He pulled the teacher’s chair back from the desk and crawled into the foot well, pulling the chair back into place. There wasn’t much room, but he was completely hidden. Unless whatever had entered the school walked around the back of the desk and pulled the chair out. But it wouldn’t have any reason to do that, right? It (shadow man) would look through the classroom door, see the room was empty, and move on. He hoped.
Brody listened carefully. He couldn’t hear any footsteps outside in the hallway, but maybe the shadow man was being quiet, too, moving slowly and listening for him.
The minutes slowly ticked by. He wasn’t sure how many. Five, ten, fifteen? His legs were starting to cramp, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to stand up and stretch his—
He nearly screamed when he heard the classroom door open. He clamped his hand over his mouth as the hinges squealed, and he tried to control his breathing. His heart pounded away in his chest, and he slunk back against the front of the desk as far as he could go, pulling his feet and knees up close to his body. He wrapped his arm around his legs to keep them in place, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold the position for a long time.
There’s nobody in here, he chanted to himself. It’s empty, no one is here, go on to the next room.
“Brody?”
He couldn’t believe his ears. It was a girl’s voice? He wasn’t about to answer, no way. Not yet. Maybe the shadow man was trying to trick him, get him to show himself.
“Brody, are you in here?”
He’d heard that voice before. Was it Debbie? How cool would that be if Debbie was searching for him! But, no, it didn’t sound like Debbie. He couldn’t place the voice, but it was so familiar. He dropped his hand from his mouth, was almost ready to say something (what do you say when you’re hiding from a shadow monster under a desk?), then heard the hinges squeak again. Whoever it was, she was leaving. Or it was leaving.
He let out a huge breath when the door clicked shut. He didn’t think he’d been holding his breath, but apparently he was, and now he could breathe again. He slowly pushed the teacher’s chair out with his feet.
“Brody? Are you here?”
He heard her voice again, in the hallway. The stranger was definitely searching for him. Before he gave himself up, though, he needed to be sure who it was. Brody stepped around the desks and grabbed the door handle. He turned it slowly, hoping it wouldn’t make any noise, and when he felt (more than heard, thankfully) the catch release, he pulled the door open, gently, to keep the hinges quiet.
Opening it just enough to stick his head out, Brody looked down the hallway and saw a figure enter another classroom, two rooms down. It didn’t look like a shadow man. As soon as that door swung shut, Brody moved.
He closed the door behind him, making sure it didn’t swing shut on its own. He walked as softly as he could down the hall toward the other door; he would peer inside the rectangular window to see who (or what) was following him and calling his name. Three feet away, two feet, one.
He readied himself, and on the count of three leaned over and looked inside.
Dammit. He couldn’t see anyone. She, or it, was out of view.
“Brody, if you’re in here, would you please answer me? We don’t have much time. We have to hurry.”
Hurry.
That one little word, spoken by a girl whose face he couldn’t place, unleashed a flood of memories through Brody’s mind, coming so fast that he grabbed his head with his hands.
“Hurry!” she screamed.
“Wait! Who—What’s wrong?” Brody said, as he broke free of her grasp. Before she could grab his arm again, Brody turned, and saw.
A man—no, a man shape—as if someone had taken a knife and sliced away part of a picture revealing a blank void beyond, and it was moving toward them. “Holy shi—”
The girl grabbed his arm again, and this time Brody ran with her, actually passing her by and pulling her along. He reached down and grabbed her hand. The other kids on the playground were all standing perfectly still, watching them (dolls’ eyes) run toward the side of the school. Brody wasn’t sure where they were going, but anywhere away from that thing would be okay.
Her hand was warm in his, and he held on tight, hoping he wasn’t squeezing hard enough to hurt her.
And then, he wasn’t holding anything.
She’d disappeared.
Brody slumped against the wall with a thud and struggled to keep himself from sliding to the floor. He heard the classroom door open, and there she was again—the same girl from the playground, he realized, who had vanished right into thin air—with the shadow man close behind.
She grabbed his arms to steady him. “Are you okay?” she asked. Brody couldn’t look away. This was all so unreal. The strange sky with no sun, the empty playground, the empty school building, all of it, and now, her, a girl he didn’t know (but did know) searching for him. He was scared, more frightened than he’d been when he was running toward the school, knowing he was being watched. No, this was worse, because he didn’t understand any of it.
“I don’t have very much time, Brody,” she said. “I can feel it coming.”
“It?” Brody said, thinking she meant the shadow man, but when she grimaced in pain, he wondered if she meant something else.
“We don’t have much time. Come on, we have to find a safe place to talk.” She pulled his arm, trying to get him to follow. Brody resisted at first but remembered he’d gone with her once before. She’d touched his cheek and it had felt so right, not in a Debbie-Wilson-dream-that-he’d-never-tell-anyone-about sort of way, but in a way he couldn’t explain. He trusted her.
“What’s going on?” Brody asked.
She spoke as she led him away farther down the hall. “You remember me, don’t you.”
“I think so,” Brody replied, noticing she was smiling as she said it, but wishing they weren’t going into the part of the building that was so dark.
