Not my writing.
Mar. 15th, 2007 10:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kippurbirdJust so you don't think that my writing group is completely composed of idiotic ass hats who couldn't write a story if their life depended on it I present the first chapters of two of the other stories in the group:
This first one was done as a sort of experiment by the writer who wanted to see what it would be like if he and a bunch of his friends were the only ones who survived the end of the world. The end of the world in this case being a plague.
There was only one direct sign people—other than the ones he, Arjun, had led to this little refuge—even existed and that he tried to ignore. Clearly visible from atop the dry slopes of the hills, a body lay a hundred yards away, a low milestone along one of the dirt roads separating fields of crops covering the valley that stretched out to the north. Arjun had shot the body—the body? It had been a man when he shot him over two weeks ago. The hunting rifle he had used was lying next to him now. The saliva in his mouth suddenly dried up, and a sense of physical heaviness descended on his shoulders. He rolled his head around on his neck, first to the left and then to the right, trying to relax the muscles. The vertebrae of his next popped several times, the noise loud in his ears, but he didn’t feel any more relaxed. The muscles around his chest constricted, deep breathing became a chore, and his eyes stung with tears he knew would never actually fall.
As a diversion from the sight of the corpse, he picked up the rifle and lay it across his knees and reclined against a backpack behind him. His stomach sank and made room for a nervous uneasiness as he traced the dark straight shaft of the barrel with his fingers. The metal was hard and smooth and his skin slid easily along it. Unyielding—yes, that was the right word for the barrel—an object forged from the part of existence where no negotiation or accommodation was possible. He was still unaccustomed to the power the rifle embodied. Arjun had taken to carrying it with him everywhere he went. He couldn’t simply set down and leave behind the responsibility he had accepted when he seized the rifle from the hands of his reluctant guard, and so he found himself unable to set down and leave behind the weapon.
The stranger’s corpse still lay at the place where the bullets had stopped his advance. No one had dared approach the body, not knowing if it—if he—was contagious. Probably not anymore; there wasn’t much left to him. He was reduced to a few bones, a matte of hair, and a patch of clothing. Halfway between the dead man and the entrance to their valley, signs warned of plague—deceitfully suggesting that the warnings were for the protection of outsiders. A slow stream of subsequent travelers had turned away at the sight of them. The threat of infection proved to be an effective deterrent. The brainstorm had come to late to save the corpse from his resting place.
Setting aside the rifle, Arjun turned back to the official purpose for his time on the hill. He leaned forward and held one eye to a tripod-mounted spotting scope, scanning the farmland and pastures for any sign of human activity. A passing car might suggest that the military had unblocked the roads. A wanderer might be induced to have a conversation and bring news of the world—from a safe distance. But there were only the regular rows of crops and the single pasture where the cows continued to graze within the confines of their fences. The pasture seemed out of place, being the only area with an unordered overgrowth of mixed grasses, and it was easy to imagine the cows had sprung forth from this plot fenced in land, the fruit of some strange crop.
After only a few moments, his open eye began to burn from the dry air and the muscles of the other ached from the strain being held so unnaturally closed. He pulled out a clear plastic bottle from his pack and drank half the warm water it contained. The bleach they used made it taste like pool water, and he found it easier to gulp it down rather than face the taste in small sips. He put the bottle back in his pack and leaned back again. He stared at the horizon to relax his eyes. The wind blew from the valley towards him, rustling as it passed through the dried grass and bushes. He breathed in deeply—ignoring the sting of the dry air in his nostrils—and tried to identify the individual scents. He could definitely smell the sweetness of ripe peaches, the sharpness of green onions, and the seductive scent of jasmine that reminded him of his first kiss. He searched for smell of the others: grapes, oranges, and unidentifiable patches of greens low the ground. It seemed ridiculous to slowly starve on their remaining canned and dried goods when there was so much fresh food spread out before them. But with no real knowledge of how the infection spread and no news of the outside world in almost three weeks, it was too risky to venture into the fields and share in the crops that were now only feeding the insects, birds, and various small mammals. Arjun’s group of 200 would have to make do on the supplies he had bought for them before their isolation. But how much longer?
He decided that he had been alone on the hill long enough. People would be getting restless for his return. He packed up the spotting scope and tripod and stretched out his 5’8” frame, thinned considerably from the weeks of rationing. It hadn’t been so bad for him though; he had been trying to lose the extra pounds around his belly anyway.
Arjun wasn’t actually needed up here. Four gaunt young men stood at their assigned posts guarding the hilltops and watching the valley below. They would immediately report anything new, and he could have entrusted the scope to them. Whatever he told anyone else, he knew he just wanted to be with his thoughts and with the body. He made a show of scanning the horizon that people might leave him alone.
