Collection (17 page)

           
Mattie touched his leg through the blanket.
 
It was cold, and her hand sank into his flesh.
 
“I’m not leaving you,” she said, pulling her hand away.
 
“Why would you think that?”

           
Nathan looked back at the window.
 
“’Because my scratch.”
 
He pulled his sleeve up, and Mattie had to look away.
 
The arm, from the fingers up, was ashen gray with black lines running in every direction.
 
He looked at it for a moment.
 
“It’s not getting better.”

           
“How do you feel?”

           
Nathan shrugged.
 
“Cold.”

           
“You should rest tonight.
 
We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”
 
She reached for the leather belts tied to the headboards.
 
“Give me your hands.”

           
Nathan moaned.

           
“I can’t watch you all night.
 
I can’t take the chance that you might hur—”

           
 
“I’d never hurt you, Mattie.”
 
Nathan stared at her.

           
Mattie looked away.
 
“I know,” she said.
 
“But you could hurt yourself.”
 
She patted the bed with her hand.
 
“I just want us both to be safe, okay.”

           
He lay back in the bed, and Mattie tied the leather straps around his wrists.
 
They were long and allowed him to move a little, but not too much.

           
Mattie closed the door and arranged her blanket on the floor along the side of the bed.
 
She leaned up against the wall and watched the sunlight fade outside the window.

           
“Where do you think dad is?”

           
“Nathan, don’t.”

           
After a moment he spoke.
 
“I bet he went on ahead.
 
He’s probably already at Uncle John’s.”

           
Mattie was quiet.

           
“I’m sure that’s where he is,” Nathan said.
 
Mattie heard his breath wheeze in his chest.
 
“How long does it take to get up there?”

           
“Not long,” Mattie said.
 
“Go to sleep now.”

           
Nathan shifted on the bed, and Mattie closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his breathing.
 
Wet and slow and fading.

~

Fading…
 

The gun was lighter now, and as she walked up the steps to the porch she barely felt it in her hands.
 
She looked down to make sure it was there.
 
It was, and she squeezed it against her chest as she walked.
 
The boards on the porch bent and moaned under her feet.
 
She opened the screen door to the house and reached for the doorknob.
 
There was a buzzing behind the door, and Mattie stopped.
 
It was quiet, almost inaudible, just a low, rhythmic hum.

Mattie pushed the door open and stepped inside.
 
The entryway floor was covered with dirt, and the wallpaper flayed off the wall in long strips.
 
There were cobwebs along the ceiling that pulsed back and forth above her head.
 

And there was music.
 

She held her breath and listened.
 
It was coming from the living room, slow and easy, a waltz, her dad’s favorite.
 
She moved toward the sound, and felt her stomach twist.
 
She walked faster.
 
There were voices coming from the room, a woman’s voice, somehow familiar, and the unmistakable rolling sound of her father’s laughter.

 
Mattie turned the corner to the living room.
 
She saw them for a second—she did—and then nothing.
 
The room was empty.
 
The picture window was cracked and boarded over.
 
The chandelier, broken and detached, lay in pieces on the floor.
 
And all around her, the room buzzed.
 

Mattie looked at the fireplace against the wall.
 
There were ashes and soot falling in from the chimney.
 
A shadow passed in front of the boarded window, and Mattie jumped.
 
She raised the gun.
 
The buzzing was louder.
 
Rocks and ashes bounced from the fireplace into the room, and she heard scuffling in the chimney.
 
Something was there, trapped behind the brick, trying to get free.

“Mattie!”
 
She heard Nathan’s voice.
 
It came from outside, and she backed into the hallway and ran to the front door.
 
It wouldn’t open.
 

“Mattie!”
 
She heard him scream, and she let go of the gun.
 
She grabbed the doorknob with both hands and pulled.
 
The door opened and she ran onto the porch.
 

There was no one.
 
The road was gone.
 
The corn had covered it, growing up the driveway to the porch, brown and rotted and thick.
 
In the distance, the oak tree, tire swing hanging motionless from its branches, stood dead and skeletal, silhouetted against the fading light of the sky.
 

“Mattie!”
 
She turned and ran back inside.
 
A shadow moved at the top of the stairs, then disappeared.
 
Mattie looked for the gun, but it was gone.
 
