Don't Move

by James S. Murray

  Vargas groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Not your thing?” Megan asked.

  “I’m not big on listening to the Bronx’s answer to Crocodile Hunter.”

  He leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping the driver wouldn’t bullshit for too long. The three hours’ sleep he had grabbed before heading to the church just wasn’t nearly enough. He consoled himself with the hope that DeLuca’s blathering would help him get to dreamland that much sooner.

  The quicker I fall asleep, the quicker we get there . . .

  Chapter

  Four

  Megan sat waiting for bus driver Paul DeLuca’s briefing after his grand announcement about their destination. But instead of interesting facts and engaging yarns about the area, all that came through the overhead speaker was sporadic hisses of static interspersed with confused mutterings as the man struggled to formulate a coherent sentence. The knowledge that was supposed to be in their guide’s head must have stayed buried in a dark recess of his brain, inaccessible for now. The man had stage fright before an audience of eight.

  Sunshine broke through the clouds, brightening the New Jersey landscape. Megan took a pair of sunglasses out of her small backpack and put them on. The bus passed factories, many of them abandoned to rust and ruin, others still putting out smoke and strange smells. But she knew that soon enough, they would get through the industrial wasteland and into greener pastures.

  Ricky Vargas had stretched his leather jacket over his head, muffling his snores. He was the only person in the group that Megan felt uncertain about. His looks and attitude just seemed out of whack with everyone else. And his presence had visibly rattled Ryan. She sensed that his joining for the weekend had added an element of drama to what was supposed to be a quiet and relaxing trip.

  Megan didn’t need that.

  But she had learned over the years not to judge on appearance. Moreover, she was in no position to judge anyone, not after she froze at the sight of those flames and backed away from that locking pin. That was far worse than merely stinking of stale tobacco and alcohol and sporting a few tattoos.

  The bus pulled into a rest area on I-95, and DeLuca stopped in front of the mini-mart. He sifted through a bunch of papers scrawled with handwritten notes. A few dropped to his side.

  Pastor Rizzo scooped them up. “No sweat, Paul. We know you’ve got this.”

  “It’s just a couple of minor details to get the narrative straight,” DeLuca replied sheepishly. “I want to make sure I tell you the right history. But it seems like the wilderness suits me better than being a tour guide.”

  “We’ve got faith in you, my friend.” Pastor Rizzo smiled. “Take your time.”

  The older couple whispered to each other, and Megan heard the word “clueless.” It was a bit early to judge, though, and that was perhaps unfair. Regardless, the comment was loud enough to reach the driver’s seat. And it lacked any kind of subtle filter.

  A moment of silence followed.

  Megan scanned her phone, gazing at nothing in particular, waiting out the awkward moment.

  The bus doors slid open, letting in warm, humid air.

  DeLuca peered over his shoulder. “Guys, grab anything you need from the store. Our next stop is Hagerstown.”

  Emma and Ryan rose from their seats and headed out. As they stepped onto the stairs, Ryan flashed a glance at Vargas. Eyes narrowed, intense and unwelcoming. Emma grabbed his arm and pulled him outside.

  Almost as if he had sensed the glare, Vargas pulled the jacket away from his face. He yawned, looking around until he locked eyes with Megan. “We’ve stopped already?” he asked.

  “Quick break. We’ll be on the road another four hours.”

  “Better get my nicotine fix.”

  Vargas groaned to his feet and headed out. He gently slapped Pastor Rizzo on the back as he passed. A friendly gesture between people who were comfortable with each other, yet his action made Rizzo’s posture stiffen.

  The pastor waited for Vargas to leave, then headed to the back of the bus. He perched on the seat opposite Megan. “Don’t worry about Ricky. He looks intimidating, but he’s got a good heart.”

  “What’s the story with him and Ryan?”

  “Ricky dated my Emma last year. It didn’t end well.” Rizzo looked out the window to where Vargas stood smoking a cigarette, facing away from the bus and talking on his cell phone. He stood several yards from the gas pumps but still close enough to cause concern. “He didn’t mistreat her. They just weren’t a good match. And I’m not sure he can get past his own past.”

