Radio Nowhere Page 3

  “Irrelevant,” Dad replied, looking over his shoulder at her. “This is pizza we’re talking about, the king of food! Not lowly water in a pot.” Millie stopped spinning and glanced at the window as a Pizza Palace van drove by. Dad turned back to the window. “It’s here.” He grabbed his wallet and jogged into the living room.

  Millie’s phone buzzed. She picked it up and read the message from her friend Hannah.

  “Hey, M! A few of us orch-dorks are going to go see ‘The Hungry Dead’ tonight and I wanted to see if you wanted in on it. So far it’s me, Kim, Jade, Austin, and Ryan, but I’m going to try and get Lucas and Leah in if I can. Last hurrah before school starts kinda thing. Let me know!”

  “What’s up, Mil?” Dad appeared in the doorway with the pizza.

  “Hannah’s trying to get a group together to go to the movies tonight.”

  “You should go!” Dad smiled. He slid Millie the box and opened the fridge.

  “I don’t know if I want to,” Millie said, opening the box. “It’s the orchestra kids which is a fun group, but it’s one of those slasher zombie flicks, and I don’t think I’m up for that much gore.”

  “Says the kid who spent every waking moment in the operation observatory when she was twelve.” Dad pulled back from the fridge with a can of pineapple chunks.

  “That was different,” Millie replied, quickly moving two slices to her and dad’s respective plates. “Besides, the whole apocalypse genre is so overdone. They’re just beating a dead horse at this point.”

  “A dead horse or a zombie horse?” Dad made a purposely dramatic face as he pulled the pop-top lid off.

  Millie rolled her eyes. “That one physically caused me pain.”

  “You know you love my dad jokes.” He scooped a few pineapple chunks out of the can with a fork.

  “I’ll never get over that.” Millie wrinkled her nose as he arranged pineapple chunks on the pizza.

  “Cold pineapple and warm pizza are like Harry Potter and Voldemort, neither can live without the other.” He moved three pineapple bits into the shape of a lightning bolt with his fork.

  Millie shook her head. “It’s ‘neither can live while the other survives.’”

  “I was just making a reference to your childhood in an attempt to stay relevant.” He shrugged. “Besides, just the fact that you remember the exact wording of that prophecy means that I succeeded in my parental efforts to turn you into a nerd.”

  “Intellectual pop culture enthusiast, not nerd.” Millie picked up her pizza and blew on it.

  “You sure you don’t want to go tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’ll text Hannah in a bit and let her know I’m not coming.”

  “Well…since I’m off tomorrow, do you want to marathon the first few Harry Potter movies? It’s been years since we went through them.”

  “Pizza and Potter. Sounds like a plan!”

  Chapter Five

  Treaten, TX

  Tuesday, Week Three

  The rain was a welcomed change for the parched landscape, though Gina wished she’d had an umbrella when the darkened sky opened up. She skidded slightly on the wet concrete in the middle of the Piggly Wiggly’s parking lot, clutching Hank’s frayed red leash tightly as he charged ahead. After the incident with him and Dirk, she didn’t want to leave the pup at home if there was even a small chance that Dirk was going to be there.

  When they reached the Piggly Wiggly’s awning, Gina tied Hank to a dry post and gave his soaking head a pat. She walked to the entrance, sucking in a breath as the automatic doors squeaked open, blasting her with cold air. She blinked into the bright light that contrasted dramatically with the outside.

  “Hi and welcome to Piggly Wiggly. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to ask.” The clerk at the front seemed especially bored tonight, her blue-black hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She caught sight of Gina, dripping on the floor, and stopped chewing her gum long enough to tell her, “Paper towels are on aisle seven.”

  Gina grimaced, ducking down the nearest aisle as the cashier yawned and leaned on the counter. She quickly found what she needed – a loaf of bread, package of bacon, and a jug of milk. The cashier’s voice came on over the PA as Gina made her way back to the register.

  “Attention shoppers, the time is 9:50, the store will be closing in 10 minutes. Please bring all purchases to the front. Thank you.” Gina glanced around as she set her items on the conveyor belt, but saw no other customers. The cashier sighed and rang everything up, glancing out the glass doors.

