Plague Boy Slim
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"What's wrong?" the nurse asked the doctor, as the man sat on a stool, positioned and ready to receive the baby that was about to be born. "How's the mother?" the doctor asked the nurse, ignoring the question that shouldn't have been asked in the first place. "You never asked what was wrong in the delivery room. You made eye contact, you whispered low, you did your job without alarming the mother." "Blood pressure is good, everything is tip-top," a different nurse said,

The first nurse bent low, trying to see what the doctor was worried about. She'd worked with him on dozens of births. She knew the man's tics and habits. No, she shouldn't have asked him directly what was wrong, but by the look on his face, the nurse could tell there was something awful happening, or about to happen. "What is that?" the nurse asked, her voice hushed, her tone more than worried. She was downright terrified at what she saw. "Some sort of discharge," the doctor replied. "Hand me a swab."

The nurse passed the doctor a swab, and he took a sample of the black goo that was oozing out of the mother, then handed the swab back to the nurse. The nurse placed the swab in a tube and carefully labeled it with the mother's name and birthday. She also wrote "Baby Saleem" on the tube, using the mother's last name to indicate the child's identity since she hadn't been told of any first name yet.

"I need suction here," the doctor said as the black goo continued to ooze and ooze. "What is this? Is my baby okay?" the mother asked, her voice weak with exhaustion. "He's doing just fine," the doctor replied, and the two nurses shared a look that said they weren't so sure about the doctor's optimistic diagnosis. "I don't feel well," the mother said.

"I know, I know this is so difficult," the first nurse said. "But you're strong. You can get through." Alarms began to beep and wail, and the nurse turned to a monitor, confused. "Jesus! She's crashing!" the nurse yelled. "Get the cart!" the doctor shouted. "And where's my suction? This stuff won't stop coming!"

The doctor collapsed sideways, falling off the stool and onto the delivery room floor with a loud crack as his head hit the institutional tile. "Doctor!" The second nurse cried and hurried over to the man. "What is going on? I need help!" The first nurse shouted just as a crash team came bursting into the room. "Thank God! The mother is… the mother!"

The nurse fell forward, landing right on her face. She didn't get her hands out, she didn't brace herself at all. So when she hit the floor, her nose exploded like a bloody balloon. "What the hell?" A doctor from the crash team yelled. "Why is…" He never got to finish his sentence before he passed out cold, his body collapsing into a heap next to the crash cart.

Before anyone else could ask a question or make a move, one by one they crumpled, leaving the only movement in the delivery room to the mother's dead body, as the child inside wriggled and crawled itself to freedom through a birth canal slicked with black goo.

Then, as the child shoved its own head, its own shoulders, its own arms and torso and legs out of the birth canal, the bodies of the doctors and nurses convulsed, their mouths opening wide with unuttered screams as they choked and gasped for air. And just like that, baby Salim was born. By the time it had clawed past its mother's cold legs, it was the size of a two-month-old.

When it fell onto the floor without a scream of pain or cry of fear, it was the size of a 12-month-old. When baby Saleem managed to crawl over the corpse of the OB-GYN, it was nearly the size of an 18-month-old. When baby Saleem reached the doors to the delivery room, he somehow managed to pull himself upright and was toddling right out those doors. The rest of the hospital died slowly as baby Saleem navigated his way downstairs and out into the wider world.

No one had been spared. "It's okay, baby. Nothing's gonna hurt you here," Amelia said, cradling the small boy in her arms. "You were just hungry is all. Sometimes folks get upset when they're hungry. You didn't mean to hurt no one." She shifted and worried that the crinkle of the empty chip bags that littered the ground of her makeshift tent would wake the child. But the boy only sighed and settled deeper into her embrace.

A few minutes later, she saw the reds and blues of flashing lights illuminate the walls of her tent. She heard the crunch of gravel as the patrol car slowed, then stopped. Normally, she'd also hear the rest of the camp grumbling and cursing, not happy that Johnny Law was coming to roust them all. But there were no voices left out there. They'd all fallen, choking and gasping. As the scared boy had walked into the camp, she'd been inside her tent and had stayed still and quiet when she heard the commotion.

Amelia was a survivor, and she knew when to stick her neck out. That wasn't the time. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened here?" an officer asked from the outside. "Are they all dead?"

"I'm calling it in," another said. Amelia heard the squawk of a radio and the semi-panicked voice of one of the officers. Then she heard gravel crunching and boots getting closer. "Hello? Is anybody in there?" A shadow passed over the door to the tent, silhouetted by the flashing reds and blues. "Hello?" A gloved hand reached inside and pushed the tent flap aside. "Oh shit! Ma'am? Are you alright? Do you know what happened here?"

She admonished the officer. "Don't wake him up." The officer frowned, then looked from her face to the bundle in her arms. "Oh shit, is he okay?" "He is now, if you don't wake him up," Amelia said. "He was hungry is all. He didn't mean any of it." The officer was confused. He glanced back over his shoulder at all the death. Then he asked again, "Ma'am, do you know what happened here?"

Yes, and it'll happen again if you don't keep your voice down. A growing boy needs his rest, so how about we let him rest? Mary Williams, social worker, mother of two, unhappy to be working on what should have been her day off, frowned at the computer screen as she went over the intake form for a new orphan being admitted to the Kelly Jones School for Disadvantaged Youth. Salem? Who names their kids Salem?

"It should have two E's. It's his last name and I think it's pronounced… who cares how it's pronounced? The system doesn't need another brown kid, that's for sure. It can be pronounced Godzilla for all I care. It's in as file as Salem now." Bella Harp, the assistant superintendent for the school, raised her eyebrows as she looked up from her own computer, the two women having to share an office due to budgetary constraints. "Really? What?"

