Campbell by C. S. Starr Page B

favourite armchair. “I should go out for some things.”
    “Make sure you take Dad’s gun,” Rob rasped. “And don’t lead anyone back here, whatever you do.”
    Tal nodded his head. “I know.”
    “We’ve got more than most,” Rob choked and squeezed his eyes shut. “They made sure we’d be okay.”
    “I know,” Tal replied, thinking of the cans and cans of things in the cupboards. “And we are.”
    Rob looked at Tal critically for a few moments. “If it’s just you, what are you going to do?” Rob whispered. “If I’m gone? Are you going to take care of them?”
    Tal swallowed hard, the realization that Rob had determined what was going to become of him sinking in for the first time: it could have been a cold. But it wasn’t. They both knew that.  
    “I’ll take care of them,” Tal said, his voice wavering. “I’ll do whatever I need to do. We’ll take care of each other.”
    “They say kids aren’t dying,” Rob continued. “That it’s just grown-ups.”
    “Rob, maybe you’re not a grown-up,” Tal said, mustering as much hope as he could in his weak voice. “Maybe it’s just a cold—”
    Tal’s brother sat up a little. “Maybe it’s thirteen, like we always learned. Maybe that’s where it ends.”
    “I don’t know how to go on,” Tal replied, his voice small as he pulled his legs up to his chest. “What happens now?”
    “I don’t know,” Rob said honestly. “I guess you’ll get to figure that out. Just…be smart. Don’t pull a Richard Cohen.”
    Richard Cohen was a boy from Tal’s class who, upon his parent’s death, had burned their house down a few blocks away, after firing into a crowd of kids waiting in line at a gas station with an automatic weapon that he’d found in his father’s gun case. Luckily he was a lousy aim and only a couple of people were hurt. No one was sure where he’d gone after that.  
    “I don’t think anyone but Richard Cohen could pull a Richard Cohen,” Tal said, unable to fight a grin. “That kid always was a dumbass.”
    “Just like his big sister,” Rob said, shaking his head. “Fucking idiots. I want you to promise me something.” He leaned in as far as he could. “It’s the same thing that Adam made me promise him.”
    Tal leaned in too, deciding that if Rob was sick, he was sick, and sitting a little closer to his brother wasn’t going to make it any worse. “What?”
    “Before you make any big decisions, or when you’re in trouble, think of what Mom and Dad would do if they were in the situation.” Rob smiled. “And then try and do the closest thing to that, that isn’t going to get you beat up.”
    “Okay,” Tal nodded, smiling back. “I can do that.”
    “And don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
    “Only you forget to brush your teeth,” Tal said, laughing. “That message was just for you.”
    “I love you,” Rob said, ruffling his brother’s hair. “And you’ll be okay. You know that.”
    Tal nodded, fighting back what had to be the last tears he had left. “You’ll be okay too,” he sniffed, pulling the blanket over his brother’s shoulders. “And we’ll take care of you.”
    “I know you will,” Rob nodded, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, in an attempt to warm himself. “Now, go make sure Rachel isn’t fucking with the thermostat too much. It’s like an icebox in here.”

    September 2012
    Somewhere south of Campbell

    When Tal came to, he found himself happy to be alive, but otherwise furious. A piece of duct tape was spackled over his mouth and his hands were tied behind his back with what he assumed as a piece from the same roll, because both places tugged equally. He felt groggy, and between heavy blinks and his eyes adjusting to the dim light from some rust holes, he saw that wherever he was, he was not alone.
    Lucy Campbell was there too, inches from him and similarly bound, but not as lucid as he. In fact, the giant bruise on her forehead and her limp