Rise of the Mudmen Read online

  “I’m okay,” Alex said, wincing.

  “Okay, great,” his dad said. “Turn on your lamp, then.”

  His dad sat on the bed, the light casting strange shadows across his face. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug, not making eye contact, hoping it would be enough.

  “Oh,” his dad replied. “That’s good.”

  Alex sighed with relief, but his dad didn’t leave. Instead, he just looked around the room and scratched Shadow between the ears, much to her delight.

  “I’m glad you woke me up,” his dad said, his features softening, but still holding onto a trace of seriousness. “I was having a bad dream.”

  For a moment, there was silence. This was a strange turn. After a few seconds, Alex asked, “About what?”

  His father took a deep breath. For a moment, Alex wondered if he had had the same dream. “Just …” his dad paused, a look of uncertainty on his face. “There’s ... there’s a lot of stuff happening, you know? In the world? Just falling apart. I worry about something happening to you or to Mary. It scares me.”

  “Oh,” Alex said, not entirely sure what to say.

  “Yeah,” his dad said with a nod. “You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” Alex said, cluing in; the old it’s-all-right-to-be-scared-sometimes speech. He had to give him credit though, this was an interesting way to bring it up. Putting Alex in the role of the comforter. “But, you know Dad, whatever happens, we’ll be okay. Things aren’t that bad. And, you know ... it’s okay to be scared. Sometimes.”

  “Yeah,” his dad said, trying to hide his grin. “You’re right. Thanks, Alex. You’re a smart kid, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Alex said, not bothering to hide his own grin.

  His dad leaned over and kissed the top of his son’s head and stood up to go. Before he got to the door, Alex stopped him.

  “Dad, about your nightmare,” he started, unsure what he was going to ask. “If anything ever did happen to ... to any of us—”

  His dad cut him off before he could finish. “We’re going to be fine. You, Mary, and me. We’re all gonna be fine.”

  Alex looked over at the dog he’d owned for as long as he could remember. “And Shadow?”

  His dad smiled. “Of course, Shadow too. I wouldn’t let anything happen to any of you. You know that, right?”

  Alex could see in his father’s eyes that he had never been more sincere about anything in his entire life. That was the answer he was looking for. He smiled. “Yeah, Dad. I know.”

  He fell asleep to the happy, dreamy grumbles of Shadow as she nuzzled into his legs on the bed.

  DAVID

  “Whatcha doing?”

  David had been asking questions all day—it’s what little brothers do.

  Nicole stopped in her task—non-perishable foods and mini camping supplies strewn about the table—glared at David, sighed, and went back to organizing without a word. It’s what big sisters do.

  “Can I venture a guess?” David continued, sensing that she did not want to be bothered, which meant that he should go on. “I’m guessing you are ...” He scanned the objects on the table: a flashlight, camping matches, a compass, a pop bottle filled with water. “... running away? Oh my God, Nicole, are you running away?”

  Nicole slammed her hand down on the table, making her teased out hair wobble with the force. David could not get used to his sister’s new “goth” look: the poofy, dyed-black hair, red eye-liner, black eye-shadow, black lipstick, black everything except the white powder on her face. She wasn’t exactly tan before, so he thought it was a pointless addition, especially when her face was no longer the same colour as her neck. She didn’t find it as clever as he did when he told her that she looked like a mix between Bozo the Clown and Dracula. The wobbling hair wasn’t new, but he still had to stifle a laugh.

  “You’re running away, aren’t you?”

  “No, spaz,” Nicole finally responded. “I am not running away. Now frig off. Seriously.”

  “Oh,” David paused. “So, whatcha—”

  “I’m making a survival kit!”

  David nodded his head and re-scanned the objects. “Yes, it does look like that, doesn’t it? Mmm hmm.”

  Nicole stopped again but did not look at him. “What do you want?”

  “I’m bored,” he admitted.

  “Uh-huh,” Nicole said, going back to her task.

  “Yeah,” David continued. “You wanna play a game?”

  “A game of what?”

  David thought for a moment. “I was hoping you’d have an idea?”

  “David,” Nicole turned in her chair to look at him. “If you are bored, might I suggest you ...” She paused. David waited for the inevitable go jump in front of a moving truck or see how high you can fall before it kills you. Maybe she would just punch him. “... go see what’s under Carol’s sink and see what it tastes like?” Then she punched him.

  Being on the road must have given her new material, David thought as he walked away.

  David and Nicole had been staying with their Aunt Carol for the past three days, with another four days to go before their parents got back from Europe. David had been told that they couldn’t go because they’d miss too much school, but he was fairly certain it had something to do with the blowout that Nicole had had with them the week before. Sometimes he hated being the sibling—it usually meant that if one was punished for something, so was the other.

  It did make it a little easier on him to be intentionally annoying to his sister. He really would have liked to have visited Stonehenge, so he would subtly take it out on her as much as he could. At least until she told him why they were actually left at home, which he doubted would ever happen.

  He was fine with that. They rarely had quality brother-sister time since she went all gloomy-vampire on him. At least it was better than her flower-child phase.