Bella took in a soothing breath.

"He has a very special case. "He walked out of every placement he's been in so far, "so we need to treat him extra careful. "If he doesn't want to be placed, "then let him keep walking is what I say. "Why do you even do this job?" Mary swiveled in her chair so she could face Bella.

Because I have a degree in social work, and this is the job that I got hired to do. Not a lot of choices out there ever since funding got slashed. And I don't know why you're being so sensitive about what I'm saying. Have you ever heard me say anything remotely like that while in the presence of a child? Well, no. Then let me vent, Bella. This goddamn job is hard enough as it is. Yes, but we need to treat the boy with some kindness. He's a special case.

"You think? The only survivor of some random accident that wipes out an entire hospital? Yeah, he's fucking special all right." There was a knock at the door, and both women looked up from their work. "Speak of the devil," Mary said. "Come in." The door opened, and the school's receptionist led a young boy into the office. "Have you ever spotted McDonald's hot, crispy fries right as they're being scooped into the carton?"

And time just stands still. Ba-da-ba-ba-ba.

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Who's this? Mary asked, looking to Bella. This can't be Salem. The receptionist cleared her throat. She did not look comfortable standing so close to the child. It is, the receptionist said. I'll leave him to you ladies. Mary looked the boy up and down. She was expecting a two-year-old at the oldest.

His file said "Unusual growth activity", but the kid who stood before her had to have been at least seven or eight, maybe even nine or ten years old. His deep, dark, almost black eyes surveyed the room, then landed on Mary. Without a word, he glanced away, dismissing her like she was just a piece of trash flitting by on the sidewalk.

Then his eyes landed on Bella and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Hello, Salem," Bella said, standing up to offer her hand. She sighed. "I mean, Selim. Sorry about that." She shot a look at Mary, then returned her attention to the boy. "I'm Bella Harp, and I am the assistant superintendent. I'll be helping you get adjusted to Kelly Jones and make sure you have what you need to be a happy, healthy part of our little family. I don't... I don't have..."

"A family," the boy said. He didn't shake Bella's hand, so she let it fall to her side. "Yes, we know, dear," Bella replied. "And we are sorry about that, but we'll get to be part of your new family, and you get to be part of the Kelly Jones family." "My fam- my family," the boy said, his words coming out strangled and rough, like he was still trying to find his voice, still figuring our speech and words and basic human communication.

"My family… died." Mary shivered and didn't try to hide it. "Yes, well, no death or dying here at Kelly Jones," Mary said and stood up also. She offered her hand and stared hard at the boy. "Go on, it's polite to shake someone's hand when they offer it." The boy shook his head back and forth instead. "Come on now," Mary insisted, thrusting her hand out toward him.

The boy shrank away and gave a little squawk of fear when his back hit the office door. Let's not be stubborn, Mary said, moving in quickly. Mary, stop, Bella said gently and got between Mary and the boy. It's his first day, let's go slow. Mary huffed and backed off and sat back down at her desk. Bella knelt in front of the boy. You don't like to be touched, do you? She asked. He shook his head. I get it.

He locked his eyes onto hers and shook his head again. "No, I don't," he said, his voice still a fearful squeak. "How about we get you settled in, huh?" Mary asked. She started to stand up from her desk again, but the boy gave her a look that made her insides twist, and she stayed seated. "I'm sure Miss Harp would love to show you around." Bella turned on Mary and raised an eyebrow.

"I'll make sure his information is fully entered so the state doesn't skip any payments," she said to Bella. "You know this place better than I do anyway." "Right," Bella said, then stood up and reached past the boy, her hand going to the doorknob. "May I, Celine?" The boy nodded and moved out of the way. Once out of the office and down the hall, Bella mock whispered, "Don't worry about Miss Williams. Her bark is worse than her bite." The boy looked up sharply, his eyes wide.

"She bites?" he asked. He started rubbing his eyes over and over. "Hey, hey, it's all right," Bella said and got in front of him, lowering herself to eye level. "It's a figure of speech. Do you know what that is?" The boy shook his head, still rubbing his eyes. Bella began to feel an itching at the back of her throat and a sharp pain slid up her neck, then settled behind her eyes.

"It's just something people say to explain things," Bella says. "If your bark is worse than your bite, then it means you may sound scary, but that's all it is. Scary sound, no action. Miss Williams is harmless." "Oh," the boy replied. "No biting? No biting." The boy relaxed a little. Bella stood up. "All right, let's show you around," she said, and offered the boy her hand.

He didn't take it, but he also didn't shy away. Bella showed the boy to his dormitory, a long room with six single beds on each side. Next to each bed was a nightstand with a single drawer and single cupboard door. Bella stopped at the third from the last on the right side. "This is yours, Salim," she said. "I believe there was a box of your possessions dropped off. I'll have one of the boys fetch that from the office and bring it to you so you can settle in and feel a little more at home."

"It's always nice to have familiar stuff with you, right?" The boy nodded. "I like rocks." "Rocks? Oh neat. What kind of rocks? Crystals or augets? Do you like obsidian?" The boy looked up at her, confused. "I like rocks I find on the road." "The road? You mean rocks you find on the side of the road?" The boy nodded.

"Well, um, I don't know if young boys like you should be walking along the side of any roads. Luckily, we have plenty of rocks out on the playground and around the sports field. No need to walk the sides of dangerous roads. I'm dangerous." Bella shivered but maintained a smile. "No, sweetie, you're just a boy. Boys like you aren't dangerous." "Oh," he said and looked around the dorm. "Okay. Do you want to see the playground?" He nodded.

"Great! You'll love it!" Outside, the weather was spitting mist, and most of the boys and girls of Kelly Jones were huddled close together under a breezeway. They looked sullen and bored as they stared out at the damp that was their world. "Hey everyone, this is Selim," Bella announced when she and the boy came out of a set of double doors and into the breezeway.

