by Aaron Dries
Michael didn’t understand how he could grow to love someone in such a short period of time—but he had, he loved Sarah. Nobody had ever stood up for him before.
Thirty-Nine
Wes left the house because he felt he didn’t live there any more. He fought the urge to go to the garden and dig in the soil for the sake of digging. It was the only safe zone he had. He didn’t though. Instead he sat on the back step. Dog barked at him from the end of his leash.
“Shut up,” he told the Rottweiler.
It continued to howl.
“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled as he ran to the animal and kicked its head with the heel of his boot.
Dog continued to bark, louder and insane, until it scampered away, cowered and charged again. Wes backed off. The world spun. He fell to his knees and tore at the grass.
Thirty-Eight
Michael heard the barking and thought of Mr. Maclachley’s junkyard. He had passed the old man’s auto-wreckers every day after school. The chainlink fence had stretched the length of the block, the only barrier between the eleven-year-old schoolboy in the ill-fitting clothes and Mr. Maclachley’s guard dog.
Before the bus, Michael thought the worst fear he would ever experience was the fear evoked by the old man’s Rottweiler. In its bark the child heard screaming, gutted children and laughing maniacs. In nightmares he ran as fast as he could, the black monster leaping at the fence through clouds of dust. One day his sneakers fell out of his backpack. He didn’t dare go back for them. When he got home, his mother yelled at him. Later his father went back for the shoes.
Maclachley’s dog never attacked him, or any of the other kids who had to run the dreaded junkyard mile. But when he heard the distant barking from outside, the fear of being eaten returned.
“His name was Peter,” Sarah said.
She held the notebook in her hands. Her face was drawn, her shoulders slumping. “His name was Peter and he was a writer.”
Julia saw freckled blood on the pages. She had a diary just like it at home, tucked away in a drawer. Once upon a time she had filled it with lies just in case someone came across it and read it. As her life grew more complicated, and real-life drama proved enough, the lies faded away.
“Peter the Poet. Poor little rabbit.” Sarah focused on the pages as she returned to her seat. “I’d probably have more tears if I wasn’t so damn dry.
“This thing he was working on, this poem. I want to read it out loud.”
Jack rolled onto his side, blood rushing to his head. His anger dissipated. He wracked his brain trying to remember what this Peter had looked like.
It don’t matter what he looks like, Jack-o, said the voice in his head. Kid’s dead as disco.
Sarah began. “I saw a man who was becoming more than his reflection. I am him.”
She paused and looked at the passengers. How long had they been there? Two hours? Maybe less? It felt like a lifetime. She touched the page with her fingers.
“If there’s a God—and I do believe—then there’s still room to breathe.” Sarah was no English major, but she knew the words had weight. Yes, they were a little clunky and the rhythm and intonations were all over the place, but still, the short sentences spoke to her. She read on, even though it hurt to do so. She was opening a window into a dead boy’s life. Somehow, she felt as though the book had been left there deliberately. “Today is a graduation and there’s no going back. I’m undone by that reflection, my final imperfection—”
Her voice cracked. She dropped the notebook. “I’m left behind because I walked…and did not run.”
Diana couldn’t help it. She began to cry. She licked at her tears, slumping against Julia, who stared out the window.
Michael’s eyes were closed. He understood and was afraid.
Jack sat upright with hands in a neat bundle on his knees. When Julia turned and made eye contact with him, he didn’t shy away. Things were different.
Sarah knew that reading the poem aloud had changed them all. Either Jack had become one of them or they had become one with Jack. She didn’t know which.
Julia said what they all knew. “We’re dead if we stay here.”
Part Five: House of Sighs
“A crab was nothing but a carrion-eater… He was more the kind of man to shrug and say life was life; and to suppose that, like anything else, the crab had found its evil little niche.”
