… until they realized the only other choice was to be abandoned in this no-man’s-land of Providence, Rhode Island.
Great.
“This is so not cool, man,” groaned Ray, watching the U-boat vanish in the distance. Hell-ship or not, there was clearly some sort of intelligent control at the helm, whether human or otherwise. “What are we gonna do now?”
“Try to chill. I’m thinking.”
“Awesome.”
“It’ll take all day for the sub to get out of the bay. Maybe we can find a boat and catch up with it.”
“How? Those Reaper dudes scooped up every boat in the harbor when they abandoned their barge. They all got trashed. Face it, we missed our chance.”
“Then we can take a car and beat the submarine down to Newport. There must be tons of boats there.”
“And then what? You saw what happened to those guys who attacked the sub.”
“Yeah.” Todd wished he could forget it. He and Ray had witnessed the horrible spectacle from shore: those bulging masses of flesh that rose from the boat’s missile bays and exploded into a thousand frenzied tentacles, yanking El Dopa’s assault force down to oblivion. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but something’s seriously wrong in there. Whatever it is, I don’t want a closer look.”
“Well, where would you like to go?”
“I just want to get out of this suit. I’m thirsty, man.”
“Me, too. Let’s just start by finding a drink.”
“How the hell are we gonna be able to drink anything wearing these helmets?”
“It’s called a straw, doofus.”
They left the waterfront area of India Point and headed inland on Gano Street. There were several small businesses along the way, including a donut shop and a convenience store. It was the same street that had been swarming with Xombies a few days earlier, when the boys had first come ashore seeking supplies. Bad idea. They didn’t have the Reaper suits then and were completely defenseless against the blue onslaught that wiped out over thirty boys in under thirty minutes. It was the meat-armored Reapers who saved their lives.
This time there were neither Reapers nor Xombies, and no reason to fear them even if there were. The boys were covered.
Todd and Ray checked the donut shop first. They were unsurprised to find the four-month-old pastries inedible, but were disappointed to find the drink coolers cleaned out and the sink taps dry.
“Look out-zombie donuts!” Todd yelled, pitching Munchkins at Ray’s flesh helmet. The stale balls exploded into crumbs.
“Hey, cut it out, man,” Ray said lethargically.
Todd threw a few more, but Ray could not be incited to a donut war, so Todd gave up. They went next door to the convenience store, heartened by the big Pepsi sign out front. Nothing-it was even worse than the donut shop.
“What the hell, man.”
There were not even any remains of food-rats, mice, and maggots had erased all organic matter. Anything canned or bottled had been efficiently looted; the shelves were empty. And the pillaging had happened recently, a few days ago at most; the mud tracks were fresh. This wasn’t the act of random looters in the heat of panic. It was Reapers.
“Shit, man, that’s right,” Todd said. “We’re not gonna find anything around here-the Reapers reaped it all. They stripped this whole area, remember?”
“Awesome.”
“But they couldn’t have gone through every house. Come on, we just have to go door-to-door.”
“You mean break into people’s homes, Holmes?”
“Yeah, why not? It’s not like they’re coming back.”
“I don’t know… it’s like desecrating the dead or something.”
“Not really. It’s just putting stuff to good use that would otherwise go to waste.”
“Hey, Todd?”
“Yeah?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“I know; I’ve been holding my piss for the last hour.”
“It’s not just piss.”
“Well, just try to hold it.”
“Too late.”
They were prisoners of the flesh, golems of raw meat, doomed to wander the wasteland until they drowned in their own filth. Ray expected to die a little sooner, having been shot through the side, but this was only speculation since there was no way of examining or treating the wound. At least it didn’t hurt, and the bleeding had stopped, so there was that.
Out of forty boys who had come ashore, just these two survived. Did they survive out of superior skill or intelligence? Was it their unusual grit that enabled them to outlast their fellows? Were the others just weak?
No-much as they might have wished it were so, both Todd and Ray knew they were nothing special. This was what haunted them: the thought that stronger, smarter, and more deserving boys had died in their stead. Brave dudes like Sal DeLuca and Kyle Hancock had sacrificed themselves so that lazy nubs like Todd and Ray could escape. It wasn’t fair. But as Todd shuffled along the barren streets of his hometown, staring out through misshapen eyeholes at the living nightmare that was his only companion, and knew that he, too, was a horror, both of them damned to this ridiculous, incomprehensible fate, he realized there was perhaps some justice to it after all.
Maybe the dead were the lucky ones.
As they turned a corner, they encountered a blue Elvis. Elvis was dressed in a blue-and-white polyester suit covered with sequins, a gold-lined cape, and boots of blue suede.
Blue Elvis asked, “You boys lookin’ for someone?”
“Who the hell are you?” Ray asked.
Todd said, “Don’t talk to that Xombie, man, are you crazy?”
“He asked me a question.”
“Ignore it and keep walking.”
Elvis stayed with them like a persistent panhandler. “You fellas look lost,” he said. “Maybe I can help you find what you’re looking for.”
Todd spun on him. “What the hell kind of Xombie are you? Get the fuck away from us, man.”
“Now what kind of way is that to talk to a fellow traveler on the road of life?” The blue man suddenly became very animated, running ahead and calling their attention to a seething mass of ants around a crack in the asphalt. “Take a look here, right here. You know what this is? This is a war we’ve got going here, with two races killin’ each other: the Black and the Red. I been watching ’em all day.” He shook his slick-coiffed head. “Look at ’em go, man!”
“I hate bugs,” said Ray.
“Hate? They’re just doing what comes natural. Hate is in their DNA, just like it’s in ours. Only way to stop ’em from fighting is to change their fundamental genetic structure. They won’t do it voluntarily, I can tell you! But hate, gee whiz. How can you hate anything in this beautiful world?” He took off his sunglasses, wiping an imaginary tear. “Especially knowing it’s all gonna be gone soon.”
“Oh shit,” Ray hissed. “It’s him. Todd, I think it’s him.”
“Who?”
“Miska!”
“No way.” Todd turned to the blue man. “You’re Uri Miska?”
“I’m partial to folks callin’ me the King.”
“See, it’s not him.”
“Just kidding!” The man shook his head affably. In a British accent, he declaimed, “The king is dead! Long live the king!”
Todd said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The man blocked their way, bowing stiffly. “Uraeus Miska, at your service!”
“What? Seriously?”
“Surprised? Yes, it’s me. To paraphrase another great emancipator: I had a dream.” He raised his arms to the sky. “A dream to which all men expired!”
Todd hissed, “This is bullshit. Dude is crazy.”
“Congratulations!” Miska cried.
“What for?”
“Finding me. They say a good man is hard to find. Considering how many people keep finding me, I must not be very good… or perhaps it’s that I make myself too conspicuous. What do you think?” He struck a heroic pose.
Ray couldn’t hold back anymore. “Oh my God,” he said. “Can you help us? We need to get out of these suits.”
“Why? Clothes make the man.”
“Seriously, sir, we’re in trouble. If you help us, we’ll do whatever we can to help you.”