Whenever anyone else was around, he was always forced to suffer reassurances or accusations depending on their faction. It became more about them, and he would end up either convincing the worried that everything was alright, discussing the timeline for leaving their valley, or defending his decisions to a skeptic. It had all turned to politics, and it was now impossible to have real discussion about the events leading up to…the incident. Arjun had to maintain that it was the right call or things could really get out of control.
Only when he was up here alone on the hill could he face the fact that he just didn’t know.
Was it a good decision? Were there alternatives? What about the fact that he hadn’t really felt much of anything since a few days after the shooting—other than the few sharp pangs of guilt he could squeeze out of his gut as he stared at the corpse? His emotions felt the way his hearing did after a concert or a night out clubbing…they still seemed to work, but everything was muffled and he got the impression more than the actual sensation. Like his heart was telling him about an emotion rather than having it. What about that? He could only really feel free to approach these questions when he wasn’t burdened by the demands of the others, and his time on the hill was now his only time to himself.
As he walked down the hill, it was clear that he had gotten all the solitude he was going to that day. Raju Jaini intercepted him. Raju had the single largest family in the camp, numbering thirteen. “So what do you think?” Raju asked.
“There was nothing new today.” Arjun replied after a deep breath. He had felt more relaxed walking down the hill than he had for quite a few days. But now that feeling of lightness was gone.
“Look Arjun, if you don’t take us back soon, I’m going to have to do it myself.” It wasn’t a threat, but rather a prediction. Even as Raju said it, his tone suggested that he was asking Arjun to save him from his fate.
“I know. I know. But Raju, we haven’t heard anything at all from the outside world in nineteen days. Nineteen days!” Arjun scratched hard at the back of his head, trying to distract himself from his frustration. “There’s been nothing on the television, not even the emergency broadcast screens. No radio signals. Just before the broadcasts disappeared, the cell networks were jammed for four days straight, and now it’s impossible to find reception in the few places around here it had been available. And this in the information age! You know something has to be going on out there. People would not have abandoned all their communications infrastructure unless it was bad. Really bad.”
Arjun put his hand on Raju’s should and started to lead him back to the camp. “Our safest bet is to wait as long as we can before going back. If you decide to leave on your own early, I can’t make other people risk their lives for you. Maybe people will go, but maybe not. It’s a lot to ask.” Stopping, Arjun turned and started Raju in the eyes and added. “and if you do go, and things aren’t okay out there…” You’ll be on your own.
Raju’s body seemed to shrink. “I know. But we have to go back soon. My dad’s getting worse. We don’t know how much longer he can take this. And Karishma, she’s wasting away. With her allergies, we just haven’t been able to find enough food for her to safely eat, and she’s losing weight everyday. She’s only three years old, and she losing weight!” His eyes were sunken, and rimmed by dark circles. He had been portly at 5’6” and 250 lbs. when he arrived, but the strain of shielding his four children, his ailing parents, and his youngest sister from the rationing had shrunk him. Now his cheeks were hollow and his clothes hung loosely over his shoulders. His belt was buckled through the latest of several aftermarket holes pierced to match his withering waist line and hold up his pants, which bunched awkwardly at the top. Everyone had tried to help out, but Raju had fed every bit of food he could spare to his daughter and three boys. “How much longer can the group wait?”
Arjun sighed. He had had the same conversation with Raju for the past week. “Let’s go check on your dad.” He answered, knowing that it would buy him a little more time. The top of his stomach burned, and he silently let out an acidic burp as he followed Raju to a large tent, meant for eight. Stress and lack of food was causing his reflux to get worse, and the antacids had run out.
Inside, they found Raju’s dad lying on his back, looking jaundiced even through his dark brown skin. His eyes were a sickly shade of yellow. He hadn’t been able to stand or even sit up much in the past few days. The tent reeked of urine and feces, made worse by carrying that pungent quality of the sick. Arjun had to suppress a gag as he walked in, breathing though his mouth to dull the smell.
Navin Shah, Arjun’s dad and the closest thing they had to a doctor was in charge of treating Mr. Jaini. Even with the inadequate preparation his training as a dentist gave him to deal with liver failure, Navin could tell his patient’s chances would have been slim in the best of care. The man was over eighty years old and had been facing heart and liver problems even before the isolation.
“How’s he doing?” Arjun asked.
Using an Indian euphemism, Navin responded “He is going to expire. It is just his time.”
