“Thanks,” Jon said. “Oh, and what about the time?”
“Almost six,” Rusty said as his boots banged down the wooden steps.
Damn.
“And another thing,” Rusty said from downstairs, “make sure you handle that thing with care, alright? It’s gotta loaded, full clip. Only point it when yer lookin’ to kill. Take it from me. I coulda used that advice earlier…” He blew air from his snotty nose.
Jon sat up and wondered if he’d be able to drive home fast enough before the sky went dark. Then, he caught a glance at the gun again and sat up even more on the bed. He looked down at the heavenly handgun that lay within the sun’s warm but fading light. The black, smooth barrel and the polished metal. He plucked it from the bedsheets and felt the weight in his hands. Cold and heavy. Jon pointed and aimed like Rusty had a moment ago but kept his finger away from the trigger. Trigger discipline his dad taught him years ago. Only point it when yer lookin’ to kill Rusty said a second ago.
With the floor creaking under his socked feet, Jon got up from the bed and headed to the bathroom.
On the edge of the stained sink were disposable razors, a rusted can of Barbasol shaving cream, and Bengay. Jon turned the nozzle and water spurted out. He ran some water through his hair and stared into the mirror at himself. His patchy facial hair had found its way out. Jon could never grow a full beard or mustache even if he wanted. Nothing would connect. How his father formed such a manly and bushy stache was beyond Jon. Why would his father have that kind of hair growth and not him? Still, as he stared at himself, he could see his father’s eyes in his own.
Jon shut off the water.
Chapter FORTY
Leaving
It was an odd feeling to be leaving the Mirchs’ place. You’d think after being bashed in the head with the barrel of a rifle, Jon would be eager to hightail it out of Huntington and never look back. But Jon could only feel sadness for Rusty. A sadness for Hal. The two of them had their family taken away from them. Rusty’s mother walking out. Mrs. Mirch passing on. Ed Mirch being taken by one of the psychos. These people didn’t deserve this.
“We packed you some supplies, Jon,” Hal said, reaching down to a shabby white and green bag with REHOBOTH BEACH written on the front in faded letters. “Some more peaches and chicken. Even threw in a can of corn for ya. Also got Band-Aids, pain pills, and towels in there in case anything gets messy.”
“Thank you, and thanks again for patching me up,” Jon replied, rubbing on his bandages. He was wearing his backpack over his shoulders. It was stuffed to the brim with worn and wrinkled clothes, one of which he had changed into. A dark-grey undershirt. The Glock was clutched in his right hand. “Are you sure I can take this? I know Rusty said you insisted, but I want to make sure.”
“Absolutely. I think you will have better use for it than Rusty will. I trust you’ll have better judgment of who you point it at,” Hal responded with his same tone, void of any emotion.
Rusty came up from the downstairs dining area, holding a stuffed school bag of his own. A maroon backpack that looked like it was about to pop.
“I stuffed this sucker with as much ammo that could fit,” Rusty said, zipping up the last pouch on the front.
Jon almost laughed at the sight of it. “Don’t you need any ammo for yourself?”
It was still hard for Rusty to maintain eye contact. “Oh, we got plenty of ammo. This is just the tip of the iceberg for the twenty-two. We got more than you’ll ever know. It’s all yers.” He handed the bursting backpack over to Jon.
“Wow, thanks a lot. I really do appreciate all this,” Jon said to Rusty and his grandpa.
“Welp, we best be taking all this stuff to yer car out there. Can’t be wasting sunlight, unless you wanna stay the night. You got everything you need for the road, Jon?” Hal asked.
Jon couldn’t believe he even had the thought, but a part of him considered staying with the Mirchs. Maybe it would be better that way since there was shelter, food, and, according to Rusty, plenty of weapons and ammo to defend themselves with.
“No, I better get going now. I think I have everything I need,” Jon said.
“Alright. Rus you lead the way with the bullets, I’ll get the food,” Hal said as he picked up the worn beach bag. “Let’s get Jon on his way.”
