The Empty Ones by Robert Brockway Read Free Book Online Page B

help me up. He high-fived me.
    Bastard.
    I got to my feet. Behind us, the double-decker bus had mostly merged with a smear of blue plastic that I could only guess had once been the car Randall used to ram it.
    â€œHow the hell did you survive that?” I asked him.
    â€œI just bailed before it hit,” he said, and showed me a pair of scraped and bloody elbows. “Always wanted to do that. I uh … I wouldn’t advise it.”
    Meryll laughed, that lilting girlish laugh that sounds too good to be genuine.
    â€œHi,” Randall said to her, after being reminded of her existence. “Randall.”
    â€œI’m Meryll—oh, but I just said that! How funny.” She laughed again.
    God damn it, Randall, I heroically pancake a girl in a bus crash and you still stroll in to snake her from me.
    â€œI like your shirt,” Meryll said. Suddenly all bashful and girlish and awkward.
    â€œThanks,” Randall said. “I got it off a dead guy.”
    She laughed that show-laugh.
    Why do chicks always find his accuracy and honesty so hilarious? I helped him yank that damn thing off the corpse myself. He hasn’t even washed it yet.
    â€œHey,” I said, sick of the show, “aren’t we running for our lives right now? ’Cause it looks like the fuckin’ eighth-grade prom out here.”
    Randall shrugged and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Meryll didn’t say anything, but the death glare she fixed me with said a bunch of nasty stuff about my mom.
    â€œI have no idea where we are,” Randall finally admitted.
    â€œI think just ‘away’ is good enough for now,” I said.
    â€œI’ve got a place,” Meryll said. “It’s safe. Well, safe as you can get these days, anyway. We just have to get to the Underground. Come on.”
    She set off down a mostly submerged sidewalk, each stomp of her big burly boots sending up watery haloes. Randall smelled girl-meat, so he happily went jogging right after it. I took some time to sulk about how little recognition I was getting for saving the day and nearly getting myself killed in the process. Well, myself and others, I guess. I nursed my wounded pride for a solid five seconds before it got boring, then limped along in the lovebirds’ wake.
    â€œâ€”ever met somebody you forget while you’re still looking at ’em? Sure, sometimes those are just dreary numbskulls talking about the weather, but sometimes they’re what we call…”
    I’d apparently caught up right as Randall was launching into Monster 101.
    â€œFaceless. Yeah, we got those here too.”
    â€œShit,” Randall blinked. “That is a way better name. We call ’em Unnoticeables. You know about them?”
    â€œYou could say that,” Meryll said.
    She was walking a bit too close to Randall for him being a total stranger. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was a cultural thing, or maybe she wanted to twirl about on his dick like a helicopter.
    The bastard.
    â€œWell, that’s not the end of it; there’s these big black things—”
    â€œThe Sludge,” Meryll finished, laughing. “What do you call them, Tar Babies?”
    â€œN-no…” Randall protested. But he didn’t tell her what we do call them. Probably too embarrassed. So I helped him out.
    â€œWe call ’em tar men,” I said, and Meryll snickered again. “Pretty sure it was Randall came up with that name.”
    He glared at me; she avoided eye contact altogether. Stared down at the sloshing urban sea beneath our feet.
    â€œI, uh…” Randall was defused, all hands-in-pockets awkward now. “You know about the rest too?”
    Meryll nodded. “There’s the Husks, the ones that look like people with normal faces and voices and all that, but they got no life in their eyes. And the Flares.”
    â€œThe Flares?” I butted in. “That’s new. I