The End of the World As We Know It Page 11

  “We killed enough,” Leo said. “Look up ahead.”

  Evan, Sarabeth, and Teena drew inside, pulling their doors shut instantly when they saw what Leo had seen.

  “Oh, crap,” Evan said.

  Leo slammed on the brakes, skidded out into a U-turn and rumbled the van up onto the wide sidewalk in front of Pearl Promenade, an upscale medical building where old ladies got their Botox. He swung down the valet-parking ramp and, seeing that they were free from any greenie tails, stopped the van with a screech.

  “No offense, anyone, but we’re all gonna die,” Leo said. His teeth were chattering in his head, but the rest of his body had gone all loose and drippy, like a bad batch of pizza dough at Phil’s. A look at Evan sitting next to him and at the girls in the rearview revealed instantly that they were as shell-shocked as he was. This wasn’t do or die. It was do and still die.

  He leaned back in the seat and let his eyes drift to a display next to the car-park booth. A female mannequin in a short black trench coat dangled a silver key ring from one finger, like someone excited for a jaunt out of town. He closed his eyes for a solid minute and could see them driving. Well, really, he could see himself driving with Sarabeth in the passenger seat. Teena and Evan were there, but just blurry faces in the backseat. They were headed west, toward the ocean. It reminded him of his mom’s breathless message on the answering machine just after she moved out. “Leo, I’m driving west. I’m going to meet the ocean.” How she decided Reno was close enough was beyond his comprehension.

  “We could just leave town,” he said hopefully, more to Sarabeth than the others. She didn’t notice, her head already bent over the slime sample again. “We can’t go up against the Purple Perimeter, can we?”

  Next to him, Evan looked out the window, his face as taut as a guard’s at Buckingham Palace. Teena’s steely eyes scanned the empty parking garage.

  “Why would we leave, when there’s still a chance we could stop them?” Sarabeth asked, still intensely examining the goo, which slid around the Tupperware like a mutant slug. “If I could just figure out their membrane, maybe it would give us a clue how we could destroy them.”

  Leo was scum. A turd sandwich. A soy-and-bean, vegan turd sandwich. He wanted to run, while Sarabeth, Teena, and Evan wanted to fight. He’d survived an alien attack with the most battle-ready teens in Tinley Hills. So why did his own fight-or-flight response meter waver somewhere halfway between “kick ass” and “get the fuck out”? It was one thing blowing up greenies. That was almost fun. But a wall of those indestructible aliens? Come on. Anyone with half a brain knew the four of them didn’t stand a chance. And yet, he knew that his vanmates had better-than-half-brains among them, and they kept gearing up for challenge after challenge. Yup, he was a turd sandwich.

  14

  GREASING THE WHEELS

  Teena McAuley, 8:19 A.M. Sunday, Pearl Promenade Parking Garage

  Sarabeth Lewis was smart. Teena knew this. Sometimes her parents liked to ask, “Whatever happened to that smart Sarabeth you used to hang out with?” The idea that Teena herself might have been smart was uninteresting to them. To them, Teena didn’t need to be. They always figured she’d go into real estate like Mike McAuley, not because he couldn’t wait to work alongside his daughter, but more because he wanted to put their faces on bus benches with the slogan he’d come up with when she was in eighth grade, FATHER + DAUGHTER = OUR FAMILY VALUES ARE YOUR FAMILY’S VALUE. If ever she’d been sure she wasn’t a daddy’s girl, it was in that moment.

  So, yes, Sarabeth was smart, and Teena was expected to lend her face to her father’s business. But she knew she was cut out for something else. Something great. The problem was, she wasn’t sure exactly what that thing was.

  That was partly why she was upset when her fling with Leo had suddenly ended. Except for some drunken complaints about her father, she’d never had a chance to show him that she was more than just the popular girl he’d successfully bagged. Meanwhile, she’d come to see him as so much more than just some perpetually high pizza boy, and the more she learned about how smart and interesting he was, the more she wanted him to see her the same way.

  And now Sarabeth, a shoo-in for Ermer valedictorian, had just appropriated the container of alien goo like she was the only person in this van who could possibly save the world. And that Leo and Evan seemed to think the same way.

