All Good Children Part 20

I hide in the tent with the Freakshow finale on my RIG and grow depressed watching Zipperhead haul his ma.s.sive skull around the stage. I wonder what life was like for him growing up in Freaktown without surveillance cameras or Blackboard networks or nosy nurses.

Mom peeks around the front flaps. "Is Ally in here?"

"Don't touch that wall. It's still wet."

"Why aren't you doing your homework?" She grabs my RIG and dissolves the screen.

"I'm watching that!"

She kneels in front of me and takes my face in her hands.

"You have to do your homework or you'll be revaccinated."

I shrug and stare at the messy sheets draped over the furniture.

"I know you're tired," she says.

"You don't know anything about it." I take my RIG from her hand and turn the show back on.

Ally pops up from behind the couch, wearing her earpiece and singing, "p.u.s.s.ycat ate the dumplings, p.u.s.s.ycat ate the dumplings. Mama stood by and cried, *Oh fie! Why did you eat the dumplings?'" She giggles and claps.

"Get to bed," Mom tells her. "And don't sneak out again."

"You too," I tell Mom. A commercial comes on for a fertility drug, and I absentmindedly pick at my patch.

She puts her hand on mine. "Don't give up, Max."

I shove her hand away. "But I'd eat and sleep and take up hobbies."

"I won't let that happen."

"You let it happen for years." I look her in the eye and sing, "Mama stood by and cried, *Oh fie!'"

She looks away from me to the faces I painted on the walls of my tenta"Tyler, Xavier, Pepper. I turn up the volume on my RIG.

There's a knock at the door. We stare at each other, wide-eyed and paranoid. I peek through the tent window while she answers.

It's Dallas, vacant-eyed but chewing. "h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Connors. How are you?"

Mom holds her hand over her mouth.

"It's okay, Mom. Shut the door."

Dallas smiles. "I'm good, aren't I?"

Mom nods. "You've always been good. Goodnight, boys. Do your homework."

Dallas sits beside me on the couch, and I stream the show on the big screen. He looks around the tent walls. "Wow. You're taking a risk."

"I take a risk every time I leave the house."

"I take a risk every time I stay home."

I give him that one. "How'd you escape?"

"I told my dad I was going to the Christmas Ball planning session. I couldn't miss the final Freakshow, and there's no way I could watch it with Austin. It stinks in here." He points to my wall of throwawaysa"the Asian kid skating for his life while Tyler and Washington leer over a railing. "Those were good days." He blows out a big breath. He looks exhausted. His hands shake. He holds them over his face and swears aimlessly.

"Have you lost weight?"

He shrugs. "I have diarrhea every day so I just stopped eating."

"You have to eat, man. Want some nachos?"

He looks at my paint-spattered plate and shudders.

"Want something else? We have apples and cheese."

"Maybe an apple."

He takes one bite of a Red Delicious and chews for forty seconds before he can swallow. "I'm tired, Max," he says. He lays the apple on my nacho plate. "I can't take this smell."

We close the flaps and sit in front of the tent on the carpet, four feet from the big screen. We scrunch our legs and lean back on our elbows, craning our necks. "This is better," Dallas says.

He cracks a smile. "This is so much better than home. I can't even fall asleep anymore because I'm afraid my dad's got surveillance on me and I'll give myself away in a dream."

"You have to sleep, man."

He rolls his eyes. "Easy for you to say."

They show the gruesome freak tryouts for next season. I turn up the volume to mask my laughter in case Lucas is below us with a gla.s.s to his ceiling. I relax for the first time in days. "I'm so tense lately. I feel like ripping someone's head off."

Dallas nods. "I'm suffering withdrawal from fighting with Austin. I have too much adrenaline flooding through me now. I'll probably die of a heart attack before the zombies get me." He smiles briefly. "Which would you rather be? A brain-eating zombie or the kind at school?"

"Brain-eater."

"Me too."

The show comes back on. Because it's the final episode with this batch of freaks, they spotlight the last two contestants' families in Freaktown. They show the place before the leaksa"lush forests and fertile fields, buxom women and rugged men, vague urban vistas of crowded sidewalks, money and success. Then they show the place nowa"buildings boarded up and crumbling down, soup kitchen lineups, blankets draped over lumpy bodies, kids with warped eyeb.a.l.l.s and exposed jaw bones drooling over drugs.

"My father was there before the spill," Dallas says. "He has photos on his website."

"Has he gone back since?"

"No. Why would anyone go there?"

