Chapter Twelve

On a normal night, Mick wouldn’t have been able to sleep. He could forget about even trying now. The thick blanket draped over a sliver of the floor in Vent’s room provided little comfort. Dawn was just beginning to touch down. Mick lay on his back with his hands behind his head, replaying over and over what had happened out in the woods. He tried to carefully reconstruct every single moment from when they’d pulled up by the stick teepee.

A shiver ran through him every time he conjured up the images of the wild Melon Heads. Sure, he’d kind of seen one before with Dredd, but this was something out of a horror movie. It was like The Hills Have Eyes with those crazy post-nuke oddballs, but way, way worse. In the movie, some of the cannibals were scarier than the others, but you could still get a sense of their humanity. Not so with the Melon Heads.

Was that what happened when you were cut adrift from people? Or had they always been that way, only made worse by generations of inbreeding?

They scared the living daylights out of him. And they also held his fascination in an iron grip. He couldn’t stop thinking about them, no matter how repulsed he was by even the recollection of their faces.

“Fucking zombies on speed,” he whispered. Vent snored in the bed. They’d spent a couple of hours talking before Vent went all lights out. For a dude who only had to sit around with Heidi all night, he was weirdly worn out.

Mick, on the other hand, was amped. The adrenaline jolt had yet to wear off. He desperately wanted to go back to his shit-heap trailer, yet he was also terrified of what he’d find there. Or that they’d find him. Part of him thought, or maybe it was just a bit of lunatic fantasy, that the Melon Heads would leave him alone. That he could somehow communicate with them, much like Dredd must have, that he was on their side. Maybe he could even take Dredd’s place. Dredd’s cabin was no prize, but it was a hell of a lot better than Mick’s Airstream.

He had to talk to Dredd. The guy was pretty pissed last night – or maybe he was just wigged out. Either way, Mick could talk him down. There goes my supply of killer weed, he thought at the exact same moment Vent let out a room-quaking fart in his sleep.

Man, what the Melon Heads did to Dunwoody was insane. He’d caught glimpses of them going at the piece of garbage. It was hard to see with all their bodies crowded around him and the low light, but the sounds of his limbs being ripped free, and his screams would live with Mick forever.

Mick looked deep within himself for any sign of regret. So far, he couldn’t find a single shred. Any time it might have taken hold, he thought of Marnie’s face and the way she kept clutching her stomach and it simply fell away. Harold Dunwoody got what was coming to him. It saved the police and the courts a whole lot of trouble and money. Most of all, it saved Marnie from public embarrassment. It was like feeding criminals to the lions. The Romans were looked at as this incredible, advanced civilization, and they did shit like this all the time. It was a sport that people brought their kids to, for crying out loud. So no, Mick wasn’t going to feel sorry for what they did.

Okay, maybe stabbing that Melon Head crossed a line. If he hadn’t, Chuck might be right alongside Dunwoody, and that wasn’t an option. Dredd said he’d broken a rule. On the other hand, the Melon Heads needed someone to help them, especially in times of trouble. How many of them had feasted, or were still feasting, on Dunwoody? There was a chance Mick could redeem his trespass. He could show them that he was there to help. There were plenty of other wastes of space living in Milbury; wife beaters, child abusers, crooks who lived large by taking advantage of those less fortunate. Maybe he could scoop one of them up and bring them out to the woods. Let the Melon Heads see he was their new benefactor.

Brian Goodman was a prime candidate. Everyone knew he beat his wife and his kids. He cheated on his wife on a regular basis, mostly sticking it into bar whores for barely enough money to buy a pitcher of beer. Mick had even seen him take a piss on a stray dog outside of Kieran’s Pub, laughing like a hyena with his needle dick pinched between his fingers.

Yeah, no one would miss Goodman, except maybe the people he owed money to. And the bartenders. Mick would bet good money his own mother wouldn’t give a frog’s fat ass if he dropped off the face of the earth.

Too excited to lie around, Mick got up and slipped out of Vent’s window.

There was too much work to do. He couldn’t wait to get started.

* * *

Marnie woke up to Heidi nudging her shoulder. For a brief, blessed moment, she was pain free. Once she opened her eyes and became aware of her surroundings, it all ended. Her stomach felt like it was on fire.

“You want something to eat?” Heidi whispered. Marnie had slept next to Heidi, clinging to the edge of the bed, both to give her friend space and because she needed to crush the edge of the mattress with her hands every time a fresh wave of agony hit. She tried to roll over to face Heidi. The effort wasn’t worth the pain.

“I don’t think I’ll ever eat again,” she said into the pillow.

“When’s the last time you ate anything?”

“I don’t know.”

“You need to get your strength back. At least let me bring you up some toast.”

Marnie’s hand found its way down to her lower abdomen where the worst of it all blossomed like a mushroom cloud. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t eat if I wanted to. Everything feels full…and strange. I don’t know how to describe it.”

The echo of Harold Dunwoody’s pained screams had haunted her all night. She thought it wouldn’t bother her, but it did. Sleep came in fits and starts and was filled with nightmares she thankfully couldn’t remember.

Heidi pressed the back of her hand to Marnie’s forehead. “I thought so. You have a fever. Sleeping next to you was like falling asleep by a fire. I’ll get you some aspirin.”

Marnie had to pee. She slipped out from under the covers, pulling the sheet back. Standing on wobbly legs, she glanced down at the bed, saw a circle of blood on the bottom sheet. It surely had soaked right through to the mattress.

Heidi came back with a glass of water and two aspirin. “Oh my god.”

“I’m sorry,” Marnie said, her eyes filling with tears.

Heidi put the water and pills down and covered up the stain. “I don’t care about that. I’m worried about you.”

“It’s been happening a lot. I should have slept on a towel or something.”

“What you should do is see a doctor.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to. This is no joke.” Heidi swept the aspirin into the old Strawberry Cupcake trash can that had been beside her bed since she was six. “Forget those. They make bleeding worse. I’ll get you Tylenol. We’re going to have to take you to a doctor this morning.”

Marnie hissed as a wave of agony bent her over. It passed quickly, but it had wiped out the urgency of relieving herself. She was a mess and she knew it. The question was, which was worse: her body or her mind?

“Not here,” she said with one hand on the night table. “Maybe New Haven. Someplace where no one will find out.”

Heidi took her by the shoulders and helped her right herself. “Fine. Anywhere you want to go. We need someone to make you better.”

As Heidi led Marnie to the bathroom to clean up, Marnie thought there wasn’t a doctor in the world that would ever make her better. Not after waiting too long to see the damage Dunwoody had wrought, and especially not after the horror of last night.

Not ever.