by Shawn Bartek
“Yeah, she’s in the house,” Leslie said.
“How did you guys get in?” Scott said.
“Um, I did the trick you showed me with your bedroom window and I snuck us in.”
The trick he showed you? Ami thought. How long has this been going on?
Stop. It’s not important right now. Dana. You need to focus.
“So, Jodi’s in there,” Ami said, “Is that cuntface Shane in there?”
Marc blurted out a snicker that came out like, “Henh.”
“No, what did he do?” Leslie asked.
“He stole my fucking car and left the three of us for dead,” Ami smiled at her.
“That sounds like something he would do,” Leslie said.
“C’mon, Ami,” Scott said, “Let’s go inside. We’ll get you guys some new clothes. There’s a phone in there, too. We can check on your sister.”
* * *
Ami stood in the bedroom of Scott’s little brother, Ray. It was surprisingly clean for a fourteen year old. Oddly simple; one full bed with a wooden frame, one nightstand, one desk with homework stacked on it, and the dresser. Even odder, there was no art on the walls. No sports, no rappers, no skiing, no movies, nothing.
The first drawer housed Ray’s underwear; she quickly shut it and moved on. The next drawer housed two pairs of blue jeans and one pair of cargo pants. She took the cargos out and slipped them on. There was only one t-shirt. It was a good color—teal, but adorning the front were stick figures engaged in different sexual positions. She slipped on the dumb t-shirt and immediately felt embarrassed. But the cotton was surprisingly soft. Pros and cons.
Ami walked past the living room, where most of the group had formed a semi-circle around the television. Jodi was the only one not interested; she was sunk into the plushy couch, hugging a throw pillow. Ami really wanted to jump over the couch and rip her face off; she had a feeling Jodi was in cahoots with Shane and she even suspected it was Jodi that Shane texted before he stole her car. But right now there were more important things than revenge.
Ami sat down at the breakfast bar and picked up the phone. It occurred to her that this was the first time she had used a land line in at least two years.
First, she tried Dana. As the phone rang, she stared at the decapitated elk head staring from the wall. She thought about if things had gone worse at the grocery store, she’d have met a similar fate.
No goddamned answer. She left another angry message, pleading for Dana to pick up. She picked up a butter knife off the counter and began to drum it against the Formica.
Maybe Dana was gone already. She’d need to call 9-1-1 next.
Amazingly, the emergency center picked up on the first ring. Ami brought the operator up to speed. It was a different operator—a woman this time.
“And you said her name was Dana?” the operator asked.
“Yes, I called at about six or seven. I can’t remember the exact time. But I gave you guys my address. I was told they would look into it and I’d hear back. But my phone got lost, so I have no idea if anyone has my sister or not.”
“I can put a call out to dispatch and have someone call you back at this number.”
“Can I please wait on hold while somebody finds this out?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, we need to—”
“Yeah, I know, keep the line open. Just please have somebody call me back.”
The chaos of the day seemed to create a wall around basic information; simple facts could not be simply locked down.
The tankers cackled at her.
* * *
Ami rotated to her next inevitable disappointment. She tried her mother’s phone again. She was suddenly six years old again and just needed the adult in the room to tell her what to do.
She heard her mom’s voice for the first time in what felt like ages. It had only been since the morning, but Ami felt her whole world had changed since then. Pam could barely speak.
“Ami,” she said, pausing to blow her nose, “I’m so sorry. I just can’t believe this. It’s such a nightmare. We didn’t get your message until about fifteen minutes ago. I just spoke with your aunt Donna, she’s in Frenchtown. Did you get Dana?”
“Wait—Donna was able to get to Frenchtown? How? She doesn’t drive.”
“Harold and June from across her street took her with them. Did you get Dana?”
“I’m sorry, mom,” Ami said, “Not yet.”
“Ami, you have to get her,” she was breathing heavy now, “I’m hyperventilating. We’re gonna try to get on the next flight out of here. Sheila and I are in the cab right now. But, Jesus, I’m scared. I hate this. I can’t believe I have to wait for a flight and have to travel while my babies are alone.”
“I think we’ve got some help. I think the police are going to get her. I’m just waiting to hear back.”
“Where are you?” Pam sniffed.
“Scott’s,” Ami answered.
An unexpected sigh came from Pam, “Ami, what are you doing at Scott’s?”
“I don’t really have time to get into everything, but this is where we ended up.”