  “You got an umbrella or something?” She sniffed, raising an eyebrow.

  “No...”

  “You should invest.” The cashier gave Gina the total.

  Gina fished the money out of her pocket and laid it on the counter. The cashier raised her other eyebrow, picking the wet bills up between two fingers. She cleared her throat and slid the money into the drawer, dropping a few coins into Gina’s hand. Gina gave a quick smile as she grabbed the plastic bags and tied them off so the groceries wouldn’t get wet.

  “Thank you and have a nice day.” The cashier deadpanned as Gina left.

  Outside, Hank lay happily panting on the concrete, his brown eyes half closed in contentment. He hopped to his feet and wagged his tail as Gina approached. She untied the knot quickly and pulled him reluctantly out into the rain.

  By the time they got home, the sunken dirt driveway was a muddied creek. Gina tied Hank to one of the posts holding up the back porch’s overhang and slipped her boots off. Hank whined as she opened the back door.

  “It’s okay, boy. Shh,” she whispered, shaking as much water off of her as she could before stepping inside. Shutting the door behind her, she put the bag of groceries on the kitchen table and quickly tiptoed down the hall toward the bathroom behind the stairs. She opened the cabinet across from the sink and grabbed four clean towels, careful to leave three in case Dirk decided to shower sometime this century. When she’d left that afternoon, Dirk had been passed out in the living room in a rare snoreless slumber, probably brought on by whatever was in the empty bottles beside the couch. As she quietly made her way back toward the kitchen, she glanced into the living room. Sure enough, he was exactly where she left him. He was due to leave on a new route in a half-hour, but Gina knew from experience that waking him too early in the evening could be disastrous. She watched him in disgust for a moment before slipping across the kitchen to the outside.

  When Hank was sufficiently dried, Gina untied him and went back inside to change. She always habitually locked her bedroom door whether or not Dirk was home, even if she was only going to be in the room for a second. She slipped into a black t-shirt and jean shorts and went back downstairs to drop her wet clothes in the laundry room. She glanced at the clock. 10:45. 15 minutes until Dirk was to leave. She grabbed a broom and went into the living room.

  “Dirk, wake up.” Gina flipped on the light and approached the sleeping mass, broom handle at the ready. “Time to go to work.” She gently jabbed the broom handle into his arm a few times, the standard wake-up call that normally brought him snorting into consciousness. He didn’t move. Gina brushed her bangs out of her eyes and flipped the broom. “Must’ve been some brew.” She rubbed the bristles against his bare foot, hanging off the couch uselessly. “Dirk. You’ve got to get going.” Hungover or not. His form lay still, unmoving. Gina frowned. “Dirk..?” She cautiously moved closer, within the arm’s length safe distance that she normally kept. Reaching out a hand quickly, she patted the pale, unshaven face and jumped back. Nothing. Gina stood silently, watching, waiting for his chest to rise. Nothing. The slowing rain tapped lightly on the window, the only sound in the deathly quiet room aside from the pounding of her heart.

  She sat against the far wall with her knees to her chest, staring wide-eyed at the body on the couch. So he’d finally done it. She always figured that one day he’d drink himself out, she just never thought it’d be on her watch.

  Dirk was dead. Gone. The
re would be no more yelling, no need to walk on eggshells to avoid provoking him. No drunken tirades, no more broken dishes. But more importantly, there was nothing to keep her in Treaten.

  It was as if a calming fog settled over her as she went up to her room. She pulled the thrift shop Red Cross duffel bag out of her closet and put it on the bed. Slowly, methodically, she began to pack her essential belongings. She didn’t know where she was going; all she knew was that she couldn’t stay in the house. Dirk was far too heavy to move by herself, and if she called the coroner, she figured there’d be police, lawyers, and eventually, a foster home or local girls’ shelter where she’d stay until she was eighteen, when she’d be thrown into the world by herself.