He's new, so I want you all to be welcoming and kind as he gets adjusted to being part of the Kelly Jones family. The looks directed at the boy were neither welcoming nor kind. Most bordered on contempt, with a few dipping into malevolent. Bella zeroed in on a specific boy who was taller than all the rest of the kids. Carson, Selim will be in the bed next to yours, so I expect you to look out for him, okay? Show him the ropes so he learns the ways of Kelly Jones.

"What kind of fucked up name is Saleem?" Carson, the tall boy, asked. "Carson!" Bella snapped. "Language, fucking!" The boy by Bella's side asked. "He said it too!" A girl shrieked with laughter. "Yeah, Ms. Harp, he said it too." Carson echoed. Bella sighed. "Enough. I don't want everyone to lose dessert because of bad behavior." Most of the kids stopped laughing. The few who didn't got dirty looks from the rest.

Carson only grinned at the boy, a predatory grin, a shark's grin. I'll watch out for the little guy, Ms. Harp. Don't you worry. Thank you, Carson. A bell rang and the kids jumped too, all rushing toward the double doors. Well, recess is over, Bella said to the boy. Let's go get you something to eat before I take you to Mr. Goff's class. He teaches first grade, which is what you're in, right, Selim? The boy shrugged.

"Well, the state says you are, so that's where we'll put you. Mr. Goff will give you a few tests to check your aptitude and learning levels. But Kelly Jones doesn't have a kindergarten, so his class is the lowest grade here." She rubbed her face. "I don't mean lowest. I mean the most age-appropriate for you. Do you understand what that means? Age-appropriate?" "I'm two," the boy said. "Big for my age?

The boy only stared at Bella. The boy smiled wide. Great! We found something you like!

Once seated in the cafeteria, Bella could only stare as the boy demolished his grilled cheese, his steak fries, the apple, and the carton of milk the kitchen provided for that day's lunch. All the other kids were in class, so Bella had the cook make the boy's lunch up special. "You were hungry," she said when the boy set his empty milk carton on the empty lunch tray. "Yes," the boy said, then burped. "Cuse me."

"Good manners," Bella said and tapped the empty tray. "Would you like some more?" The boy nodded up and down so hard that Bella thought he'd snap his neck. "All right, all right, I'll get you some more. Stay put." A bell rang and soon kids streamed by the cafeteria doors. Most didn't even glance the boy's way.

But one child slowed, stopped, then stepped inside. "Be seeing you later, new friend," Carson said, his smile not meeting his eyes. "This is gonna be fun." "Fun," the boy said and smiled back. Carson laughed, shook his head, and left.

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Burlington saves you up to 60% off other retailers' prices every day. Will it be the low prices or the great brands? Burlington. Deals. Brands. Wow. I told you so. Styles and selections vary by store. I may have gone a little overboard, but you do look hungry. Bella said when she returned with a new tray filled with another grilled cheese, more steak fries, two apples, and two cartons of milk. She cocked her head. What are you smiling about? Is something funny?

The boy smiled and reached for the grilled cheese. "New friend," he said, then stuffed half the sandwich in his mouth. "Whoa, whoa, smaller bites," Bella said and laughed. "Chew first, chew." When the boy was walked into Mr. Goff's classroom and shown his new desk, all heads swiveled and watched him the entire time.

"Kids!" Mr. Goff cried from the front of the classroom. He tapped a yardstick against the blackboard. An actual blackboard, not a smart board connected to a laptop. "Eyes up front! We'll have time to meet our new addition soon!" Heads swiveled back and the children returned their attention to the work on their desks. "Sit here, Selim," Bella said and pointed at the desk in the back of the classroom. The boys sat and watched the woman walk up to Mr. Goff.

Their heads moved in close as they spoke in quiet whispers, each occasionally looking toward the boy to give him a reassuring smile. "Well, Salim, I'm going to have to leave you now," Bella said when she returned to the boy's desk. "But don't worry, I'm always in the main office, so all you have to do is ask for me or come see me if you have any issues." The boy nodded. "Bad dreams."

"What's that?" "Bad dreams." "Oh, right. Um, well, I don't sleep here, I'm sorry. But Mrs. Terrance does. She's the dorm monitor and nurse. She'll be checking on you and the other boys every hour. Is that okay?" The boy didn't move. He remained silent, his eyes watching Bella carefully. "Okay, um, well, Mr. Goff will help you now, Selim. It was really great getting to know you, and I look forward to more time together."

The boy nodded, then looked down at his desk. Bella swallowed hard, shared a look with Mr. Goff, then left the classroom. When she was halfway down the hall and almost to the main office, she let out a long breath that she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. The muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxed as well, but the headache behind her eyes stayed. She immediately went to her desk and found her ibuprofen. "How's the kid?" Mary asked.

"Scared," Bella said and sat down, her body heavy in her chair. "Yeah, well, that makes two of us," Mary said. "Have you read his full file? Not the intake file, but his entire history?" "No, not yet." "Well, don't read it before bed or you'll have nightmares. Trust me, bad dreams." "What?" "Nothing, just something Salim said." "He means Salem!" Mary said and laughed. Bella only nodded, pretending to go along with the joke.

She glanced out the office's one window and wondered how a child like Saleem could end up at Kelly Jones. Why wasn't he in a hospital? Like, one of those government hospitals. But she'd been doing what she'd been doing for so long that a brown-skinned boy falling through the cracks wasn't an exception. It was the norm. She turned back to her monitor and continued working on the flood of work that never seemed to stop flowing.

