Authors: Sarah Langan
Enrique shook his head. “Let me look first. I have to leave anyway. It might be nothing. If they don’t find out I’m here, you can meet me at the bus station in the morning to say good-bye. Otherwise, this is the last time we see each other.”
She nodded. She hated what he’d just said. She hated that he’d said it out loud. “Fine,” she said.
He crept down the stairs. She followed. Her stomach was queasy like she was going to vomit. He opened the front door. The stoop was lit by a single lamp, and no one was standing on the porch or front walk. The street was empty. No one was inside the cop car, and its lights were out. She squinted into the darkness and listened. She thought she heard something, but maybe it was the wind.
“Where’d they go?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Maybe they were just out for a walk.”
The air smelled strange. A little rancid, like rotten eggs. “Do you smell that? Aren’t people with the virus supposed to smell bad?”
Enrique rested his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been reading The Smoking Gun again.”
“So?”
He bent down and kissed her forehead. “So, I have to go.”
She tried not to cry. He’d never take her seriously un- less she was strong. “Don’t go,” she said, “please. Wait until it’s light out.”
“I have to pack, still. And it would be an insult to your father if I stayed.”
“I don’t care. It’s not safe.”
He didn’t argue with her. Instead he took her in his arms and squeezed. “I’ll call you in the morning. If it’s running, you can meet me at the bus, and if it’s not, then I’m here for a while,” he said. Then he was off. She watched him walk across her lawn, where the grass was wet with dew. His body was a shadow that became smaller and smaller. The only indication of his sadness was his hunched shoulders. She stood frozen on the porch, thinking that as long as her eyes were on him, he’d be safe. But then he strode past the street lamp and into the darkness. He was gone. She stood there, mark- ing with her mind the way the wet lawn felt between her toes, and the quiet of the street, and her house be- hind her that had suddenly become less familiar. Her heart was heavy, and she knew she’d get over this, deep down she was the kind of girl who could get over any- thing, but right then, she didn’t want to get over it.
Finally she turned, and went back into the house.
If she’d carried a flashlight with her and shone it in the street, she might have seen the human bones that lay next to the police car. If she hadn’t shut her window when she went back to her room, she might have heard Enrique Vargas scream.
S
aturday night, somebody had secretly replaced Danny Walker’s regular Lay’s potato chips with butane-coated granite. They were clogging his stomach right now, and his body was about to explode. And let’s not get started on the smell. Seriously. If he lit a match, his whole friggin’ room would explode. On the plus
side, a fire would burn off the stink.
His family had done this to him. Turned him into a nervous bag of gas. His blisters from digging the hole at the dump without gloves were raw, and the salty Lay’s weren’t helping. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have smeared salt on his wounds, which led him to the conclusion that his family had made him not only gassy, but stupid. So he started scraping the dirt crammed inside his fingernails, and let out another stinker.
The thing with Lou McGuffin went down fast. At the crack of dawn this morning, Lou started hammering his fists against the front door. Danny’d been awake, think- ing about James. He’d wanted to let his parents sleep, so he’d run down the stairs and swung open the door.
“Where’s your father?” Lou had snapped.
“What do you want?” Danny had countered, because
what the hell? He was fifteen years old, and he deserved a little respect.
McGuffin was holding a brown paper grocery bag. Its bottom was red and wet, like it was full of butcher meat. The paper broke open all of a sudden, and pink and white lumps of wet fur landed in a heap on the stoop.
Danny could make out multiple sets of ears. Like pelts from the Old West, the animals’ insides were gone, and all that remained was their heads and coats. On top of the pile, he saw a mouth partly open to reveal a tiny pink tongue.
“Where’s Miller?” he asked again. His voice was hoarse.
Was this guy out of his fucking mind? Danny wanted to close the door and lock it. But a split second later he understood, even though he didn’t want to believe it. He’d told his parents about finding James and the rab- bit in the bushes the other night, but they hadn’t be- lieved him. Hadn’t wanted to believe him. And now, looking down at the porch, Danny understood. James, his kid brother, had killed Lou McGuffin’s animals. “I’ll get my dad,” he said, but by then his father was already standing behind him.
