Blaze

2. The Swiss Army Knife

Bear with me, please--this whole story is going to read like a first draft.

---

"What the... hell?"

It takes me a moment to realize the voice is mine; after that, I spend another long moment wondering why it sounds so off. So weird. It sounds like... It sounds like Austin's voice: a lot higher-pitched (shrill, in fact), and rusty. The words leak out like my lips are a traitorous well, and ring through the air like it's made of sound. Since there's no reply, I turn to the others, hoping to glean some sort of an answer from their faces. But what I see only disconcerts me further.

Jackie's eyes are wide. She scratches at them, again and again--or she grabs strands of her hair and twists them into terrible knots. She looks like some kind of miss-arranged puzzle, always in motion, her mouth opening then closing.

Tim's mouth makes an O. His formerly-white cotton shirt is now visibly ruffled, not to mention a sick shade of grey-black. He doesn't smooth it out. As I watch, he puts two fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes.

Austin looks like he doesn't know how to look.

---

"Roadkill," I say, flatly. It's a joke--cars don't run anymore, really--but nowhere near funny. I might as well not have spoken. Tim, Jackie, and Austin keep to their former expressions, neither acknowledging nor rebuking me.

There's no doubt in my mind that the brown, fuzzy thing is dead: it's so thin bones creep through its fur in rippling patterns; its legs are like crooked twigs that have already been snapped; antlers sprout from its head, but they're odd and cracked. An undersized buck, starved by the Blaze and boiled by the heat.

If I didn't know any better, I might have thought it was taking a nap.

"Maybe it collapsed from the heat," Austin says, echoing my first idea. He licks his lips.

"Maybe," I agree. "Come on."

"What do you mean, 'Come on?'" Jackie's speaking much more loudly than usual.

"We have to check it out. Maybe--"

"No."

"Jackie--"

"I'm staying here."

"Jackie--"

She looks away and stiffens, like she actually expects me to drag her forward against her will.

I won't.

"She's just being a pussy, Lore." Tim smirks and punches her shoulder. "It's just a damn deer. It's not like--it's not like we killed it." He chuckles. "This isn't scary--this is just stupid."

I don't fail to notice that his hands are trembling, though. He must notice me noticing, because he puffs out his chest and goes on, haughtily, "Well, I'm going to check it out. Auz, you coming?"

Rather than immediately answering, Austin looks at me. And I look at him. His face is a freaky kind of blank, like a polished stone wall with no windows--the kind of wall you can only breach by force.

Or maybe that's my face, reflected in his eyes.

"No," my younger brother answers. "I'll stay with Jackie."