Later, long after Bella Harp had left, well after dinner, Salim was getting ready for bed and brushing teeth and washing his face and putting on state-issued pajamas that were threadbare and ill-fitting for not just him, but all the boys. The boy was walking to his bed when Carson intercepted him, blocking his way. The older boy held a medium-sized box in his hands. It looked heavy.

"This is your shit, freak," Carson snapped and shoved the box against the boy's chest. The boy stumbled back, startled. One of the other boys across the room coughed. Another grunted in pain. "Take it," Carson said, pushing the box harder into the boy. "I don't want your crap." The boy eyed the box, then broke out into a huge grin. "My rocks," he said, snatching the box away from Carson.

He hurried over to his bed and set the box down, opening the flaps immediately. "My rocks." "Rocks?" Some of the others seemed interested, but when Carson glared at each and every one of them, they turned their heads away and pretended to be interested in anything other than the boy and his box of rocks. The boy pulled his first rock out of the box, and Carson laughed. "That's a rock, all right," he said, still laughing. "Just a plain rock."

The boy frowned and continued to pull out more rocks and set them on his bedspread. "What the fuck is this shit?" Carson exclaimed. "Those are just rocks. Gray, boring rocks. None of them shine or anything. You can find those rocks anywhere." "On the side of the road," the boy responded. "I found them. They're my friends." "Friends? Oh fuck guys, did you hear that? Freaky Salem here has rocks for friends."

"Salem?" "Yeah, I heard Miss Williams call you Salem. You know, like where the witches are from." "It fits. You're a freak like those witches they hung." "Hung? Are you retarded or something?" One of the boys gasped at the use of the word. "Oh, fuck off, Dilly. It's just a word." "Salem? I don't... I don't like that name."

"Who cares?" Carson stomped over and picked up the largest of the rocks. "You could really brain a bitch with this." He held the rock in the air like he was going to smash it down on the boy's head. "Fucking bash your brains in!"

No, no, the boy said and shuffled away. He crouched down and wedged himself between the nightstand and the bed. No, no, please, no. I don't want my brains bashed. Tough shit, motherfucker, because I'm going to crack your skull like a fucking nut, Carson said, laughing as he held the rock up higher and moved in close to the boy. Smash that head right. Carson coughed and winced.

"I'm so gonna..." He coughed again and winced harder. "What's wrong with his eyes?" One of the other boys asked as everyone watched the drama. The boy, still wedged between his nightstand and his bed, rubbed at his eyes over and over. Slowly, like thick syrup, a black goo began to leak out around his small fists and ran down his cheeks.

"We should call Mrs. Terrance," another boy said. He coughed too. "He doesn't look." The dorm erupted into coughing fits. Every one of the boys doubled over, their hands holding their throats or touching their chests as they coughed and coughed and coughed. "I'm sorry," the boy said, watching from his spot as each boy collapsed onto the dorm's floor and stopped breathing.

"What are you?" Carson asked before he fell across the boy's bed, knocking the box to the side and sending some rocks tumbling to the floor. After a few minutes passed, the boy stood up and wiped the black goo from his face. His new pajama top was drenched from his neck to his navel in the stuff. His pajama bottoms were smeared black but not soaked. "I'm sorry," the boy said and walked around Carson's body.

Then he paused and reached down, picking up the rock that the bully had brandished at the boy. "There you are, rock. I wouldn't… I wouldn't leave you. You're my… best friend." The boy walked away from his new bed that he never got a chance to sleep in. He navigated the corpses strewn across the dorm's floor. He stepped out into the hallway. Every doorway he passed, coughing started up until the entire facility sounded like a TV ward.

Mrs. Terrence tried to stop the boy from walking out the front door, but she had asthma and was barely able to take a single step in the boy's direction before her lungs seized and she collapsed dead next to the main office's door. The boy, with his rock held tightly in his right fist, left Kelly Jones School for disadvantaged youth and walked out into the night alone again.

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Close your eyes, exhale, feel your body relax and let go of whatever you're carrying today.

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"Jesus fucking Christ!" Marlon Schneider shouted when he lifted the dumpster's lid and found the boy stuffing his face with garbage. "What the… Well, you're one fucked up looking raccoon!" The boy screeched and scooted as far into the corner of the dumpster as he could go. He held out a green-tinged turkey leg like a weapon, ready to swat at Marlon if he came any closer.

"Calm down, kid," Barlan said, and set the garbage bag down that he was going to toss in the dumpster. "I ain't gonna hurt you. What the hell are you doing in there?" The boy blinked a few times, then slowly put the turkey leg to his mouth and took a huge bite. "Eating," he said around his mouth full of moldy poultry. "Yeah, well, you might want to stop eating that leg unless you want to die of salmonella or any number of other yucks."

"Yucks. Diseases, bacterias, molds, that shit. Yucks." The boy held the turkey leg out and studied it. Then he nodded and let it fall into the rest of the trash. "No yucks. Got it." Marlin furrowed his brow.

He glanced left down the alley. He glanced right down the alley. Then he sighed and shoved both of the dumpster's lids wide open. So they fell back and rested against the brick wall that had Marlin's sandwich shop on the other side. "Let's get you out of there," Marlin said and reached a hand in, offering it to the boy. The boy glared. "Kid, I ain't gonna hurt ya. Harming children ain't my thing." He looked left, then right again and back to the boy.

The boy frowned. "That's a good thing, kid. It means you'll have plenty of food to fill that appetite powering that growing body of yours. What are you, 13? 14?"

The boy said. Marlin replied and laughed. He extended his hand again. The boy studied the hand again then nodded and stood up. But he didn't take the hand offered. He crawled out of the dumpster on his own. When he landed next to Marlin, the older man whistled. He said and laughed again. The boy said and looked about.