The three of them walked out of the old house as the floor creaked one last time. The screen door slammed shut behind them. They stood on the porch as the spring evening brought a slight breeze through the woods.
Peaceful, Jon thought. But for how long?
Around the house, Ed Mirch’s grave sat by the stick-made cross where his mother watched over him. Jon didn’t look back, but he knew for sure that if he would have, he would see Mrs. Mirch’s spirit staring out the window just as she was when Jon first walked up from the rocky path. Just then, as if Hal was thinking the same thing, he said himself, “I’ll be right back, Marge.”
The three men walked down the rocky path and through the 70s lobby of Mirch’s Motel, out into the parking lot where the Honda remained parked and stocked with the vending machine snacks. Jon popped the trunk and Hal and Rusty placed their bags inside. The engine started and rumbled as Jon turned the ignition. He placed the Glock on the passenger seat.
“I guess we better let you go now. Suns goin’ down,” Hal said. He squinted up at the setting light. “You’re headed to a town called Springsdale, that right?”
“That’s right. My home. Springsdale, born and raised.”
Rusty raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak. There was something on his mind just then.
“Best of luck to you, Jon,” Hal said. “May God bless ya.”
“Thank you guys again. I’m so sorry about everything,” Jon said.
Hal waved his hand. “Ain’t nothin’ you ever need to worry about again. You just get back to yer family, Jon. We’ll be prayin’ for you.”
Rusty nodded. “Take care, Jon.” His face still looked questioning. The eyebrow hadn’t lowered after Jon mentioned his hometown.
Jon nodded back and said, “I hope you guys make it out alright.”
Both Rusty and Hal nodded as they closed the trunk and moved away from the Honda’s path. Jon got inside and saw the maps app still had his home address entered and ready to go.
524 Franklin Court, Springsdale, Pennsylvania.
Jon gripped the back of the passenger seat’s headrest and reversed the car out onto the vacant road. He pushed the stick into drive and gave Rusty and Hal a final wave as they stood waving back in front of the checkin door. Jon wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a faint smile come across Hal’s face again as the Honda drove off down the road, starting the course towards home.
Chapter FORTY-ONE
On the Road Again
The Honda raced against the setting sun as the car sped through what remained of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Jon pushed the pedal to its limit until he had to slow down, dodging the destruction left and right. Nothing Jon hadn’t seen before. The carnage was all he knew now. Death and carnage. It was more of a background piece, something that would be present no matter where he ran, forever lingering around him in a sinister aura.
More phone calls led to more voice mail machines. His mind ran wild as he thought back to the Mirchs. Emily. Everyone back at White Haven. His family. If I make it back home, would there be anything left? Am I just wasting my time? one side of his mental voice said, until another would chime in, NO! You can’t think that. You have to keep going. Can’t slow down now. Can’t turn back. Keep moving! Be a MAN!
THIRTY-SIX MILES REMAINING. ESTIMATED ARRIVAL TIME: 7:01 PM
Jon was exhausted despite his little nap. His body ached. He rubbed the bandages on his forehead and thought about the comfort of that guest room bed with the floral sheets.
Maybe I should’ve stayed with them.
NO!
It could’ve been my last chance at survival.
You keep moving. You wanna give up now? Ruin all th
e progress you’ve made so far?
It might already be too late!
You don’t know anything, you have no idea of what you’ll find until you get there!
Where are they? Are they alive?
I can’t answer that, you have to find out for yourself.
What do I do?
Do your best.
Alright.
Keep going.
I will.
The psychological fighting with himself wasn’t helping. All he wanted were answers. The not knowing of his family’s safety pained him deeply, but it was what it was. He had to keep going. Keep driving. Keep surviving.
Chapter FORTY-TWO
Detour
Trees and shrubbery whizzed by. The sun was setting beyond and soon farmlands and rural hills would be beyond the barriers on both sides of the pike. Classical music, still the only active radio station, played from the Honda’s dashboard, leading Jon into a late daydream of what’s to come. Deep in thought about his family and lost friends, he seemed not to notice that he was approaching familiar territory.