- Jack Ketchum, Off Season
Thirty-Seven
4:37 pm
Jack wriggled through the ten-inch gap in the door until he could get through no more. His hand swiped at the air, lowered and landed on the hood of the pickup truck. Pebbles of broken glass stuck into his palm. He strained, veins sticking out in his forehead, and relented. “It’s too tight.”
Michael, Diana and Julia watched the house for movement from the back of the bus. The last sighting had been four minutes earlier.
Sarah was crouched next to Jack on the steps. To keep himself steady he grabbed on to her arm.
From where she was, Sarah could see over the top of the destroyed pickup. The rear elevated, the nose pinched tight to the ground. The angle gave them enough cover to worm out of the bus and onto the hood and then slide to the ground without being seen. That was if one of them fit through.
Their ultimate aim was to get to the garage. They hoped they would find some sort of weaponry and return. Escape wasn’t part of the plan. On some primal level they understood they needed to defend themselves, and that the time to do it was near. Ballpoint pens and prayers weren’t going to cut it any more.
The family looked out the window about once every ten minutes. Diana was positive the son was their scout. It was always a frantic snap of the curtains, a head bobbing up and down. The movement was juvenile.
Getting out through the mangled door was the only way. It was silent and the door was hidden. Pushing out the emergency window was too high a risk. It would shatter, the noise drawing attention to them. They contemplated escaping through the emergency exit in the ceiling but all agreed that throwing open the hatch, crawling across the roof and stumbling to the ground lacked the element of stealth required for success.
Sarah’s hope fell as she watched a red-faced Jack struggle backward out of the door. “I can’t get through, my chest is too big.”
“Shit-shit-shit.” Sarah rubbed her head. Dehydration’s dry fingers were scratching up a headache behind her eyes.
“What did he say?” Michael asked, his head swiveling between the left-side windows and the silhouetted forms beyond the body.
“He can’t fit,” Sarah whispered.
“Down!” Julia yelled, ducking low in her seat.
There was movement at the window.
Sarah lost her balance and fell to the floor, landing on her arm. She bit her tongue. Jack pushed himself flat against the stairs. A fly settled on his face. They were flying in through the door, drawn by the smell of rot. “Stay down.”
A minute passed. There was only the flies buzzing.
Diana took a quick look. The curtain was still, the window empty again. “It’s okay, coast is clear.”
Jack looked at Sarah, who had tears of pain in her eyes. He wanted to know if she was okay, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. They approached the corpse, bent over, trying to stay out of sight. They climbed over two seats to avoid stepping on the body and then continued up the aisle.
The passengers gathered together, perspiration dripping down their faces. A cloud of stench hovered over them all. The interior had grown oven-like, despite the accumulation of clouds in the sky.
Sarah blinked away the image of her handkerchief over the dead man’s face; his blood had seeped through in patches. The fabric was like a caul.
“Look, maybe this is a bad idea,” Michael said.
“Yeah,” Diana added. “Should we wait it out?”
“Don’t you think the cops should’ve been here by now? Those guys in there haven’t called anybody.” Jack wiped his fac
e, rubbed his hand on his shirt. “I don’t think they’re going to either. Something’s just not clicking in this picture here. If they have no plans to call the police, then what are they planning to do to us? They’re plotting in there. I hate to say it but I think they want to kill us. Two of them are murderers now. Just like Sarah said, would you turn in your own kids? I don’t think so. If we sit here with nothing to fight back with, we’re dead. I thought we all agreed on that.”
Sarah grew anxious. “Ah fuck, we can’t get through. There’s just not enough space. I don’t even think Michael could fit through, or me. Bugger-bugger-bugger!”
Diana touched her arm.
“I’m all right. Swear jar, Sarah, pop a dollar in the lady.”
“What?” Jack asked.
“Nothing. Back home, me and my hubby, we have a swear jar. It’s a joke. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Diana told her.
