City, Lansing, Harvey for all the hoomeat they could stuff down their throats and fighting to kill each other just for fun; hardly mattered if they stomped a dozen of their own at a time into the dirt, there were always more hungry recruits. Every now and then a handful wandered out to the countryside, hung out with us and hunted deer for the sheer novelty, but mostly they had far better things to do. I don’t know when or why Joe left the Rat. I’d always had this feeling I shouldn’t ask.
“What the hell would they want with her?” I demanded. “They can do better on a bad day.” They sure as hell never wanted me, not with my hoo-shyness and deadweight arm. Or any dusties. Or know-nothing ’maldies. Or a loudmouthed bitch who won’t even hunt for herself anymore. “She can’t think she could challenge Rommel as leader, even she’s not that crazy—”
Joe shrugged. “You sure about that? All I can say is, good luck to the dumb bitch if she tries.” He snorted at the thought. “But that’s her lookout, no point in getting worked up about it. Or about some weak little ’maldie shitheads stumbling into our turf—that’s probably what we’re smelling anyway, all that wood alcohol and crap they shoot into their skin. Hell, maybe we should both go after them, huh? Ask ’em to take that Renee off our hands?”
He smiled at me, the issue settled. I twitched, feeling beetles creeping over my skin, but it was just nerves. Joe was such an ant farm you felt itchy just looking at him.
“You’re wrong, Joe,” I said. “I don’t know what all this is about yet or what those things are or what the hell Teresa’s really up to, but you’re wrong.”
Joe slammed his fist against a rock. It cracked down the middle like spring ice. “Okay, so what’s your brilliant theory?
Huh? You’re so full of superior wisdom, except you crap yourself when a couple of arm-flapping retards come wanting to play—”
I spat at him, sticky black like a tobacco plug gone rotten. “You’re talking brain damage? That’s just rich. I know what I saw and you know I’m right, you just can’t stand that I could figure anything out or even find my own ass without your help—”
“You can?” He struggled to his feet, yanking me upright with him and then letting my hand slide out of his like it was something diseased. “So if you can take such good care of yourself, what am I doing ‘saving’ you from something a kiddie could kick to dust?”
“What do you want from me? I didn’t even see them until—”
“Yeah! Exactly!”
“Well, if you think I’m that worthless, just don’t fucking bother!” I aimed a hard kick at his leg. “But if that’s how it’s gonna be, don’t try to hide behind me or push me into challenging Teresa because your time’s running shorter and you’re scared and you think you can’t fight like you used to, or maybe you’re just too damned lazy to get off your ass and do it yoursel—”
He pushed me so hard I went flying backward, stumbled over an exposed tree root, fell on my side sliding against rough bark and a cluster of pebbles so the skin from shoulder to hip scraped clean away. I lay there, clench-toothed and dizzy, and when the ground stopped tilting long enough to let me sit up again I saw Joe looming over me, arm held out, the old look in his eyes of genuine remorse mingled with the stubborn certainty that he’d been right all along, that he really was sorry for what he’d done but mostly very sorry I’d ever provoked him into doing it. I hated that look. I hated that I could never even see the sorry part of it anymore, the part that really mattered, all I could see was how it was still always me that was wrong and him that was right. Always. No matter what.
I turned my back on his outstretched hand, getting up again without his help; I stood there clutching a piece of broken rock, my knuckles slowly pulverizing it to powder.
“Just go back to the dance,” I said,
“What the hell would they want with her?” I demanded. “They can do better on a bad day.” They sure as hell never wanted me, not with my hoo-shyness and deadweight arm. Or any dusties. Or know-nothing ’maldies. Or a loudmouthed bitch who won’t even hunt for herself anymore. “She can’t think she could challenge Rommel as leader, even she’s not that crazy—”
Joe shrugged. “You sure about that? All I can say is, good luck to the dumb bitch if she tries.” He snorted at the thought. “But that’s her lookout, no point in getting worked up about it. Or about some weak little ’maldie shitheads stumbling into our turf—that’s probably what we’re smelling anyway, all that wood alcohol and crap they shoot into their skin. Hell, maybe we should both go after them, huh? Ask ’em to take that Renee off our hands?”
He smiled at me, the issue settled. I twitched, feeling beetles creeping over my skin, but it was just nerves. Joe was such an ant farm you felt itchy just looking at him.
“You’re wrong, Joe,” I said. “I don’t know what all this is about yet or what those things are or what the hell Teresa’s really up to, but you’re wrong.”
Joe slammed his fist against a rock. It cracked down the middle like spring ice. “Okay, so what’s your brilliant theory?
Huh? You’re so full of superior wisdom, except you crap yourself when a couple of arm-flapping retards come wanting to play—”
I spat at him, sticky black like a tobacco plug gone rotten. “You’re talking brain damage? That’s just rich. I know what I saw and you know I’m right, you just can’t stand that I could figure anything out or even find my own ass without your help—”
“You can?” He struggled to his feet, yanking me upright with him and then letting my hand slide out of his like it was something diseased. “So if you can take such good care of yourself, what am I doing ‘saving’ you from something a kiddie could kick to dust?”
“What do you want from me? I didn’t even see them until—”
“Yeah! Exactly!”
“Well, if you think I’m that worthless, just don’t fucking bother!” I aimed a hard kick at his leg. “But if that’s how it’s gonna be, don’t try to hide behind me or push me into challenging Teresa because your time’s running shorter and you’re scared and you think you can’t fight like you used to, or maybe you’re just too damned lazy to get off your ass and do it yoursel—”
He pushed me so hard I went flying backward, stumbled over an exposed tree root, fell on my side sliding against rough bark and a cluster of pebbles so the skin from shoulder to hip scraped clean away. I lay there, clench-toothed and dizzy, and when the ground stopped tilting long enough to let me sit up again I saw Joe looming over me, arm held out, the old look in his eyes of genuine remorse mingled with the stubborn certainty that he’d been right all along, that he really was sorry for what he’d done but mostly very sorry I’d ever provoked him into doing it. I hated that look. I hated that I could never even see the sorry part of it anymore, the part that really mattered, all I could see was how it was still always me that was wrong and him that was right. Always. No matter what.
I turned my back on his outstretched hand, getting up again without his help; I stood there clutching a piece of broken rock, my knuckles slowly pulverizing it to powder.
“Just go back to the dance,” I said,
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