The End of the World As We Know It Page 6

  Sarabeth ignored the remark and secretly hoped maybe they’d be caught stealing the boat. She had come to terms with the fact that aliens had landed but was disturbed that even on this block where the homes were intact, no one was emerging to see what had caused the explosion. No one came to the window of the Tudor to yell at them. No one stepped off the back porch as Leo and Evan pulled the cover off the boat.

  “Holy shit, look at this monster!” Leo shouted, a wild grin taking over his face.

  The boat was named the Big Ditka, after the former Chicago Bears coach. The hull was painted in the team’s colors, orange and blue, but in a nonsensical zebra-stripe pattern, and mounted on the helm was a fiberglass bear head wearing a football helmet.

  “It’s so weird that people act like Ditka is still the coach,” Evan said.

  “It’s so much weirder that you’re talking about sports when we’re about to put a dead alien in a boat,” Teena said.

  Leo attached the boat to the hitch at the back of the van, and Sarabeth steered the van down the driveway to where the big grayish-purple alien lay dead. As she got out of the car, Sarabeth reached in back, grabbing some of the thick plastic Gussy Me Up bags her mom used for delivering orders. “Put these on your hands, so we don’t touch it directly,” she said, passing out the bags and ignoring Teena’s annoyed look.

  Evan and Teena took the head side, and Leo and Sarabeth the legs. Evan counted to three, and everyone lifted.

  “Gross,” Leo said, turning his face away from the creature.

  “I can’t do this,” Teena squealed, dropping her section to the ground and shaking the bags off her hands and onto the lawn. With a nauseated look, Evan picked up her slack and hefted the alien up under its shoulders.

  Sarabeth rolled her eyes. The alien’s skin was squishy, sure. But for some reason, this wasn’t as gross to her as dissecting a pig had been in biology. Maybe because she’d felt bad for the pig.

  The alien was aloft, and heavier than its long, narrow limbs made it look, with a density to its shiny skin that Sarabeth hadn’t been expecting. With Teena watching uselessly, they tossed it into the back of the boat, where it landed with a thud. Sarabeth pulled an orange-and-blue plaid blanket from under the captain’s seat and placed it over the body.

  Leo smirked.

  “What? It’s a dead body.”

  Teena was already getting back into the van. “Come on, people. Let’s move.”

  They took the seats they had before—girls in front, guys in back—and Sarabeth drove slowly down the street. The van swerved from side to side as she tried to steer it and the boat.

  They made it no farther than the first stop sign leading out of the subdivision when they heard a thumping noise behind them. Sarabeth sped up a little, and another thump rattled the van.

  “What is that?” Evan asked.

  “Guys, this isn’t good,” Teena said, staring wide-eyed in her side mirror.

  “Yeah, in general, things are pretty shitty,” Leo said. “But at least we’re still alive.”

  “No, I mean that,” she said, pointing behind them.

  Illuminated by the taillights, the alien was standing up in the boat, the blanket hanging around it like a cape. It could have been sailing the high seas, the way it clung to the ship’s steering wheel.

  “I-I sh-shot that thing,” Teena stammered. “It was dead.”

  “They can come back to life?” Evan yelped, with panic rising in his voice again.

  “Can it get in?” Sarabeth asked, her heart bouncing wildly in her chest. “What should I do?”

  “Go as fast as you can!” Leo shouted. Sarabeth hit the gas, the odometer hitting fifty, then sixty. The van rattled with the weight of the boat behind it. In the rearview mirror, both the alien and the Big Ditka vibrated with the speed. She’d never ridden a roller coaster, but Sarabeth imagined it felt like this.

  “Hard right, right here!” Leo cried as they approached a side street. Sarabeth flung all her weight against the wheel, and the van lifted half off the ground on her side. With a crash, the boat broke free of the vehicle and careened away, the alien falling onto the pavement as the Big Ditka clattered away.

  Sarabeth checked the rearview mirror. The alien pulled itself up off the ground. Its movements were slow, but it didn’t limp or wobble as it dusted itself off and disappeared into the night. Sarabeth pulled to the side of the road, leaning her head against the steering wheel and breathing in short bursts.

  A fresh wave of grim panic washed over the van.

