“You know, we’ve just been praying for their families, day and night.”
They looked up at the sound of the young, country voice. A square-faced boy with a cross necklace and LION PRIDE sweatshirt—the de facto spokesperson for the various local youth groups—was on television. The text at the bottom of the screen read: CALEB GREELEY, FRIEND OF THE VICTIMS.
The bumper cut to a blandly handsome man in a navy-blue suit. “Osborne reacts to the slayings and to a killer still at large. Details at six.” Creston Howard enunciated with the practiced air of a professional, managing to sound both solemn and upbeat.
The basketball game resumed. Grandma Young turned to Ollie. “That was Pastor Greeley’s boy, wasn’t it?”
Ollie nodded. “He works with me at the grocery store.”
It was a familiar conversation, Ollie and her grandmother swapping information about mutual acquaintances. Makani hadn’t recognized many of the names until now. “Oh. Greeley,” she said. “Caleb is related to the owner?”
“Caleb is the grandson of the original Mr. Greeley,” Ollie explained. “His uncle runs Greeley’s Foods now.”
“And what does Caleb do there?” Grandma Young asked.
“Weekend supervisor.”
Makani couldn’t hear it in his tone, but she wondered if Ollie was bitter that Caleb was a supervisor when Ollie was the one who worked more hours. If it were her, she’d be bitter. “Caleb wasn’t actually a friend of the victims, was he?”
Ollie smirked. “As friendly as I was.”
Makani nudged her grandmother. “See? You have to turn off the news. It’s not even telling you the truth.”
“You grieve in your way,” Grandma Young said, “and I’ll grieve in mine.”
Despite the outside world, their living room was at ease. Makani wondered why discussing a tragedy—consuming every single story about it—was often comforting. Was it because tragedies manifested a sense of community? Here we are, all going through this terrible thing together. Or were tragedies addictive, and the small pleasures that came from them the signal of a deeper problem?
Ollie handed over a puzzle piece to Grandma Young. She exclaimed with delight and snapped it into place. They high-fived.
No, Makani decided. It was impossible that this boy who was so kind to her grandmother could ever be a murderer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There was a machete wedged behind the empty watercooler. He couldn’t believe that someone had hidden it here, of all places. He yanked out the large plastic bottle and threw it at the woman, gaining the precious seconds necessary to reach back and fumble for the weapon. The bottle hit her head with a satisfying thonk. As she staggered, his hand clasped around the wooden handle. The machete came loose with just enough time to thrust it forward between her ribs. She fell against the copy machine. Planting his boot on her chest, he tugged out the blade before lifting it over his head and swinging it back down through her neck in a single, swift motion. Her head splattered against the cubicle and then dropped into a recycle bin. He held out the machete to admire it.
Yes. This will do nicely.
But to keep it, he had to discard one of his other weapons, so he placed the tire iron behind the watercooler for someone else to find. That made him smile.
Rodrigo Morales paused the game and tossed aside the controller. He took off his headphones. Rubbed his eyes. It was midnight. His parents were carousing in Vegas for their silver wedding anniversary, and he wasn’t about to let a single minute of this glorious weekend go to waste. He’d spent Friday night and all today fighting the zombies in Battleground Apocalypse with only one short nap, and he’d fight them all Sunday, too.
He was the youngest of four children and the only son. His last sister had moved out in mid-August, and now with his parents out of town, this was the first time in his entire life that he’d ever been truly alone. He relished it.
Rodrigo stood, and his spine cracked from bottom to top. He rolled his neck in a methodical circle. Stretched his arms toward the ceiling. Wake up, he ordered himself.
He slumped out of the living room and into the kitchen for an energy drink. It was a new brand—JACKD, in aggressive all caps—and it came in a lurid green can. Despite the marketing campaign’s flagrant promises, it wasn’t better than any of the others. He’d been building up his tolerance for years. He chugged a full can. Half a sausage pizza had congealed on the stovetop from earlier, so he finished it off while checking his phone.
Kevin still uses Ubuntu lol
It was a text from David. He was binging classic anime with their other friends at Kevin’s house. Anime sucked, and Rodrigo was glad to be missing it. Except, he didn’t totally think it sucked. He liked Attack on Titan when they forced him to watch it last year, but he couldn’t help it. Something inside him made him pretend that he didn’t.
I wouldn’t even put that distro on mi abuela’s computer, Rodrigo replied.
David lol’d again. Their friends were a joke when it came to operating systems. Not that David was much better. He tried to keep up with Rodrigo, but nobody around here could. In elementary school, Rodrigo had jailbroken iPhones and Kindles for extra cash. Now he had eight different PAYware games on all the app stores. His latest—a dumb game about popping rainbow bubbles—was raking it in.
Binge so lame you need me to keep you entertained? Rodrigo asked.
Nah we’re watching cowboy bebop. It’s cool.
Rodrigo had vaguely heard of it, but he researched its plot as he moved into the bathroom to take a piss. It was some space cowboy bullshit. He didn’t bother replying. He checked his favorite message board, but the usual torch-and-pitchfork crowd were still up in arms over this new company of video game developers that was run entirely by women. His insides shrank with a familiar shame as he quickly left the page. Not that long ago, he’d been one of them.
He cringed as he remembered what he’d said to Makani Young. I’ll give you a ride home, sweetheart. If his sisters had heard it, they would have kicked him in the cojones. But the line had just slipped out. A knee-jerk, base-level wisecrack. He wasn’t that guy anymore. He still didn’t understand how he’d ever been that guy.
He walked back into the living room and found that his gaming rocker was facing the wrong direction. Strange. He didn’t remember tripping over it.
Rodrigo turned it around, plopped down, and put on his headphones. The game’s death-metal pause music blasted in his ears. Had Makani told Alex what he’d said? Probably, which sucked. Alex was smart and sexy and kind of mean, but mean in the same way he was. And sometimes it seemed like she might like him back.