“The last time I saw you,” she said, “we were outside, in that playground, running away from that shadow, right? Come on, this way.”
He remembered the moment, especially what they were running from. “What happened? I was holding your hand, then you screamed and—”
“And then I wasn’t there anymore. I know. And it’s going to happen again, and quick.” She led him into, of all things, the janitor’s closet and shut the door. The space was completely dark. They were standing face-to-face, just inches apart, but Brody couldn’t see a thing.
“We’ll be safe here, for now,” she said.
“From the shadow man?”
“Yes. The shadow man.”
“What is it? Why was it chasing you?” He had a million questions, but she shushed him.
“Look, Brody, I don’t know what it is, okay? I don’t.” She groaned, almost like she had a bad stomachache.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Grab my hands, grab my hands,” she said. Brody felt her fingers touch his arms, and he grasped her hands. “Listen to me, okay?” she continued. “That whatever-it-is, the shadow man, wants me. It wants you, too. I don’t know why, but we can’t let it get to us, okay?”
Brody didn’t care a bit about Debbie Wilson anymore. He cared about this girl and wanted to protect her, keep her safe. “I won’t let it.”
She groaned again, louder this time, and was having trouble standing. Brody held her hands tighter. “What’s happening?” he said.
“Hold on to me, Brody. I don’t want to go back!”
“To where? Where are you going?”
Her breathing was heavy now, as if she were in pain. “If you don’t see me again, you need to go to a place you’ve never been before, okay? Promise me you’ll go to a place you’ve never been. Run there as fast as you can! Oh God, I don’t want to go!”
Brody wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Her whole body was trembling.
“Remember me again, Brody, okay? Don’t forget me!”
“
I don’t even know your name!”
“I’m Connie!”
Connie. Of course her name is Connie.
And his arms were empty.
Brody didn’t know how long he stayed in the closet. He refused to venture out until he was sure he didn’t hear the shadow man searching for him. He listened for classroom doors opening and shutting, but there was nothing. Only silence.
Connie had disappeared again, just as she had on the playground the last time he saw her, except this time it happened while he was holding her in his arms, holding her tight.
She said she didn’t want to go back, but to where?
Saying her name felt as if a small curtain had been raised, revealing a part of his mind where he could see her more clearly.
Connie.
She was real. He’d convinced himself of that as soon as he felt her body trembling in his arms. Brody had never held a girl like that, and the feeling was much more amazing than anything he could’ve ever imagined in a dream. She was warm. He could feel her breathing, feel her heart pounding away against his chest. And she was soft.
He didn’t know what was happening, or why, and was about as scared as he’d ever been, but at that moment, right before her body vanished, he realized this wasn’t some sort of strange dream. Connie was real. And she was scared, too, scared of the shadow man, and scared that he’d forget her name.
“I won’t forget you, Connie,” he whispered to himself. “And I’ll hold on tighter next time, I promise.”
Brody stayed in the closet a bit longer, until he was as certain as he could be that the shadow man wasn’t going to be standing right outside the door as soon as he opened it. He’d heard nothing since Connie vanished.
He opened the door, peered outside. Opened it wider, stepped into the hall. He was still alone.
She said to go to someplace I’ve never been before, to run there fast, but what did she mean? Now that he was back in the hallway, though, all Brody wanted to do was go home. If home was like this, though . . . What if the sky was still wrong, and the house was empty?
No, it wouldn’t be. His mom would be there, in the kitchen like she always was. Murf would be there, too. It would be okay. It would have to be okay.
Brody trotted down the hall toward the side exit. He stopped at the door and looked outside; nothing had changed. The world was just as it was when he’d awakened in the field, a slate-blue sky, no sun, and the colors all wrong. He took a deep breath, stepped outside the door, and from the corner of his eye saw the shadow man come around the corner of the building.
He didn’t even spare the extra second it would take to look directly at him (it). Brody ran. He ran as fast as his legs would take him, across the street (Murf almost got hit by a car here) and down the sidewalk, heading for Grant Avenue, where his house was. The street was more than a mile away, but he’d run all the way there if he had to.
He glanced over his shoulder, and the shadow man was still there but not right on his heels like he expected. It was standing by the edge of the school, seemingly staring in his direction. Watching. Not coming after him, just watching. Brody slowed to a walk, wondering why the shadow man wasn’t coming after him. Wait, was it pointing?
Brody stopped. Part of him wanted to keep running home, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. Curiosity killed the cat. Don’t be a cat, Brody. If it moves, run like hell. The shadow man had one arm outstretched, as if pointing down the street, in the opposite direction he was running. Pointing at what? There was nothing there, as far as Brody could see.
For what seemed like a full minute, Brody stood on the sidewalk, staring back at the shadow man. It never moved, not once, just kept its arm pointed down the street. When it did move, Brody took a few steps back, ready to run away, but ignored his own advice and watched it slip through the side entrance to the school and disappear from view.
“What the heck?” Brody said, wondering why it hadn’t come after him, as it had Connie. She was super frightened of the shadow man (and so was he, who was he kidding!), but it didn’t chase him.
