Page 64 of Dating After the End of the World
His head slightly shakes against mine. “No.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened back there?” I ask, my fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. “It was like you were somewhere else entirely.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “But thanks for bringing me back.”
“What the fuck!?” JJ shouts. The engine revs, and the truck accelerates.
I scramble off Blake so I can see what’s got him in a tizzy. “What? What is it?” I ask, leaning between the passenger’s and driver’s seats to get a glimpse through the windshield.
Up ahead, a plume of black smoke looms over my dad’s property, just above the tree line. A vehicle I don’t recognize sits parked at the end of the driveway, right in front of the gate. I slip the pistol from my holster, double-checking that it’s fully loaded before spinning the cylinder and flicking it back into place. Greg pumps his shotgun.
“What is that?” JJ points a finger.
“What’s what?” Blake asks, snapping out of his daze. He leans forward, pressing up against me.
I squint, following JJ’s finger. It takes a moment for it to come into view clear enough to know what I’m looking at, what’s lying in the road. When it does, my jaw drops.
“It’s a body.”
Chapter 26
The tires skid to a stop, kicking up brown dust. We pile out of the vehicle, running toward the unfamiliar truck parked up against the gate. A large rug has been thrown on top of the barbed wire, crushing it down to provide safe passage over. My eyes go to the body. It’s not anyone we recognize, and it’s not a biter either. It’s a man. He’s filthy. Maybe in his forties, with a scraggly, dark beard and a buzzed haircut. There’s a gunshot wound right through the center of his head. He was dead in an instant, his eyes left propped open, staring up at the sky.
The source of the smoke is none other than my truck, the one that survived so many evenings parked overnight on the streets of Chicago, accumulating new paint colors, thanks to dents and scrapes, while the pigeons used it as a restroom. More than once, it had its windows smashed in, thieves hoping to find something of value but deciding to leave behind my collection of 2000s-pop mix CDs. Apparently, our definitions ofvaluediffered somewhat. But Old Blue has finally met her end here on the front lawn. The paint has been taken over by a spread of thick black soot, pluming from the burning tires and the seats’ upholstery.
JJ unlocks the property gate and pushes it open. Behind the truck, strewn across the grass, is a more alarming and disturbing scene than the blazing pyre of metal.
“Oh my God,” I yell, running past the fire.
Three bodies are splayed out in the grass, their blood staining the lawn for yards in every direction. Some is even caked onto the side of the blue paint of their cover position, boiling over and baking in the heat of the fire.
We inspect the bodies, checking to see whether we can aid anyone who’s been hurt, not knowing immediately who it could be or how this happened.
“Who is it!?” Greg yells frantically.
“I ... I don’t know,” I say, flipping one of them over so I can see their face. They’re riddled with bullet holes, small circles of red that blemish the front of their clothes in more places than they could probably feel. Their mouths are slack, making their final screams permanent. I don’t recognize a single one of them. But I do recognize the way they dress and, even more so, the way they smell. The mixture of body odor, decay, and fluids from unspeakable activities, mixed into a cocktail of filth and evil that gags the lungs. They’re burners.
A blur of motion catches in my periphery. Uncle Jimmy sprints down the lawn with a fire extinguisher in hand. He pulls the pin and sprays a dense white foam onto the flames consuming my truck. In a few seconds, the fire’s out, replaced by light wisps of steam from the frothy retardant. It’s like the spirit of the fire is vacating this plane, off to create destruction elsewhere.
My father treks down the driveway with a gun in hand, scanning from side to side as though he’s unsure the area is safe yet.
“Is everyone all right?” I ask as he approaches.
“Oh, we’re just fine. Can’t say the same for these fellas.” My dad gestures to the men on the ground with his gun, like he’s more than ready to fire a few more rounds into them.
“What the hell happened?” JJ asks, a look of concern on his face.
“They showed up about forty-five minutes after y’all left. Parked their truck at the gate and tried sneaking in by throwin’ that rug over the barbwire. Luckily, Jimmy spotted them, and we armed ourselvesand unloaded on them before they could even make it to the dummy house.”
Greg looks down at the bodies. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know who they were, but they’re dead now.” Dad spits at them.
“They’re burners,” I say.