"This way." Marlin led him to a back door that was propped open with an old, broken milk crate. "Grab that, will ya?" The boy looked down and picked up the crate. "Come inside first!" Marlin exclaimed, and went to grab the boy but he checked himself, sensing that the boy would react very negatively. "Just come on in and set that down by the door, okay?" "Okay," the boy replied, a little wary but not fully alarmed.

When the drama of the milk crate was over, Marlin showed the boy the restroom, then went and grabbed some dish towels. "Get yourself cleaned up. Don't worry about making a mess. I haven't done bathroom duty yet. I'll see if I can find some clothes in the lost and found that will fit you. I swear, half the teenagers just drop their wardrobe on the floor of my place and forget about it.

"Teenagers are a blight," the boy replied. "That so?" Marlin responded with a chuckle. "Well, whatever they are, they leave their clothes. Be right back." When Marlin returned, the boy was stripped naked and drying off with one of the dish towels. The bathroom was pretty much destroyed. "Well, you took my comment to heart, didn't you?" He couldn't help but laugh.

"Here's some clothes. I have a sandwich waiting for you when you're dressed. Just come on out to the dining room." The boy emerged from the back hallway a few minutes later. He looked fresh and clean, although he did not look healthy. Marlin studied the boy's body, how angular it was, how starved he looked. The kid was emaciated. He had dark, dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. There were sores on his neck and on his forearms and hands.

"How long you been living on the street?" Marlin asked him. The boy started to answer, then his eyes became giant saucers of panic. He ran back to the bathroom, and when he returned, he had a large rock in his hand. "Whoa, calm down now," Marlin said, not liking the look of things. "My best friend," the boy said, and showed Marlin the rock. "I cleaned him too." "Oh, yeah, sure, good. You should always take care of your friends."

The boy grinned from ear to ear. Then he lifted his nose and sniffed. His stomach growled, the noise reverberating off the sandwich shop's walls. "Got you all fixed up right here," Marlin said in motion for the boy to follow him over to a table where a sandwich almost a foot high teetered next to a pile of potato chips and a whole dill pickle. "Eat up, kid," the boy didn't have to be told twice. He sat down and tore into the sandwich.

Marlin let the boy eat. He still had a couple of hours of work to do before he could go upstairs to his apartment and call it a night, then sleep five hours and get up at six the next morning to start it all over again. While he counted the till, he kept an eye on the boy. Every once in a while, the boy would try to feed the rock, then he'd lean in, put his ear close, listen, and laugh. Marlin knew the boy wasn't all there, but talking to a rock was a new one.

Not that he hadn't seen plenty of homeless around the area talking to inanimate objects. There was just something different about the boy's behavior though. It didn't feel crazy. It felt almost comforting. Then it hit him. "Self-soothing," he said, when the boy looked up and realized he'd said it out loud. "Sorry, just talking to myself. You need a rock friend," the boy said. "Oh, is that so? What's your friend's name? Rock?"

"You named your rock, Rock?" "He's a rock." "Makes sense." He set the cash back in the till and grabbed up a stack of receipts, straightening them so they could fit under the till. "And what's your name, kid?" The boy frowned as he took a huge bite of sandwich. "Saleem." "What was that? Couldn't understand you." "Saleem." "Slim?" "Well, sure you are. That's for sure. When was the last time you ate?" "I ate the yucks." "Right, yeah.

"But when was the last time you had a meal? Like that sandwich and chips? When was the last time you had food like that?" The boy shrugged. "Where are your parents?" The boy shrugged. "Do you have any family at all?" The boy shrugged, then smiled. "Rock is family." Marlin scratched at the grizzled, gray stubble on his chin. "Where are you from? Do you live around here?" "No." The boy shook his head and took a couple more bites of sandwich. "Where do you live?"

The boy shrugged. Come on now, you have to be from somewhere. Hospital. He chewed and chewed. Camp. Places. Kelly Jones. Walmart. Gas station. The road. There was a decision to be made, and Marlin was on the fence when it came to where he stood on the outcome of that decision. The boy finished off every crumb on his plate, leaned back, belched, then smiled at Marlin. Can I have more? Sure, Slim. The boy smiled at the name.

After the boy finished his second plate, he stretched and yawned. That decision Marlin needed to make wasn't going to wait much longer. "I'm guessing you need a place to crash," he said to the boy. The boy grimaced. "Crash means a place to stay. To sleep. You can't stay out in the alley. Not safe for a kid like you." The boy shrugged. "Oh? Are you some tough guy? You think you can fight off all the junkies and perverts out there by yourself?" "Perverts die.

The way the boy said that made Marlin shiver. "Well, in a just world, maybe. But around here? The perverts make a killing off kids like you. So how about you come upstairs and sleep on my couch? No pervert stuff. Your rock can keep watch. Rock is very good at keeping watch. Great. It's settled. I'll just finish up here and then we'll call it a night." "Call what a night?" "We'll head up to my apartment and get some sleep.

"No pervert stuff. Rock doesn't like that. Perverts die." "No pervert stuff, Slim. I don't want Rock mad at me," the boy frowned. "No, you don't," Marlin shivered again. But he wasn't afraid of the boy. After all, the kid weighed maybe 90 pounds. The couch Marlin showed the boy was long, plush, and already had a stack of blankets at the end.

"I fall asleep to the TV all the time," Marlin said, explaining the blankets at the ready. "TV? You have TV?" the boy exclaimed. He was almost bouncing up and down, and in that second, Marlin could just about believe the boy was three years old like he'd said he was. Not physically, obviously, but maybe mentally. Although, from what Marlin had observed, the kid didn't seem stupid. Off, yes, but not stupid or even slow.