The sign for Camp Valley made Jon’s heart roll over itself as his father’s voice mail message played again in his mind. He’d listened to it enough times to have it memorized and, if ever held at gunpoint, could recite the message verbatim.
Son, this is your father. I know we’re calling you late, but your mother and I are going over to your grandparent’s house. Gram’s been acting up, must be sick. Pappy called said she’d been feeling ill and called worried so we’re just going to swing by to check on them, maybe bring them back to the house for the night. Just wanted to let you know. We will keep you posted. Call us when you get the chance, okay? I’ll call you in the morning. Buh-bye.
There wasn’t a choice. Jon knew the roads were deadly after dark, hell, the entire world was. His grandparents’ house would be safe, right? Maybe his parents were there all along, too afraid to leave the house with grandma and grandpa because of the maniacs.
But they didn’t pick up their cell phones.
Stop it!
Jon turned the Honda into the exit lane as the sun’s head lowered into the horizon. Soon, the orange glow became a solid black.
***
White houses were on either side of the road between fields of green. An occasional brick house, too. Telephone lines ran along the roads. Jon drove the Honda through the quiet town. Although he was coming from the opposite direction that his family usually took, he knew that Slick Willy’s Wings would be just up ahead as the road sloped down passed the fields and the Camp Valley General Store.
There was farmland that stretched out to the mountain that hid half of the sun as it made its descent. Smells of the barnyard lifestyle stuck in Jon’s nose. Familiar. Nostalgic, even if it was stinky. A few hundred feet away he could see cows. A farmer stood at the edge of the fence post looking over at Jon’s Honda as it whizzed by. The farmer’s face looked as if he’d never seen an automobile before.
Jon drove on.
To his right was the general store that sent waves of more nostalgia through him. The white sign with black text read: CAMP VALLEY GENERAL STORE beside signs of the major credit cards it accepted. HERSHEY’S ICE CREAM SOLD HERE next to that. A yellow newspaper dispenser read PUBLIC OPINION on its side. A cage of Blue Rhino propane sat empty nearby. The building itself was old but repainted white. It was a lot rustier and run down back when Jon was younger. The place must’ve been there since Jon’s father was a child. Maybe longer.
Grandpa Barnes would take Jon and his cousins up to the store every time they came to visit. You could say it was another family tradition to walk up the side of the road on a warm summer evening to visit Mr. Fannett, who sold all sorts of candies and treats. The Fannetts operated the store from generation to generation and they lived above the store.
Jon wondered if Mr. Fannett was still alive. Mrs. Fannett, too. They had been old even when Jon was only six, but they always remembered Jon and his cousins. Everyone remembered everyone at Camp Valley. The area was large only because of the fields of farmland. The population itself wasn’t much and there wasn’t anyone that Jon could remember that his grandfather didn’t know or recognize growing up. It was a close community. Everyone knew everyone. You couldn’t hide. Especially not if you were attending the local Presbyterian church which Jon was driving by now.
CAMP VALLEY PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH.
WELCOME.
WORSHIP GOD SUNDAYS 9:45.
A typical rural church. Brick laid foundation with a white steeple. Jon had only gone there on special occasions. Christmas. Grandma’s birthday. Mother’s Day. Father’s Day. Although, his grandma would have liked him to go every Sunday. Jon wasn’t interested. He never liked getting up early. He also didn’t enjoy sitting in a sweaty building for an hour, having to sing songs and drink warm grape juice.
Up ahead, just as he remembered and just as Mark had described it before falling victim to the mysterious maniac epidemic, Slick Willy’s Wings stood in the fading light with its red and blue race car. The vehicle wasn’t an official Nascar car or anything like that, just a car painted in two colors with a big number seven written in yellow on the hood. It sat parked, propped up just as it always had with the seven facing down toward the entrance.
