I drop the coat in my hand and walk over to the children’s section. Andrew has thrown several coats on top of a rack.
“Most of these aren’t rat infested. Think they’ll fit the kids?”
“If not, they’ll grow into them.” And maybe one or two that don’t fit can be used to patch the larger ones. Then something clicks. “Oh. Wait here.”
I run up to the front of the store—a rat skittering away from me makes me jump—but there’s only leaves and more mess. This time it’s shredded bags of impulse-buy candy and snacks from near the registers.
I point my flashlight down the aisles as I walk until I spot an empty dark green cart. I grab it and pull it farther down the aisle to the baseball equipment section. There are plenty of gloves left on the floor, ripped from their boxes. As my light flashes across it, more rodents scurry away. But there’s a metal baseball bat on the floor. I take it and throw it in the cart.
On my way back to Andrew, I stop at the hunting section. There’s a plastic deer on the ground that’s been beaten to bits, its head halfway across the cordoned-off area and riddled with bullet holes and neon-feathered arrows.
“Jamie! What are you doing?”
“Just a sec!” I jump over the counter and almost land on a body. Itry to right myself so I don’t step on them, tumbling against the empty racks where the guns usually would be. The body is face down and wearing a backpack.
“You okay?” Andrew’s voice calls out.
“Yeah. I just tripped.”
“Please stop being so clumsy. We can’t both be injured. The Nomads will put us out to pasture.”
I have no idea why I lied to him. It’s not like it’s strange to find a dead body these days. But maybe it’s because of how this person is dressed. As though he was on the road, long after the superflu burned out. And maybe because he still smells. Sweet and rotten like the basement neo-Nazi.
I slip his backpack off, but it’s already light and unzipped. When I place it on the counter and look inside, there’s no food or bullets, only clothes. And not even winter clothes.
I turn the body over and see the four bullet holes in his chest. His hands are empty, but I check his pockets. There’s lint and a small pocketknife in one, and only a folded-up piece of paper in the other. I put the pocketknife on the counter. There’s ink on both sides of the paper, but it bleeds out around the edges as if it’s been stamped.
My blood runs cold.
On the back of the paper is a small square image that looks carved from a makeshift rubber stamp. It’s a map that shows a convergence of highways and roads. In the center of the map is a black ink spot.
Above the spot are the wordsFORT CAROLINE.
Below the map is another stamp, but this one has ugly carved letters with instructions on how to reach Fort Caroline by any of themajor highways. There’s more ink on the back of the page.
I flip it over to find I’m wrong—this is thefrontpage. This is what people would see first if these pieces of paper were plastered around a certain area.
The stamped letters at the top of the paper sayWANTED.
Below that, someone has lined up several stamps carved with sentences that have no punctuation. Each stamp cants at different directions and the margins aren’t lined up.
Fort Caroline is on the hunt for an escaped fugitive who goes by the name of Jamison
He is 17 years old 6 foot 3 inches a large build light-brown hair blue eyes
Jamison is wanted for the assassination of selectmans assistant Harvey Rosewood
He is armed and should be considered extremely dangerous
Fort Caroline will reward anyone with information that leads to capture
Or if Jamison is brought to us we will pay handsomely with food shelter and more
Then, at the bottom, in the same size font as theWANTEDabove it is the wordALIVE.
Shit. They madewantedposters for me.
“Jamie!”
