Free The Less-Dead by April Lurie Page B

choice. We take seats on the ground opposite Doomsday. Immediately Quindlan’s mangy dog jumps into Carson’s lap and starts licking his face. “Hey, what do you know?” Quindlan says. “Hercules likes you.”
    “Yeah, lucky me,” Carson says.
    Doomsday continues reading from
Leaves of Grass
.
    “Tomb-leaves, body-leaves,
growing up above me, above death …”
    I have to admit, the guy’s got perfect diction, a lilting cadence, and just the right amount of emotion. If you closed your eyes and breathed through your mouth to avoid the occasional whiff of rank air, you might think you were in a college classroom.
    When Doomsday is finished, he sighs deeply and closes the book. He holds out a hand to me, and this time I make sure I don’t hesitate. We shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Noah. Your father is a great man. A modern-day John theBaptist. A true hero.” He tightens his grip and looks into my eyes. “We need to talk. I’d love to hear your opinion on end-time prophecy.”
    “Well, actually, I don’t know anything about that.” I wiggle my hand free and turn to Quindlan. “You said Will was okay. We really need to see him. Please, can you tell us where he is now?”
    Doomsday peers at me. “Why,
exactly
, do you want to see Will?”
    “Because we’re friends. He hasn’t been at school, and with everything that’s going on, you know, with the two foster kids who were murdered, we’re worried.”
    Under his breath, Doomsday mutters to Quindlan, “Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.”
    Quindlan pats his knee. “Calm down, Dooms.”
    Doomsday exhales loudly, waves Quindlan away, and goes back to his book. He mumbles, “‘Resist the devil and he will flee from you.’”
    “Come on, boys, follow me,” Quindlan says. He motions for me and Carson to get up. We do. As he leads us to the other side of the church, Hercules trails after Carson, whimpering.
    “Okay, I’m going to draw you a map that will take you to Will,” Quindlan says. “Here, turn around, Noah.” He plucks a pen and paper from his pocket. I lean over, and he uses my back for a hard surface. He begins to draw.
    Meanwhile Carson stoops down and pets Hercules. He peers at Doomsday, who’s still hunched over his book in the distance. “Quindlan?” Carson says. “Were you joking before, about Doomsday being a professor?”
    Quindlan stops drawing. “That’s no joke. Doomsday taught at UT for almost twenty years.”
    “So what happened?” Carson says.
    “Well, after a while the past finally caught up with him. When he was a student here, his fiancée was killed by the UT sniper.”
    I turn around. “Oh my God, you’re kidding.”
    “Sadly, no.” Quindlan points to the tower where the sniper, Charles Whitman, shot several students back in the late sixties. Carson and I both know the story. Just about everyone in Austin does. “Her name was Mary. She died right here on Guadalupe. It’s almost like Doomsday’s been keeping vigil.”
    “That’s heavy,” Carson says.
    “Yeah, most people think Doomsday’s just some crazy old man. The truth is, most of us around here have a story to tell.”
    “What about you?” Carson says. “What’s your story?”
    “Me? Oh, nothing, really. Just down on my luck. Lost my job a few years back and things kind of spiraled downward fast. Came to Austin from up north about six months ago and met Doomsday and Will. I decided to stay put for a while. They’re like my family now. Anyway, let me finish this map.”
    “Sure.” I turn around. When Quindlan is done, he hands me the paper. I take a look. It’s a map of the Barton Creek Greenbelt.
    “Will’s at the greenbelt?”
    “Yep. Camping out. It’s a good place to be lost.”
    The sketch is meticulous. Every gate and milestone is marked. A small X shows where Will has set up camp.
    “I just didn’t expect that,” I say. “Anyway, thank you.”
    “Noah, before you leave, I need to talk with you.” Quindlan