“Someone’s moody,” Pest says. “Okay, then, good night, Birdie.”
“What did you call—!?” I stride toward the door in anger, but I’m so loaded up with clothes that I immediately fall forward on the floor. I’m wearing so many clothes, nothing is hurt except my pride. I flail on the floor, intending to jump to my feet and tell Pest what a perfect name he was given, and to warn him what would happen if he ever dared to call me Birdie again, but I have to say the whole effort was unsuccessful. I was like a turtle flipped on its shell. A very angry turtle.
By the time I get up, Pest is long gone. I have the insane idea of throwing open the door, running him down and giving him a swift kick in the smartass, when I realize how truly idiotic that would be. Pest irritates me so much! I growl out loud and then realize that all in all, it was a very good thing. Now they will all think I am sleeping, exhausted, while they eat at the Lodge. When, in fact, I’ll be long gone by morning.
Even pests can be useful.
42
Eric is in the Land Rover where I left him. Somehow he’s crawled face first into the front passenger seat. His legs are up over the seat, his back twisted in what should be a very painful angle, and his head is jammed into the floor under the dashboard. It takes me a while to get him out. Finally, I slide him out of the Land Rover and he collapses on the forest floor and says “Unh” right into the ground. His eyes are leaking blood.
I’m breathing hard, but I answer him. “Yeah, sucks,” I agree.
Then I heave him to his feet and try to dress him in the clothes I brought. This is way harder than I thought it would be and I didn’t think it would be easy. Every time I get one arm in a shirt, for example, and I’m trying to get the other in, all the while, being very careful of Eric’s hands and fingernails, Eric makes some move or groans or jerks weird and I have to start over. When I try to get a pair of overalls on him, I practically have to wrestle him into the ground. Then I have to hold up his legs like he’s an infant and pull the clothes over his legs. Then I roll him over and start tugging. It’s exhausting. Keep in mind that Eric is a big guy, a big guy who got that way by swinging an axe all damn day. When he moves, I can’t really stop him.
Then I find out he has lost all concept of backpack. He doesn’t like it. Every time I get one strap on and move to put the other one on, he goes “Unh” and jerks it off. I tell him it’s for his own good, but it’s like talking to a rock. I tell him anyway. Finally, after like eight tries, I get the backpack on and I clip in the chest straps so he can’t jerk it off. At first he goes “Unh, unh” and moves around in a circle, but then he stops and just stands there again, so I guess he gets use to it. Or whatever the hell is going on in his head.
Then I tie a rope around his waist and tie a couple pair of gloves to his hands. That was the weirdest part for me. He must have touched me with those hands a million times, but when I touch them now…I get the most horrible feeling. Everything is both wrong and right. I recognize the shape, the size, all the callouses and fingernails, but they aren’t right. They move very weirdly, like just the pinky finger will move and the others will stay still. Or the fingers will move in opposite directions or just a little behind the other. It’s gross. It’s the Worm. To think that a disease is moving Eric makes me sick. I almost vomit once, it’s so weird. Or it might have been the smell of the Worm coming out of his mouth, I don’t know.
I didn’t find a muzzle, but I did find a dust guard. I put it on, and I have to say, Eric looks a lot better when I don’t have to see his jaw hanging down and black drool coming out of his mouth. He looks more like himself.
Finally I give him a pair of sunglasses, trying to look away, so I won’t have to see the white worms at the corner of his eyes.
When I’m done, Eric looks almost normal. He stands weird though, kind of slumped forward and to one side. No human stands like that, with his arms hanging like meat at his side. I put on his wool hat now, which used to be forest green but is now almost black, and the effect is complete.
“Unh,” Eric says as I step back.
“You look fine,” I say.
“Unh,” Eric says.
“Nope,” I answer. “You don’t look stupid in those overalls at all.” He does though. A little.
43
Eric is easy to guide. I mean, real easy. I only have to give a little tug on the rope and Eric follows. He even follows the sound of my feet, mostly, so I don’t even have to constantly pull at the rope. He just shuffles forward in his big boots. The problem is that he doesn’t go very fast and there’s really no hurrying him. It’s just this constant movement forward at a velocity best described as a “plod.” It doesn’t matter how much I pull at the rope, Eric is a one speed machine. This isn’t good because it’s going to be a long night. I have to put as much space between me and the Homestead as I can. I don’t know if they’ll come looking for me, but they might. When I think of Franky, the way he looked at me, I think it’s likely he will look for me. And I did the best I could, but all they have to do is turn over Eric’s mattress to see the blood stains. From there, it’s pretty easy to start piecing things together.
It’s only when I realize how slow Eric moves that I really begin to think of the trouble I’m in. After a few hours of moving under the nearly full moon, we’re still far too close to the Homestead. I could probably run back there in a half hour if I really put my mind to it. That means someone on horseback could get to us even quicker than that. The thought makes my heart beat faster and I realize I should have thought this through better than I did. I was only thinking of getting Eric away with all the food and supplies we need. It never occurred to me that he would move this slow.
To make it slightly worse, we have to follow an old road. After ten years without traffic or maintenance, these roads are all overgrown. The asphalt is broken up and trees and shrubs are growing up in the middle of the road. I know traveling on the road makes us easy to find, but I can’t walk off-road in the dark, it would be even slower. I figure I have until dawn before I have to get off the road. I don’t know how far we can get, not at this pace, but I know it’s not far enough. Franky has horses. If they find us, Eric is dead, and I’m stuck as Franky’s princess, or maybe his soon-to-be-queen. The thought is so disgusting, I give Eric a tug to get him to move faster.
“Unh,” he says. But he doesn’t go any faster. Like I said, he’s a one speed machine.
To make matters worse, much worse, the silence is getting to me. The night is quiet and full of shadows. Once in a while, I hear a loon in the distance, but otherwise, it’s silent. Usually I like the silence, but this silence brings ghosts. I start to remember. I remember Artemis hugging me, the look in her eyes when she laughed. I remember Diane and her tired smile. I remember how I used to help in the fields, working with the goon squad and how Crypt would smile dumbly at me. I think he had a crush on me or something. I remember the first day Matt stayed with us. How he walked around the Homestead like he was hollow, helping everyone. So grateful. So alone. I remember Norman and Franky helping to build Beth’s house and how she used to tell us stories in the Lodge, of a time long before the Worm, when there weren’t televisions yet. I remember laughing and dancing and crying and fighting. I remember way too much and before I know it, I’m stumbling ahead, sniffling and crying.