But how could Arjun tell Raju that, logically speaking, his father’s death was a “sunk cost” and shouldn’t really be a factor in the decision anymore? Arjun’s financial training at the Anderson School of Business sounded important didn’t it? But what use was it out here?
He just stared at the old man as he considered his decision, once again dreaming of all the ways that might have let him out of his dilemma. If the group had been more cohesive, they could just leave and take their chances. But one faction, almost a third of their total number, was adamantly opposed to leaving or even sending out scouts until the last possible moment. With the apparent collapse of basic infrastructure, it was hard to blame them. Or if if Raju’s dad wasn’t dying—or, as horrible as it sounded, had died immediately and without warning, instead of lingering on—then, there would be nothing to do. But it was too late for that now, Arjun had already been given the chance to do nothing and therefore feel guilty about it, especially if Raju’s dad died now. He’d also be saved if there was some sort of sign, a television broadcast, a radio signal, just one damn bar on a cell phone! Was that too much to ask? There are so many way this could resolve itself. Why won’t one of them come through?!
The old man’s already dead, he thought. There was no point in denying it. Even if we get him to a hospital right now, what can they do? He looks terrible. His liver’s shot, and they don’t give 80-year-olds new ones. There’s no point in risking someone else’s life for one that’s over anyways. It’s too much exposure with nothing to gain. Why make a bet like that? It’s a negative expected value. Definitely. Even if you win, you don’t win much. That’s it. That’s the key. So we’ll stay longer. We can make it at least another two weeks. That’s the right decision.
He stood up and with a look, summoned Raju out of the tent. His mouth was sticky, yet he was salivating and the saliva tasted metallic. Putting his hand on Raju’s shoulder, he started “Raju…”
“Yeah.” It was a statement made with eyes lowered, chest quivering under the folds of his shirt. He knew the verdict.
Arjun was searching for something else to say, when Raju’s daughter ran to him and stood at his feet, looking up at him with her arms raised above her. He couldn’t help but notice the lack of baby fat. Her cheeks had been plump even for a baby, one of those Jaini traits, and now they looked sunken in, her cheekbones highlighted in a sophisticated way that looked disturbing on a child. When he picked her up, she hugged him, then pulled away, a very serious look on her big brown eyes, and said
“Dada needs go to hopsital.”
Tears burned in Arjun’s eyes but did not fall. Christ. Am I really going to...? He looked away, took a deep breath, and swallowed down his self-doubt. Fuck it. We have to leave sometime.
“Raju, we leave today.”
This one is the beginning of a young adult novel in the horror genre. Sort of like Goosebumps.
Chapter One
Lewis crouched close to Jenna Sanders’ bedroom window, his breaths leaving a face-shaped spot of fog. He eased back, pulled his sweatshirt sleeve over his hand and wiped it away.
Ten-thirty. Her bedtime. She should have been there.
For two weeks he had been going to the cheerleader’s window thanks to Reese. Good old Reese, his lucky dachshund, named after a peanut butter cup because he was dark brown with a patch of tan on his forehead. Lewis had been walking Reese down the neighborhood sidewalk when the dog slipped out of his collar and bolted away. Lewis, not being the fastest or even second-to-last fastest boy around town, could not get a hand on Reese who was not only fast but had moves like an all-conference linebacker. Reese ended up in the bushes below Jenna’s bedroom window where he decided to relieve himself. Lewis came panting up behind and was about to scold Reese when he saw something unbelievable in the window.
Jenna Sanders lying on her stomach in bed, talking on the phone, feet kicking the air . . . in her underwear.
The hottest girl in school right in front of his eyes and . . . oh man . . . his own private viewing of her almost-all-the-way nakedness. Jenna Sanders, not just any girl from around town. The girl of his dreams.
And she’s wearing pink.
Lewis froze the moment he saw her, entered a hypnotic state usually saved for his X-Box 360. A bit of drool ran down the side of his mouth. He watched as she got off the bed, went to her dresser, slipped on a long white tee-shirt with a big number twelve on it. Her back had been to him that whole time; his heart almost busted through his sternum as he waited for her to turn around. His moment ended when she turned the lights off.
He’d been back several times since.
One of these nights she would turn and show everything. He just knew it. He wiped another spot of hot breath away. Maybe tonight.
The night felt quieter than usual out there in the bushes. Usually, he had to deal with Reese getting impatient and wiggling around his feet, but he’d decided not to bring Reese again. Last time, Reese had nearly blown the whole thing. Just when things were about to get good, when Jenna had been looking at herself in the mirror and stretching, Reese had barked. Who knows what he barked at—could have been a spider, a snake, a rock—didn’t matter. Lewis had to duck from the window and paste himself against the wall. Holy crap, had she heard that? Was she looking at the window? For all he knew, she could still be stretching and watching herself in the mirror. She may have even been changing into her pajamas without her back to the window.