  “Can I check it out?” Teena asked Sarabeth, prompting the guys to turn around.

  Teena raised an eyebrow. It was hard to raise it, given that her face was tight with goo from the greenies. Their blood probably had skin-firming potential. Too bad Greenie Guts would make a particularly gross late-night infomercial.

  Sarabeth heaved a sigh. “I’ve examined it from every angle,” she said. “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen. And it just smells like coffee.”

  Clearly, she, too, was skeptical of what Teena had to offer. Like a person couldn’t wear the best clothes, have the nicest hair, know how to do a good smoky eye, and still be smart and substantive. If they made it out of this alive, maybe Teena would start a non-profit organization to help rich, attractive, popular girls prove they had more to offer than money and looks.

  Still, Sarabeth put the container down on the seat between them, nudging it toward Teena. The purple goo was slick and shiny, even in the dim parking structure. Teena picked up the container and pulled the lid off. She dipped one finger into the purple gelatin, which was cool to the touch.

  “What are you doing?” Evan’s voice went up a few octaves. “We don’t know what that might do to you.”

  It was cute, the way he worried about her. But that was Earth-under-attack hormones talking, she knew. In response, she simply smirked at Evan and pulled her fingertips apart. As she thought, the goo dripped into her palm. It wasn’t as sticky as the greenie blood—more like an outer-space vinaigrette.

  “So, you guys remember Nathalie Oliverio, right? May she rest in peace.” An image of Nathalie’s burnt but pretty corpse flashed through Teena’s mind, and she shivered. “Well, she always had this wicked oily skin. Like, it was almost impossible to even put makeup on her. It would literally slide right off. So she got Oil Rig, a Gussy Me Up product. Do you know it, Sarabeth?”

  Sarabeth nodded, ducking into the back of the van. “Yeah, it’s a best seller,” she said, starting to dig around in the cardboard Gussy Me Up boxes stored on the floor of the van. “But we don’t have any.”

  Teena waved a hand dismissively, like this was no big deal. She didn’t think it was, really. “It’s okay. All Oil Rig does is dry up greasy skin. There are other products that might dry out skin in the same way. Sarabeth, can you see if there’re any bottles of Otherworldly cologne back there?”

  Sarabeth heaved a large box onto the seat next to Teena. As the box sank down, Teena rose. “There’s tons of that stuff back here,” Sarabeth said, counting boxes. “It was a huge Gussy Me Up failure. My mom can’t give it away.”

  “Probably because one spritz and you feel like a lizard,” Teena offered. She looked at the boys, who were both wearing looks of bemused puzzlement. This pleased Teena to no end. Carefully, she tore the tape off the cardboard box Sarabeth had put next to her. Inside, the silver-and-blue boxes of Otherworldly cologne were packed tightly, never before touched. She tore away the plastic and pulled out the bottle, a dark blue orb topped with a silver star. Spritzing the air first, she breathed in. “That is the most awful perfume I’ve ever smelled,” she declared. And it was. It smelled like the water in a vase holding a bouquet of flowers that had gone moldy. “However, watch and learn.” Like a game-show bimbo, she spritzed two pumps of cologne onto the alien slime.

  Almost instantly, the slick, shiny substance turned to gray dust.

  “Oh my god,” Sarabeth said, amazed and with a hint of jealousy in her voice, Teena thought. “I can’t believe it. Their membrane is a protective coating, and I bet if it dies, they die.”

  “Pretty sweet work, Teena,
” Leo said from the front seat, and for once she didn’t feel like a piece of meat in front of him. He turned around and looked her right in the eye. Her whole body got a little floaty, realizing he’d honestly meant the compliment.

  “That will really help, Teena,” Evan said. He leaned in to look at the dust in the jar, making hopeful eye contact with her.

  “Yeah, again, who knew your extensive beauty regimen would come in handy?” Sarabeth said. The backhanded compliment didn’t bother Teena in the least. She was glad to have gotten to Sarabeth. Yes, she knew they were supposed to be getting along right now, but she only had to be nice to Sarabeth’s face. And besides, how benevolent was Sarabeth when she wanted to monopolize all opportunities to be Little Miss Brainiac?

