Project Aquarius (The Sensitives Series Book 1) (17 page)

“On some level it makes sense I guess… Big Jim was in a basement bunker… But what kind of sound wave kills people?” the teacher wondered.

“I don’t know. A really big one?” Drea kidded. She laughed a laugh with razor edges.

None of it was funny. At all.

***

“Can we stop for snacks?” Darnell asked eagerly, pointing at a gas station a block ahead.

It was that kind of place that was stuck in a slice of yesteryear–– a nice neighborhood place with a decent brand and well-kept clean pumps. Three cars were pulled up, gas lines still attached to the tanks. The window boasted a special for 50-cent coffee on Tuesdays.

What day was it anyway?

“We just stopped to eat, Darnell. No side trips. We got off the highway to look for survivors,” said taskmaster Laura.

“But I gotta drop a deuce,” he grimaced.

“Gross,” said Drea, eyes rolling.

“What’s a deuce?” Laura whispered to Drea, she knew better than to admit her naiveté to Darnell directly.

“I gotta go number two,” Darnell clarified.

“Okay… fine,” Laura conceded.

From the outside, the gas station convenience store was dark, but remarkably normal. It had been open at 9 a.m. Monday morning, so it remained open in the aftermath. Close to the road there was the body of an older man who had collapsed next to his Ford Escape. Something since had taken large bites out of his face and his right arm was missing. Obviously, some animals had survived the apocalypse, too. The sight made Drea’s stomach churn. Darnell wasn’t going in there alone.

“Alright, we stick together as a group. Flashlights out,” Drea ordered with more confidence than she felt.

Even though the world was frozen, it still seemed dangerous, like the suspense built into a Hitchcock film. Just because you can’t see the evil, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Drea took point. This was her first adventure into a public location. She took a nervous breath.

She pushed and the front door to the convenience store swung open with alarming ease. Immediately, the smell curled into her nostrils and sunk its claws in. Drea gagged and sputtered. Human remains had been decaying inside the store for over a week and the putrid sweetness tickled the back of her throat.

“Wait!” she alerted. Drea held out her hands, stopping the group before anyone else got a whiff. She coughed up a clump of mucous and spat it on the sidewalk in a sickening flump.

“You gonna blow chunks?” Darnell teased.

After one more gigantic snot rocket to the pavement, Drea regained composure. “If we’re going in there, we need to tie bandanas over our faces.”

“Why?” Darnell had a question for everything.

“Because you don’t want to smell what I just did.”

Drea gave him a strong-willed look. Darnell’s gaze fell to the snot on the sidewalk. He nodded solemnly.

The group searched their packs for stray clothing, socks, T-shirts, whatever, to cover their faces. Everyone was in action except Sammy.

“I don’t want to,” he whimpered, “I hate having things over my face.”

The kid looked distraught. Drea was sure the trip was stressing him out, even if he was rolling with it. She owed him a pass.

“Okay, Buddy, I won’t make you.”

But if Sammy was going to sit this one out, then someone had to stay with him. Just in case. “Wait right here, okay bud?” Drea instructed. “Laura, will you stand guard with Sammy?”

“Sure,” Laura agreed. “Would you get me some chips on the way out? Any kind. Guilty pleasure.” She blushed.

Drea was warmed by such a human request. “Sure. I love chips, too.” But what she wouldn’t give for a large tub of ice cream to drown her sorrows in.

Sammy’s face suddenly brightened. “Will you get me some mushrooms? Or Fruity Loops if they have them? Today is an even-numbered day.”

“You got it. Mushrooms and cereal.” Even-numbered day. At least the kid genius was keeping track of the calendar. “What day is it Sammy?”

“Today is Wednesday April 20… A Fruity Loops day… Please,” he added.

Sammy had woefully finished all the Choco Puffs and Fruity Loops two days earlier. Mornings had been rough since then. He had refused to eat anything else. That’s probably why he had resorted to tree fungus. The poor kid was starving.

Drea patted her kid brother on the head and he obediently took a seat on the curb.

She turned to Darnell. “Suited up and ready?”

He nodded. Drea grasped the metal door handle. “On three. 1, 2…”

Darnell was already inside.