He couldn’t risk moving, so he stayed flat against the wall until the lights went off. The whole time he had kept his index finger to his lips, hoping that Reese wouldn’t bark again. When he finally made it home that night, he had a long talk with Reese about what he had done and what type of opportunity he may have caused Lewis to miss.
Tonight, he left Reese at home.
But being completely alone also made him feel a little uneasy. With Jenna not in the bedroom, all he had to keep him company were the ants crawling around his ankles. He constantly had to swat at them. And the only sounds, an occasional car driving by, the shuffling of his own feet, and a faint scraping that must have been a tree branch against the side of the house.
And the waiting; he didn’t like it because it allowed the ugly guilty feeling to creep over him. The guilt of watching her and invading her privacy had bothered him at first, but he justified it by reminding himself how she and her friends treated him at school. He remembered trying talk to Jenna once in the lunch line when a dollar had fallen out of her hand. He picked it up and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Here’s your dollar,” he said.
She turned and looked him up and down. She smiled.
Lewis smiled back.
“Your fly is wide open,” she said. “Wide.” She snatched the dollar from Lewis’s hand.
Lewis looked down, tried to zip up his fly but it was stuck. He heard Jenna and the other cheerleaders laughing as he slunk away.
That was really funny, he thought as he looked through the bedroom window. So funny I forgot to laugh, but now I’ve seen you in your underwear. I’ve seen you put your finger in your belly button because you thought no one was watching. That’s what’s funny.
His knees ached as he stayed crouched with his eyes just above the window sill. Her big stuffed monkey looked back at him from the center of her bed. God, what a lucky monkey. He glanced at the smiley-face magazines on her floor, her collage of snapshots on a heart shaped bulletin board, the big picture of her and her boyfriend Sean Bigsley right in the center of it all.
How fair was it? Bigsley couldn’t name half the parts on a female anatomy chart but he’d touched Jenna’s breasts, probably had seen her completely naked. Lewis got to hide out in her bushes, get bitten by ants, and end up with nothing but hopeful dreams.
That scraping sound again. But it didn’t sound like a branch against the house. Sounded like it came from above.
He looked up, saw nothing but the snaky white gutter and it’s long dark shadow. Must be an a satellite TV wire dragging against the roof, he thought. Still, it made him quiver. If anyone caught him his high school days would be over. He’d be given a nickname like Lewis the Peeper or Pervie Perverson. He already had a bad enough time getting picked on by jocks like Bigsley. Didn’t need more ammunition for them. Just thinking about the possibility was starting to ruin the moment.
C’mon Jenna. Can’t stay here all night.
He looked into the window again, focused on her door handle. Please turn . . . please turn . . . please turn and let Jenna in so she can wriggle out of her . . .
A new sound. Again coming from above.
He stayed frozen, the only movement inside of him; an uneasy tickle that started in his stomach and rose to his throat.
The sound came again, this time clearer.
Tck, tck, tck, tck.
Something like gravel falling out of someone’s hand.
He glanced through the window. Nothing in the bedroom had changed. The stuffed monkey on her bed caught his eye, smiling at him, not scared at all.
Tck, tck, tck, tck.
Oh shoot, shoot. If anyone caught him . . .
His heart pounded. Sweat slicked his hands. The back of his neck itched as if sharp fingernails tapped on his skin.
He had to look up to prove to himself that something in nature was causing the noise, something that a sudden shift in the wind had caused.
Tck, tck, tck, tck.
Something’s on the roof and it’s going to ruin my show, he thought, looking toward the sidewalk in front of the house. He should run for it. It was probably just a stupid cat, or a squirrel, but he couldn’t risk waiting around to find out.
He readied himself, eyeing the sidewalk. It wasn’t far. One swift move and he’d be out of there.
Then he heard a hiss.
Don’t look up.
It’s not a cat, not a squirrel, not even a possum, so don’t look up.
Get to the sidewalk and you’re home free. Run just like Reese would. Just don’t look up. Don’t look up, don’t look . . .
Warm liquid splattered on his arm.
He raised his head.
The thing above him was dark, even against the night sky. He couldn’t make out what it was in the short time before it pounced on him. In that instant, just before everything snapped into black, he thought of Reese, good ol’ dumb Reese, resting at home and not barking at a thing.
This first one was done as a sort of experiment by the writer who wanted to see what it would be like if he and a bunch of his friends were the only ones who survived the end of the world. The end of the world in this case being a plague.