Michael crawled across the aisle, dizzy and hungry. He had no idea what emotion he was feeling. Suspense was as good as any other; it was the nervous trepidation of reaching the highest point of a roller coaster. Only this wasn’t fun, this wasn’t a ride he could walk away from laughing, high-fiving his friends and saying, “Man, you should’ve seen your faces!” He looked at the shed. The door was ajar and beyond it, only darkness.
Another gust of wind beat at the side of the bus.
Julia stood up. She walked past Michael, towards the body.
“Have you tried hotwiring the engine, Jack?” Sarah asked. “Can you even hotwire a bus? I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter if he can or can’t,” Michael told them. He huddled close to them. “Even if we get the engine running—which we won’t—they’ll hear and come running. We can’t go anywhere. Not when there’s a truck impaled on us. We’re screwed. It’s us who has to move, not the bus.”
The voices behind Julia faded away, even though they were growing louder. Underfoot, the dead man’s face was still covered by the silk handkerchief, the soft floral print scarlet now. She stepped between his arm and side, a small space the exact size of her shoe. A fly landed on her chin. She did not swat it. It sat there and twitched. She reached the end of the bus and looked down at the ten-inch gap. There was no real fear any more. Dropping low, she crawled down the three steps. It was hard to see the house because of the truck, which meant that they couldn’t see her. This could work. I really might be able to do this.
Julia slid her arm through the gap. Her hand landed on the hood. She found a small clearing on the hood and balanced herself as she started to push herself through.
The house. The window. The curtains. All was still.
Jack shook his head. “The kid’s right, you know? They would hear everything. It won’t work. A family on a property like this has got more than one gun in the drawer.”
Julia could feel cool air rushing over her face. She relished in it. Her shoulder squeezed through and blood rushed to her head. She ground her teeth as she contorted her body to fit through.
“Julia!”
She froze. Her sister’s voice broke her determination; panic bloomed and her hand slipped. Julia heard a struggle behind her, vibrations through the bus, muffled voices.
Diana ran towards the scissoring legs sprawled on the floor. Sarah followed, grabbed her by the wrist. “Let go of me,” Diana yelled. “Julia, get back in here right now!”
“Please! Please don’t yell!” Michael said. He looked at the house again: still no movement. The minutes were flying by—it would not be long before the scout came to the window and peered out at them again.
Diana struggled free of the old woman and ran down the aisle, then stopped. She leapt over the remains of the man.
Sarah followed close behind, her headache worse. It felt like those dry fingers were underneath her skin now, poking at her tender brain. Sarah realized that desperation was not a place you find yourself in; rather, it was a place you couldn’t get out of. It made sense to her now. The small girl was their only hope of changing their fate.
Sarah missed her husband, even his illness. Suffering had been a part of her life for so long now, and really, how was that different to being trapped on the bus? When he was gone, she knew her life would be over.
Diana leapt on her sister. Sarah watched, letting the scene play out. The child, so slight in stature and yet so brave. How quickly her courage had been born. She wondered how a young girl could process all this horror and not go insane. But maybe we all have gone insane after all, and we just don’t know it. It’s crazy to let her go, right? She’s just a baby herself after all. Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph, what kind of adult are you?
“Sweetie,” Sarah began. “Julia’s the only one who can fit through.”
Diana spun on her. “She can’t go.”
Jack approached. “Look, keep it down.”
Michael wanted to offer help, voice his concerns, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess.
Jack nudged past him. “Got nothing useful to say, then say nothing at all, you got it, mate?”
Gripping Diana’s shirt, Sarah looked deep into her eyes. “It’s going to be okay. This young lad here is going to keep watch,” she said, looking at Michael. “You should go with him. Help him. Protect your sister. You love her, don’t you? Keep her safe.”
Diana cried out. Julia pulled her head back inside the bus. “Di, I got to do it.” Her hand landed on her sister’s arm, fingers pinched at the skin. “I’m going to shotgun it to the shed, look for something. Hammers or whatever. Anything we can use if they come back.” She nodded, encouraging Diana to nod with her. “Then I’m running straight back here. It’s now or never.”