Miller shoved Danny aside and faced Lou McGuffin. He pointed at the hill of dead rabbits. “What the hell is this, Lou?”
Lou didn’t flinch. “You tell me,” he said.
A vein in Miller’s neck throbbed. “Get off my prop- erty before I kick your ass from here to Florida.” He was tired or he would never have lost his cool.
Don’t ever let ’em know you’re coming
, was one of his favor- ite aphorisms, like life was one big guerrilla warfare circle jerk.
Louis didn’t budge. “Your son,” he said, and then he
looked up at Danny. His eyes were full of hate, even though before this he’d always been Danny’s friendly next-door neighbor. The guy had taught him how to shuck corn, play cribbage, and tie an anchor hitch, all while his mom had orbited the earth. “Not him,” Lou spit out, looking at Danny. “The other one was at my rabbits last night.”
Miller arched his brow. “You dumb fuck. My kid got lost in the woods four days ago. He’s missing. My wife hasn’t slept since.”
Lou shook his head. “You’re protecting him. I saw him break open the hutch last night.” A tear rolled down his face. “I saw him doing this.” He pointed at the wet pile, “To the animals. I tried to stop him, but by the time I got there, they were all dead. It was your son, Miller. I wanted to give you the chance to mind this yourself before I went to the police.”
Danny felt bad for his dad all of a sudden. Everybody on that stoop knew James was guilty. Down below, the rabbit husks didn’t bleed. They were wet, but not runny, like they’d been sucked dry. Looking at them made Danny woozy.
“Mr. McGuffin,” Danny said. He was trying to find the words to explain, to apologize, but then Miller clamped his hand around Danny’s shoulder, tight as a vise.
“My son is lost. Maybe murdered, or worse. And you show up at my door with this shit. You’re lucky I don’t shoot you dead.” The part that surprised Danny was that Miller sounded earnest, like he’d been up all night worried about James.
“I saw him,” Lou said, but suddenly he was uncertain. A shred of doubt grew inside him. It was a truth most people didn’t know. If you’re loud and angry enough, the weak buy any story you’re selling. Especially when
you
believe the lie, too.
Miller stuck his ample gut out like he was going to bowl Lou over with it. “For all I know you’re the one who has James, and the other missing kids, too. You never liked him. We all know that.”
Danny found himself rooting for Lou, even while his dad’s grip tightened. He wanted Lou to yell right back. Lou didn’t say anything for a while, and Danny hoped he was gearing up for a real knock-down drag-out. But then his lip quivered, and he started blubbering. At first Danny was awed: His dad was like the fucking Al- mighty. And then he lowered his eyes, because a pile of rabbits were dead. “It was your son,” Lou whispered.
“Get off my property before I kill you where you stand,” Miller countered. Lou held his ground for maybe three seconds. Then he turned tail. They watched from the doorway. Lou walked fast, with his head low- ered, and then, after a few paces, he broke into a jog. He was a tall, thin man, and his faded khaki pants were too big. They swaddled his ass like a diaper, and Danny imagined the man’s life in a different light: a lonely schmuck who ate frozen low-carb dinners to stay trim, but couldn’t toss a ball or boss somebody at the office. He was weak, and Danny hated him for it, and he hated himself for thinking it because before this morn- ing he’d always respected Lou McGuffin. The man was everything Miller Walker wasn’t: human.
Once Lou was out of sight, Miller pointed at the car- casses. “Clean that up. Put it in a bag,” he said. “The whole deal. Scrape the blood off the cement, everything. Do it before I leave for work. Then come get me.”
Danny shook his head. “Dad. The other night, when I saw James . . . I think Mr. McGuffin is right—”
Miller cut him off. “Don’t tell me. I’ll tell you. Now clean this shit up before that pussy figures out he threw away the evidence.”
Danny didn’t move. Miller grabbed his upper arm and yanked. “Your mother finds out about this, on top of James missing, and she’s right back in the loony bin. You know that. She can’t take much more. She’s already mumbling to herself. You want to be the one who sends her over the edge?”
To his own surprise, Danny started crying, weak as Lou McGuffin.
“I didn’t think so,” Miller said. “Now clean it up.”