No, not the way the boy studied everything and clocked the environment around him. I think you're on mute. Workday starting to sound the same? I think you're on mute. Find something that sounds better for your career on LinkedIn. With LinkedIn Job Collections, you can browse curated collections by relevant industries and benefits, like FlexPTO or hybrid workplaces, so you can find the right job for you.

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The boy stopped bouncing and shrugged. "Well, knock yourself out," Marlin said, and handed the boy the remote. The boy only stared at it. "You know how to use a remote, right?" The boy shrugged. "Damn, Slim, you gotta learn a new move," Marlin said and laughed and laughed. The boy watched him, then after a moment, he laughed too. "Here, I'll show you." So Marlin showed the boy how to use the TV remote. The regret was almost instantaneous.

By the time Marlon got the boy to chill out and settle on something, as well as to stop turning the volume up to full, it was almost time to get up and start a new day. Marlon's morning cup of coffee was gone in two swallows. He made a second cup, then a third. By his fourth, he felt he had the fatigue beat and could get prep finished for the day's business at the sandwich shop.

It wasn't all a waste, though. He was able to show the boy how to sweep and mop, how to wipe all the tables down, how to get the bleach water buckets filled, and set up by the make table, and how to turn the open sign on. You may be worth a lack of sleep, Slim, Marlin said as the first customers of the day strolled into the sandwich shop.

Marlon didn't have employees, couldn't afford the hassle. But with the boy around, he could get the trash taken out and the tables bust without having to pause on making sandwiches or ringing up customers. And if the departments of labor or health or, God forbid, social services were to stop by, he'd just tell them that the boy was his nephew. Hell, their skin tone was almost the same, so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch. After the lunch rush, Marlon could see the boy was tired.

"Sit down and eat," he said, holding a tray of sandwiches and ushering the boy to a table. "Hungry?" "Yes," the boy said. He attacked the food like he hadn't eaten in days, which Marlin knew wasn't true. "Growing boys gotta eat," he mumbled to himself as he sliced a new batch of tomatoes. The door chime rang out and he looked up from his prep. "Be right with you," he called out and finished slicing the tomato he held.

When he walked to the counter, wiping his hands on a fresh bleach towel he kept hanging from his apron. He didn't like what he saw in the dining room. "Shit," he muttered and hurried out from behind the counter. When he got to the table, he didn't look at the boy. He only had eyes for the man who sat across from the boy. "Can I get you something?" Marlin asked the man. The man, who was smiling at the boy, slowly looked up at Marlin. "Nah, I'm good. How much you want?"

"I'm sorry, what? How much do you want for the kid? I know he ain't yours, old man. I've watched you. You ain't got no family. You got no employees. If I knew this was your taste, I'd have hooked you up years ago. It's Wendell, right? I'm flattered you know who I am. Everyone around here knows who you are." Marlin glanced at the boy and could see he was paying very close attention to the conversation and interaction.

"How about you take the trash out, Slim? Can you do that while I deal with Wendell here?" "Slim? That's your name, kid?" Wendell laughed. He pointed a finger at the rock sitting on the table. "What's his name? Thick? Rock?" the boy said.

"Are you shitting me? You named it rock?" "Why's that?" "Because it's a rock?" He guffawed and slapped the table with both hands, using so much force that the rock wobbled, then tumbled off the table. "Rock!" the boy cried, and bent over to retrieve his friend. Wendel's arm shot out lightning fast, and he grabbed the boy's shoulder. "Don't you look away from me when I'm talking to you, you little bitch."

It all happened so quickly. Wendell grabbed the boy. Marlin grabbed Wendell. The boy, shrugging off Wendell's hand, picked up his rock, saw what was happening, and lashed out across the table with it. Wendell's head rocked back and he was up on his feet instantly, a large pistol in his hand. "You motherfucker!" he shouted and aimed for the boy. "No!" Marlin yelled and grabbed Wendell's arm.

The gun went off and the glass in the front door shattered. The boy cried out, jumped to his feet, and backed himself into the far corner of the sandwich shop's dining room. Before Marlin could act, Wendell cold cocked him with the butt of his pistol, sending the man sprawling on the ground, blood running from the large gash on the back of his head. Marlin stopped moving. "Marlin?" the boy asked, his voice so small and so scared.

"Fucking bitch!" Wendel said, and spit on Marlin's still form. "You better be dead." Then he turned and smiled at the boy. "Looks like it's you and me, Slim. Don't you worry, I know how to take care of boys like you." The boy's eyes were locked onto Marlin. The old man's chest wasn't rising or falling. He was perfectly still. "Hey!" Wendel shouted, snapping his fingers in the boy's face. "You fucking listening to me, Slim?"

"You hurt Marlin." "What's that? Speak up, bitch!" "You hurt Marlin!" "Yeah, and I'll fucking hurt you if you don't." "Jesus, what's wrong with your face?" The boy had started to cry big, thick, black, gooey tears. The tears turned into a stream. "Never mind. You got something wrong with-" Wendel fell to his knees, gasping for air. The boy stepped forward and stood over Wendel.

The man tried to raise his pistol, but he lost all strength as he was overtaken by a horrible, racking cough. In seconds, the man was spitting blood and on all fours, desperate to take in air. The boy sniffed, then walked out of the shop. He held rock to his chest and ignored the stares and whispers as he slunk by the other shops and department stoops and newsstands.

"I'm not bad. I'm not bad." He repeated over and over to himself, while in his wake people on the sidewalks and in the street fell over, their lungs struggling to breathe, their faces turning purple as they suffocated to death. The black goo continued to stream down the boy's cheeks, and he ignored the chaos and death he left in his wake, and simply kept walking. "It's okay, Rock. We'll be okay."

The boy sat huddled in the bushes. He was cold and wet and so hungry. He and Rock hadn't been able to find much in the trash cans of the rest stops he'd stumbled into as he hiked the shoulder of the interstate. And the one he was in at that moment wasn't any better. Cars loaded with luggage and supplies pulled into the rest stops lot and unloaded families, all desperate to use the facilities.

