”

The old man clapped Cole on the back. “Nothing. Go on, son. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

As the old man started to walk away, Cole called, “Wait. If I do hear about it, should I tell you? Or does it go back to your friend?”

“Oh, he’s not my friend. And I would most gladly see him take the accursed thing. In fact, I’d
pay
to give it
to him again.” He paused. “Let’s say ten dollars. If you do hear of it … ”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.”

Cole had no idea what the old man had been talking about, but at least now he had a plan. He’d wait a day, and then say he’d scoured the alley where they’d first met and he’d found the paw there. Ten dollars was more than he’d hoped to get selling it.

Maybe the “accursed thing” did
work, in its way. It was just like everything else in New Chicago. You had to lower your expectations. Significantly. Wish for five hundred bucks. Get ten instead.

Cole laughed softly as he approached his building. Then he stopped. There were three men outside. Two huge thugs and an older man in the middle. Russ McClintock.

When they heard him coming, they all turned. Cole couldn’t see their
expressions in the gathering dark, but he called a greeting.

“Is Tyler looking for me?” he asked, hooking his thumb toward the building.

“No, Cole.” McClintock stepped away from his goons. “I came to talk to you.”

“Me? If this is about a job—”

“It’s about Tyler.”

Cole’s heart began to thump. “T-Tyler? Where—?”

“There was an accident on the job tonight. Tyler’s team was scouting in one of
the abandoned skyscrapers. The floor gave way. Your brother fell.”

“Fell? Where is he? Is he okay?”

“No, Cole. He’s … not okay. It was a long fall. He didn’t make it. I’m sorry. I know how close you two were and, while it was an accident, I take care of my own.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “This is five hundred dollars. For you.”

Cole sat in the dark, shivering
and alone. He’d already flown into a rage. He’d already broken things. He’d already cried. Now he sat on his crate with the pile of money in front of him. But he wasn’t looking at the stack. He was looking at the crate where he’d hidden the paw.