There was only one direct sign people—other than the ones he, Arjun, had led to this little refuge—even existed and that he tried to ignore. Clearly visible from atop the dry slopes of the hills, a body lay a hundred yards away, a low milestone along one of the dirt roads separating fields of crops covering the valley that stretched out to the north. Arjun had shot the body—the body? It had been a man when he shot him over two weeks ago. The hunting rifle he had used was lying next to him now. The saliva in his mouth suddenly dried up, and a sense of physical heaviness descended on his shoulders. He rolled his head around on his neck, first to the left and then to the right, trying to relax the muscles. The vertebrae of his next popped several times, the noise loud in his ears, but he didn’t feel any more relaxed. The muscles around his chest constricted, deep breathing became a chore, and his eyes stung with tears he knew would never actually fall.
As a diversion from the sight of the corpse, he picked up the rifle and lay it across his knees and reclined against a backpack behind him. His stomach sank and made room for a nervous uneasiness as he traced the dark straight shaft of the barrel with his fingers. The metal was hard and smooth and his skin slid easily along it. Unyielding—yes, that was the right word for the barrel—an object forged from the part of existence where no negotiation or accommodation was possible. He was still unaccustomed to the power the rifle embodied. Arjun had taken to carrying it with him everywhere he went. He couldn’t simply set down and leave behind the responsibility he had accepted when he seized the rifle from the hands of his reluctant guard, and so he found himself unable to set down and leave behind the weapon.
The stranger’s corpse still lay at the place where the bullets had stopped his advance. No one had dared approach the body, not knowing if it—if he—was contagious. Probably not anymore; there wasn’t much left to him. He was reduced to a few bones, a matte of hair, and a patch of clothing. Halfway between the dead man and the entrance to their valley, signs warned of plague—deceitfully suggesting that the warnings were for the protection of outsiders. A slow stream of subsequent travelers had turned away at the sight of them. The threat of infection proved to be an effective deterrent. The brainstorm had come to late to save the corpse from his resting place.
Setting aside the rifle, Arjun turned back to the official purpose for his time on the hill. He leaned forward and held one eye to a tripod-mounted spotting scope, scanning the farmland and pastures for any sign of human activity. A passing car might suggest that the military had unblocked the roads. A wanderer might be induced to have a conversation and bring news of the world—from a safe distance. But there were only the regular rows of crops and the single pasture where the cows continued to graze within the confines of their fences. The pasture seemed out of place, being the only area with an unordered overgrowth of mixed grasses, and it was easy to imagine the cows had sprung forth from this plot fenced in land, the fruit of some strange crop.
After only a few moments, his open eye began to burn from the dry air and the muscles of the other ached from the strain being held so unnaturally closed. He pulled out a clear plastic bottle from his pack and drank half the warm water it contained. The bleach they used made it taste like pool water, and he found it easier to gulp it down rather than face the taste in small sips. He put the bottle back in his pack and leaned back again. He stared at the horizon to relax his eyes. The wind blew from the valley towards him, rustling as it passed through the dried grass and bushes. He breathed in deeply—ignoring the sting of the dry air in his nostrils—and tried to identify the individual scents. He could definitely smell the sweetness of ripe peaches, the sharpness of green onions, and the seductive scent of jasmine that reminded him of his first kiss. He searched for smell of the others: grapes, oranges, and unidentifiable patches of greens low the ground. It seemed ridiculous to slowly starve on their remaining canned and dried goods when there was so much fresh food spread out before them. But with no real knowledge of how the infection spread and no news of the outside world in almost three weeks, it was too risky to venture into the fields and share in the crops that were now only feeding the insects, birds, and various small mammals. Arjun’s group of 200 would have to make do on the supplies he had bought for them before their isolation. But how much longer?
He decided that he had been alone on the hill long enough. People would be getting restless for his return. He packed up the spotting scope and tripod and stretched out his 5’8” frame, thinned considerably from the weeks of rationing. It hadn’t been so bad for him though; he had been trying to lose the extra pounds around his belly anyway.
Arjun wasn’t actually needed up here. Four gaunt young men stood at their assigned posts guarding the hilltops and watching the valley below. They would immediately report anything new, and he could have entrusted the scope to them. Whatever he told anyone else, he knew he just wanted to be with his thoughts and with the body. He made a show of scanning the horizon that people might leave him alone.
