Crawlers by John Shirley Page A

together for hours. Shit, they hardly hung together at all before this—this—”
    She turned to look at him. “Before what?”
    “I don’t know. Before they started—hanging together. I guess.”
    “You haven’t seen them do anything weird? Or felt like they were—I don’t know—it’s like they’ve been brainwashed, or joined a cult or something.”
    “They’re not in a cult. Those people make their kids join, too.”
    She picked up her shoes and stared at them. “Yeah. What if they do?”
    “Do what?”
    “Make us join, too.”
    He growled in his throat with exasperation. “Join what?”
    “Mom was doing this weird thing in the garage, then Dad made her stop, then they acted like it was some kind of sexy role-playing game or something.”
    “Oh, so they were getting sexy with each other? Fuck, mind your own business. How the hell you think you were born, Adair? If they’re getting, like, all intimate and stuff, it’s a
good
thing.”
    “You don’t understand. But I don’t know how to describe it. I mean, you wouldn’t believe me.”
    “You know what’s going to happen?”
    She could tell he was getting really angry. His voice got all flat, and he was hugging himself in that bottling-up way he had.
    He went on, “You’re going to fuck things up. You’re going to make them all self-conscious or something. You’re just freaked out because they’re giving each other more attention than little baby Adair for once. And it bothers you and you’re going to fuck up their getting back together. Just cut it out! Leave them alone! Or they’re going to fucking break up!”
    He turned and stormed away down the hall.
    She thought,
It’s me. It’s not them. Maybe. I’ll ask Lacey. I’ll talk to
the counselor at school. But except for that I’d better shut up because it’s
probably something wrong with me.
    And she pulled on her other sock.
    December 3, late morning
    “How come we have to move, Dad?” Larry asked.
    They were just getting into the station wagon. Gunderston put the key in the ignition as Larry got in beside him, buckling his seat belt.
    Larry asked him again, “Seriously, Dad, I mean, an hour ago we were fine at home.”
    Larry paused, thinking,
Maybe not fine. But at home.
    He went on, “Then the big rush, some emergency. I never did get what it was. I mean it’s dumb—are they going to pay for our hotel?”
    “Yes. They are.”
    “But what’s it all about? Why do we have to leave?” Gunderston shrugged. “Because . . . there’s some kind of toxic leak or something—from a pipe under the cemetery.”
    Larry thought,
The cemetery
.
    He hadn’t mentioned what had happened that night. Where Buddy was. None of it—not since they started taking him to the doctor. That creepy doctor had hinted that if he didn’t stop talking about it, they might put him away somewhere.
    Larry expected his dad to start the car. Instead he just sat there, looking gravely at Larry—a long look, unusual for him. Dad rarely looked right at people.
    Then he looked quickly away.
    Larry wanted to tell his dad something, and couldn’t figure out how to say it. The medication made it hard for him to think. Finally, he said, “Well, shouldn’t we call Mom first, before we just go?”
    “It’s only temporary. I’ll tell her we’re staying at the hotel for a few days. Everyone on the street is going somewhere. It’s just . . . temporary.”
    Larry looked at his dad again and tried to decide what had changed in him. True, Dad wasn’t interested in talking
Trek
or
Star Wars
or Harry Potter or the Civil War or role-playing games anymore. He didn’t watch the sci-fi channel with Larry—or he hadn’t until Larry had asked why he wasn’t watching it. Then Dad had said, “Of course I’ll watch it with you.”
    But it wasn’t all that so much. It was more like standing in the bright sun but feeling like you were in the shade. Things didn’t feel the way they should
where
they should.
    He