Did it want me to go down the street? Brody was torn between wanting to continue home (and maybe get something to eat), or head down the street where it was pointing. For some reason, he didn’t feel any danger from it, the shadow man. He didn’t want to walk right up to it and ask if it knew whether or not the Browns would ever win a Super Bowl or something (which would be silly, in a lot of ways), but it didn’t seem as dangerous as it had before.
It didn’t try to catch him.
Maybe it was trying to show him something.
Brody turned and looked up the street, to the intersection with Grant Avenue—not too far away. Home was less than a mile from where he was standing. But if it was like this (empty, no people, no mom, no Murf), then was there really any reason to go back there?
Connie said she wanted him to go someplace where he’d never been before. She didn’t say why, but she was insistent.
Brody couldn’t ever remember going very far down the street in the direction the shadow man was pointing. He recognized all the houses down there (the ones he could see), but what was beyond? Had his mom ever driven down that street with him? Had he ever walked with friends that far?
The answer was no.
“Okay, I’ll go,” he said, both to the shadow man and to Connie, neither of whom were anywhere near enough to hear him. Wherever Connie had disappeared to probably wasn’t a nice place, either. She was terrified about going back. Scared to death. Brody hoped the same thing wouldn’t end up happening to him.
Brody Quail walked down the street, past the school (keeping a close eye on the side door, just because), and headed toward a place he’d never been.
He didn’t get far.
The day ended for ten-year-old Brody Quail, but the memory of this empty place, and of Connie, would remain.
Chapter 20
BRODY26
Elephant grass.
The heat, the stink. His mouth was dry, his hands bloody. Not all his own blood. Bullets whistled through the tall grass, buzzing right over his head. The bap-bap-bap-bap of AK-47s filled the air, along with the higher-pitched pop-pop-pop of their own M16s. They’d been under constant fire from the moment they’d stepped off their Hueys into a hot LZ.
The enemy was everywhere. The brass had dropped them in a goddamned valley, and the North Vietnamese Army held all the high ground. Not Viet Cong, either. These were regular army, the NVA. Their briefings hadn’t said anything about this. What the holy hell were the generals in Saigon thinking?
He and his buddies were sitting ducks. His first sight once he set foot on solid ground was guys to his left, right, even behind him dropping to the ground, screaming or grabbing their throats to stanch the blood that poured from open wounds, or simply spinning around and falling, dead before they had a chance to fight back. Guys he’d trained with, guys he knew. Brothers.
Through the thunderous gunfire, he heard the goddamned trumpets, the NVA blowing their horns, urging their men forward into the grass. He heard the scream of artillery—incoming and friendly—and the ground shook beneath him as the shells hit. One after another, boom-boom-boom, throwing columns of dirt, and bodies (enemy bodies, he hoped), into the air. And most weren’t whole.
The NVA blew their damned horns, pushing forward, advancing. Bam-bam-bam-bam. More screams from his right. A man calling for his mother, over and over and over. There was a whap-whap-whap sound in the distance as the Hueys circled, the pilots trying to decide whether it was worth it to risk flying into a hot LZ. They could see the field was turning into a goddamned Air Cav abattoir.
He sensed something flash overhead and heard, as well as felt, the thunder as the rumble rolled across the ground around him. A jet fighter pulled up into the blue sky, and the napalm tanks it dropped slammed into the trees to his front. Even from a distance, he felt the overpressure from the explosion and the searing heat. As the flames leapt into the sky, he heard a horrid wail
ing, the sound of men being eaten alive by flame.
There was a body to his left, faceup, or what was left of his face. He’d taken a few rounds to the chest and one to the jaw that had torn it clean off, leaving a permanent, silent scream. He didn’t recognize the man. Brody may have known him, even been his friend, but not anymore. He grabbed the man’s rifle and pulled the magazine from it, then emptied the magazine pouches. Ammunition was precious in a firefight, and dead men pulled no triggers.
Bap-bap-bap-bap. Someone called for a medic, his voice high-pitched, screaming like a little girl. A horrible sound. Bap-bap-bap-bap. Then silence, from him at least.
Pop-pop-pop, return fire. The whump of mortar fire, nearby. The crash of incoming rounds, so close.
Brody flattened himself to the ground as bullets sliced through the grass overhead, angry bees whose sting could kill him or tear him apart, just like the poor sap next to him. They weren’t ready for this, none of them were. This was their first taste of combat, and it was nothing like they were told it would be. They were being massacred.
Another scream to his left, more AK-47 fire.
He could hear enemy voices, too. Chattering away in a tongue he didn’t understand. Getting closer. He checked his selector, made sure it was set to full-auto fire, and slowly raised his head. They were there, only ten meters away. Five of the little bastards. If he was going to die in this place, he would go down fighting and take as many of them with him as he could.
Brody crouched, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The first man went down with a head shot. Brody was shocked at how the man’s head exploded out the other side in a blossom of red mist, a memory he later hoped to suppress, though he would never forget the sight. He swept his rifle back and forth, watching his rounds cut into the NVA soldiers as they began to react, swinging their AKs in his direction. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop. But he didn’t give them a chance.
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