Whenever anyone else was around, he was always forced to suffer reassurances or accusations depending on their faction. It became more about them, and he would end up either convincing the worried that everything was alright, discussing the timeline for leaving their valley, or defending his decisions to a skeptic. It had all turned to politics, and it was now impossible to have real discussion about the events leading up to…the incident. Arjun had to maintain that it was the right call or things could really get out of control.
Only when he was up here alone on the hill could he face the fact that he just didn’t know.
Was it a good decision? Were there alternatives? What about the fact that he hadn’t really felt much of anything since a few days after the shooting—other than the few sharp pangs of guilt he could squeeze out of his gut as he stared at the corpse? His emotions felt the way his hearing did after a concert or a night out clubbing…they still seemed to work, but everything was muffled and he got the impression more than the actual sensation. Like his heart was telling him about an emotion rather than having it. What about that? He could only really feel free to approach these questions when he wasn’t burdened by the demands of the others, and his time on the hill was now his only time to himself.
As he walked down the hill, it was clear that he had gotten all the solitude he was going to that day. Raju Jaini intercepted him. Raju had the single largest family in the camp, numbering thirteen. “So what do you think?” Raju asked.
“There was nothing new today.” Arjun replied after a deep breath. He had felt more relaxed walking down the hill than he had for quite a few days. But now that feeling of lightness was gone.
“Look Arjun, if you don’t take us back soon, I’m going to have to do it myself.” It wasn’t a threat, but rather a prediction. Even as Raju said it, his tone suggested that he was asking Arjun to save him from his fate.
“I know. I know. But Raju, we haven’t heard anything at all from the outside world in nineteen days. Nineteen days!” Arjun scratched hard at the back of his head, trying to distract himself from his frustration. “There’s been nothing on the television, not even the emergency broadcast screens. No radio signals. Just before the broadcasts disappeared, the cell networks were jammed for four days straight, and now it’s impossible to find reception in the few places around here it had been available. And this in the information age! You know something has to be going on out there. People would not have abandoned all their communications infrastructure unless it was bad. Really bad.”
Arjun put his hand on Raju’s should and started to lead him back to the camp. “Our safest bet is to wait as long as we can before going back. If you decide to leave on your own early, I can’t make other people risk their lives for you. Maybe people will go, but maybe not. It’s a lot to ask.” Stopping, Arjun turned and started Raju in the eyes and added. “and if you do go, and things aren’t okay out there…” You’ll be on your own.
Raju’s body seemed to shrink. “I know. But we have to go back soon. My dad’s getting worse. We don’t know how much longer he can take this. And Karishma, she’s wasting away. With her allergies, we just haven’t been able to find enough food for her to safely eat, and she’s losing weight everyday. She’s only three years old, and she losing weight!” His eyes were sunken, and rimmed by dark circles. He had been portly at 5’6” and 250 lbs. when he arrived, but the strain of shielding his four children, his ailing parents, and his youngest sister from the rationing had shrunk him. Now his cheeks were hollow and his clothes hung loosely over his shoulders. His belt was buckled through the latest of several aftermarket holes pierced to match his withering waist line and hold up his pants, which bunched awkwardly at the top. Everyone had tried to help out, but Raju had fed every bit of food he could spare to his daughter and three boys. “How much longer can the group wait?”
Arjun sighed. He had had the same conversation with Raju for the past week. “Let’s go check on your dad.” He answered, knowing that it would buy him a little more time. The top of his stomach burned, and he silently let out an acidic burp as he followed Raju to a large tent, meant for eight. Stress and lack of food was causing his reflux to get worse, and the antacids had run out.
Inside, they found Raju’s dad lying on his back, looking jaundiced even through his dark brown skin. His eyes were a sickly shade of yellow. He hadn’t been able to stand or even sit up much in the past few days. The tent reeked of urine and feces, made worse by carrying that pungent quality of the sick. Arjun had to suppress a gag as he walked in, breathing though his mouth to dull the smell.
Navin Shah, Arjun’s dad and the closest thing they had to a doctor was in charge of treating Mr. Jaini. Even with the inadequate preparation his training as a dentist gave him to deal with liver failure, Navin could tell his patient’s chances would have been slim in the best of care. The man was over eighty years old and had been facing heart and liver problems even before the isolation.
“How’s he doing?” Arjun asked.
Using an Indian euphemism, Navin responded “He is going to expire. It is just his time.”
But how could Arjun tell Raju that, logically speaking, his father’s death was a “sunk cost” and shouldn’t really be a factor in the decision anymore? Arjun’s financial training at the Anderson School of Business sounded important didn’t it? But what use was it out here?