  Megan arched an inquiring eyebrow. “I get that,” she said. “So that’s Ryan’s beef? I mean, getting off the bus, if looks could kill . . .”

  “Well, there’s more to the story. I think they had a deal that went wrong. Something to do with custom parts that never showed up to Ryan’s auto garage. It cost him about two grand.”

  “I guess that’d do it. What about Emma?”

  Rizzo pursed his lips. “She’s forgiven Ricky. We all need to move on at some point.”

  Megan nodded. This was something she didn’t need to be told, though doing it was a lot harder than merely knowing it.

  Vargas climbed back on board and headed back to his seat. His large, lean frame filled the aisle, and he stooped to avoid hitting the ceiling. Rizzo headed in the opposite direction, and they awkwardly squeezed past each other.

  “What’s the old man been telling you?” Vargas asked.

  Megan shrugged. “Nothing much.”

  “Hey, I just realized where I seen you.”

  The words filled Megan with dread. The footage on the internet, or the news footage of her being led to an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, tears streaming down her soot-covered face.

  She was relieved when he said, “You’re actually Supergirl in disguise. Here to save us from the driver and his nonsense lectures.”

  “That’s me.”

  He let out a chesty laugh. “I’ll be sticking with you, Supergirl.”

  The idea didn’t seem all that appealing, though she wasn’t too worried. Ricky would tire of her once he realized she wasn’t the life of this party. They were complete opposites. Different backgrounds, different ways of existing in the world. Almost certainly different social circles and outlooks on life. That said, she found his upbeat nature mildly infectious.

  Ryan and Emma boarded the bus, and the doors closed. This time Ryan went straight to his seat, perhaps under instruction from the pastor’s daughter to behave. Megan didn’t care as long peace reigned for the trip.

  The chances remained slim because of what Pastor Rizzo had told her. Nobody liked getting ripped off, especially if the person ripping you off was your girlfriend’s ex.

  She would do well to keep her distance. Avoid any flare-ups.

  Moments later, the air-conditioning did its job again before the bus had a chance to transform into a hothouse on wheels.

  DeLuca navigated out of the gas station, and they hit the road again. Next stop: Maryland, three hours ahead.

  A few minutes farther along the highway, the speakers crackled.

  Deluca seemed to have found his confidence. “Ladies and gentlemen, now that I’ve had a moment to review my notes, our destination is the Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia, over 900,000 acres of untouched territory, and I’d like to tell you a bit about the region.”

  He rattled off a number of facts about the area. It sounded like a list regurgitated from Wikipedia, interspersed with a few lame jokes. Megan knew that the area was a vast wilderness, but she had never visited before.

  Vargas leaned over the aisle. “You said the next leg of the trip is three hours?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s gonna seem like three days if this dude keeps talking.”

  Megan shushed him with a half smi
le. DeLuca was trying his best to be a good tour guide, and she doubted anyone would remember the irrelevant factoids, anyway. She’d done it herself during board meetings at Hunts Point. The important skill was in identifying and retaining the key bits of information. Amid the tide of facts pumping through the speakers, she expected to glean at least a few useful nuggets.

  “. . . Now for the juicy parts,” DeLuca said. “The place I’m taking you is steeped in mystery. A group of two hundred Quakers attempted to establish a settlement here in the early 1800s. Five years later, after nobody had heard from them for some time, a party was sent from Pennsylvania to investigate. All they found was a rotting cart and the word ‘burro’ carved into a tree. The two hundred Quakers, nowhere to be found.”

  DeLuca paused, maybe in anticipation of a collective sharp intake of breath that never came.

  “And if that’s not mysterious enough,” he continued, “during the 1930s a few hikers went missing in the very same forest. They were never found. Some say their spirits haunt the woods in the dead of night, begging people for directions to Richmond.”

