volleyball, with its whole surface affixed with shards of a mirror. Bub took the Lightball from Michael (the globe had several outer layers of plastic wrap, so it couldn’t cut you), looking grateful.
Then Michael took out their long, heavy-duty, red Maglite, nodding to Bub: we’re a go. Bub rolled the Lightball into the store like a bowling ball. Michael ignited the flashlight and aimed it at the ball, the light beam striking its mirrored surfaces, the mirrors blazing in turn and streaking star points in all directions in the dusky store, over the walls and the ceiling and the floor, traveling down the center aisle like a scanner and a light-grenade for any Bellows within.
The ball bebopped jauntily over a couple cans, then came chiming to a stop against the far wall.
“Booyah.” Patrick nodded, satisfied that Food’N’Such was Bellow-free.
Then they went shopping.
The store was pretty standard, the ceiling tiles brown, low, sagging. A Little League trophy topped with a miniature brass kid collected dust on the counter. A 7UP clock, which had to be at least twenty years old, hung over the register, forever proclaiming that the time was 8:40.
“Ten points for safe cans today, too?” Patrick asked.
“You know it.”
They ventured into the aisles, stepping over cans and moldy, plastic-wrapped food. There was a smell of pickles. Patrick went ahead of him—only a couple steps; even then peeking over his shoulder to make sure Michael was close—bending, inspecting labels, rolling away the cans he didn’t want down the aisle.
Michael felt grateful for his brother’s caution. Last week, when they’d been searching a camping supply store for ammo, Patrick had opened a gun cabinet to find a pair of clawed hands lunging at him from the dark. Michael had been right there, had shot the Bellow instantly—he never even let the creature get close, of course—but even with the points they got for shooting the Bellow, the pure wallop of the surprise had left Patrick so shaky that he didn’t even use his usual of-course-I’m-not-scared cover-up. That was a three-Atipax night, and Patrick took the extra pills with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment that Michael found a little heartbreaking. Michael couldn’t stop thinking about it, either, though for a different reason. The Bellow hiding itself from the daylight was a blonde girl, maybe nineteen. He’d tugged Bub back too quickly for him to really see anything, but she was naked from the waist up, and Michael’s stomach and face had gone explosively hot: it was the first time he’d seen a girl naked. She was rotting. So would you believe there was sorta nothing at all in any way sexy about it.
Now Patrick bent and opened his Pikachu knapsack and put in two cans of Campbell’s Chicken & Stars, tucking his chin as he arranged them carefully. Then he picked up another soup can at his feet, considering it with pursed lips before swapping out a Chicken & Stars for this new one.
“Hey, Bub,” Michael said, loading his own duffel bag with some beef jerky, “you don’t like tomato soup, remember?”
“But you do,” Patrick said casually, zipping the knapsack shut.
A twist of warmth spread in Michael’s chest. “Are you trying to get on my good side? Because I have to tell you: not gonna happen. Okay, low-five,” Michael said, and drew it away when Patrick went to slap it. “Pfff,” Michael laughed.
Lunch, Day 22:
3 jerky sticks each
Soup for me :)
Two Flintstone Vitamins for Bub
(Okay, they’re delicious, I ate one, also)
Between a couple buildings sat a small dumping yard, and Michael suggested that they explore it for pieces of the new weapon the Game Master told them to build for Patrick (Bub was preeetty sure it was going to be a rocket launcher). They found only some old springs and a busted recliner with no footrest, though, and Michael noticed there were some bits of glass from a shattered television; he told Bub they should probably leave. But on their way out, Patrick spotted a length of pipe sticking out from an oil-stained blanket, and the pipe, upon close inspection, was definitely the barrel for a launcher. Michael packed the pipe into their duffel bag and asked, “When we get this thing done, can I borrow it sometimes?” Patrick said, yeah sure, yeah he could, if he gave him five bucks.
Michael pointed at the hardware store and said, “Ammo.”
The windows of Mountaineer Supply were boarded, though not super well; there were foot-wide square gaps near the top of each window, which