He just stared at the old man as he considered his decision, once again dreaming of all the ways that might have let him out of his dilemma. If the group had been more cohesive, they could just leave and take their chances. But one faction, almost a third of their total number, was adamantly opposed to leaving or even sending out scouts until the last possible moment. With the apparent collapse of basic infrastructure, it was hard to blame them. Or if if Raju’s dad wasn’t dying—or, as horrible as it sounded, had died immediately and without warning, instead of lingering on—then, there would be nothing to do. But it was too late for that now, Arjun had already been given the chance to do nothing and therefore feel guilty about it, especially if Raju’s dad died now. He’d also be saved if there was some sort of sign, a television broadcast, a radio signal, just one damn bar on a cell phone! Was that too much to ask? There are so many way this could resolve itself. Why won’t one of them come through?!
The old man’s already dead, he thought. There was no point in denying it. Even if we get him to a hospital right now, what can they do? He looks terrible. His liver’s shot, and they don’t give 80-year-olds new ones. There’s no point in risking someone else’s life for one that’s over anyways. It’s too much exposure with nothing to gain. Why make a bet like that? It’s a negative expected value. Definitely. Even if you win, you don’t win much. That’s it. That’s the key. So we’ll stay longer. We can make it at least another two weeks. That’s the right decision.
He stood up and with a look, summoned Raju out of the tent. His mouth was sticky, yet he was salivating and the saliva tasted metallic. Putting his hand on Raju’s shoulder, he started “Raju…”
“Yeah.” It was a statement made with eyes lowered, chest quivering under the folds of his shirt. He knew the verdict.
Arjun was searching for something else to say, when Raju’s daughter ran to him and stood at his feet, looking up at him with her arms raised above her. He couldn’t help but notice the lack of baby fat. Her cheeks had been plump even for a baby, one of those Jaini traits, and now they looked sunken in, her cheekbones highlighted in a sophisticated way that looked disturbing on a child. When he picked her up, she hugged him, then pulled away, a very serious look on her big brown eyes, and said
“Dada needs go to hopsital.”
Tears burned in Arjun’s eyes but did not fall. Christ. Am I really going to...? He looked away, took a deep breath, and swallowed down his self-doubt. Fuck it. We have to leave sometime.
“Raju, we leave today.”
This one is the beginning of a young adult novel in the horror genre. Sort of like Goosebumps.
Chapter One
Lewis crouched close to Jenna Sanders’ bedroom window, his breaths leaving a face-shaped spot of fog. He eased back, pulled his sweatshirt sleeve over his hand and wiped it away.
Ten-thirty. Her bedtime. She should have been there.
For two weeks he had been going to the cheerleader’s window thanks to Reese. Good old Reese, his lucky dachshund, named after a peanut butter cup because he was dark brown with a patch of tan on his forehead. Lewis had been walking Reese down the neighborhood sidewalk when the dog slipped out of his collar and bolted away. Lewis, not being the fastest or even second-to-last fastest boy around town, could not get a hand on Reese who was not only fast but had moves like an all-conference linebacker. Reese ended up in the bushes below Jenna’s bedroom window where he decided to relieve himself. Lewis came panting up behind and was about to scold Reese when he saw something unbelievable in the window.
Jenna Sanders lying on her stomach in bed, talking on the phone, feet kicking the air . . . in her underwear.
The hottest girl in school right in front of his eyes and . . . oh man . . . his own private viewing of her almost-all-the-way nakedness. Jenna Sanders, not just any girl from around town. The girl of his dreams.
And she’s wearing pink.
Lewis froze the moment he saw her, entered a hypnotic state usually saved for his X-Box 360. A bit of drool ran down the side of his mouth. He watched as she got off the bed, went to her dresser, slipped on a long white tee-shirt with a big number twelve on it. Her back had been to him that whole time; his heart almost busted through his sternum as he waited for her to turn around. His moment ended when she turned the lights off.
He’d been back several times since.
One of these nights she would turn and show everything. He just knew it. He wiped another spot of hot breath away. Maybe tonight.
The night felt quieter than usual out there in the bushes. Usually, he had to deal with Reese getting impatient and wiggling around his feet, but he’d decided not to bring Reese again. Last time, Reese had nearly blown the whole thing. Just when things were about to get good, when Jenna had been looking at herself in the mirror and stretching, Reese had barked. Who knows what he barked at—could have been a spider, a snake, a rock—didn’t matter. Lewis had to duck from the window and paste himself against the wall. Holy crap, had she heard that? Was she looking at the window? For all he knew, she could still be stretching and watching herself in the mirror. She may have even been changing into her pajamas without her back to the window.