“Naaaaaasty!” he crooned from two steps inside the store.

Drea had to agree, the smell was worse than anything she could have ever imagined. Worse than the leftovers abandoned in the fridge. Worse than a garbage can full of poopy diapers. It was a smell that taught Drea how little she knew of death. And she didn’t need Darnell enhancing the stench with his comments.

“Every time you open your mouth you let in the bacteria,” she warned. “They take up residence and fester in there. That’s why it tastes bad. Now hurry up and do your business.”

The streetwise kid shut up and disappeared in the back. Drea was learning his soft spots.

She explored the first aisle with caution. Nothing of note. The decomposing bodies were hidden somewhere out of sight. She turned into the canned good aisle, sweeping her flashlight back and forth like she had seen in crime dramas on TV. The familiar brightly colored labels glared back with irony. New flavor! Now with more noodles!

Quickly, Drea wiped the shelf of mushrooms, Spaghetti-O’s, and anything with a pop off lid.

With her arms overflowing, she dropped the first haul outside in the wagon then went back in for more, where she found Darnell standing by the beverage cooler guzzling Coke like it was going out of style. Drea gave him her best disapproving Mom look.

“What? It’s still good,” he said as he stuffed two Snickers and a Butterfinger in his mouth at the same time.

“Boys are so unbelievably disgusting,” Drea said as she stepped over the source of the putrid smell. It was a deceased college-aged kid who used to be good looking, by anyone’s standards. The bugs hadn’t gotten to him yet. Drea casually leaned over the former hottie’s torso, scooped up an armload of chips, brought them outside, and deposited them at Laura’s feet.

“Whoa thanks. I don’t need that many.”

“There’s a whole store to choose from. Times like these called for generosity. By the way, there’s a cute dead guy in the chip aisle. I think he’s a cheese puff fan… don’t know if that’s your type,” she teased.

“Stop!” Laura exasperated as her face flushed cherry red.

Drea giggled as she disappeared back into the storefront. She headed to the first aid aisle. Her arms were overflowing with Band-Aid boxes when––

SMASH!

It sounded like someone dropped a refrigerator out a third story window.

“Darnell!” she yelled instinctually.

No response.

Drea swept the store with her eyes, left, right, left, right until she saw his pristine white sneakers sticking out from behind the front counter.

“Now, what are you doing?”

“Free money!” he squealed in delight.

She found him elbow deep in the smashed cash register. He was sprawled on the floor, scavenging money like a feral animal, cramming dollar bills into his puffed out sweatshirt. Twenties were raining out of his jeans. His crazy rabid movement gave her pause.

“You can’t have it. It’s mine. Finders keepers.”

Here was a kid who had been denied so much love as a child; his priorities were irrevocably messed up. His messed up father had substituted money for actual attention and care. Now Darnell was shoving himself full of twenty-dollar bill love. How could she stop that? A strange pang of guilt about her privileged upbringing rose to the surface. Drea didn’t know how to tell the kid that money didn’t matter anymore.

“Fine, you can keep all the tens and twenties. Leave the small bills though,” she said as she marched back out to fresh air.

The group had a second picnic outside the gas station, eating their fill of snack food and soda. Sammy was smiling for the first time in days. He was in mushroom and Fruity Loops heaven.

Drea polished off bag after bag of snack food, gorging herself. She tossed the bags in the parking lot, littering with abandon. Being a good girl didn’t matter anymore. Her hands were caked in neon orange powdered cheese. She wiped them on the ground with deep satisfaction.

With a belch, Darnell asked the obvious, “What now?”

“We’re still too close to the city. There are no survivors here. We need to get back on the road,” Laura said with an exhale of sour cream and onion breath.

“But there ain’t nothin’ there Ms. Harding.”

“He has a point, Laura,” Drea said backing up Darnell’s sentiment.

“I say we find a sweet house and crash for the night.”

Laura was noticeably irritated. “We already talked about this. We are pitching a tent close to the highway. That way we won’t miss rescue.”

“I ain’t sleeping in no tent,” Darnell protested.

“I hate tents,” Sammy whined.

