Read Online Wormwood by Michael James McFarland - Free Book Online

on his sweatshirt put a gun to its forehead and pulled the trigger did the dreams stop, and that was just about all Mike wanted to know.  In fact, he hadn’t turned on his set since.
    “You’re slipping a little down there,” Keith said, murmuring around the nails in his mouth, the hammer poised over his right shoulder, ready to drive.
    “Sorry,” Mike said, readjusting his end of the board.  “Woolgathering.”
    The next half minute or so was filled with the sound of the hammer doing its work, a racket that neither of them felt like talking around, but when it stopped Keith took the nails out of his mouth and asked Mike if he was having any bad dreams about the “incident” at 7-Eleven.
    “Nothing that precise,” Mike answered, testing the grip of the nails on the siding.  “The dreams I’ve been having the past few nights are more… generalized.  Like finding myself in some strange, dark house and wondering where I am?  Where the people are who live there?”  He dusted his palms and looked at Keith.  “How about you?”
    “I keep finding myself back at those gas pumps with a gun pointed at my face, waiting for Rudy to call out those Stay Free maxi-pads.”  Keith shook his head.  “Sometimes he never does.  Then last night it was you and him holding the guns on me.”
    Mike regarded his young neighbor for a long moment.  “You did the right thing, you know.  They were going to kill us.”
    “I don’t doubt that,” Keith nodded.  “It’s just that it… it’s hard to get it out of my mind.  Right and wrong have nothing to do with it; I just never had to shoot anyone before.”  He looked down at the nails in his hand then looked back at Mike.  “You know?”
    Mike nodded.
    “I guess it’s something I’ll have to work out on my own.”
    “Sure,” Mike agreed.  “If it’s any consolation, I think I’d be more worried if you weren’t having those dreams.  It shows you’ve got a conscience.”
    Keith flashed a brief smile, looking somewhat relieved.
    “To tell you the truth though,” Mike went on, “I don’t think any of us have any right to be looking forward to our dreams.  Not for some time to come yet.”  His eyes wandered again to the house across the street.  “Maybe Don had the right idea there… getting out while he could.”
    Keith glanced over at the porch light.  “Naomi had an idea about that,” he said.
    Mike turned his head.  “Oh yeah?”
    “Yeah.  She had this crazy notion that they never really left.”

 
    4
     
    Naomi Sturling emptied the shopping bag of all the first aid supplies and medications they’d gathered and spread them out on the Dawley’s dining room table, ready to draw up (as Pam suggested) an inventory of what they had.
    “Be sure and check the expiration dates as you go,” Pam instructed.  “Anything over four or five years old set aside for me to check.  A lot of them are going to have lost their potency or just plain gone bad.  It can happen a lot faster if people store their medications in the bathroom cabinet then fill the room up with steam every day from their shower.  One year is the standard expiration date for prescription drugs, but if they’re properly stored they can last quite a bit longer.  Pain pills and antibiotics we’re not going to have the luxury of being picky about, but there’s no point holding onto a five-year-old bottle of Viagra.”
    “Nope,” Naomi agreed.  “No point at all.”
    The two women looked at one another across the cluttered expanse of the table then started to giggle.  The giggles quickly turned to gales of helpless laughter.
    Aimee Cheng walked out of the kitchen trailing the good smells of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, which she and Helen Iverson were fixing for twelve.  “What’s funny?” she asked, a puzzled smile sketched on her face.
    “Pam and I were just talking about dysfunctional bottles of Viagra,” Naomi answered, snorting laughter out her