  “I hate tonight. I hate it.” Teena, shaking, was talking more to herself than to the rest of them. “This means it’s still out there. There might be more. I’m going to die.”

  “We’re all g-going to d-die,” Evan stammered, his face such a perfect expression of terror that actors could learn from it.

  “They can’t be killed.” Sarabeth felt like she was talking in someone else’s voice. “What kind of thing can’t be killed? They’re impervious.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty,” Leo joked.

  Teena sighed in annoyance. Evan blushed. Sarabeth realized Leo’s joke had snapped them out of their fear spiral once again. Sarabeth glared back at him, even though she could still feel the warmth of his hand closing over hers. “That is so not happening.”

  Leo shrugged, grinning. “Never say never.”

  9

  NOBODY’S HOME

  Leo Starnick, 12:39 A.M. Sunday, Emerald Cove Drive

  “Not to ruin what may possibly be the only moment of male attention you enjoy in your life, Sarabeth, but the bloodthirsty fuckhead from outer space—you know, the one we littered with bullets?—is on the loose out there.” Teena, who’d been freaking out moments ago, suddenly looked pissed off. “We need to move. What if that guy is coming back with friends?”

  Sarabeth nodded, all businesslike. Cute businesslike. “You’re right,” she said. “Let’s get to the police.”

  Leo wondered how he and Evan had wound up sitting bitch in the backseat while Sarabeth steered them from danger and Teena rode shotgun—in the literal sense. All those studies about chicks being more academically successful than guys could be recalibrated to also include superior survival skills.

  She turned out onto LaGrange, the street Leo had taken just hours before, when he’d thought tonight’s excitement would come from some Teena hate-sex. He looked out the window, and from the stillness outside, he knew what to expect. The world was eerily empty. And dark. The police station was on the left-hand side, a cobblestone brick building surrounded by thin white birch trees, designed to match the look of Teena’s subdivision. To Leo, it looked like a satellite office for Santa Claus, not a place for cops. He could see from the street there were no lights on, and no squad cars in the parking lot. Sarabeth turned into the entrance anyway, stopping the van alongside the handicapped ramp. The lampposts that ran up the walkway to the station were all out.

  “We should check inside, right?” Evan asked. “Maybe the power’s just out.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Leo said. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

  “Yeah, and there could be a trap inside,” Teena added, folding her arms over her chest and looking like she hated them all.

  “Why would you say that?” Sarabeth looked sideways at her with an odd expression.

  “There’s always a trap inside. See a movie.”

  “Perfect, that’s just what we all need to feel supergreat about going up to the dark, spooky door,” Sarabeth said, but hopped out anyway. Leo was right behind her with Evan, and after a few seconds’ pause, and probably the realization she’d be all alone in the empty parking lot, Teena eventually hopped out, too.

  Sarabeth marched up to the glass door and opened it. Leo felt like a jerk for letting her go in first. He could see her face grow pale even in the darkness. Beside him, Teena hugged her hoodie tighter, and Evan sucked in a sharp breath.

  It was as empty as Leo had figured it would be.
Nothing indicated there’d been a struggle. Papers were scattered on desks, and some phones were left off their receivers, like people just stopped what they were doing and left.

  “This gives me the creeps,” Evan said.

  “Yeah, it’s almost as bad as my house,” Teena seconded.

  Leo watched Sarabeth’s face for signs of what she was feeling, but she gave nothing away. “Let’s go back to the van. Now.”

  No one argued, and they all filed out quickly, not speaking again until they were safely in their seats.

  “There was something wrong there, but I can’t put my finger on it,” Sarabeth said. “It was like I felt a presence, even if I didn’t see anything. See them.”

  At the mention of them, the van’s metal bones creaked, and they all jumped.

  Leo breathed through his teeth, to slow down his wild heartbeat. “What should we do next?”

  “Maybe we should get supplies,” Evan said, nervous.

  “Oh, like some chips and dip?” Teena shot back. Cruelly, Leo thought. Evan needed to work on his game, but he’d been nothing but nice to Teena. “What good will supplies do? Guns don’t even work.”