“See? Me and Encyclopedia agree.” Darnell flashed his pearly whites at Drea in an ironic grin.

Drea sided with the boys for once. “I don’t think a tent is a good idea. It leaves us too exposed. Besides, tents are uncomfortable.” She paused to swallow. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “I agree with Darnell. We should find a house for the night.”

Laura shook her head bitterly.

“Think about it Laura, a bathroom, beds, shelter from the elements. We can get back on the Pike in the morning,” Drea reassured.

“Fine,” Laura caved.

Darnell belched a hearty soda burp of approval and the group burst into laughter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Darnell

Darnell didn’t like following the girls around. They yapped and argued all the way into town. And they took the fun out of everything. Girls were so annoying.

The group wandered up and down the cul-de-sacs and parkways of Weston. Every street was a perfect little neighborhood–– large but tasteful homes, green lawns, and plenty of space. It looked fake to Darnell, like a Hollywood version of Massachusetts.

“Keep your eyes peeled. We’ll find the perfect one,” Ms. Harding instructed.

Darnell rolled his eyes. According to the girls, even breaking and entering had rules in the apocalypse. None too big, none too close to the road, none too creepy, none too ugly. With heavy resignation, Darnell had agreed to only try houses with no cars in the driveway, indicating the occupants weren’t home.

After an hour, he finally found a house that met the girls’ criteria, an oversized modern colonial. The girls knocked on the big oak front door with the wrought iron knocker and waited on the stoop while Darnell ran around back.

Minutes ticked by. Why were they waiting so long to give the signal? Any moron would have had more than enough time to answer by now. Darnell grew impatient.

“I’m gonna do it!” he yelled from around back.

“I don’t know about this… Let’s just wait a bit longer!” Ms. Harding replied.

She was holding up the whole process as usual. Darnell was pretty sure she wanted to keep walking until everyone died from exhaustion.

“This is the place, miss. Trust me.” Darnell shouted. “Nobody home!”

From the front stoop Ms. Harding yelled, “I don’t know about this. I’m just not comfortable—”

“Trust me,” Darnell insisted, “I know these things. It’s safe here. We gonna be just fine.”

“Okay.” He heard her concede. Darnell could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. It was time to break a window and climb in. If the house smelled like decomposing bodies, they would bounce.

Darnell took pleasure in smashing his elbow against the glass. He loved the satisfying sound. Only this time the glass didn’t give way. His elbow bounced off. Was this some kind of reinforced rich people glass?

Screw it. Time to improvise.

He searched the perfect masonry of the patio for a loose brick. No luck. But then he found a perfect large round rock in the adjacent Zen garden. The kachink of the glass breaking made him feel proud. That was the sound of Darnell’s Zen.

He scooted in through the kitchen window and ran down the enormous foyer. Then he popped open the oversized front door and stood in front of Ms. Harding’s surprised face.

“This is the one! No nasty smell. Home sweet home!”

Darnell ran back toward the immaculate family room and dove onto the stark white sectional.

“Wait, wait, let’s be extra careful. We have to check the house for signs of life.” Ms. Harding was doing her best detective impression, hunched over with wide eyes.

“Nah. I already did. It’s cool,” Darnell said as he put his feet up on an ottoman the size of Texas. “Time to chill.”

“What do you mean, you already did? It took you like three seconds to unlock the front door,” Drea said with attitude.

“I scanned it, you know. Looked for signs of life.”

“Scanned it with what?” Drea asked incredulously.

“My brain? I dunno. I closed my eyes and scanned the building. Ain’t nobody here. Done.”

Drea looked at him with a puzzled brow. He didn’t like the look of judgment scrawled on her face.

“Whatever, you got your tarot card thingies and I’ve got my brain scanner. We the same you and me. Weirdos.” Darnell bugged his eyes out as far as he could to emphasize his point. But the girl didn’t leave.

He pulled Droid out of his pocket and locked eyes with Drea. “Want to kiss my rat?” he asked leaning forward, waving the rodent in her face. He puckered up.

“Ugh. You are a weirdo.”

Drea stomped off leaving Darnell alone with exactly what he wanted, peace and quiet in his own personal mansion. He stretched out on the ginormous ottoman to celebrate.