In the parking lot were several cars and motorcycles. Bodies. Red-stained bodies. The lights were off inside the restaurant, which meant they were eating in the dark, eating each other, or all taking a nice snooze beneath the walls of memorabilia you’d find at any other sports bar and grill. Take Applebee’s or Chili’s, slap a painted race car on top, and you’d get Slick Willy’s Wings: home of the town drunks because there wasn’t any other place to go.
Jon kept his speed at over forty miles an hour. Not much longer now he thought as the road began to bend around more trees and shrubbery. Farmland returned soon after and Jon knew he would arrive in a few moments at his destination. Please be there. Please, somebody, be there. But as he approached the turn into the driveway, his faith began to dwindle.
There was no sign of his mom or dad’s car in the driveway. The garage was its own separate structure and the door of it was closed. It disappointed Jon, but he was glad they at least got to his grandparents' place and got them back home or at least somewhere safe. He didn’t want to get his hopes up seeing his dad’s Ford Explorer and then rushing in to find them dead or gone mad.
The aged, white-painted wood that stacked two stories high with tiny, darkened windows was none other than Grandma and Grandpa Barnes’ home. It had the front porch that creaked with every footstep and rocking of a chair. The gigantic, crooked tree that stood in the long front yard had been there since the beginning of time. Jon’s grandparents’ farmhouse looked as it always had, except for the chickens and the cows they got rid of not long before they became grandparents. Jon hadn’t been alive yet to see it, but the thought of having access to barnyard animals right in the backyard seemed cool. A lot of things seemed cool when you were a kid.
As a child, Jon was afraid of his grandparents’ house. He still was, but back then he was more afraid of the imaginary ghoulies than he was of what he now feared was behind that screen door. When you’re a kid it’s easy to get spooked by the stories your grandfather tells you. Like the one about the ghosts that Jon’s grandpa would see at night, or the stories his cousins Bobby and Marie would make up about the house having a monster that lived in the basement. Jon learned as he got older that monsters and ghosts didn’t exist.
Except for now. After what he had endured up to this point, Jon would believe anything.
Every time Jon came to visit his grandparents, he would remember those times when he would play with his cousins during family get-togethers. It was a shame that as everyone got older, the family events seemed to dwindle as everyone had things to do and places to be. In those earlier days, times were simpler, and fun came with ease. Running around the yard. Coming up with silly games. Climbing up that giant tree, even though
his grandmother hated when they did that. She was terrified of someone getting hurt. Of course, any time Jon and his cousins played together, someone would start crying over one thing or another. Most of the time it was Bobby, the youngest of the cousins.
Jon wondered where his cousins were at now. He wondered if they were still alive.
It all seemed a lifetime ago as Jon stared at that farmhouse from behind the wheel of the Honda. But there was no time to reminisce on the innocence of youth. The sky was almost dark, and the psychos would be on the prowl any second.
It was time to head inside.
Jon strapped on his backpack from the trunk and pulled out the beach bag filled with canned food. The cool evening’s air brought more waves of nostalgia as the leaves on the giant tree shook. He’d made it this far and Jon felt that it would be ok to die here. To have his final resting place where some of his fondest memories were made was a fine way to go.
The steps creaked with every movement and as Jon got closer to the front screen door, his stomach clenched harder and the nostalgic feelings soon were swept away. Splatters of what looked like blood, he wasn’t sure in the dying light, blotted the top of the wooden steps, leading to the door.
The screen door was ajar, but Jon rang the old doorbell to the house even though he knew in his heart that his grandma wouldn’t be coming to let him in. Is that a grandchild I see? Oh, it is! Little Jonny! Come on in, look how tall and handsome you’re getting! she would say, on cue, through the screen every time Jon came to visit.
A faint sound of the bell rang through the crack of the door. Then, it was quiet until another slight breeze blew. Long, silver wind chimes chinged and clanged on the one end of the porch. Another sound that took Jon back to those summer evenings he spent here. However, the anticipation of horror was too much to keep Jon in those memories for long.
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