  “And you hate us all and blah, blah, blah,” Sarabeth said through gritted teeth. Leo had never seen her angry before. “And the aliens should have killed us, not your friends and … ”

  Smash!

  The back passenger window rained glass onto the pavement.

  Evan sat with his jaw set and his baseball bat hanging halfway out the window, which was now nothing more than a glass-shard frame.

  “What happened?” Sarabeth sounded like she’d been holding her breath. “Did you bust the window, Evan?”

  “I’m sorry,” Evan said sheepishly. “I just … I don’t think it’s good to be arguing.”

  “Dude. You smashed a window. With a bat,” Leo said, shaking his head and wondering if Evan had more game than he’d thought. “I should give you props. Or kick your ass. Not sure which.”

  “Evan, suppress rage much?” Teena eyeballed Evan with what Leo swore was a glimmer of interest. “You might as well just ask the aliens if they want fries with us.”

  Sarabeth seemed to agree as she drove back onto LaGrange, keeping them moving.

  “Sorry, I’m a little tense,” Evan croaked out, the bat now hanging limply in his hand. Teena spun around, Evan’s pussy-sounding answer probably putting an end to any tingling sensations she’d been experiencing.

  Leo wondered why Brighton didn’t just man-up and tell Teena off. She’d go for that. But maybe it was better that Evan was crap with girls. Being one of two guys on the run with two very capable females put Leo under some pressure. Evan already had the athlete thing going. If he mastered chicks, too, what would Leo bring to the table?

  “We should probably check on our families,” Evan said a little shakily, looking at the tree branches ripple by. “Make the rounds and stuff.”

  “He’s right,” Sarabeth agreed. “Whose house is closest?”

  “Mine, probably,” Leo said. Sarabeth looked at Leo, kind of incredulously, he thought. Like a guy who delivered pizzas couldn’t reside within a five-mile radius of Teena. “I’m in the Oaks,” he said. “It’s not We-Shit-Diamonds Land, but I’m sure we can find a car-window-sized piece of plastic wrap and some duct tape.”

  Without a word, Sarabeth swung a sloppy U-turn. Taking Leo’s directions, she made a quick right at a street just a few blocks down from Teena’s. The Oaks were Tinley Hills’s first subdivision, but unlike Diamond Isle Estates, the Oaks dated back to post-World War II and hadn’t been built for the nouveau riche, or the nouveau anything. What were probably bright shiny homes back in the fifties were now shingled dens of pity.

  The Oaks houses were unharmed, but as deathly quiet as the Diamond Isle homes had been. The always-on TV that flickered through the O’Malleys’ graying curtains was off. Old Smoking Man, a quiet guy who’d moved in onto Leo’s street, wasn’t out on his porch in his Hanes undershirt, ashing his cigarettes into an old Hills Bros. can. Even the Tower, a party house at the end of the street where Leo sometimes hung out with a bunch of junior-college dropouts, didn’t have its usual assortment of stoners on the porch.

  The neighborhood was dead but without the bodies. Beyond the humble houses of the Oaks, a dust-and-smoke cloud still rose from Teena’s house at Diamond Isle. Had the aliens zapped it on purpose, or just made a destructive landing? Was the weird sphere thing a weapon or a piece of their ship? That Teena’s house was either a target or the first landmark the aliens saw made sense to Leo. He’d always believed aliens would go for the best real estate, not for the trailer parks, like all the Weekly World News types thought. Why would anyone travel, like, light-years to check out rows of double-wides and some rusty playground equipment, or in the case of the Oaks, rows of shoe-box houses, all without premium cable?

  Leo instructed Sarabeth to park in front of his house at the end of the block, suddenly embarrassed to have people see where he lived. It was one thing to hint at a shitty existence so girls would think they could save you. It was another to confront them with direct evidence of that existence by pulling up in front of a house that actually looked too unhygienic even to cook meth in. The roof was patchy and bald, with graying shingles. The once-red front door hung like a bruised, lopsided mouth between the two battered eyes formed by windows with peeling wood frames. Even the remaining snow had survived in brown clumps, like tumor-like growths on the flattened dead lawn. All that was missing were a scrawny dog on a chain and a beater car up on blocks.