  Gina turned to the pillow on her bed, stripping it of its case. She flipped it over and removed the safety pin holding the pillow’s seam together. Carefully, she fished around inside until she found the small plastic baggie of money she’d earned over time doing odd jobs around town when Dirk was away. That, plus whatever was in Dirk’s money box, would probably last her two months. Three, if she was extremely careful with it.

  After packing a week’s worth of clothes, she carefully removed the butcher knife from its place under her mattress and slid it in between two shirts. She pulled a large yellow envelope from the bottom drawer of her nightstand and packed it with everything else.

  When she went to get Dirk’s money box, her feet refused to move past the doorway. She had only ever gone in his room once, and could still feel the bruises from when he discovered her in there. Glancing down the stairs, she finally pushed past the doorway and went straight to the box hidden under the unmade bed. She’d seen him remove the shoebox many times before going on a booze run, but had never ever seen the contents. She was astonished to see rolls of tens and twenties stacked on top of each other. Dirk’s paranoia and distrust of banks had finally paid off. Gina opened a zippered compartment inside her duffel and proceeded to dump the box’s contents inside, glancing behind her habitually. As the last roll landed in the pocket, an envelope fluttered to the ground. Gina set the box aside and picked up the envelope. It was addressed to Dirk, with a Greenville, Alabama return address. Intrigued, Gina opened the envelope. Inside was a letter written in loopy cursive, dated eight years ago. She skimmed the letter, eyebrows furrowing at the indecipherable words. Finally, she reached the end, where she was just able to make out the end of the last line: “…always welcome home. Love, Aunt Rita.”

  Aunt. Ain’t that convenient, she thought, taking another look at the address. Guess I’m going to ‘Bama.

  After stuffing the letter and envelope into the bottom of her bag, Gina went downstairs. The rain had stopped, and the house was deathly quiet. Gina set the duffel on the kitchen table before walking back into the living room and leaning against the wall. The more Gina stared at it, the more the body resembled a beached whale. A whale that didn’t deserve the proper burial that it would get when found. Gina saw only red as she went to the kitchen.

  She emptied the cabinets of alcohol, carrying it all into the living room. The hairs on her neck stood on end as she got closer to the body. She spilled two bottles of cheap tequila over the carpet littered with cigarette burns and dropped the empty bottles near the pile that Dirk already made. She threw one bottle at the wall opposite the couch, shattering it on the wood paneling. She dumped the remaining bottle on the couch and corpse. As she glared at the body, a wave of nausea came over her suddenly and she stumbled back out of the room. Her hands shook as she sat down hard in the nearest chair.

  “What am I doing? I can’t do this. I can’t,” she muttered to herself. She nervously reached up to rub the back of her neck. There, she felt it. The scar where Dirk had “accidentally” burned her with a cigarette when she was seven. She ran her fingers over the raised circle for a moment before shoving the chair back away from the table.

  She retrieved a cigarette and lighter from the drawer Dirk kept them in, and went back into the living room. She fiddled with the lighter for a moment before figuring out how to work it. She tried to light the cigarette a couple of times, but it wouldn’t catch. She realized the problem, and stuck the filtered end in her mouth. She touched the flame to the other end and sucked in a breath; as soon as the smoke entered her throat she began coughing so hard that she was sure she was going to choke up a lung. Still hacking, she threw the lighter and lit cigarette at the base of the couch. The alcohol caught fire quickly, spreading rapidly around the room.

  By the time that she’d gotten to the end of the driveway with Hank and the bag, the entire living room was aflame. As she made it to the hill, the fire crept up the walls to the second story. When she sprinted through the Wilsons’ pasture, the fire waltzed into the upstairs bathroom and the kitchen. When she passed by the Piggly Wiggly, the flames snuck under the door into her room. When the entire house was ablaze, Gina was sitting with Hank at the bus stop next to a lady in a skirt and man with a suitcase, both oblivious to what she’d done.

  When the eastbound bus finally arrived at midnight, the man and lady climbed on first, and Gina picked up Hank’s leash and started to follow.

  “Uh-uh,” the driver stopped her. “No dogs.” Gina mentally slapped herself for not remembering that public transportation wouldn’t allow pets. “Unless,” the driver continued, pointing at a sign near the door, “it’s a service animal.”

