Raising Stony Mayhall (8 page)

Stony walked over to the car, still stunned that the cop hadn’t pulled out his gun. He looked back. The cop was studying each of the licenses in the light of his flashlight, then asking questions. Behind him in the brightly lit neighborhood, a group of kids had gathered to watch the excitement. On the other side of the road was a row of three houses, and beyond that, a wall of darkness: fields dense with tall October corn.

Officer Tines glanced back at him. Stony looked at his feet.

“Officer?” Kwang said loudly. “Officer!” He stepped up to the man, one arm raised. “I think I’m drunk.” And then he pitched forward into Officer Tines’s arms.

Stony stared at them for a long moment, then realized what Kwang was doing for him.

Stony crossed the road in five strides, then leaped across the ditch to the front yard of the first house. He listened for cries of alarm, for gunshots, but he heard nothing but the sound of his own feet. He aimed for the space between the house and the garage, moving faster than he’d ever moved in his life. When he reached the edge of the field he kept running.

He did not become winded, because he did not breathe. He did not tire, because he was too frightened to remember to be tired. But he did become completely lost.

At some point he slowed to a walk. He stripped off the last of the crêpe paper and tissue, leaving behind a fluttering trail of faux bandages. He didn’t know what time it was, but it seemed very late, three or four in the morning. He came upon another gravel lane—he crossed over several of them—and this time decided to follow it to his left. He walked on gravel now, between two barbed-wire fences.

Kwang had saved his life. Even though it meant he might be arrested, or crucified by his mom and dad. But if he hadn’t distracted the cop, Stony would be in jail right now. They’d know who he was, what he was: a ghoul whose bite could kill. Who could make you into a monster just like him. They’d put him down like a rabid dog.

His mother was right. He never should have left the farm. And now he could never leave. Kwang would go on without him, into the world of football games and college classes and cities and oceans, and he would burrow into the basement. His own personal Deadtown.

In the distance, a pair of headlights crossed the horizon, moving right to left. The lights brightened, as if the car had swerved in his direction for a moment, and then he heard a faint thump. The car squealed to a stop.

Stony stood still, watching. Half a minute later, the car moved forward again, slower now. The red taillights receded into the dark.

Stony resumed walking, and eventually came to a paved, two-lane road. He turned left, following the path of the car. A few minutes later he saw something thrashing in the high grass beside the road.

A deer. A small whitetail, only fifty or sixty pounds. It lay on its side, one eye staring wildly at him, glossy black. Its front legs churned the grass, but its back legs did not move. He looked for blood but didn’t see any.

He knelt next to the animal and stroked its neck. It lurched in a fresh frenzy, and he tried to soothe it.

The deer was going to die. If not in the next hour, then when a cop or farmer came to put it down. He sat with it, and gradually the animal settled, though its side rose and fell in quick breaths.

Stony leaned down, put his face to its neck, and inhaled. The scent was dense, peppery. He wondered if all deer smelled like this, or only dying ones. He pressed his nose and lips into its fur for nearly a minute. And then he opened his mouth, and pressed his teeth against its flesh.

He didn’t think that the walking dead could pass the disease to animals. Nothing he’d read suggested it. But nothing said it was impossible, either. Did the animal need to be dead first, and then bitten, before it could rise again? Or did he need to kill it himself, the wound and death occurring simultaneously, for the curse to be transmitted? The Easterly Public Library had been silent on the questions that most concerned him. Did he carry the disease? Should he fear himself as much as others feared him?

He lifted his head. He closed his mouth, wiped a hand across his lips.

It wasn’t disgust that stopped him. He thought he could bite into that furred neck. He just didn’t think he could bite it a second time, and a third, then
keep
biting until it died or turned. Maybe somewhere inside him there was a monstrous beast waiting to devour living flesh, but if it was there, it wasn’t coming out tonight. As a creature of evil, he was a washout. As a human being he wasn’t so hot, either. He should at least try to strangle the animal to put it out of its misery—that was the
humane
thing to do—but he didn’t think he could follow through on that, either.

“Shit,” he said to the deer.

He sat there until the sky began to lighten. A tall shape resolved out of the dark: the Easterly water tower. He knew where he was, then, and how far he had to go by morning. There was a slim chance that his mother still didn’t know that he’d slipped out.

He touched the animal a final time. It had stopped moving some time ago, and its big eye stared at him. He’d never been able to produce tears, but he wondered if doing so would have made him feel better. “I’m sorry,” he said.

ou may have overdone it, kid.”

“Alice!”

His sister had a talent for gliding silently into a room, and into town, like a tall-masted sailing ship in heavy fog. She stood just inside the basement door, one hand against a paneled wall, regarding Stony’s handiwork—the refinished planks, the painted cement floor, the yards of handmade bookshelves—most of it new since the last time she’d come down here, at Christmas. In those five months he’d also wired the room and installed new lights, moved his entire book collection onto the shelves, and dug a new drain for the dehumidifier.

Stony shrugged, smiled. “It kind of got away from me.”

“I can’t believe you got Mom to pay for it.”

“It didn’t hardly cost anything. The planks came from the old barn on Mr. Cho’s farm. The furniture’s all secondhand. The cement and the paint cost some, and, well, the drywall and two-by-fours. But we didn’t have to buy that all at once.”

She went to a bookshelf, ran a hand across his complete
set of Deadtown Detective Adventures. “Think you could make a couple of these for my apartment?”

“Really?” There was no one else in his family he more wanted to impress.