“Ami, are you serious? You’ve had all this time to get Dana, and you’re wasting time at Scott’s? Can I at least assume you’re sober?”
Ami took the phone and bashed it on the counter. It cracked the ear piece. She didn’t care, she should have expected this.
“Yes, I’m sober, mother,” Ami raised her voice at the phone, “Now, we’ve had a much worse goddamn day than you’ve had and I wish you would just trust me for a change. Will you trust me?”
“I’m sorry,” Pam paused and stifled her sobs, “You said the police are getting her? Did you talk to someone?
“I did. I got a hold of them earlier. They told me they would send a squad car out there, but there’s only like five units for the city that are on emergency detail. Somebody was supposed to call me back, but my phone is gone.”
“Did you try calling them back?”
“Yeah, but they couldn’t confirm. They’re supposed to call me back here.”
“Oh Jesus. How long is that going to take? Ami, you can’t stay there. You have to go get her.”
“I don’t have a car, mom,” Ami said.
“Nobody with you has a car?” Pam asked.
“There is one, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get to use it. The police are going to pick her up.”
“Ami, you don’t know that. If they really are sending out a car, then maybe having both of you going to get her will double the chances it’ll get done. You said they only had five police officers?”
“They said that there was only five for emergency patrols, all the other units set up roadblocks to keep people from coming into town.”
“What good is that gonna do anybody? Isn’t there the National Guard or something?”
“I don’t know anything of what’s going on right now,” Ami voice started to crack, “We just got here. They’ve got the TV on, but I’m talking to you, so I don’t know what’s going on, do I?”
Pam sighed again into the receiver. “Ami, you can do this. I want to be able to trust you. Just try to get her. Maybe you’ll run into an officer on your way and they can help.”
Her mom was probably right; she would probably run into an officer, at least at one of the roadblocks.
Ami said, “Okay. I’ll find a way.”
“If you get there, you call me immediately and let me know you got her. Okay, we’re just pulling up to the airport. Just a second—No change, just keep it.
She returned her attention to Ami. “If we’re lucky, you may not reach us, we’ll be in the air. But I have no idea when the next flight out of here is. There’s gotta be a red eye. But I don’t know about layovers or anything. Tomorrow morning is probably best case.”
“Mom, I’ll have her safely at Frenchtown by then.”
“That’s my girl. I love you, Ami. Get my baby. You two are all I have left.”
“I love you, too.
”
* * *
Ami joined them at the television. Scott edged over to her.
“Sorry about that shirt,” he said to her, “My brother’s a moron.”
“I’d say so,” she said.
“Maybe I could find you another one,” he offered.
“It’s fine. Lame, but fine. I like the color anyways,” Ami said.
The KECI news report followed:
“…Sources say that emergency crews are close to securing those cranes within the next two hours. They will be able lift the ninety ton tankers safely from their current volatile position. For now, this will bring emergency personnel relief as they work to secure Car 22, still in danger of being pulled down from the embankment by the unrelenting power of gravity.
“On site, there are ambulances and hazardous waste personnel in the waiting should the worst occur. An inside source for the fire department has been quoted as ‘elated’ regarding the quick response of the emergency personnel.
“A representative from FEMA, George Heidecker, gave a press conference earlier this evening:”
The camera remained on the blonde newscaster for three seconds longer than intended. She was sweating and hypnotized by a stack of note cards in her hand.
“She’s not reading shit,” Ami said, “She’s saying her Hail Mary’s.”
“Yeah, why do they make them stay there?” Marc asked.
“Good television,” she said.
“Lucky them, they’ll probably just fly away in the traffic copter if the tanker falls.” Jodi said.
The newscast finally cut to the press conference. A sturdy looking man in a green polo shirt stood at a podium with many sturdy men standing behind him.
“The evacuation has proceeded with minimal casualties. We believe that we are sufficiently on our way to securing both tankers. The tankers will be secured and you will be able to return to your homes. Once this has happened, many will say that this was an unnecessary exercise, but I assure you, nothing is more important than the lives of the good people in this area.
“Unfortunately, we know that there are still some people that have chosen not to evacuate. If you remain on the streets and attempt to travel in the direction of the derailment, you will be commanded to reverse your course.
“Some residents have chosen not to leave their homes. I plead with you to reconsider. It would be a regrettable mistake should you lose your life over something that would not have cost you anything. We have recommendations for those still in the area.”
A bullet-pointed graphic filled the screen:
FACTS ABOUT CHLORINE GAS:
Yellow-green in color.