  “He is,” Gina lied. “I have… attacks. He alerts me when one’s coming.” She patted her Red Cross bag.

  The driver looked at Hank. “Where’s his vest?”

  “‘Scuse me?”

  The driver blinked slowly, exaggerating the bags under his eyes. “His vest, his ID. Something that proves he’s a service dog.”

  “Oh.” Gina nodded slowly. “He doesn’t have one yet. It got lost in the mail. They’re sending a new one.” The driver raised an eyebrow. Gina glanced up at the passengers. “But if you want, I could call my doctor and the service dog registry. They can prove it, and it’ll only take a half-hour or so.” Some of the passengers groaned.

  “Just let the dog on,” somebody said loudly.

  The driver looked back at the few passengers, then at Gina. “Fine, but you clean any of his messes.”

  “Yes sir,” Gina nodded solemnly and climbed into the bus.

  An hour later, the bus was rid of all late-night passengers except Gina, Hank, and the lady in the skirt. Gina continued looking out the window until she saw the lady sit in the seat in front of her.

  “Cute dog,” she smiled at Hank lying in the aisle.

  “Thanks,” Gina replied.

  “Where are you headed?” The lady asked.

  Gina replied with the first town that came to mind. “Dallas.”

  “Wow, sounds like you’ve got quite the journey ahead of you.”

  “Guess so.”

  “You know how to get there…right?” The lady gave Gina a sideways look.

  “Yeah, sure.” Gina lied, turning more toward to the window.

  “So I guess you’ll be getting off at the stop after next, since you missed the first connection to I-20 forty minutes ago.”

  Gina looked back at the woman, who had a concerned look on her face. Gina stared at her a second. “Uh, yeah, I will.”

  The lady nodded slowly and leaned forward. “Listen, if you’re in some sort of trouble…”

  “No, I’m fine.” Gina lied. “My grandparents are in Dallas. I’m visiting them and got lost in thought.” She gave a quick smile and turned pointedly away from the woman.

  Two hours later, the bus stopped at a small bus station next to a diner where Gina picked up a map of some of the Texas bus routes. She found that Interstate 20 went all the way to Birmingham – two hours north of Greenville – and that the Whippet Line had a bus running on it daily at 9 AM. The lobby was deserted, so she lay down on one of the benches to try and catch some sleep.

  At 8 AM, the desk clerk came in and found Gina and Hank. Gina gave the same story abou
t Hank being a service dog, adding that he had signaled her to lie down and she accidentally fell asleep. Gina then bought a ticket and sat outside the brick building on a bench to avoid any more questions. She watched the cars pass by on the highway, counting the trucks, but after checking the clock on the wall five times in twenty minutes, she realized she needed something else to pass the time. Her stomach rumbled loudly just as the next-door diner’s lights flipped on.

  Chapter Six

  Yonkers, NY

  Saturday, Week One

  On Saturday evening, Housely’s condition worsened by the hour. Upgraded to the ICU, he was lethargic, jaundiced, and his blood pressure was dangerously low and dropping. An assembled team of doctors worked feverishly to try and figure out the cause. They ran test after test, tried treatment after treatment, but nothing worked.

  In a borrowed conference room, one of the doctors cursed and slammed his hands down on the table. “It can’t just disappear! The blood has to be going somewhere,” he exclaimed. His large forehead was spattered with beads of sweat.

  “Don’t you think we know that, Foster?” A bearded doctor named Renshaw stood angrily. “We’ve done everything there is to do! There aren’t any more tests to run, there’s no disease, illness, or parasite that fits his symptoms.”

  “Has anyone tried talking to him lately?” A petite blonde cardiologist named Hill asked exasperatedly. “Or tried to locate his family?”

  “He’s been practically comatose since the first day, drifting between delusional mumbling and catatonia.” Foster stood and began pacing, running his hands through his brown hair. “A brick wall would give more information than him right now.”

  “Alright, enough,” Mitchell pinched the bridge of his nose, “Somebody go personally run another CBC. I want to know what his count is.”

  “Got it,” Foster muttered, swooping out of the room.