Darnell watched as the girls took turns dragging mattresses and couch cushions into a pile on the family room floor. Why waste the energy? But he wouldn’t argue if they wanted to set up a sweet place to sleep. Comfortable, but close enough for safety, that’s what the girls had agreed on. Fine by him.

It didn’t take long for Darnell to get bored in the formal living room. He bored easily. Droid let out a squeak of agreement. So he let the rat out of his pocket for some exercise. The rodent wandered up and down the white couch, sniffing here and there, releasing a little squirt of pee on the corner of a couch cushion. Darnell snickered to himself and looked up to see if he was busted. But the girls didn’t seem to notice. They were back to arguing about the plan.

“We need to stick to the highway,” Ms. Harding insisted for the millionth time.

Darnell saw the girls’ distraction as an opportunity. He approached Sammy, who was nose-deep in his specimen book and whispered, “Hey, Encyclopedia!”

“What?” Robo-kid replied in monotone without looking up.

“You want to go explore? Get some more samples?”

Darnell pointed at the enormous book in the kid’s lap and gave a thumbs-up. Sammy looked up and smirked. Darnell had his attention. He held his finger to his lips telling Sammy to be quiet.

With surprising deftness, Sammy jumped to his feet and pulled an empty specimen jar out of his pack, like he had been waiting to be asked. Darnell grinned. The kid was pretty smooth sometimes.

Darnell arched onto his tiptoes, hunched his shoulders, and motioned for Sammy to follow. The red-haired kid imitated the pose, balancing precariously with a gangly gait. The unlikely duo peered around the archway into the kitchen. The girls were leaning on the granite counter, jabbering away, totally oblivious.

Darnell gave Sammy another thumbs-up and they scurried past the archway, in a hunch, like stealthy mice. Sammy took large exaggerated steps as though he were in a cartoon chase scene. Darnell motioned for him to take smaller less obvious strides. Sammy obeyed and made it to the slider unseen. The pair squeezed out the glass door without making any noise.

Once outside Darnell said in full volume, “You do yo’ thing Little Einstein and I’m gonna do mine. We gotta explore this neighborhood, see if there’s anythin’ we missed. They might even be some nice swanky stuff in these houses.”

“Okay,” Sammy sing-songed as he followed Darnell with his eyes glued to the ground.

Picking plant samples had the kid so fired up, he was actually skipping. Hey, whatever made the kid Einstein happy!

Dandelion puffs swarmed Sammy with enthusiasm as he plucked bits of weeds from sidewalk cracks. He immediately put something fluffy in his pocket and something with prickers in the jar.

Darnell disappeared around the white picket fence into the front yard, but his ginger friend didn’t follow. He called out, “Yo, keep up Encyclopedia!”

“Coming!” Sammy replied as he hurriedly rounded the corner. His eyes were still trained on the ground and his right hand clutched an overflowing mason jar. He stepped awkwardly on the sidewalk. Large step. Small step. Large step.

Darnell reminded his boy, “Don’t worry about the cracks. They ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Together they walked out of the cul-de-sac in an awkward rhythm, back onto the adjoining side street and down a few blocks. Sammy kept count.

“343. 344. 345.”

“Why you do that anyway?” Darnell asked.

Sammy didn’t respond. He continued the syncopated count. “348. 349. 350.”

“Yo, Encyclopedia, what you countin’ for?”

The kid continued in rote rhythm.

Darnell stepped in front of Sammy, blocking his way, forcing him to a stop. “Why you countin’ your steps bro?”

“Keeps me busy,” Sammy said with a lilt in his voice.

“You ain’t busy enough pickin’ up plants and stuff?”

“I have to keep order in my head.”

Darnell gave him a blank stare. “By countin’ every step you take?”

“Yes.”

Darnell had heard of counting your money and even counting your blessings. But steps?

“That’s pretty weird, dude.” Darnell watched as Sammy’s face suddenly glazed over.

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.” Sammy’s voice was filled with panic. He began to run in place and clamped his hands over his ears.

“Yo, Encyclopedia, what’s wrong bro?”

