Then he puked. Splatter all over the gravel. I had my rifle wrapped in a towel in case we needed it. I wanted to grab it and—Pop!—be done, but Holly wanted to keep things “clean.”
Clean. What a joke. Kid was a mess, puke running all down his shirt. I walked up to Cole and told him, “This fucker is here to watch you die.”
I would’ve kicked him in the ribs if he weren’t suffering plenty already.
“Shut up, Gray,” Logan said. “Cole doesn’t know.”
“He doesn’t know?” I said. “What’s the point of making him OD if he doesn’t know?”
Cole was on his hands and knees by that point, hacking into a puddle. It was rippling in the headlights. Kinda pretty. Still sitting on his hood, Logan craned his neck, tried to get a look into my Jeep, probably checking to see what I forgot to bring. Typical, and wrong. I brought everything I was supposed to. I’m not the forgetful one in this bunch.
“The point is to end things,” Logan said, then he stared at me. “Not to be cruel.”
“Really? ’Cause if that were the case, then I would’ve shot him,” I said, and I crouched down and brought my mouth close to Cole’s ear. “The point is to get the last word. That’s right. We’re killing you, Cole.”
“Come on, Gray!” Logan bitched.
I ignored him, kept my eyes on the dirtbag in the mud puddle. “’Cause you are a sick, sick fuck, Mr. Weston,” I said. “And you will never threaten anyone again. Hear me? We are smarter and braver than you ever were or could ever be.”
Cole licked his lips and swallowed, panted, and looked up at me. Boy was pissed. So scared too. But he didn’t say a thing, probably couldn’t. Didn’t have control of his body by then. His arms gave up—Splash!—and he fell facedown in the water. That’s when he went into a spasm.
Holly must’ve seen it all through the cracks between her fingers, because she turned off the headlights and the blackness got thicker. I could hear splashing and this low sound coming from inside of Cole. Honestly, hearing the water and that hiss and moan of his body was grosser than watching him die. I’ve killed my share of deer, but none of them made sounds that were as animal as what came out of that kid.
Remember: A human is an animal.
I used to think that was bullshit, that a human is a human, nothing else. I’ve wised up. I know now that a human is the most animal of animals. Think of our weird skin, hair, and nails. Our balls on the outside. Plus, humans have this need to kill anything that gets in our way. Doesn’t matter where we’re from. Asia. Africa. Europe. Vermont. We’re all killers. Even if the act of killing sickens most of us, we’ll still do it.
Also the dying. When we die, we’re disgusting beasts.
Cole thrashed in the puddle and I yelled, “We did this to you! Meeka too! Especially Meeka! You said you wanted to take us all out! We beat you to it, you fucker!”
Cole lifted his head from the water and wheezed out, “I never said that.” Those might have been his dying words. If he had other ones, I didn’t hear them. He whispered them to the water, or to the cold air as he flipped over and slipped away.
That was the end. Things got still and quiet and even darker. Clouds rolled in and blocked out the sliver of moon and made the night as black as I ever remember it being. I think it spooked Holly, and she flicked on the headlights again. We all got a good look at Cole on his back, half in the puddle, not moving.
I stepped toward him and Holly got out of the car, so the music got out too. This depressing song filled the air, some chick wailing about her shitty life. Logan hadn’t moved from the hood and didn’t move until Holly put a hand on his back. That’s when he slid down and they joined me next to my Jeep.
Holly took a deep breath, got all focused, and asked, “You’ve got the bungees? The tarp?”
“I checked and it’s all in the back,” Logan told her, almost like it pissed him off that I was doing things right.
“Should we call Meeka and let her know it’s over?” I asked.
Holly’s eyes went so big, I could see the whites on all sides, and she said, “No calls! No phones at all except the old ones. How many times do we have to say this? You don’t have yours on you, do you?”
“Of course not,” I told the nervous wreck. “I’m not stupid. Slipped my mind for a second. That’s all.”
Logan had already pulled the tarp from my Jeep and was shaking it out. Looked like he was getting ready to pitch a tent.
“Coveralls first,” Holly told him, and she fished them from the back. I know she saw the rifle. Pissed her off too, I’m sure. Who cares? That wasn’t important. Important thing was that Cole was dead. I put my hand in front of his mouth and nose, careful not to touch any puke. Cold. Still.
“No breath. Worked like you said it would.”
That meant it was time to move, be done with it. We each ducked behind my Jeep, changed into the coveralls, and tossed our clothes in a trash bag and then in Logan’s trunk. Then we rolled Cole up in the tarp and wrapped the bungees around it, tight as we possibly could so we could fit him in the roof box we’d bought with cash at a yard sale in New Hampshire. Logan put in 110 percent, made sure everything was extra tight, and I was going to make a joke about how he must’ve learned his wrapping skills when he worked at that burrito place, but even I wasn’t messed up enough to make jokes.
What I was . . .
No, what I am, is a hero.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3
FIVE DAYS AFTER
LOGAN
THESE ARE THE THINGS I worry about.
1. The body: It’s buried, and when we made the hole deeper, we found old bits of metal and tools from someone who probably farmed the land at least a hundred years ago. That was only halfway down. So I’m not worried that someone will dig it up by accident. And that Thule car top carrier is hard black plastic. It’s never decomposing. So I’m not worried the bones will find their way to the surface. I still think we should’ve cremated him in the firebox, though. It was Meeka’s final call, with the logic that if we do get caught, then none of us will be able to make up stories about what happened. There will be physical, biological evidence. Not to mention the phones.
2. The phones: We each had old phones—two Galaxys, two iPhones—collecting dust. Basically outdated backups that we never used. We charged them up and erased all the content. As soon as we arrived at Meeka’s with the body, we gathered in the barn and laid the phones in a circle on a crate. Then we recorded our confession, each of us huddled over the crate, looking down. When we were finished, we put them in a dry bag from Grayson’s kayak. Then later I slipped them in the car top carrier and we buried them with Cole so that if anyone does ever find the body, we’re all implicated. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I’m not so sure.