Page 55 of The Last Stars in the Sky
A man—a boy, really, only a little older than Sam—stumbles out of the living room. He’s greasy-haired, pimply-faced, slight and sour-smelling. I take an instinctive step back as his odor wafts toward me.
“Aw, man, Kerry,” he says, his voice a nasal whine with a strong Ontario accent, “why did you have to go and break down my door?”
“You weren’t answering.”
“I wascoming.” He hunches his shoulders, sinking his hands into the front pockets of his very dirty hoodie. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
Kerry gives him a no-nonsense look, her sweatshirt still up over her face. “Do you still have your car?”
He shrugs, indifferent, miserable. “Yeah, I guess, if it’s in the lot. I don’t know.”
“I need it.”
“What? Why—”
“Someone stole our truck.” She shakes her head slowly. “What have you been doing, Kyle, since this all happened? And why the hell are you crapping in your own toilet, when you must know it can’t flush without water?”
He hunches his shoulders even further, looking truly miserable as well as pathetic. “Where else am I supposed to go?”
“Oh, I don’t know, outside maybe?” She shakes her head again. “I always knew you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but come on.” She holds out her hand. “Where are your keys?”
He stares at her, looking more hurt than angry, and very young. “What, you’re just going to take my car?”
“You can come with us if you want and drive it back.”
“You can’t get over the bridge. It’s guarded.”
Kerry blows out a breath. “What about at Douglas?” Kyle shrugs. “What do these crazies even want?” she demands, for which of course none of us has an answer. “What are they guarding the bridge for?”
“I don’t know, they’re holed up in the Bank of Montreal, I think,” Kyle replies. “Have been for a few weeks. Most people have left. I think I’m the last one in the building.”
“Where did they all go?” Mattie asks, and he glances at her without interest.
“Somewhere else.”
“Why didn’t you leave?” Kerry asks, and Kyle gives her a look that’s bleak in its honesty.
“Where would I go?”
She sighs, shaking her head. “Okay, well, we’ll have to try to get across.”
Having fallen into something of a stupor, my shoulder throbbing, my legs aching, I become more alert at that. “Try crossing the bridge?” I repeat. “Kerry, those men arearmed—”
“And we’re in a car.” She shrugs, raising her eyebrows. “You got any better ideas?”
Mutely I shake my head.
“First, though, we’ve got to change.” She turns to Kyle. “You got any clean clothes you haven’t crapped in?”
He shrugs. Kerry shakes her head. “Come on, Kyle, man up, okay? You’re better than this. At least, my mom always told me you were, even if your own parents didn’t believe it.”
He sniffs, running a dirty hand under his nose. “You think my parents are dead?” he asks, a wobble in his voice, his gaze lowered to the floor.
Her expression softens, just for a mere millisecond. “Yeah, I think they probably are,” she tells him briskly. “Now, come on, let’s get going.”
Kyle nods slowly, accepting, defeated, and Kerry goes into his bedroom and starts riffling through his drawer. “So? What have you been doing since it all happened?” she asks him as he stands in the doorway, watching her.
He shrugs, hands in the pockets of his baggy sweatpants. “I don’t know. Just sitting around. Waiting.”