“Oh no. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.”

“Whoa bro, chill out. Sup?”

With a quivering lip and tear-filled eyes, Sammy shared, “I forgot what number I was on. I have to start all over again.” Then he jumped up and down and flapped his hands like a bird. He let out a high-pitched screech.

“Easy killer. 350. You was on 350,” Darnell assured.

Sammy continued to jog in place, his arms fluttering. When there was no change in his behavior, Darnell gently grabbed Sammy’s hand and whispered in his ear, “350.”

Instantly, Sammy’s face relaxed and his posture straightened. Darnell had hit his reset button.

“351. 352. 353.”

Darnell shook his head in disbelief. It was as if it never happened. Sammy, once again, was headed in a straight line down the sidewalk, wide-stepping over cracks, counting merrily.

Darnell jogged over a lush green lawn to catch up with Autistic Einstein. The grass felt impossibly soft like the fleece on a synthetic blanket. This was the kind of neighborhood Darnell had only seen in the movies. Where he had played street hockey between cars, kids in this neighborhood had played Red Rover on meticulous landscaping. It was like another planet.

Then Darnell spotted exactly what he had been looking for: total rich kid paradise.

“Sweet!” he exclaimed.

For the first time in days, Darnell had a reason to run. He was genuinely excited. This was going to be awesome! He dug his heels into the pavement and sprinted forward.

Made from perfectly cut two by fours and plywood, the oversized tree house perched between two mighty oaks, was an obvious labor of love and money. There was a hand painted sign that read KEEP OUT, the letters in dripping black paint. The structure was enormous and even had a zip line for quick escape.

Darnell had literally started to drool when a squeaky voice yelled, “Don’t move!”

He startled at the shock of hearing another human voice. “Yo who’s dat?”

His head whipped back and forth scanning the area. Darnell saw Sammy skipping happily on the sidewalk in the front yard where he had left him. No one else.

“I SAID DON’T MOVE!” The voice strained the louder it got. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere up above.

“Who’s gonna make me?” Darnell questioned. He didn’t take lightly to being pushed around. He had been taught to stand his ground.

Darnell decided to call the voice’s bluff. He advanced slowly on the tree house. One step forward. A pause. Then another.

There was no immediate response.

Darnell crept one more step forward and a paint ball whizzed past his ear and splattered at his feet. On impact blue paint sprayed everywhere, tarnishing everything in a five-foot radius, including Darnell’s immaculate shiny Jordans. It was an act of war.

“Oh, hell no! I’m comin’ for you!” Darnell sprinted toward the tree.

His movement triggered a blitz. Paint rounds splattered and pinged off of deck furniture and yard debris. One paintball caught him in the back, sending a sharp sting down his spine. Darnell dove for cover, ducking behind a green plastic sandbox in the shape of a turtle.

As he struggled to catch his breath, a fury of sound barraged his ears.

“Don’t mess with the Applewood Gang! Hey-yo!”

“Hey-yo!” many voices echoed.

A whole mess of kids whooped and hollered, as they popped into view. They had been hiding everywhere in the yard–– under the deck, behind the fence. Darnell was surrounded and one of the kids was zipping down the line toward the sandbox. The last thing Darnell saw was a pair of Sketchers smacking him in the face.

***

When Darnell came to, he was tied to a tree in the yard. His jaw ached and his eyes had trouble focusing, but he counted at least five kids standing in a line. They were armed with what looked like gardening tools. Some had rusty shovels and one held pink-handled pruning shears. The lead kid, at the head of apex, wielded a pitchfork in a menacing stance.

“Who are you?” the leader growled, as Darnell struggled to open his swollen left eye.

“You first. Who are YOU?” Despite being tied up, Darnell hadn’t lost any of his spunk. Besides, never trust a guy with a pitchfork.

“I’m Rat Face,” said the leader.

Darnell sputtered into a laugh, “You seriously call yourself Rat Face? How do you wake up in the morning with a name like that? Rat Face.”

He continued to giggle unapologetically, purposefully distracting them as he shifted his attention to the squirming rat in his pocket. Darnell stroked Droid’s fur as he contemplated his next move.