  “Spoken like someone who’s never had a makeover,” Teena said, firing back in her sweetest voice. “If we make it through this, we’re definitely doing something about those eyebrows.”

  15

  LENNY BRUCE IS NOT AFRAID

  Sarabeth Lewis, 8:27 A.M. Sunday, Pearl Promenade Parking Garage

  My eyebrows aren’t that bad, are they? Sarabeth thought, touching above her eye to feel how caterpillarlike her brows actually were. “So, what do we do with this new information?” she asked, wondering how many notches Teena had gone up in Leo’s esteem, now that Teena was the resident alien expert.

  “Yeah, it’s not like we can walk up to the aliens and say, ‘Want to try some Otherworldly cologne?’ like they do at the mall,” Evan said.

  Leo laughed, and then drummed against the steering wheel, starting slow and building to a quick rhythm. Sarabeth watched his hands on the leather, somewhat mesmerized. “I think I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  He started the van and revved the engine, a look of childlike glee on his face. He bounced up and down in his seat, seemingly dancing to a song they couldn’t hear.

  “Where are you taking us?” Sarabeth asked, her body tensing.

  “Just chill,” Leo said. “It’s a surprise. So you guys be upstanding citizens with your eyes on the road, and let me do the kind of shit I do best.”

  He charged up the valet ramp and into daylight. At the top of the ramp, he turned the opposite way from Orland Ridge Mall and sped down the street, singing to himself. It was an R.E.M. song from the eighties that Sarabeth recognized, and Leo had the lyrics down, impressively shouting them out fast and furious.

  His voice was soft but strong, and he carried the tune perfectly. Sarabeth grinned, and started to sing along, humming the melody to fill in the gaps she didn’t know, even while realizing she knew more of the lyrics than she’d thought.

  Next to her, Teena joined in. They stumbled over the lyrics together, giggling when they slurred a bunch of made-up nonsense over one of the parts where the song became gun fast. Up front, Evan had finally lent his voice to the mix, and his baritone gave the song its bass line. He leaned his head back and smiled.

  Looking straight ahead and knowing all the words was Leo, and just watching him sing so assuredly was enough to make Sarabeth feel better about their situation. Actually, together, they were all making her feel better about their situation. Stubborn Teena, solid Evan, and Leo, who felt like the glue to her, even though he’d never agree. She wasn’t someone who believed in fate—there wasn’t a page in her journal devoted to guessing at her “soul mate.” But something about the four of them together right now made her think they weren’t just the last people around—they were meant to be the last four people around.

  This early, it was possible to imagine that Tinley Hills was just a town that wasn’t open yet. The sun was out in an indecisive sort of way, and its rays wove themselves between the still mostly bare tree branches. Little strands of cool air from the broken window next to Sarabeth tickled her under the chin, and she grinned as Leo caught her eye in the rearview.

  It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

  In front of her, Evan hung his arm out the window, appearing to catch the breeze with his fingertips.

  “I feel better than fine,” Evan said to them all. “Is that weird?”

  “No,” Teena said, bringing a grin to Evan’s face.

  The van slowed as Leo slid into a parking spot.

  “And we’re here,” he said.

  The overly jovial rainbow-hued letters of Toys“R”Us looked monolithic above them, the backward R like some kind of cruel joke from God.

  The song in her head stopped abruptly. What the fuck was Leo thinking?

  16

  A THOUGHT

  Teena McAuley, 8:44 A.M. Sunday, Toys“R”Us

  What the fuck was Leo thinking?

  17

  A THOUGHT

  Evan Brighton, 8:44 A.M. Sunday, Toys“R”Us

  What the fuck was Leo thinking?

  18

  RETAIL THERAPY

  Leo Starnick, 8:44 A.M. Sunday, Toys“R”Us

  “Seriously?”

  Leo knew why everyone was staring at him like he’d sprouted a goat’s head. Clearly, they all thought he was nuts, or too high for his own good. But he’d been there for all their plans. Evan wanted to go to High Point. Leo was in. Sarabeth thought the ship had a central, self-destructive chewy center. Leo bought in, more or less. Teena wanted to fuck up bad guys with perfume. Leo thought, Why the fuck not?

