The Night Parade(73)

He assumed a good number of them died in those final weeks before the school year ended.

The faculty was also allowed to work from home, yet David opted to come to campus at least two days out of the week. For one thing, there was little work he could get done with both Kathy and Ellie at home now. Kathy had taken to homeschooling the girl, and while Ellie had always been a good student, Kathy became frequently frustrated in her inability to get the information across to her. But it was more than this distraction that caused him to work in the English department’s office these few days a week; it was Kathy’s overall disposition, which seemed to be worsening with each passing day. Her eyes always looked clouded with dark morbidity; her thoughts always seemed to be elsewhere, occupied by some distant but oncoming doom that, sometimes, David could feel if he sat too close to her or stared at her long enough. If he spent too much time around her, she would inevitably lash out at him. Lately, their arguments had been frequent and fierce.

This change in Kathy terrified him. However, he didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. Kathy’s disposition forced him to remain falsely positive, if only around Ellie. His hours spent at the college allowed for him to release some of his own anxiety without worrying about keeping up a strong front for his family’s sake. Sometimes he had to pull over on the shoulder of the road during the hour-long drive to the college, overcome by a panic attack. Sometimes he sat in the department office’s lounge area with the lights off, staring off into space, terrified to talk to anyone else on campus for fear that their conversations would inevitably turn apocalyptic.

Sometimes Burt Langstrom was there, sometimes he wasn’t. When he was there, he acknowledged David with the same detachment as Kathy. More than once David wondered if this was a sign of the illness itself—a preemptive disassociation prior to the onset of the hallucinations. Indeed, there was a fog about Burt that spoke to his mind being elsewhere. Wandering was the word that immediately came to David when he looked at Burt like this. His mind is wandering. But for obvious reasons, he didn’t like to think about it in those terms.

On this particular afternoon, David arrived in the lounge to find Burt propped up on the ratty sofa, eyes glued to the television on the counter. On most channels, it was nothing but news reports now. Today, the news report was about some small island in the Pacific whose entire population had died. The newscaster kept using the term extinct in all its forms, which made David think of the dodo bird. And then birds in general.

“I didn’t know you were here today,” David said, pausing in the doorway of the lounge.

Burt did not answer.

“You look like a zombie. You shouldn’t be watching this madness.” He reached out to turn the TV off, but Burt barked at him. It was just that—a nonverbal bark, just like an animal might make. David froze. When he looked at his friend, he saw that Burt’s eyes were bleary with tears.

David went to the fridge, stuffed his lunch bag inside, then stood there breathing heavily with his hands on his hips. He considered not coming to the college anymore, just like the students, for the sheer purpose of keeping away from Burt Langstrom. The man was setting him on edge. He no longer liked being around him. No, it was worse than that: He no longer felt comfortable around Burt.

“I’m no mathematician,” Burt spoke up suddenly, “but they say there’s a baby born somewhere in the world every eight seconds. The rate of infection from Wanderer’s Folly has just surpassed that. Like I said, I’m no mathematician, but I can figure out what that means.”

“I think you’re driving yourself mad,” David said.

“Conspiracies abound, David.” Burt turned and faced him. He’d lost weight so that his cheeks hung from him like the jowls of a hound dog. His eyes were rheumy as a hound dog’s, too. David didn’t like the pallor of his skin. “You should read the Nadsat Report,” Burt said.

“What’s that?”

“Online newspaper. Government cover-ups and the like. They’ve been posting some thought-provoking articles. They’ve got some insight, boy. Think the government might be responsible for this whole thing.”

“The government,” David said.

“They’ve been following the birds’ disappearances, too. Early on. Like, before the mainstream media. Suspected something was up from the very beginning. You know what they’re talking about now?”

“What’s that?”

“The quarantines. Say some are legit but others are a ruse. They think people are being taken away against their will and studied in secret hospitals.”

David said nothing.

“Government thinks maybe some people out there might be immune. If you’re in a quarantined zone, where pretty much the entire population has got the Folly, and you don’t, well, maybe that’s something important. What do you think about that?”

“I just don’t know, Burt.” He felt suddenly exhausted. These conversations made him nervous.

“The Nadsat Report,” Burt said, still staring at the TV.

“You been eating, Burt?”

“Sure. Say, how’s the family, David?”

“They’re okay.”

“You’re not still sending that daughter of yours to school, are you?”

“Kathy’s been homeschooling her.”

“Sure, sure.” Burt nodded. His wet eyes danced around the room. “Laura’s been doing the same for our girls. Don’t let their friends come over anymore, either. Moon-Bird complained on that score, but I wasn’t budging.” Burt turned a grim smile toward him. David imagined he could see the man’s skull through the thin, transparent fabric of his flesh. “Moon-Bird’s what we call our youngest. A nickname. It comes from a book of poems she likes.”