The boy heard shouting from where the vending machines were. People were arguing over the last few candy bars and bags of chips. Kids were crying when they were told to pee in bushes because the toilets had gotten all stopped up. Tires squealed as angry drivers roared away from the less than ideal situation. And those tires were replaced by the sound of brakes shrieking as near misses kept happening over and over. The boy didn't know what was going on. He heard snippets from radios when someone at a car window rolled down.

People dead and dying in several cities, all up and down the interstate. Something called martial law was declared by a man named the governor. Police couldn't keep order. The National Guard was being deployed. A thing called the CDC was trying to quarantine the state. But there was no way to keep that many people from crossing borders into other states. The boy watched the anger and the fear that overcame the rest stop.

He watched the violence and the cruelty explode out of the travelers, the escapees, the refugees. It all hurt the boy's head. It hurt his heart. It hurt everything. He sniffed and wiped the goo from his left cheek. For weeks, he hadn't been able to stop it. The black goo just flowed and flowed. It got worse at night when he drift off to sleep in a ditch or barn or shed he'd crawled into. In the morning, he would awaken to find the dead strewn about.

to see cars crashed on the interstate medians. "We're not bad, Rock. It's okay. We're not bad." The boy held the rock to his chest with both hands as he sat and watched. Someone shouted and yet another fight broke out. A man pulled a gun and started shooting. Men and women and children fled, abandoning their cars, looking for safety. Then it was over and a man stood in the middle of the parking lot, his gun up and swinging wildly in all directions.

A woman got out of a minivan and said something to him. The man lowered the gun, then fell to his knees and started crying. The boy's breath hitched in his chest, and he clamped a hand over his mouth as a low sob slipped past his lips. The man with the gun looked up and turned toward the bush where the boy was hidden. The gun arm came up, and the boy whimpered.

He shook his head over and over and over as the man walked toward the bush. The woman from the minivan calling to him, asking him to let it go and get in the car. "Who the fuck is in there? You trying to ambush me?" The man shouted, walking straight for the boy. "You better get out of there or I'll start shooting!"

The boy didn't move. He tried to stop crying. He tried to stop whimpering. He tried everything he could, but nothing worked. The black goo continued to flow. "I warned you!" The man yelled and squeezed the trigger. A dry click echoed through the parking lot. "Son of a bitch!" The boy burst from the cover of the bush and ran and ran. Behind him, he heard shouting. Then he heard gasping. Then he heard nothing.

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The boy blinked as the bright light blinded him. He'd been trying to sleep in the back of a parked car. He'd heard someone call it a station wagon. He didn't know what that meant, but he knew the back was long enough for him to fit his long frame. He'd just drifted off when the back of the car was yanked open and the yelling started. "Are you fucking deaf, asshole? Get the fuck out of the car, or I will pull you out and you won't fucking like that!"

The boy, his arm covering his eyes from the bright light, scooched down out of the station wagon until he could stand up, his bare feet shivering from the freezing cold pavement. He had a blister on his heel and he'd wanted his shoes off. He couldn't tie his shoes, so he'd found some rubber boots and they were a little tighter than he liked. Hands grabbed the boy and pulled him away from the car. "What's your name?" the man with the light shouted. "Slim." "Slim? Your name is Slim? What the fuck kind of name is that?"

The boy didn't shrug. He hadn't shrugged since he'd left the sandwich shop. So he just stood there, staring down at his bare feet. "What we got here?" a different man asked. "No clue, Sarge. But he says his name is Slim. What's your last name?" "What's your last name, Slim?" The boy looked up, confused. He shook his head. "I don't… What's a last name? Got a weapon in here, Sarge!" someone shouted from over by the car.

"That's not a weapon, that's a rock!" someone else said. The boy was startled and tried to hurry back to the car. "Do not fucking move or you will be shot!" the first man yelled. The boy knew what being shot meant, so he stopped. But he didn't freeze. He fidgeted and hopped from one foot to the other, terrified that they would separate him from Rock. "Did he just call this thing Rock?" someone asked and there was laughing. "Jesus, are only the freaks left?"

A pain welled up in the boy's chest and he shook his head. "What's the fucking matter with you, asshole? I'm not a freak. You sure about that? You sure look like one, you shoeless skinny-as-a-pole motherfucker. Leave the kid alone, Private. Sorry, Sarge." "Son, what's your last name? Do you have ID on you?" The boy frowned and shook his head. He didn't know what ID was, but he knew he didn't have it on him. "What's the call, Sarge?"

I don't know. I'm so tired of this shit. This is the first living person we've found in days. And look at him. Hardly worth saving, eh Sarge? Hardly worth wasting the rations on. See what supplies he has in that car, then walk him over to that ditch. You know what to do.

"Here, he can be with his rock." They were laughing. The boy watched in horror as Rock was thrown across the parking lot and lost from sight into the darkness by the bushes and trees. "Rock!" When he tried to run for his friend, he felt pain explode in the back of his head. "Dammit, Foster! Why'd you hit him? Now we have to drag his ass to the ditch!" When hands grabbed him and yanked him to his feet, the boy was already crying. The soldiers never got him to the ditch.

When they stopped convulsing and gasping, the boy limped over to the side of the parking lot. "Rock!" Then he found him, lying in a pile of old snow and fresh mud, and he shouted with joy. The boy walked back to the station wagon, careful to step over and around the dead soldiers. He climbed into the car, closed the back hatch, and curled up with Rock. "It's okay. It's okay. We're okay, Rock. We're okay." "Oh. Hello.

