by Sara Clancy
Nicole scrunched her nose up and mumbled, “Gross.”
“Yeah,” he said with a near hysterical chuckle. “It was.”
“Even if that’s true,” Dorothy said, patiently ignoring him when he rolled his eyes and lolled his head back with a groan, “your encounter with it might have altered you.”
“I dreamed just fine after it,” Benton muttered.
“Maybe this is like banshee flu or something,” Nicole offered. She swiftly crossed the distance between them, knelt down, and pressed her hand to his forehead. “Do you feel sick? Maybe I should make you some chicken soup.”
Benton enjoyed the touch, but eyed the weapon in her hand with a nervous energy. He had been forced to live all over Canada. It never took long before all the things he said and knew led people to the wrong conclusions. After that, it was a quick downward slide into accusations and police investigations. They had learned the hard way to move before the gossip evolved into violence. Normally, they just went to a new major city. This was their first time in farmlands and the first time he was exposed to firearms. And he wasn’t too comfortable with it being so close. Nicole, on the other hand, didn’t give it a second thought as she shifted her hand to press her knuckles against his cheek.
“And maybe that’s why the owls are acting so weird. Like how dogs can sense when someone’s sick,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure they smell it,” Benton said. He jerked his leg out of the way, as the barrel of the gun neared it. “Can you be careful with that thing?”
She looked blankly at him and then at the gun. “The safety’s on and it’s empty,” she declared as she lifted the dull gray handgun in line with her shoulder. “See? The top bit is clicked back.”
“Don’t care. Still don’t trust you with a gun.”
A disgruntled scoff escaped her as she sat back on her heels. “I saved your life with a gun, remember?”
“You kicked a monster’s head until the skull cracked,” he deadpanned.
“Yeah,” she snipped. “After I shot it.”
“Remember our deal,” Dorothy snapped as she rushed forward to join them.
Dorothy had agreed to turn a blind eye to the illegal things they got mixed up in while trying to deal with paranormal murders on their own, but on two conditions; first, they had to tell her every detail, and second, never to speak of it in front of her again. A night filled with very awkward conversations had covered the first part. The second condition was proving to be a bit harder as the two teenagers got accustomed to having her around.
“We’ll have some answers after we get him to the sleep center at Peace Springs. There’s no use in speculating until we have the facts.” She waited for her daughter to stand up before she handed over what seemed to be a full clip. “Now, focus. We’re not leaving until you get five more.”
Nicole glanced to one of the few trees that actually spotted the plains. Dorothy had dangled a few bottles from the bending branches. A slight breeze made the glass bottles tinkle together like chimes. With confident hands, Nicole released the empty clip from the butt of the gun and tossed it to her mother, then slid the full one into place. Benton heard the safety click off and managed to clamp his hands over his ears before she fired. It took her eight shots, but she got the five. Preening in her victory, she clicked the safety back on and passed the gun to her mother. Dorothy looked proud.
“That’s my girl,” Dorothy grinned.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Benton managed to get out before his voice kicked up a pitch. “Why is there a gun? Seriously, we’re going to Peace Springs! It’s like a four-hour drive.”
“Yeah, but we have to go along Highway 43,” Nicole noted, feeling her shoulders shudder.
Benton shrugged. “That’s bad?”
The two women looked at each other and he just waited. After nearly half a minute of silent deliberation, they both seemed to remember in unison that he didn’t grow up in Fort Wayward. The vast population of the town not only grew up together and had the collective knowledge they all knew, but also shared a heritage. The majority of the population had connections to the Siksika Nation, with the few others having their roots with other tribes. So it was common for him to feel completely out of the loop and in need of an explanation for things that everyone else considered general knowledge.
“Wait right here,” Nicole said before she darted towards the car.
Benton gave Dorothy a questioning look but only got the soft shake of her head that told him she had no idea what her daughter was up to. They waited in silence until Nicole came back with her favorite picnic basket swinging in her hand. She shooed off a few owls that had come lurking back before she knelt down and opened the basket.
“This is Fort Wayward,” she said, as she placed the peppershaker down before Benton, with a flourish.
Benton glanced at Nicole, who had stopped her impromptu presentation for a few seconds.
“I’m with you so far,” he said.
“Good,” she smiled as she placed down the saltshaker. “This is Peace Springs.” Using a rolled up napkin she connected the two points. “The quickest point between the two is Highway 43. It’s not to scale. It's actually a bit curvy and goes into a valley.”
Benton closed his eyes. “I know the basics of a highway, Nic. But I’m still shaky on what any of this has got to do with guns?”
Nicole narrowed her gaze but it didn’t have any heat to it. “Well, if you stop interrupting me, I’ll tell you.” She swept her hand over the napkin and surrounding grass. “Nothing good has ever happened in this area. Bloody battles, missing bands expanding different tribes, lost settlers, ghost sightings. It’s pretty much the definition of a cursed land.”
Nicole fell silent, as if she had just explained everything, leaving Dorothy to continue on.