Alice looked amused. “I’ll pay you,” she said. “Maybe I’ll smuggle you out of here, and you can deliver them.” She lived only six hours away, but her visits had become rarer. It was only lately that Stony realized that she was probably never coming back home. After medical school she’d go on to her residency, and then on to a hospital or some specialist grad school. She’d already escaped, as completely as Crystal had.

“Come on,” Alice said. “Mom’s got supper ready.”

He turned out the lights and followed her up the stairs. In the yard she looped her arm through his. She was still taller than him, but just barely. “Maybe Junie’s right,” she said.

“About what?”

“Never mind.” She nudged him toward the back door. “Go on, you first.”

They yelled surprise! and he made a surprised face, but of course he’d heard the floorboards creaking above his head as they filed in, the hushed voices. Junie and his mom, as well as the three Chos. A store-bought graduation banner hung along the kitchen wall.

“But we already had Kwang’s party,” Stony said, mock mystified.

His mother kissed him on the cheek. “Quiet now. Go sit down.”

There was enough food to feed a real graduation party, instead of this tiny circle of coconspirators. Mrs. Cho had made
Dak bulgogi
, which he’d told her once was his favorite, and set out a dozen side dishes: two kinds of kimchi, five varieties of noodles, a couple of potato dishes, chili peppers, and
two bowls of vegetables that he couldn’t identify. Alice had brought from the city a potful of something called Italian beef: thinly sliced beef marinated in a spicy juice everybody said smelled wonderful, so Stony assumed it did. She showed them how to dip the big French rolls into the hot juice, then pile on the beef with tongs, and top the sopping mess with Giardiniera hot peppers.

Mr. Cho had finished two sandwiches, and Kwang stood up to get his fourth. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted, Alice.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.

“No, I’m serious. Seriously serious.”

“I can put it in an IV drip,” she said. “You can carry it around with you.”

Mrs. Cho said, “Any word from Chelsea?”

And with that the room went quiet. Stony’s mother frowned.

Junie said, “She said she was coming.”

“I’m sure she’s been very busy,” Alice said.

Stony laughed, and Mom gave him a warning look. Crystal—Mrs. Cho and Mom were the only two who still called her Chelsea—hadn’t been home since last summer, missing even Christmas, which was a high crime in the Mayhall family. The last Stony had heard, she’d been in Costa Rica with her latest boyfriend, whose name escaped him. Her original kidnapper, Alton, was long gone.

“Why don’t we clean up?” his mother said. “Then presents.”

Alice assigned them jobs, and of course no one argued. She may not have lived there anymore, but she was still second
mother. So while Stony washed, Alice dried and put away, and Junie cleared the table. “So you and Kwang,” Alice said, “still good friends?”

“Yeah, sure.” The past couple of years, though, he’d felt like they were pulling away from each other, a movement too slow to track with the human eye. Continental drift. Kwang was busy with school and sports and friends who could do amazing things like leave their house or walk into a restaurant. And Kwang had no interest in the books Stony was reading, and very little curiosity about science or technology or the world. He wouldn’t even be going to college if his mother weren’t forcing him. In some ways, Stony felt like he was the one leaving Kwang behind.

Alice said, “You’re still the same height.”

“I suppose. I think the growth spurt is over.”

“I mean you’ve always been the same height. Ever since that first summer. About the same weight, too, month after month. How about shoe size?”

“That’s an awfully personal question,” he joked. Though it was true, he and Kwang had always been able to wear each other’s shoes, even the summer after seventh grade when they both shot up into the adult sizes. It came in handy when they spent the night in each other’s houses. Stony said, “You don’t think it’s just coincidence?”

Alice frowned at him, disappointed in his dimness, and he laughed as if to say, Of course it’s not coincidence, who could think that?

Alice said, “You have anything you want me to repair this weekend? Kwang shoot you with a shotgun or anything while I was gone?”

“Just small stuff I can’t reach. Junie’s tried to help, but she doesn’t have your skill with a fishing line.”

“Okay, then. Full checkup in the morning.”

“You’re looking at me weird. You have some tests you want to do?”

“Maybe.”

Alice had always been the one most interested in his condition. Once when he was fifteen she’d had him put a clear plastic bag over his head, just to see if he really could go without breathing. (He could.) They also found out that he didn’t exhale carbon dioxide.

Junie came in and set down a stack of plates. “Less talk, more wash. We’ve got a cake to eat.”

“Hey Junie, what is it that Alice said you were right about?”

Alice chuckled. “She thinks you need to get laid.”

“Oh that!” Junie said. “Yes, definitely.”

“What?”

“We’re not sure, though, if you have sexual feelings.”

Alice said, “Have you ever masturbated?”

“I really don’t see the point.”

“What?!” June said, giggling.

He’d been thirteen, sleeping over at the Cho house, when Kwang magically produced a worn copy of
Oui
magazine. Kwang had told him about jerking off, but this time his friend pushed down his underwear and with some pride showed him his erection. Stony dropped his pants, but his own penis didn’t move. Kwang told him to spit on his hand and rub. Stony didn’t know what effect the motion was supposed to have, but judging from Kwang’s pained expression, it should have been either much worse or much better than it was. When Kwang came, Stony was amazed. Vaguely worded phrases from biology textbooks abruptly became specific; an entire class of dirty jokes suddenly became both funny and disgusting.

“Are you attracted to girls?” Junie asked.

“
What
girls? The only ones I get to see are you guys.”

“Speaking of guys—” she said, and shut up as the kitchen door swung open.

Mom swept in and picked up the cake plate. She’d made German chocolate, one of his favorites. “Junie, unplug the Mr. Coffee when it’s done; it’s been overheating lately.”

She walked out, and Stony said, “I’m not queer, either.”

“It’s okay if you are,” Alice said.