  “Home sweet home,” Leo said. “Hope you brought your manners. Dad probably prepared some hors d’oeuvres.” He hopped out of the car casually but still looked sideways down the street for signs of alien life. It was a gesture more for everyone else’s benefit. He didn’t really think they were in danger. His dad would probably be sitting in the dark on the couch in his underwear.

  Leo pulled his keys off his belt as the rest of the group clustered behind him on the front stoop. Maybe it would be better if his dad wasn’t inside. Introducing Sarabeth to Mr. Starnick was probably the surest way to guarantee a big romantic fail.

  It was a cold thought, but Leo had gone through most of his life not one hundred percent certain he loved his dad. There was nothing lovable about Ed Starnick, as Leo’s mom had proven when she and her saggy tits and floppy ass took off for Reno ten years ago to marry a plastic surgeon she’d met in an AOL chat room.

  The Starnick men heard from her once a year at Christmas, when she’d send photo cards of her new self. Now surgically enhanced and a deeper shade of orange each year, Denise Mancusi and her personal Dr. Frankenstein always posed in their desert paradise of a backyard. In the pictures, they’d each hold one of their pet tropical birds, which always seemed to be in mid-squawk, probably saying Fuck you! The cards accompanied wine-and-cheese gift baskets and said, HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO LEO AND ED STARNICK. GRATEFULLY YOURS, DENISE. Like Leo and his dad were some people she’d done lucrative business with. Which, in a way, Leo guessed she had. Her hate-worthy life in Tinley Hills led to her prosperous new arrangement.

  But his mom’s leaving hadn’t drummed up any emotive loyalty in Leo toward his sad-sack father. Often unemployed, unshaven, and wearing the same baggy-assed Levi’s until they started to turn yellow, Leo’s dad was the hangdog dad from Pretty in Pink, that eighties movie. And that made Leo Molly fucking Ringwald.

  Leo’s house felt darker inside than out. He didn’t try the lights, since most nights he came in late anyway and knew his eyes would adjust quickly. The TV skulked, powerless, in a corner, and the overstuffed plaid couch across from it was empty in a way that gave it presence. Leo pushed through the saloon-style doors into the kitchen, seeing it was empty before his boots even had time to squeak against the puke-green linoleum. He gestured for everyone to wait while he felt his way through the mudroom and down the hallway. His father’s room was the usual mess: rumpled covers knotted in a ball on the concave queen
mattress, old newspapers and issues of Car and Driver piled near the bed, small trash can overflowing with empty Old Style cans. For the heck of it, he poked his head into his own room, knowing that his father had no reason to be there but wanting to look anyway.

  Everything was as he’d left it. The room would have surprised probably anyone who’d ever met Leo. He kept it neat and sparsely decorated, like someone who didn’t spend a lot of time at home or who wanted to be able to escape at a moment’s notice. The only objects to give anything away were a stack of library books on the windowsill next to his neatly made bed, an old photo, on the dresser, of his mom holding him at the hospital, and a little wooden box he’d made in woodshop where he kept his emergency weed. He opened this now and pulled out a baggie of his everyday weed, Amsterdam Indica, and the quarter-ounce of Waikiki Queen he’d been saving for a special occasion. The end of the world seemed special enough.

  It occurred to him that all he’d brought to the table so far was weed. Maybe he should just hop out his window, get baked in the forest preserves, and see what happened when the aliens’ hostile takeover was further under way. He touched his window lock but let his hand drop. Taking a deep breath, he realized he wanted to figure this thing out.

  As he revisited the kitchen, everyone stared at him expectantly. He looked back at them without really looking and said brightly, “Not here. But, you know, Dad enjoys an extended happy hour on Saturdays.” He opened the fridge and tossed a six-pack of Old Style to Evan. Then he pulled another can of beer out and cracked it open, taking a long swig.

  “What’s wrong with you, Leo?” Teena said impatiently, with obvious discomfort at her surroundings. In all the time she’d been slumming it with him, she’d probably never realized how apt the term was. “We seriously don’t have time to sit around playing Breaking Bad.” Girl could fire an Uzi, but put her in a house where a maid didn’t clean up twice a week and she was as nervous as a Christian fundamentalist at a gay wedding.