  So now, they could go along with him. His idea was their best shot at getting past that perimeter without being taken prisoner. He knew it.

  He strode ahead, feeling kind of excited. Make that really excited.

  He was trying. He was putting in effort. He might put his turd sandwich days behind him.

  That is, if everyone else kept up with him.

  He turned and looked at them, jogging back to pluck the baseball bat from Evan’s hands. “Hey, remember we said we weren’t going to fight with each other? Last people on Earth and all that? I think I’m going to be at least a little pissed at you guys if you can’t trust me for a minute.”

  Casually, like he was flipping some pizza dough, he twirled the bat once, twice, and then he gave one quick swing, hitting the center of one of the automatic doors, sending a shower of glass skidding across the tiled floor. Using the bat, he cleared the doorframe of extra shards of glass and stepped through into the darkened store, the smell of new plastic toys more apparent than usual thanks to the lack of customers.

  He looked at his friends—he’d decided he could call them that, unless they all fucked him over right now—and tapped on the sign above his head that showed Geoffrey the Giraffe surrounded by smiling toys. “Come on, guys, think young.”

  Even though it was only March, the main toy displays were stocked with toys befitting CWWT—Chicago Winter Wishful Thinking. Frisbees. Kites. And water toys by the dozen. Squirt guns, from little pistols to massive Super Soakers. Kiddie pools. Water balloons.

  Turning to face the gang, Leo could see the lightbulbs go off in everyone’s heads like he’d flicked a switch. One by one, his friends grinned. Leo grinned back. “So, I can tell I needn’t explain Operation: Beauty Bomb.”

  He strode over to a G.I. Joe truck, the kind big enough for two kids to sit in, with battery-powered pedals you pushed to make the car go. He climbed in. The thing was plenty roomy, probably because they had to make toys big enough for fat kids these days. “Evan, come on.”

  Evan looked intrigued. He loped over and took the seat next to Leo. Leo steered over to a pink Barbie Corvette parked near a display of princess crowns. He nudged the front end of the Corvette and looked at the girls.

  “Get in,” he said in a voice much different from the who-gives-a-crap tone he usually used. Urgency, an emotion foreign to someone who spent his time actively not caring about anything, had crept in. “Remember those shopping sprees Toys“R”Us used to give away when we were kids? Anything you could grab in ten minutes? No one ever won. Or if someone did, it sure wasn’t me. So today, we win. And we spree. Grab anything you want. If it’s battle-worthy, great.
If it’s just something you always wanted, even fucking better.”

  Teena and Sarabeth faced each other over the top of the pink car, as much as two girls could face each other with an eight-inch height difference between them.

  “You should drive,” Sarabeth said to Teena, seeing how desperate she was to helm the chunk of pink plastic. Teena plopped into the seat, satisfied. Sarabeth lowered herself into the passenger side and with a grin said, “My legs are too long anyway.”

  Leo bristled, and he could see Evan gnash his teeth. Things were going so well, they didn’t want a fresh girl fight. A weird thought, since Leo had once left work to watch a girl fight at the mall. Forever 21 had that effect on women.

  But Teena just swatted Sarabeth playfully, with maybe a hint of bitch, and said, “I’m a better driver anyway.”

  Evan pointed to his watch. “Okay, so should we give ourselves ten minutes?” He turned to Leo. “Guys versus girls, right?”

  “Yup,” Leo said, pressing down on the gas pedal so the car leaped forward and knocked over a display of Nerf guns. “But we’re all winners.”

  “Whatever,” Teena said, looking around the store to pick what direction to go in. “Ready, set, go!” And before Leo could even turn around, Teena had gunned it and the girls zipped past them, giggling maniacally. Good, Leo thought. This might calm down some of the cattiness.

  Leo watched Teena and Sarabeth grab an assortment of water balloons, Super Soakers, and a water-balloon slingshot, and before leaving the front of the store, each took several oversize shopping bags from hooks near the entrance. Dumping their water toys in the bags, they took off in the direction of the girls’ toys.

  Evan raised his eyebrows at Leo. “That’s smart,” he said, reaching out of the G.I. Joe truck and pulling an entire shopping cart that had been left in the middle of the aisle. He held it with one hand next to the truck. “This is smarter.”