  In the three days at Aunt Carol’s, David had gone through all of the National Geographics, organized them by date, then by colour of the picture on the cover, then by date again. He had brought the family’s Nintendo with them, but forgot to check what sort of TV connection Aunt Carol had. Now the Nintendo sat in its box next to a Sobeys’ bag full of games. Mocking him.

  To keep himself entertained, he took apart various appliances in Carol’s home. He had already taken apart the vacuum cleaner and the toaster and put them back together, and was about to start on the recliner in the living room, to get rid of its weird squeaking noise, when he heard glass shatter.

  He looked into the dining room where he had just been talking with his sister. She was gone, and so was her survival kit.

  “Nicole? What was that?”

  No answer.

  “Nicole? Where—”

  Another shattering sound stopped the words in his throat.

  It came from the basement.

  “Nicole? Hello?” he called, weakly, as he walked toward the basement door. There was no light on down there, only a rustling sound. A ... struggling sound. He peered down the stairwell. He jumped at a loud bang, quickly followed by another shatter.

  His mouth dried as he looked down the stairs. He would try calling out one more time, then he would close the door and barricade it with Aunt Carol’s coffee table.

  “Hello?”

  Suddenly, he caught a shadow moving—lumbering—toward the stairs. Whatever it was, it was shuffling as it moved slowly toward him.

  SMASH!

  As the shadow came closer, he, sweating profusely, backed away toward the coffee table. Whatever it was had reached the stairs, and was making its way up to him. So slowly. Why didn’t I close the door?! he thought, as he reached down and grabbed the leg of the coffee table. He could block this thing’s path—whatever it was. He gave it a tug, but it wouldn’t move—the living room rug made it stick.

  Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

  He could feel a scream welling in his throat, but he wasn’t sure if could let it
out. Even if he did, there was no one there to help him. Aunt Carol wasn’t home from work, and it seemed that Nicole had left him there to die.

  Clunk. Clunk.

  Now he could see it at the top of the stairs.

  It was a box with “JARS” scrawled onto the side in black marker, held aloft by his sister.

  Nicole placed it down on the floor with a thud which made the jars inside rattle.

  “If you’re still bored,” she said, ignoring the look of fear on David’s face, “there’s some glass downstairs. Someone should clean it up before Carol gets home.”

  “Thank you,” David replied. “That sounds like all kinds of fun.”

  “I do what I can,” Nicole said with a grin. She picked up the box and made her way to the kitchen, her survival kit slung over her shoulder.

  He wanted to question her, to yell at her, “Why wouldn’t you answer me? Why would you want to scare me? What’s wrong with you?” but that would be what she wanted, he guessed, so he let it go. When she looked away, David took a deep breath and finally stopped clenching his fists. He followed her into the kitchen.

  “Why are you making survival kits anyways?” he asked, sitting in the chair across from her. “You’re gonna run out of stuff here soon, and then you’ll starve because you have it all hidden away. That would be horribly ironic.”

  “That’s not what irony means, David.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it isn’t. Irony isn’t just bad stuff happening.”

  “No, I know that. But this time it is.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She rummaged through the cupboards as she half-heartedly argued.

  “Anyways,” David interjected, trying to get back on point.

  “You can never have too many survival kits. What if the power goes out?”

  “The power doesn’t go off that often here,” David said, very matter-of-factly. “We’re on the hospital grid, so putting our power back on is a priority. So, the ...” He looked over his sister’s shoulder, “... Count Chocula that you’re putting in jars won’t be that necessary.”

  “What if it goes out for a long time?”

  “Then we can just eat the cereal out of the cupboard.”

  “And what if we’re not home?”

  “Well, we’re not home. We’re—”

  “What if we’re not here? What if we’re ... at the mall?”

  David paused. “You have a survival kit at the mall?”

  Nicole turned, glaring at him. “No, stupid. That’s why I’m putting it in a backpack.”

  David saw an opening. “Okay. So you’re putting them in backpacks so that you can take them wherever, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, why do you need more than one?” Victory.

  Nicole paused and then said, “This is why nobody likes you.”

  “Whatever,” he replied as he walked away, taking the insult as a sign of her defeat. “Though I think we’d survive at the mall. They have food there, too.”

  NICOLE

  David had been very annoying those past few days. Granted, she knew why it was happening—that, it could be argued, it was even her fault that it was happening—but that wasn’t the point. She was suffering just as much as he was, possibly more, because at least she wasn’t running around, taking stuff apart and asking ridiculous questions every thirty seconds.

  And really, it wasn’t her fault at all.

  Usually when her parents stuck to their guns, it worked out for the best. She and David learned from it and became better and stronger. This time, it just made her more angry and David more annoying.

  The deal was simple—at least to her parents. She was seventeen and it was time she got a job. If she didn’t even want to start looking for a job, then she would stay home and earn money looking after her brother. As far as she was concerned, the deal was flawed from the onset.

  She had already started looking for a job when it was first brought up a year prior.

  She had even gotten an interview. She figured the job was as good as hers. Her grades were the highest at her school and she was incredibly hard working. When she wanted something, she got it with hard work and intelligence.

