Jimmy nodded, slapping Samuel’s hands aside and grazing him upside the head, just to show him he could. “Reading’s one thing, application is something else.”
Samuel smiled. “You’re quick.”
“Don’t forget it.”
They arrived at the dirt road that wound along the fields and up the hill to the wooden farmhouse the two shared on the outskirts of town. As they crested the hill, Jimmy noticed a pleasant fragrance drifting on the breeze and spotted the vivid flowerbed beside their front porch.
“Who’s been planting flowers?” he asked.
“Wasn’t me,” Samuel said. “It looks nice, though. We could use more flowers around here, but I certainly don’t have time to plant tulips. I bet Vanessa brought the school kids down on a field trip to get their little hands dirty.”
“I don’t think those are tulips.”
“Whatever.” Samuel primed the well in the front yard, filling the green plastic bucket they kept there for washing up.
Right after his parents died, Jimmy learned a lot of things in a short time; but one of the most important was that underneath Nebraska lies an underground aquifer-the state sits on top of a giant lake. There were two tasks that had to be completed when Greg marched everyone into town. The second task was locating a water-drilling rig mounted on a GMC diesel truck and installing manual water pumps all over town.
The first was burying all the dead bodies.
Jimmy dropped to the wooden front porch and began unlacing his work boots. Samuel brought the bucket over and copied him. As they banged their boots on the side of the steps, little piles of dirt tumbled out, landing on mounds that grew by the day. Jimmy’s toes felt good wiggling free inside his dirty socks.
The longer Jimmy sat, the more exhausted he felt, but that was nothing new. Now that there was time to ruminate without flying mud-balls pounding him in the chest, his main concern rattled his thoughts again.
“Any word from Hunter yet?”
Samuel shook his head as he rubbed his left foot. “Not that I’ve heard. Scout left this morning to go look for him like you asked. He’s going to be pissed if Vanessa delivers the baby while he’s gone.”
“Yeah, he told me that, over and over. I’m glad he went, anyways,” Jimmy said. “I just wish Hunter would stick to the schedule.”
“That’s why little brothers are so special. I used to make Greg’s life a living hell.” Samuel smiled. “That’s when life was living hell, so he probably didn’t notice much.”
“Hunter’s crossing the line. Now Scout’s out there wasting time just to bring him back. He’d better start doing what he’s told. I’ll yank him off that bike and make him spend a month cleaning outhouses.”
“Now don’t go all mom and dad on him. If you do he’ll just leave and keep going. Hunter’s a stubborn horse, but I think that runs in the family. Give him time and space, he’ll grow up.”
“He better,” Jimmy said. He stood and stretched until his back felt almost right again. “Let’s change out of these muddy clothes and get out of here. I’m starving. At least we’re not having cabbage tonight.”
Samuel placed his work boots next to Jimmy’s on the porch. “You’re the one who planted a whole field of them. I guess cabbage is better than that eggplant, though.”
“Eggplant’s good for you.”
Samuel laughed. “You are getting old.” The screen door slammed shut as he disappeared inside the house.
Jimmy didn’t need the reminder. He rubbed the suspicious soreness in his neck with absolute certainty that surviving his eighteenth birthday would require a miracle.
Scout raced the hot sun as he rode in the wrong direction from Independents. His older sister, Vanessa, was about to give birth to his little niece or nephew and yet here he was looking for Jimmy’s brother again. Stupid, Hunter! Scout shouldn’t have to go fetch him every time he ran a couple days late. Hunter knew he ought to check in on schedule. When you rode out into the Big Bad, people who cared about you worried. Simple.
Scout, like Hunter, traveled through the countryside, watching for disturbances and rummaging for stuff to take back to Independents. They hardly traveled together anymore, but Scout thought it wouldn’t take long to find him; that is if Hunter followed the route he marked down on the map before he left.
With less than three hours before dark, Scout stopped on top of a hill, turned off his engine, and listened. The wind sang to him and he stretched out his arms to feel it pass around him like a forgotten spirit.
The world was too beautiful to leave behind, but he, like every other teenager in Independents, worried about dying. Still, he tried to reason with himself; he needed faith in something. Otherwise what was the purpose of riding out every day?
Some days his job made him sick. He picked through the dead, collecting their treasured belongings for the kids at Independents or his own collection of trinkets. Growing up in a low-income neighborhood of St. Louis, he owned very few possessions during his first nine years. Now he snagged anything he wanted like an archeologist raiding an Egyptian tomb. He didn’t worry about a curse. He lived one.
His reason to persevere, supplying him a moderate supply of hope, was the life his sister was delivering into this world. Only he wouldn’t be there when it happened. Stupid Hunter! Scout punched his gas tank and regretted the pain instantly.
A few minutes more of silence gave way to the familiar humming of another motorbike zipping up the distance. The hum changed into a buzz, then a high-pitched whine, and finally the motorbike broke into sight.
Scout leapt on the kick-start of his Suzuki and rolled a couple throttle turns before tapping into first and riding the gears up in a hurry, cutting an angle downhill so he slipped ahead of Hunter without scaring him into an accident. Sudden appearances tended to make people nervous in the Big Bad.
Hunter caught sight of him and slowed to a stop. Scout pulled in front and they shut their motorbikes off together as the wind scattered the remaining dust from their trails. Scout noticed the girl behind Hunter, but then Hunter opened his mouth.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
Scout balled his fist, fighting the urge to jump off his bike and punch him in the face. Hunter wore his usual irritating smirk, half-cocked across his lips. His wavy, brown hair caught the breeze and lifted. Scout silently counted to ten, but his mind’s eye kept flashing images of him clobbering away on Hunter’s pretty-boy face. It wasn’t easy, but somehow Scout managed to push the images away.
“They sent me out here to find you. Jimmy’s worried you’re dead or something. I told him we couldn’t be that lucky, so here I am.” Scout slid off his bike and dropped the kickstand. “What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been working. Tell Jimmy to get a hobby. I got everything under control.”
Scout grabbed his water bottle and took a drink before offering it over. Hunter guzzled half the contents before handing it back with another smirk.
“Sure you do,” Scout said. “Who’s that behind you?”
“Her name’s Catherine. Catherine, say hello to the Boy Scout.” Hunter’s eyes sparkled.
The little girl hopped off Hunter’s seat and gathered Scout in an eye-popping embrace.
“Hello, Boy Scout,” she said.
Hunter hooted behind her. Scout pictured clobbering him again.
“It’s just Scout,” he said, trying to pry one hand through her arms before she ruptured one of his kidneys. “My name’s Scout.”
Catherine tilted her head. “Why did Hunter call you Boy Scout?”
The first response that sprang into Scout’s mind was too colorful for his audience. “I took the nickname because I use the Boy Scout Handbook as my personal guide. I dropped the ‘Boy’ just because.” He leveled his gaze at Hunter, who spread his hands in innocence.
As Scout finally broke away from Catherine’s grip, she studied him for a moment. “You look like a David.”
“Hunter’s real funny today,” he said. “What else did you tell her?”
Hunter frowned. “I didn’t tell her anything.” He pointed at the side of his head and twirled, giving Scout the loony sign.
Scout looked at Catherine. “How’d you know my real name?”