The buzzing was louder, drowning out his voice.
 
She walked toward the stairs and put her hand on the railing.
 
It was cold and slick against her skin and she pulled away.
 

“Mattie!”

She walked slowly and listened for his voice through the buzzing.
 
The air was thick with the sound, growing louder with each step.
 
There were pictures lining the wall along the stairway, family portraits and school photos, a happy family, children smiling from behind glass frames.
 

The bedroom door was closed.
 
She reached out and put her hand against the wood.
 
It buzzed and vibrated under her fingers.
 
Mattie took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Quiet.
 

Everything stopped.
 
Nathan was sitting on the bed, blond hair falling forward over his forehead.
 
He was looking down at his hands.

Mattie walked into the room.
 
“Nathan?”

Nathan looked up, and Mattie stopped.
 
His eyes were gone.
 
Only black sockets, cold and empty, stared back at her.
 
Mattie began to scream.

Nathan stared at her, and tiny cracks formed along his skin.
 
Behind them, she saw movement.
 
His body shook, and his skin split and came apart in small, dissolving explosions of noise and flight.
 
The buzz was deafening.
 
Flies, millions of them, filled the room, choking the air black.
 
Mattie closed her eyes, feeling them in her hair, and on her skin, and in her throat as she screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

~

Something hit the ground, and Mattie opened her eyes.
 
She sat up and reached for the gun in the corner.
 
The room was dark except for a gray morning glow that sank through the window.
 

Nathan was on his side with his back to her.
 
One of the belts had come loose.

“Nathan?”
 
He didn’t move.
 
She sat the gun down and reached for the leather strap on the headboard.
 
“The belt came off.
 
I need to put it back.”
 
She ran her hand along the strap to the knot at the end.
 

His hand was still attached.

Mattie dropped the belt and the hand thumped against the wood floor.
 
She picked up the gun and stepped away from the bed.
 
Nathan was still on his side, and she could hear wet popping sounds coming from his throat.
 
She moved around the room.
 
Nathan didn’t look up.
 
He was chewing through his other wrist, and the fingers on his hand twitched with each bite.
 

The sound she made surprised them both, and when he looked up Mattie saw the gray, rotted flesh between his teeth.
 
He reached out to her and black blood dripped from the open arm and coated the bed like oil.

Mattie ran.

She opened the door and took the steps, two at a time, to the entryway below, then through the kitchen to the garage.
 
She dropped the rifle in the passenger seat and went around to the overhead door, turned the handle, and lifted it open.

The morning air was cold, and the wind from the north chilled her skin.
 
The sun was coming up, and a long, thin strip of light sliced across the horizon.
 
She breathed deep, letting the air clear her mind, then walked back to the Jeep and started the engine.
 
Static hissed out of the speakers, and Mattie jumped at the sound.
 
She reached forward and turned the radio off.
 

Now the tears came all at once.
 
She couldn’t stop them.
 
They covered her like a wave, and she leaned her head on the steering wheel, squeezing until her fingers ached.
 
As the tears passed, Mattie wiped them away with her sleeve.
 
She put the Jeep in gear, and when she pulled out of the garage she stopped.

There were shadows moving in the driveway.
 

Mattie sat for a moment, watching them get closer.
 
Dark shapes, silhouetted against a burning pink sky.
 
She leaned forward and turned on the headlights.

Now there were faces, and Mattie recognized each one; neighbors, classmates, friends.
 
The woman closest to the Jeep was wearing a pink and yellow waitress dress that Mattie knew from the Dinner Diner in town.
 
Her skin looked rough, like asphalt, and her lips were dried and shriveled back away from her teeth.
 

She was smiling.

Her right arm had been snapped just above the elbow, and a thin shard of bone showed from under the short yellow sleeve of her dress.
 
Her left arm hung to her side, weighted down.
 
She was carrying something, but Mattie couldn’t tell what it was.
 

When she got closer, Mattie saw the diaper.

The woman was holding the child by one badly dislocated arm.
 
Its face was gigantic, bloated purple and black.
 
The eyes were gone, and its head, unattached from muscle or bone, rolled sickly between its shoulders.
 
In the halo of the headlights, Mattie watched the child twitch, the mouth opening and closing, empty and silent.