Jeff Hirsch - The Eleventh Plague

“Eat,” he said. “Eat, my new and tiny little friend.”

“What do you care if I eat or not?”

Derrick’s grin froze.

“Just being friendly, man, that’s all. You want it or not?”

I was about to turn and run back up the stairs into the Greens’ house, but my hands moved before the rest of me could. Before I knew it, I had snatched the plate from him and dug my fingers into the pile of meat. It was rich and gamey and seeped into every part of my body.

I gulped it down, and when it was gone, I scooped up the potatoes and devoured those too, sucking the remains from my fingers. When I was done, I had to gasp for air. Jackson and the others stood there, jaws wide.

“Uh… you want us to go kill you something else?” Martin asked. “I think we have a horse that’s lame.”

Embarrassed, I pushed the plate at Derrick and grabbed the rifle out of the wagon. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

“Hey, it’s no problem, man. I’d do anything for the guy who shot Will Henry.”

I turned, glaring at Jackson. “They know about that?” Jackson flinched. “I—”

“Relax,” Derrick said. “We just wish your aim had been a little better.”

“Hey, you coming to school with us tomorrow?” Martin asked. I looked at him, blank faced, sure I hadn’t heard him correctly. “School. You know. Teachers. Books.” Derrick whacked Martin in the stomach. “Girls in tight sweaters.”

“You all go to school?”

“Sure! How else are we going to get into a good college?”

The three of them laughed, but I didn’t get it. The way they talked, like they were tossing a ball around in a game of keep-away, was confusing.

“So you wanna come?” Jackson asked.

I looked over my shoulder at Dad’s window and shivered at the thought of him lying in that tomblike quiet. What if he woke up and I wasn’t there? I shouldered the rifle and backed away from the three of them without a word.

Derrick called after me. “Okay! Take it easy. Come back anytime!” Jackson pushed Derrick hard on the shoulder, knocking him off balance.

“What? I was being nice!”

“You were being a spaz.”

I left them bickering, getting halfway across the road, when Marcus spoke up from behind me.

“Everyone? Everyone, can I have your attention please?”

Marcus was standing by the fire with Violet at his side, waving everyone closer together. Caleb Henry loomed in the background.

“Just for a second. Thanks, everybody. Um. I just wanted to say it’s great that we could all be here like this tonight. It’s Thanksgiving today, uh, we think, and I’m sure most of us remember that from back when we were kids. Every year we’d gather the whole family and spend the day together, eating and watching football and arguing.”

“Was this back on the yacht, Green?” someone called, and a laugh rose up from the group.

Marcus chuckled. “Well, wherever it was, I don’t remember ever feeling closer to my family than I did right then. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to all of you. We’ve done great work in the past year, haven’t we?”

There was a general murmur of agreement from the assembled, a scattering of applause.

“New wells were dug, the crops came in a bit better than expected, and everybody’s house is ready for the winter. But most of all, another summer has gone by and we’re all still here, together and safe. We’re lucky. Damn lucky, I think.”

Just then Caleb edged Marcus out of the way and came forward. His face looked even rougher in the firelight, creased like an old map. As soon as he stepped up, everyone went quiet. Caleb looked from person to person grimly, then began a prayer. Everyone lowered their heads as he spoke. His voice was dark and sharp.

“Lord, after the flood, many of us believed it would be the fire next time. All of us here saw that fire, and thanks to your grace we were among the few who found their way through it. As we struggle to please you, we are beset on all sides by those that would tear down all that we have built.”

As Caleb spoke, his blue eyes searched the crowd. I wondered if he was looking for me.

“Today we give thanks and reaffirm that the price of your gift is vigilance and obedience to your will. Amen.”

The crowd murmured “Amen” and then someone at the back of the group began singing a song that I didn’t recognize at first. “Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light…”

Even Jackson and his friends joined in. Some of the adults laid their hands over their hearts. I remembered it then from the few times Grandpa had sung it when he was drunk. The American national anthem. What were they singing that for?

“What so proudly we hail—”

“Leave me alone!” someone shouted.

The singing stopped and the group turned as one body to a mass of shadows that was swirling at the edge of the park. “Oh no,” Jackson said from behind me.

Derrick barked with laughter. “Here comes the show, ladies and gentlemen!”

As the group turned more into the light, I could make out a kid standing in the center of a circulating mob of five or six others, all of whom were jutting in and out at him like crows after a scattering of seed. The kid in the center was thrashing hard and had already put two kids on the ground, one clutching his knee to his chest, the other cradling his jaw. A third boy got up his courage and went in, only to get a kick between his legs that put him down howling. “Nice one!” Derrick shouted.

“Stop it!” Marcus hollered as he rushed toward the scene. “Stop this right now! Jennifer!”

Jennifer?

Marcus grabbed the arm of the kid in the middle to pull him out of the melee. To my surprise, it wasn’t a boy at all, but a black-haired girl of about sixteen, dressed in dirty jeans and a loose blue-and-red flannel shirt. As she stumbled closer to the firelight, her tan skin glowed like bronze. Marcus pulled her back just as she was going after one of the boys who was stupid enough to have gotten up off the ground.

“What have I told you?” Marcus yelled as he pulled her away. “What have I told you about fighting?”

The girl didn’t argue with him, and instead took the time to kick one of the remaining boys firmly in the calf.

The group of adults broke up as Marcus came charging through with her in tow. Some of them went to pull their wounded sons off the ground and others gathered in a tight knot around Caleb Henry, sternly watching the proceedings and whispering among themselves.

As Marcus and the girl came closer, I got a better look at her. She had broad shoulders for a girl, inky black hair, and dark, almond-shaped eyes.

Chinese, I thought, gripping the stock of Grandpa’s rifle. They were all supposed to be west of the Rockies. What is she doing here? With them?

“You could have walked away,” Marcus said. “And let them call me a murderer and a spy? Let them call me a Chink?”

“They’re just words.”

“They’re just words to you!” she screamed, yanking her arm out of Marcus’s grasp and stalking away. “I didn’t start any damn war!” I tensed up as she came toward me.

“Jenny!” Marcus called. “We’ll say something. I’ll talk to their parents!”

“Forget it. Just forget it!” Jenny stomped toward the wagon, her face screwed up in rage.

“Hey, Jenny, how’s it goin’?”

“Shut up, Derrick!” she said, then whipped her head my way. “And what the hell are you looking at?!” she snapped as she shot past me.

Jenny tore across the park and into the Greens’ house and returned several moments later with a big bag slung over her shoulder.

“Jenny!” Marcus barked. “Don’t you just walk away! Jennifer Marie Green!”