  When the time for the interview came around, she was nothing but confidence. She had finally found a look she was comfortable with—true, she was wearing a bit more powder then, but she figured that out—and finally learned to be herself. She thought she nailed the first question “What makes you suitable for this job?”

  “Well,” she started, “I’m pretty sure we’re selling shoes. I have a 98 in math. I can count. I know how many feet people have. It’s usually two. If it’s less, I give them half off.”

  Her confidence faltered just a bit when they stared blankly. Her smile didn’t help. She’d never really figured out how to do it well. She rallied when they asked her to role play selling them shoes.

  “Ma’am, you say you’re a size six, but we both know that that is a lie. Or are you talking about a men’s six? You look like you could wear men’s shoes. It doesn’t really matter. Shoes are shoes. Also, I don’t know how often you smell what’s going on down here, but you might want to consult a physician. Gangrene has a very distinct smell, and I’m worried this might be it. I’m just looking out for your health here. And sir, if you don’t stop staring at my hair like that, I’m going to have to smack you. This is not a runway. I’ve hit better for less. What kind of store are you running here, anyway? Treat people like people, Jesus.”

  She was told she wasn’t very personable. Why she needed to be personable to work at a shoe store, she had no idea. You just had to be able to get people shoes that fit. That was literally all the job involved. Being personable did not come into it. She boiled it down to the same thing: people are idiots.

  She didn’t bother with looking for stupid mall jobs ever since then. Or any job in the area. The guidance counsellor told her the same thing: she wasn’t very personable. She didn’t get along well with others. She scared people.

  She didn’t care. So far as she could tell, scaring people was good. That meant that she was powerful, intimidating, and able to take care of herself.

  She even told her parents this when they asked her how the job hunt was going. They had a few suggestions for her, and she had a few suggestions for them. She didn’t take their suggestions well. They took hers even worse.

  True, she would have liked to have gone to Europe—she had always dreamed of seeing Stonehenge, not that she’d ever tell anyone that—but she assumed that with a big thing like a trip to Europe, that they were bluffing. She and David had always gone on their big trips. They couldn’t possibly leave their kids home for something so stupid.

  They were not bluffing.

  People—even her parents—are idiots.

  That’s why she was making her survival kits. Stupid people doing stupid things. One of her favourite movies—War Games—dealt with that very concern: stupid people overreacting to things they didn’t understand.

  That, and she actually was toying with the idea of running away, though she thought of it more as “striking out on her own.” This idea was more appealing to her, as she viewed running away as a ridiculous overreaction. The irony was not lost on her.

  People didn’t understand her, and they always overreacted. Calling her things like Dracula, or corpse lady, or freak, or worse. They were afraid of her. She was fine with that. She was better than fine with that. If she “struck out on her own,” she wouldn’t have to deal with any of that. She could be a poet, or a scientist, or whatever she wanted. People would respect her, not be afraid of her.

  “Did you pack all the Zoodles, too?”

  She really wished David was more afraid of her. She knew it was there a little, but not nearly as much as she wanted.

  “Aunt Carol doesn’t have Zoodles, spaz,” she replied, not bothering to look up at him. She knew that he hated being ignored.

  “But,” he st
arted, an edge of concern creeping in, “yesterday I had—”

  “Yesterday, you finished the Zoodles that Mom and Dad gave Aunt Carol,” she said, finally glancing at him. “Because they know you are ridiculously picky and like to eat garbage.”

  David stared back, chewing on his lip. She knew he had something to say, but questioned how far he had pushed her already that day. She glanced back with a slight smile that clearly read ‘is what you have to say worth what I’ll do to you?’

  Evidently, he thought it was.

  “You know you’re storing boxed cereal in jars, right? And when that is gone—which will be really soon—you’ll just have literal garbage to eat when you run away, right?”

  “Ugh!” she exclaimed, more to make him jump than out of actual frustration. She was a little frustrated, but he did jump so that made her feel a bit better. “I’m not running away, spaz!”

  “Well, then what are you—”

  She slammed her hand down on the table before he got a chance to finish the question. He stopped himself short and simply walked away.

  As she got back to checking items off her survival kit list, she thought about what would happen if someone with enough power did do something stupid. How society itself would crumble, and she would be on her own.

  Finally, blissfully, on her own.

  It was all she ever wanted.

  KAITLYN

  “Oh my God, Kaitlyn! That’s gross!”

  “Shut up, Brittany!”

  The group of girls giggled as they strolled down the street, bundles of papers in their hands. They had spent much of the day the same way they spent most of their free time when they were together: talking about boys they liked, how much they hated Mr. Leblanc’s homeroom class, and pretty much any other topic that flitted into their minds at any given moment.

  Part of Kaitlyn disliked how simple the time they spent together was. She was maturing and, frankly she felt that she had, in many ways, surpassed the other three of the group that had been together ever since Grade Primary. On the other hand, she loved living vicariously through them—they did a lot of things that even she wasn’t ready for. Sarah had a boyfriend, an idea that both scared and excited Kaitlyn.