  Vargas laughed at that, perhaps a little too loud.

  Ryan spun in his seat and eyeballed the big man. Emma grabbed his shoulder and dragged him down. He obviously had a serious axe to grind with Vargas, who seemed utterly unconcerned. Instead, he relaxed back in his seat and drew his jacket over his face again.

  “Our mission,” DeLuca said in a mock-serious tone, “if you choose to accept it, is to discover the Quaker settlement and unravel the mysteries of nature, all while enjoying the scenic delights of the beautiful national forest. Does anyone have any questions?”

  The young boy, Connor, shot up from his seat. “But if this forest is haunted, won’t we be in danger?”

  The grandparents chuckled. So did Rizzo.

  DeLuca laughed. “Trust me, Connor, my scouting skills will keep us safe.”

  Megan drew in a deep breath. In another time, she could have enjoyed the levity, both fun and dark. Now any talk of danger sent a chill down her spine. It all was still too raw. The passage of time had been no healer.

  So far, a simmering feud and an inept tour guide suggested that this trip was going to be a lot rockier than she had envisioned.

  But it was a little late to back out now. She would stay out of any conflicts and make of it what she could.

  As the thought passed through her head, Ryan sprang up from his chair. He shook free of Emma’s grip and stormed toward the back of the bus, staring at Vargas with a directness that could mean only one thing.

  Oh, shit.

  Chapter

  Five

  Megan drew in a deep breath. A fight was coming within seconds, right beside her seat. She had an instant to decide whether to shuffle toward the window and hope the violence didn’t spill across the aisle.

  Or she could act.

  She started to get up, but something told her to stop.

  Was it that same quiet voice that had stopped her last-ditch attempt to save her husband and son? She cursed under her breath.

  Ryan’s tight-fitting T-shirt accentuated his muscular frame. He clearly worked out, and the buzz cut and stubble added to the effect, making him appear as a mean, formidable opponent. Not part of the smiling, happy couple Megan had first seen in the parking lot.

  That said, the man he was approaching didn’t look like anyone to mess with.

  Do something, Megan.

  But her body’s response was simply butterflies in her stomach. And paralysis.

  Ryan reached over the opposite seat and ripped Vargas’s leather jacket off his face. Then he threw it back into Vargas’s lap. Pastor Rizzo, who must have seen the angry glint in Ryan’s eye, quickly followed and tried to wrap his arms around his daughter’s boyfriend before he could start throwing punches.

  Vargas straightened. His casual demeanor instantly disappeared, in its place a look of contempt. He got up slowly, glaring at Ryan, and for the first time his intent appeared to match his physical appearance.

  “Let it go,” Rizzo said.

  “Easy for you to say,” Ryan shot back while glaring down at Vargas. “Why do you think he’s really here?”

  “The same reason you’re here,” Rizzo replied in a soothing voice.

  But it was going to take more than the pastor’s calming influence to de-escalate the situation. Ryan snarled as he struggled to free himself from Rizzo’s grip, though not too hard. His relationship with Emma was probably what stopped him from using greater force.

  “Why are you here, Vargas?” Ryan demanded.

  “Please, not on this trip,” Rizzo said. “I know you two have your issues, but think about Emma, Megan, Jim, Maryann, and little Connor.”

  Ryan let out a dismissive grunt. “This dirtbag took me for two grand.”

  “Settle that between yourselves, another time.”

  “That’s not why he’s here,” Ryan spat. “He came to cause trouble between Emma and me. Didn’t you, Ricky?”

  Vargas shook his head. “I’m here for the same reason as you. The great outdoors.”

  “Since when did you like camping?”

  “Always loved it. Didn’t realize you were a fan too.”

  “If the pastor wasn’t here, you’d be picking up your teeth with a broken arm.”

  Vargas leaned over the seat toward him. “You’re welcome to try, but I’d advise you cool your jets, buddy. Stop ruining the ride to West Virginia.”

