Bad Glass Read Online Free Page A

shouldn’t be there, people whose feet don’t move when they walk …” He shrugged. “You just don’t see it. You don’t think about it, and you try not to remember.”
    “And that’s true? All of that stuff?”
    He shrugged.
    “But why?” I asked. “How? What caused it?”
    He gave me an amused look, then once again started down the street. He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture, flicking his wrist like he was tossing something away. “Everyone’s got their theories: chemicals in the air, contagious brain cancer, some type of terrorist attack, mutated animals, fucking
aliens
and
demons
and the dead spilling out of heaven and hell … Frankly, it’s all just religion to me. Unknowable. Meaningless.” He crossed himself and rolled his eyes in disdain. But his sarcasm fell flat; the gesture was just a bit too fluid, too practiced. “And if you came here looking for reasons, you’re just wasting your time.”
    He picked up the pace, and I followed, staying a step behind.
    After another block, he once again pointed to our left. “The government buildings are just over there, on Sprague. The military’s hunkered down in the courthouse. They’ve got armed guards and everything, but if you leave them alone, they won’t bother you too much. Same goes for the patrols and roving vehicles. The military here, they’re too busy to do much actual policing.”
    I looked over but couldn’t see anything from this side of the street. Just empty buildings and dark windows.
    “What’d you bring, anyway?” Wendell asked, nodding toward my duffel bag. “What’ve you got stashed away?”
    “What?”
    “Liquor? Drugs? Anything
useful
?”
    “Just clothing and supplies,” I said, bouncing the backpack on my shoulder. “And photography gear.”
    “Shit. What a waste.” He shook his head. “I’d have given youa whole shopping list to smuggle in. Some vodka. A fucking
Big Mac
. People could use some relief right about now.”
    “How many?” I asked. “I mean, how many people are here? In the city?”
    He just shrugged and pointed me on. As we continued south on Monroe, I became aware of people watching us. At first it was just the uncomfortable sensation of eyes crawling across my flesh, then I started to see their faces—slight, pale moons peering out from the abandoned buildings on either side. Most of the windows had been broken out and covered over, replaced with haphazardly laid boards and sheets of plywood. Eyes peered from the occasional gap, and voices echoed out. A frantic peal of laughter emanated from the heart of a building on my right, and I turned to find an imposing man standing in a doorway. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and his huge body took up the entire entrance. When my gaze lingered, the man frowned and wagged his finger back and forth, shaking his head.
    I recognized the gesture:
Nothing to see here. Move along
.
    “This is Homestead territory,” Wendell said, his voice dropping into a whisper. “Bit of a commune, really, put together by a man named Terry.” He shook his head at the name, a sad expression on his face. “People joining together. Power through numbers and all of that happy shit. They just like to fuck with people, act like they know best—bunch of self-righteous bastards, if you ask me. You probably don’t want to do anything too shady around here, though, or you’ll get your face beat in. For real.”
    I nodded, finally tearing my eyes away from the tough guy at the door.
    “I would have probably joined up myself, if not for all those fucking rules,” Wendell said. “Plus, they really,
really
hate me.”
    We turned left on Second Avenue and headed east. Slivers of glass glittered everywhere, crunching beneath our feet as we proceeded down the middle of the street. After a couple of blocks, I noticed a group of people crowded around a shattered storefront. It was on the ground floor of an old office building. Before theevacuation, it might