He couldn’t risk moving, so he stayed flat against the wall until the lights went off. The whole time he had kept his index finger to his lips, hoping that Reese wouldn’t bark again. When he finally made it home that night, he had a long talk with Reese about what he had done and what type of opportunity he may have caused Lewis to miss.
Tonight, he left Reese at home.
But being completely alone also made him feel a little uneasy. With Jenna not in the bedroom, all he had to keep him company were the ants crawling around his ankles. He constantly had to swat at them. And the only sounds, an occasional car driving by, the shuffling of his own feet, and a faint scraping that must have been a tree branch against the side of the house.
And the waiting; he didn’t like it because it allowed the ugly guilty feeling to creep over him. The guilt of watching her and invading her privacy had bothered him at first, but he justified it by reminding himself how she and her friends treated him at school. He remembered trying talk to Jenna once in the lunch line when a dollar had fallen out of her hand. He picked it up and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Here’s your dollar,” he said.
She turned and looked him up and down. She smiled.
Lewis smiled back.
“Your fly is wide open,” she said. “Wide.” She snatched the dollar from Lewis’s hand.
Lewis looked down, tried to zip up his fly but it was stuck. He heard Jenna and the other cheerleaders laughing as he slunk away.
That was really funny, he thought as he looked through the bedroom window. So funny I forgot to laugh, but now I’ve seen you in your underwear. I’ve seen you put your finger in your belly button because you thought no one was watching. That’s what’s funny.
His knees ached as he stayed crouched with his eyes just above the window sill. Her big stuffed monkey looked back at him from the center of her bed. God, what a lucky monkey. He glanced at the smiley-face magazines on her floor, her collage of snapshots on a heart shaped bulletin board, the big picture of her and her boyfriend Sean Bigsley right in the center of it all.
How fair was it? Bigsley couldn’t name half the parts on a female anatomy chart but he’d touched Jenna’s breasts, probably had seen her completely naked. Lewis got to hide out in her bushes, get bitten by ants, and end up with nothing but hopeful dreams.
That scraping sound again. But it didn’t sound like a branch against the house. Sounded like it came from above.
He looked up, saw nothing but the snaky white gutter and it’s long dark shadow. Must be an a satellite TV wire dragging against the roof, he thought. Still, it made him quiver. If anyone caught him his high school days would be over. He’d be given a nickname like Lewis the Peeper or Pervie Perverson. He already had a bad enough time getting picked on by jocks like Bigsley. Didn’t need more ammunition for them. Just thinking about the possibility was starting to ruin the moment.
C’mon Jenna. Can’t stay here all night.
He looked into the window again, focused on her door handle. Please turn . . . please turn . . . please turn and let Jenna in so she can wriggle out of her . . .
A new sound. Again coming from above.
He stayed frozen, the only movement inside of him; an uneasy tickle that started in his stomach and rose to his throat.
The sound came again, this time clearer.
Tck, tck, tck, tck.
Something like gravel falling out of someone’s hand.
He glanced through the window. Nothing in the bedroom had changed. The stuffed monkey on her bed caught his eye, smiling at him, not scared at all.
Tck, tck, tck, tck.
Oh shoot, shoot. If anyone caught him . . .
His heart pounded. Sweat slicked his hands. The back of his neck itched as if sharp fingernails tapped on his skin.
He had to look up to prove to himself that something in nature was causing the noise, something that a sudden shift in the wind had caused.
Tck, tck, tck, tck.
Something’s on the roof and it’s going to ruin my show, he thought, looking toward the sidewalk in front of the house. He should run for it. It was probably just a stupid cat, or a squirrel, but he couldn’t risk waiting around to find out.
He readied himself, eyeing the sidewalk. It wasn’t far. One swift move and he’d be out of there.
Then he heard a hiss.
Don’t look up.
It’s not a cat, not a squirrel, not even a possum, so don’t look up.
Get to the sidewalk and you’re home free. Run just like Reese would. Just don’t look up. Don’t look up, don’t look . . .
Warm liquid splattered on his arm.
He raised his head.
The thing above him was dark, even against the night sky. He couldn’t make out what it was in the short time before it pounced on him. In that instant, just before everything snapped into black, he thought of Reese, good ol’ dumb Reese, resting at home and not barking at a thing.
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Date: 2007-03-15 07:29 pm (UTC)Minor R.L. Stine nitpick, though - the Goosebumps series was for children, Fear Street was his YA offering. Of course, I was reading the latter when I was 10 and the children's section starting boring me, but that's beside the point.
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Date: 2007-03-15 07:45 pm (UTC)I never read either of them, I just knew that Goosebumps was like that the Leg's writer's stuff.