  Ryan’s face darkened. Megan guessed that no response from Vargas would ever appease him, and the situation was rapidly deteriorating. Both men stood within inches of being able to land a punch.

  “Ryan, calm down and get back here!” Emma shouted.

  “Listen to my daughter,” Rizzo added.

  Ignoring their pleas, Ryan stepped closer to Vargas.

  Megan jumped up from her seat and stood in the aisle, blocking the path between the two men. She surprised herself with the move. Perhaps it was natural instinct, part of her old self returning. Or maybe it was self-preservation.

  A dustup between these two would almost certainly spill out into the rest of the bus, perhaps causing injuries to old and young.

  “Cool it, now! I know you two have history,” Megan said, peering into Ryan’s scowling eyes. Beyond him, everyone in the bus except DeLuca had turned in their seats. “I know this might be tough, but for the sake of the trip, for everyone else here, just drop it for three days.”

  “He’s here trying to fuck with me,” Ryan replied, still glaring at Vargas. “Causing trouble where he’s not wanted.”

  Vargas laughed. “Do you seriously think I’d get up at five a.m. with a hangover just to piss you off? Get over yourself, bro.”

  Ryan stepped closer.

  Megan gently pressed her hand against his chest, halting his advance. The adrenaline surging through her body made her shudder. They could go off on each other at any second, with her in the cross fire. She blinked, and in that instant, she was surrounded by roaring flames, the desperate screams of her husband and son rising above the crackle.

  Switch on, she told herself.

  She focused back to Ryan. He must have seen something in her face because he stepped back, his attention now on her. His scowl softened.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble,” Ryan said. “I mean, we all know what you went through.”

  Megan glanced at Pastor Rizzo, who looked down at his sandals. The subtext was obvious. So much for confidentiality, though, to be fair, probably half the tristate area knew about the worst part of her history. “I’m fine,” she said sternly. “What’s not fine is two grown men fighting in front of a kid. So do us all a favor and back off, all right?”

  Vargas nodded in agreement. “She’s right, Ryan. Back off.”

  “You’re an asshole, Vargas,
” Ryan replied. “We’ll do this when we get back.”

  “I’m sure we will. It’s a date.” He winked at Ryan, only further pissing him off.

  Emma scrambled down the aisle. Squeezing past her father, she grabbed Ryan by the shoulder. “He’s not worth it, baby. Don’t sink to his level.”

  Ryan nodded in agreement, keeping the intense stare, but eventually he turned away and followed Emma back to their seats.

  “Go sit at the front,” Rizzo said to Megan. “I’ll keep Ricky company back here.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Vargas scooped up his jacket and leaned back, seemingly unaffected by the confrontation. He either had a great poker face or genuinely didn’t give a shit.

  Megan grabbed her daypack and headed to the front of the bus. She appreciated that Rizzo was handling the situation in the best way he could, but even the most naive person in the world could see that this wasn’t the end of it. She let out a short, ironic laugh.

  This tranquil nature outing had taken less than an hour to turn into an episode from Days of Our Lives—her guilty viewing pleasure during the past few months.

  Maryann grabbed her arm on the way past. “You did good, girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve got your back,” Jim said, keeping his voice low. “If they give you any trouble, I’ll give ’em a knuckle sandwich.”

  She smiled down at him. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Trust me. Back in the seventies, I was a bouncer at the Beekman Pub. They nicknamed me Gentleman Jim. You see, there used to be a boxer named—”

  Maryann elbowed him. “She doesn’t want to hear your stories, Jim.”

  He gave her a reproachful look, then eyed his sudoku-­puzzle book.

  Megan continued forward, thankful for the friendly support. She dropped her pack on the passenger seat beside DeLuca. He kept their speed at a steady sixty miles per hour.

  By her reckoning, they still had at least three hours until the next stop. She unlocked her phone and sifted through the steadily decreasing cache of work emails. The more time she spent away on the self-prescribed break, the more she lost touch with current developments at Hunts Point—maybe to the point of becoming irrelevant.