The boy froze. "It's alright, I won't hurt you." The woman stood up from the rocking chair on her porch and smiled at the boy who had just come out of her barn. "You don't need to be scared of me." She looked the boy up and down, guessing he was maybe in his early twenties or very late teens. And he was skinny, so skinny. "You look like you could eat. I have a couple of biscuits left over from breakfast if you want them." The boy didn't move. "What's that you got in your hand?"

The boy looked down and held up the object, a small smile playing at his lips. "Rock, that right, well, looks like a fine rock." The boy nodded and the smile grew. "I'll go get those biscuits for you." When the woman came back out onto the porch, the boy was sitting in the driveway's gravel, pushing his large rock around the smaller rocks. "You're rock making friends?" the woman asked and walked down the porch steps.

The biscuits were wrapped in a paper towel, and she set that and a bottle of water down in the small patch of grass on the edge of the driveway. The boy stood up, but didn't move closer. "I should go." "Okay, nothing's stopping you. But take these biscuits with you. You look like you could use them." The boy licked his lips, and the woman could see how chapped they were. Then she studied him closer, and was reminded of those old documentaries with prisoners of war in them.

The boy looked like that. His skin was stretched tight and appeared as if it would tear right off in a strong breeze. "I, uh…" The boy licked his lips again. "Thank you. You're welcome." The boy looked at the biscuits and water, then at the woman, then back to the biscuits and water, then back to the woman. "Skittish? I don't blame you. Times are rough right now. Half the country is on lockdown and the other half is dead.

"Strangest thing, this plague. No one has a clue what it is or how it spreads, but we all know how it kills." She backed up then climbed the steps and sat back down on her porch. "Go on, I'll wait here. You take that food and drink." After a second, the boy rushed forward and snatched up the biscuits. He gobbled them down then pounded the water right after. "Thank you. I have to go."

"You are welcome. You stay safe out there, you hear? People aren't so nice as they used to be." The boy had started to walk off, then paused and looked back. "Most people never were." Then he strode off, his tall, lanky form striding down the driveway, his rock clutched to his chest. The boy hadn't spoken to a person in months, and he hadn't seen one in weeks. Not living ones, anyway.

He walked as far as he could, all the way to the ocean. No one stopped him. No one was left to stop him. All that were left were corpses. Corpses on the street. Corpses in their cars. Corpses in shops and churches and old malls and government tents. Corpses, corpses, corpses. So, he turned around and started walking back the way he'd come. Nothing but corpses that way too. People corpses.

The animals, on the other hand, were thriving. So much trash to eat. No cars zooming this way and that. Their deadly tires won revolution. Ones swerve away from crushing their backs or legs or skulls. No sadistic bastards dousing them with gasoline or throwing them in a pillowcase to drown in a lake or river or a convenient puddle. The animals flourished. So the boy walked and he walked.

He ate what he could find. It wasn't hard anymore. No one shouted at him or tried to chase him out of stores. He could walk in and eat what he wanted, but not the moldy poultry. He'd learned that. It had the yucks. When he was out in the middle of nowhere, he'd look for a house. He'd watch it closely. And when he knew no one was inside, alive at least, he'd sneak in and take what he could. He never slept in the houses. He didn't like the smells the bodies put off.

"I think that cloud looks like a cat. What do you think, Rock?" Rock didn't answer, but the boy liked to talk to him for hours and hours as he walked the choked highways and interstates, navigating around the endless lines of cars that had tried to escape the plague. Little did they know that the plague had been ahead of them, behind them, hiking along with them. The boy was glad that the black goo had stopped flowing. He just wished it had happened while there were still people left alive.

He loved talking to Rock. Rock was his best friend, but the one-sided conversations had gotten old. And even though most people he'd met weren't so great, he remembered meeting that woman Bella and that man Marlin and the lady with the biscuits. He'd met a girl at some point and she seemed nice, but then she said she wanted to walk with the boy and he'd panicked, gotten scared of her. And before he could stop it, the black goo came out of his eyes and he had screamed and cried and pleaded for her not to die.

He left her corpse by a big sign with a sunflower on it. He didn't know what the words meant. He'd never learned to read, so he wasn't sure why there was a sunflower. But it was pretty, and the girl had been pretty, so he thought it was the right thing to do. She was the last person the boy had spoken to, so he walked and walked and walked. When he reached the end and stared out at the other ocean, he wasn't sure what to do.

He could turn around and walk back the other way, but he'd already seen everything that way. So, after dipping his toes in the surf, squealing with delight at the cold water and the grit of sand between his toes, he looked around at the buildings that lined the road by the beach. One building had an ice cream cone on the sign, but when the boy opened the door, he knew there wasn't any more ice cream left. All that was in there was death.

The next building had lots of clothes, so the boy changed out of what he was wearing and put on some shorts and a tank top, just like the men wore in the pictures next to the racks of clothes. The building after that had shoes, and the boy tried on close to 100 pairs before he found ones that fit his large feet.

The final building, a small place on the corner, nearly took the boy's breath away when he stepped inside. It was full of rocks. Purple rocks and shiny rocks. Rocks that were rough on the outside and spiky inside, filled with crystals. There were smooth rocks and sharp rocks. Rocks bigger than his head and rocks smaller like boogers.

"Hey, Rock, we'll stop here." The boy walked in, shut the door behind him, and sat down in the middle of the place. He set Rock next to him and sighed. Then he laid down, one hand resting on his best friend, a feeling he couldn't understand flowing through. "We're home, Rock," he mumbled as he drifted off into a sleep he'd never experienced before, a sleep of peace.

If you're into stories like this, be sure to check out the After Dark podcast. The latest episode, The Goddess, The Dog, and The Damned is a wild one. I think you'll really enjoy it. Just search After Dark wherever you get your podcasts.