Danny got a plastic bag and scooped the bodies into it with a snow shovel. They didn’t make any sounds when they landed, not even a thud. Their silence was worse, somehow.
Bleach worked best on the stoop, and he poured about half a gallon, then hosed it down so he didn’t have to get on his knees and scrape. He was done an hour later. His father was leaving for work, and his mother was still in bed. He hadn’t gone to school since Tuesday. First he’d stayed home to look after Felice, and then the school had closed because of the virus.
His dad tossed him the keys to Felice’s Benz. “The dump. Bring the spade from the shed. Make it deep. Don’t let anybody see you.” Then he left, like that was all the explanation Danny needed. But that was the problem: Danny had never needed much explanation. He and Miller thought the same way. He’d already guessed that the dump was the best place for the bod- ies, since the woods were lousy with cops.
Danny drove even though he didn’t have a license. It was a Saturday morning, so normally the dump would be full of dads unloading all their old crap, but be- cause of the virus the streets were empty. He hoped that meant they’d left town or were home watching the news, because otherwise, a lot of people were sick. Dead, even.
He found a wrecked car that he figured no one would want to move for a while and dug underneath it. He worked fast. The hole was about a foot deep. He thought about emptying the bunnies from the bag. They’d de- grade faster, and it would look more natural if someone found them that way, but he didn’t want to see their bodies again. So he dropped everything in the hole, bag and all.
He stopped at the hospital before he went home to tell his dad the deed was done. The lot was full of cars that looked like they hadn’t been moved for days. Most of the CDC had left for Washington, which Danny sus- pected was a bad sign. If they thought they could help without getting sick too, they’d still be here. They said they were working on a vaccine, but Danny doubted that part, too. If they’d found it, they’d be using it.
State troopers patrolled the entrances to the hospital. Plastic walls and separate vents partitioned the east wing. He had to explain to three different pale-faced, coughing men who he was before one of them finally let him into the main office.
The halls didn’t smell like ammonia. They stank like disease. From every direction Danny could hear people coughing; patients, doctors, nurses, soldiers. All of them were busting a lung. There wasn’t much staff. The floors were dirty with mud, and in some places, blood. He would have turned and gone home if his dad’s of- fice hadn’t been so close. “Finished,” was all he said when he leaned in the doorway. Miller clapped him on the back, really hard, which was as close as the guy ever got to a hug. “Thanks, son. I knew you were a team
player,” he said. Danny couldn’t help it, he was proud. “Are we safe here, Dad? Mom and me?” he asked. He
tried to keep his voice from cracking. It wasn’t easy.
Miller shrugged. “Safe from what?”
“The virus. I heard more than half the high school is sick with it, or missing. Are they missing because they left town?”
Miller waved his hand dismissively. “I was just on the phone with the shareholders. I told them the same thing I’m telling you. We don’t panic. That’s the thing. We panic, we lose our shirts. Right Danny?”
“Right, Dad,” he said.
Miller called the chief of police while Danny hovered near the door and listened. “I hate to think this, Tim,” he shot into the phone, “but it might have been an ab- duction. Lou McGuffin lives next door. He’s single, you know. He came to my house this morning babbling about James. He’s always been a little off, but this time I think it’s gone farther than that . . .”
Danny didn’t want to listen anymore. He walked away, and his stomach filled with rocks. By the time he got home, three squad cars had beat him to McGuffin’s house. Not long after, Tim Carroll was leading Lou McGuffin down the walk in handcuffs. Danny watched from his window. Lou looked at him for a second, and Danny wanted to shout something, or wave, but he didn’t. Skinny Lou in his cheap khaki pants big as sails. Danny hated the sight of him so much, he closed his blinds.
About an hour later, Danny’s friend John called. He didn’t answer the phone, but he listened to the message. “Hey,
D-man
!” John hooted, because John was an idiot. “You hear what happened? That guy that lives next door to you? Cops found kiddie porn on his computer. Plus, like, everybody we know is sick or missing—fucking awesome!
Dude!
Call me
now
!”
Danny didn’t call him. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew it was true. His father had framed Lou
McGuffin and paid off a cop to plant the porn, just so he could keep secret the fact that his kid was a psycho.