I shrug. "Criminals might. To get away from the ids. Or maybe to get to Canada. There's still a border crossing there. I heard terrorists sneak into the country that way."

"I'd go south to get away from the ids," Dallas says. "Just hop in a car and keep driving. Wouldn't you? It could take years before anyone found me. Don't you think?"

I nod. "I want to go back to Atlanta."

"I don't know much about Atlanta," he says. "Is it big enough to get lost in?"

"I think so."

There's a closeup of Zipperhead's scars and sorrows.

"I wonder if he was happier when his brother was still attached to him," Dallas says. "It's hard to believe there was a whole person there once and now there's just a scar." His face pulls tight and his eyes tear up. "I have to get out of here, Max. I can't do this anymore."

"Are you serious? Because my mom would take us. She already said she would."

Dallas wipes his nose. "Count me in." He stares at me hard, trembling with exhaustion. "Even if they get me. Pack me up and take me with you. Don't leave me here with them."

I envision Mom driving out of town and Dallas racing after us with a hundred zombies on his heels. "I won't leave you here."

He nods, over and over again. He only stops when they announce this season's winning freak. "Squid?" he whispers in surprise.

Zipperhead hangs his ma.s.sive head to hide his tears. It's hard to see why he would bother to lift it up again.

I swear and moan. "Life isn't fair."

"I always knew that," Dallas says. "I just thought mine would be better."

Ally wakes me up the next morning. "Time for school."

I look at my watch. "s.h.i.t." I stayed up painting all night, and I'm a mess. I rush into some pants and smooth my hair as best I can. I walk as quickly as I dare down the hallway. "Do you have a lunch?" I whisper. She nods. Thank G.o.d Mom doesn't rely on me.

We arrive late in the lobby. I fake a limp. Seven kids are gathered to walk to the trade school. "I'm sorry," I tell them. "I tripped on my weak ankle and re-sprained it. I hope I haven't made you late for school."

Lucas bows his head. "We understand. Your mother works in the early mornings and you have no father, so you have to do things for yourself."

I nod. "I enjoy doing things for myself. But I can be slow."

He checks his watch. "It's fine. Let's go."

I limp all the way back to the apartment.

At school, I keep my nose to the grindstone as the minutes tick by. I don't feel safe until I'm back at home. I pull Mom inside the tent. "Dallas says he'll come with us to Atlanta. We have to go soon, though, before he loses it. They're still fighting the ids down there, right?"

She shrugs. "I think so. No one asked for ours except at the airport."

"Good. Then we just have to get there without flying."

"They'd probably ask at the speed rail too," Mom says. "But maybe we could find a private car."

"Can we take him with us?"

"Who, Dallas? I guess so."

"You can't go back on this."

"All right. Yes. We can take him with us."

"Is it illegal to leave New Middletown?"

"No. I don't think so." She sighs and nods repeatedly. It's a habit everyone is picking up these days.

I walk Ally to the park in twilight. A few fat adults are heading home from work, all bundled up. A few skinny ones jog by in caps and T-shirts. Ally and I turn toward the park. "Hey, they put up a fence!" I say. It's not a real fence, just an orange plastic weave tacked onto temporary posts five feet high.

"Is it closed?" Ally asks.

"Looks like it. Wait. There's a sign." I read aloud, "Public Notice. This playground is temporarily closed due to thea"" I shut my mouth.

"To what?" Ally asks. "Due to what?"

I shiver like a ghost walked through me. The swings tremble in the breeze.

Ally steps in front of me to read the sign. She sounds out the words. "Due to the Rodent Centrala""

"Control," I correct.

"Rodent Control Program," she continues. "In response to the virtuala""

"Viral."

"Viral outbreak at New Middletown Manor Hegsa""

"Heights."

She looks up and smiles. "That's where Mommy works."

"Let's go, Ally."

She doesn't budge. "It says the park is closed for six weeks. I can't stay away from Peanut for six weeks. She'll be hungry."

I stare at the black lumps scattered over the playground and I don't know what to tell my sister.

"That's the poison symbol," she says, pointing at the sign.

I nod. "That's right. We can't go in there because there's poison. Let's go home."

She won't leave. She stares at the lumps that aren't dirt. "They put poison in the park?" She frowns and squints. "Won't that hurt the squirrels?"

The scene suddenly makes sense to her. She utters a choking sound and tries to pull down the fence. "Somebody poisoned the squirrels!" she shouts. The plastic slices into her fingers.

I pull her off it, grip my arms around her waist and lift her off the ground. "No, Ally! You'll get the poison in your skin."