“The disappearances didn’t stop after the highway was constructed. The area is isolated with the natural terrain offering dozens of drop offs, blind curves, and thick bushes that makes it nearly impossible for search parties to find anyone. There are no highway lights through most of it. So unless you have a full moon and know the road really well, it’s pretty easy to misjudge a sharp turn and drive into a sheer drop.”
Benton huffed out his growing impatience. He could feel the urge to yell at them bubbling up inside him and did his best to contain it. Why would anyone need firearms because of poor road construction? The thought ran through his mind a split second before the answer followed. Fear. They were both trying to keep it from their faces, but the slightest hints were starting to show on both of them. He swallowed his comment and sat quietly as Dorothy continued.
“Peace Springs was established as a mining town. When the mines closed up, the town was financially devastated and never really recovered. The surrounding reservations aren’t much better off. Fort Wayward is the closest town with a decent hospital and fully stocked pharmacy, so they’re forced to make the trip over here for a lot of their medical needs.”
“A lot of our families have common relatives between the two,” Nicole added. “Just about everyone, on each side, has a relative on the other side. Plus, they have the only Walmart, government service centers, name brand junk food, and a movie theater. Travelling the road is kind of inevitable.”
“Why can’t we just go the long way?” Benton asked.
“Because that takes a few extra days,” Dorothy explained. “And most people can’t afford a car. Not to mention there’s still no reliable public transport that goes that route. A lot of people are forced to walk or hitchhike.”
Benton pressed the bottom of his palms into his aching eyes and blamed the fatigue on why it had taken him that long to catch onto what they were telling him. He had the carbon copy of hundreds of murderers embossed on his brain. Normally, he didn’t need this much information to spot a perfect hunting ground.
“I have this vague memory of Nicole telling me that there hasn’t been a murder in Fort Wayward in decades,” he said.
&
nbsp; “There hasn’t,” Nicole affirmed quickly. “Highway 43 is way out of town limits. And most of the time, those who go missing are ‘officially’ filed as missing under suspicious circumstances or considered runaways. And those that are found are ‘officially’ accidents.”
Benton raised his hands. “Why do you keep air quoting officially like that?”
“Because I’m optimistic, not stupid,” Nicole replied.
A slight smirk crossed his lips but was quickly lost. “So the gun is for protection? Just in case?”
“The majority of the missing people are women,” Dorothy said, casting a quick glance at her daughter. “Teenagers of Native descent.”
Benton winced as his stomach suddenly turned into a pit of snakes, his eyes shifting to Nicole. The vague description worked for just about every girl in town, but with Nicole, it had a few other things working against her. She was stunning, stubborn, and had no sense of her own limitations.
She smiled, obviously trying to ease the worry crossing his features. “That is why mom and dad never let me go near the Highway of the Lost without being chaperoned, and armed.”
“And you’re not allowed to be armed unless you practice,” Dorothy noted.
“I just hit the five,” Nicole protested.
Dorothy didn’t seem all that satisfied, but she still nodded and checked her watch. “We need to get back to town. It’s almost time to go.” She motioned them to get ready.
Nicole quickly collected the items back into her basket and clicked the lid into place. For just a spit second, Benton could see how nervous she was to actually go. But then she smoothed a hand over her hip-length hair, fixed a sparkling smile onto her face, and surged to her feet. With the handle of the basket hooked over one arm, she reached out to help him up with the other. She must have been distracted, because not a trace of guilt crossed her face when his burned skin pressed against her palm. They ignored the angry, startled shrieks of the owls as they made their way to the car.
“Hypothetically, would you take it as concern or sexism if I suggested you don’t come along?” Benton asked, while there was still enough distance between them and Dorothy, hoping that the question wouldn’t be overheard.
Nicole hummed thoughtfully. “Mmm, I’m not sure. It would depend on the tone and wording you use. But either way, my response would be to remind you that I’ve saved your butt from two different monsters. You really don’t do well on your own. Also, I’m always right.”
“That’s debatable,” he muttered, unable to fight off a jaw-cracking yawn.
Ignoring his response, she reached into her basket, retrieved a slender thermos, and handed it to him without as much as a fleeting look.
“Spicy taco latte?”
“Of course!” she scoffed.
***
The main street was bustling with energy. People hurried about, setting up stalls and draping just about every surface vibrant red, the color that was conveniently dominant in both the Canadian and Siksika Nation flags. Fort Wayward was not a place that let any holiday pass without thoroughly enjoying it. Canada Day was no exception. With her basket in her hand and backpack slung over one shoulder, Nicole slipped through the crowd. Benton was close to her side, a small frown tugging at his lips as he had to sidestep many other people.
“What is with all the people?” he muttered.
“Gee, I wonder if this influx of tourists has anything to do with an upcoming holiday or event,” she teased as they passed someone stringing up a large ‘Happy Canada Day’ sign in their shop window. “What could it possibly be?”
“There’s still three days to go,” he shot back. “They don’t need to be here yet.”
“You sound like an old man telling kids to stay off his lawn,” she laughed. “And don’t worry. I have Canada Day all set.”
“Why do I have a feeling you’re about to start dictating a schedule I neither asked for nor agreed to?”