Sarah hugged Diana tighter, locked her in her arms.
“If something happens…” Diana started.
“Jesus, Diana, nothing’s going to happen, okay? I’ve got to do it. You keep watch with—what’s your name?”
“It’s Michael,” he replied, shaking his head. He thought letting the girl go was crazy.
“Help us, sweetie,” Sarah asked of Diana.
“I’ve got to go now.”
“She’s got to slip through.” Sarah kissed Diana’s cheek.
“Sis, you don’t have to do this.”
Michael watched them lock eyes. He couldn’t believe what was happening. A girl younger than him was going out there. He knew he would never be a hero, and was ashamed. He was too flawed.
Does knowing you’re a coward defeat the cowardice? Is acknowledging your failings enough to cheat the problem, to cheat death? Michael had little faith in the theory.
He watched Julia turn back to the gap and force her way through. Michael wanted to say something, anything. Perhaps wish her luck. She was already beyond hearing.
He turned his head to the window and watched for movement in the house.
Sarah had her wide, calloused hands on Diana’s shoulders. She could feel her quivering. “Breathe for me, sweetie.”
“She can’t go. She’s pregnant.”
Julia stopped. The words froze the other passengers. Even Jack was shocked.
All eyes turned to Julia, whose blotched face was twisted at an awkward angle so she could meet their stunned gazes.
“I’m going out there because I’m pregnant,” she said. It was a fact.
With no fanfare, no tears, she pushed herself back through the doorway.
Pregnant. Sarah let the word sink in. How old is she? Thirteen, fourteen? It all was too hard to comprehend. She’d known the girls for mere hours but thought they had developed a bond of trust, of unity. You’re just as naïve as you always were, Sarah told herself. To know the three of them were in fact four altered things. It made her realize they were just strangers after all. She knew nothing about them and though it pained her to do so, she struggled to find acceptance of the young woman’s pregnancy. Some prejudices were deep-rooted.
“I’ll hate you forever and ever and ever if you don’t come back,” Diana told the shuffling leg
s. She didn’t know if her sister heard her.
A baby, Michael thought, shocked. It was not difficult to imagine a young pregnant girl. In fact it was common. So no, it wasn’t that, it was just inconceivable to him that the stakes could get any higher.
Let her go, you know you have to, a voice whispered in Jack’s ear. He turned to address the speaker and there was nobody there, only flies.
Thirty-Six
The glass on the hood stuck into Julia’s palms but didn’t break the skin. Her weight fell upon these axis points and every muscle in her body strained. Inside, her baby continued to grow, unaware of what was happening, of the world it would be born into.
Hair fell into her eyes. She curled her lower lip and blew it away.
Michael scanned the house. Julia wouldn’t be seen until she was off the truck and on the ground. Once there, she was out in the open, fully visible. Logic decreed that it was best for her to lie on the hood until the next sighting. Only if the family stuck true to their routine scout would she get to the shed unseen. “Please, please, please, be safe,” he said.
The house had started to fade into shadow, as clouds grew heavier. A hot gust of wind rattled the fairy lights in the dying trees. Dust whipped into Julia’s eyes.
Diana moved away from the others. Hatred boiled inside her, rolled to the surface like fleshless bones in a pot. They deserved to die. Not Julia. How adults could let this happen baffled her.
They are evil, she thought. All of them.
The pressure in her bladder grew. She pushed her face against the window, leaving oil streaks on the glass. Her fingers dug at the seating until under her nails were black crescent moons.
Thirty-Five
Even Julia found it difficult to ease through the gap. Her hipbones, already beginning to widen in the early stages of motherhood, struggled to fit. Both hands were on the hood, her grip sliding because of the bleeding cuts in her palms. She felt no pain. Her body twisted so her knees could slide through. She wasn’t frightened. Adrenalin had taken over.