Ignoring him, she cleared her throat, “July first kicks off with a parade down Main Street.”
“That’s only four blocks.”
“It turns back around to where it started from,” she dismissed. “After that, we’ll hit the school fair, which will give us just enough time for a few rides before you need to be at the baseball competition.”
“I didn’t volunteer for that,” he said.
“I signed you up.” She paused as they ducked under a string of decorations that was currently being raised. “Don’t worry. You’ll be on Zack’s team.”
“I hate Zack,” he griped.
She rolled her eyes. “You do not.”
“He hates me.”
“That’s more accurate,” she concurred.
Benton did his best to keep his scowl, but failed miserably and ran a hand through his ruffled blonde hair.
His timid smile vanished when he caught sight of where they were headed. Dorothy had gone on ahead and was currently talking to Benton’s parents, while teenagers roamed around them with backpacks on their shoulders.
“What didn’t you tell me?” Benton asked, shooting her a narrowed gaze.
“Nothing. Have you seen Old Faithful yet?” Nicole asked, ignoring her unsatisfying answer, as she gestured to the old school bus. It only sat twelve passengers and its once vibrant yellow paint was faded with sun and age, but it had earned a place in the town’s heart. “I’m sure I mentioned it. That’s the bus we all get to use when we’re learning to drive because no one cares if it gets another dent.”
“Nicole,” he said with a warning tone.
“I’m pretty sure that I mentioned that we were taking it,” she added in a rushed mutter, “and that everyone there is coming with us.”
He stopped in his tracks. “What?”
“I’m positive I mentioned it,” she insisted.
“No, you didn’t,” he said. “I thought it was just going to be the three of us. This is kind of personal, Nic. I’m not really in the mood to put up with a whole bunch of people.”
He still wasn’t moving, so she reached back, grabbed his hand, and pulled him along. “No one wants their kids travelling the Highway of The Lost on their own. So we do it sort of like supervised trips. It’s mom’s turn to drive. She already agreed. Everyone would be super suspicious if she suddenly said she wasn’t going to do it. Oh, and Meg and Danny are coming too. And your parents.”
“I don’t know what to respond to first,” he stammered as he trudged along behind her. “You want me to sit in a bus for hours with my parents as well as Meg?”
“And Danny.”
“I like Danny,” Benton said. “Meg is the evil twin. And we’re staying overnight, right? I have to put up with them for that long?”
“You’ll have a different room,” she defended. “And the crowd is part of the plan. Your parents are chaperons and mom has already warned them to keep an eye on Zack. So, when he runs off, because of course he will, we’ll have a distraction to slip away and get you to the center and back before they even notice. See? This is all going to pan out nicely, and you should really stop questioning my genius.”
She hurriedly moved towards the crowd, waving at the others and ignoring Benton as he called after her.
“Wait, Zack’s coming?”
Chapter 2
There was too much. Too much to see, too much to feel. Too many bodies he was supposed to inhabit at once. He could feel his senses ripping like a tangible entity, as they stretched to accommodate the crush. There wasn’t enough room within his skin for everything that wanted to crawl in. Images flashed across his eyes at a rapid pace. Overlapping. Blurring. Bleeding into an unmanageable mess. A thousand minds crammed into his own even while they hollowed him out. His head rippled and twisted and his focus tried to take in a thousand minds at once. The hurricane of sensation shredded him. He could feel himself lagging behind, torn apart down to his very cells. He opened his mouth and a dozen mouths moved. He tried to release the agony raging within him, but even the sound crumbled
as the last parts of his mind were lost to the gaping void.
***
Benton’s spine bowed. There wasn’t enough space between the seats for his long, aching legs. His knees slammed against the metal rim of the backseat in front of him as his head was thrown back. Unable to break free, his scream swelled within his ribcage, pulverizing his organs into mush. The unbearable pressure finally found its escape, not as a wail, but as a long, whimpering whine, like the hot steam from the molten core escaping from the earth. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Not until he was completely drained and exhausted, he slumped against the window by his side.
Slowly, he became aware of his mother repeatedly calling for him, her voice straining to cover her concern. He blinked but didn’t try to respond. It took far too much energy to deal with the vibrations that still rattled around his core and strummed against his skin. The energy that rushed through him and around him numbed his mind into total silence. He didn’t have a name.
Right now, his brain should have been on fire with an echoing name and an unbridled need to warn them. But there was nothing; no throbbing pain that kept growing when he took too long to send out the word. Finally, he was able to work down a dry gulp, and he ran his trembling fingers through his sweat-drenched hair.
“I’m okay,” he said hoarsely before muttering an apology.
He didn’t know who was close enough to hear it, but it was enough to stop his mother from repeating his name. The worn plastic covering of the chair squeaked as he straightened up. Pain zipped up through his nerves from his batted knees, and it took more effort than should be required to readjust his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. His parents, sitting together in the front row of the bus, turned around to watch him carefully. Still, their attention restlessly flicked around their captivated audience, trying to judge how everyone was reacting to their son’s outburst. Benton hunched his shoulders against the sensation of twelve pairs of eyes fixated upon him.