A strong scent of bleach will be present.
Get indoors as soon as possible.
Duct tape all windows and door jams.
If outside, get to the highest grund possible.
The typo in the graphic revealed the anxiety in the control room.
Heidecker continued, “We realize the substantial amount of inconvenience this has caused for people. We thank them for their bravery. We also applaud the citizens’ of Missoula for their decent human nature to help others in need. I will now take questions…”
Helping everyone but us, Ami thought. She turned to say this to Marc, but he’d disappeared.
The crowd of reporters erupted with questions.
Chapter XIII
It was full night now. Marc had stolen a cigarette from a pack of Merits that Scott’s mother left on the dining table and was smoking it on the patio deck overlooking the shadowed backyard. He tapped his used cowboy boots on the wooden posts of the deck. Shane’s father probably wouldn’t miss this pair. Marc had no interest in owning anything cowboy-related, but it was better than a bare foot.
He jumped when the sliding glass door whooshed open behind him.
Ami appeared behind him, “Hey, what are you doing?”
“I’m on break,” Marc said.
Ami chuckled and said, “I think we still need to go get Dana.”
“No word back from the police?”
“No. I just can’t wait anymore. I have to do something.”
“I’ll go with you if you’re going to go. Do you think Leslie will let you borrow her car?”
“She better.”
* * *
“I’m not really comfortable with that,” Leslie said.
Ami’s face heated and she felt Marc touch the small of her back. She took a breath and regrouped.
“What part makes you uncomfortable?” Ami asked.
“Well, for first thing,” Leslie said, “I don’t know if other drivers are really covered on my dad’s insurance.”
“You’re worried about that?” Marc said.
“Yeah, I mean,” Leslie started, “I just sort of got it and it would be a problem for me if anything happened to it.”
“My sister is sitting five miles away from us. Marc and I will get in the car, drive it five miles, pick her up, then drive five miles right back here. Ten miles total. That’s all.”
“Ten miles in crazy traffic. What if you get stuck again?”
Ami’s patience was wearing thin. She glanced over at the breakfast bar and saw that Leslie’s purse, presumably housing Leslie’s car keys, were sitting in plain view.
“The town is probably about empty by now,” Marc said, “There won’t be any traffic. It should take less than an hour.”
“Frankly, I wasn’t planning to go,” Leslie said, “I’m sorry, Ami, but I don’t think it’s wrong to think about my own safety. She’s your sister, but I’m myself, who wants to continue to live. So naturally, wouldn’t I have an interest in keeping myself safe?”
“You don’t have to go, you just have to pretend your car doesn’t exist for one measly hour, and we’ll be back before you miss it.”
“I’d really prefer to be with the car, and since I’m not going…”
“Enough of this bullshit,” Ami said.
And with that, Ami rushed through them and grabbed Leslie’s purse from the counter.
“Hey!” Leslie yelled.
Ami slid open the patio doors and disappeared. The group followed behind her and caught her at the edge of the deck.
“Here, go fetch!” Ami yelled and flung Leslie’s bag into the darkened backyard.
“Why did you do that?” Leslie jumped down the patio stairs and began to look around for the bait Ami had just captured her with.
Ami then turned on a dime, clutched Marc by his sleeve and ran back inside the house. She dragged him through the living room and into the dimly lit foyer. Then she swung open the front door and again pulled Marc’s sleeve, this time destined for Leslie’s car.
Unbeknownst to all, Ami had removed the Smart Car’s keys from the purse before chucking it into the abyss. She clicked the keyless entry remote and jumped into the driver’s seat. She clumsily looked around for the ignition switch.
“How in the fuck do I start this thing?” Ami said.
“It’s keyless! The key fob thing!” Marc said.
The car rumbled alive as Scott came running out of the front of the house. Ami locked the doors.
“Ami, c’mon, what are you doing?” Scott yelled to her.
“I’m backing up. Move, Scott!” she yelled back.
Ami had the car in reverse, but it wouldn’t move.
“What is going on with this stupid car?” she yelled and pressed on the gas. The car would lurch, but did not budge. Ami continued to step on the pedal as Leslie appeared at the window. She began to lightly pound on the window.
“Get out, Ami!” she yelled.
Ami pressed on the gas again. Marc looked to the center console and saw the parking brake pointed to the ceiling. He pressed the safety release and popped the level down. The car lunged backwards, as did Scott and Leslie.
Ami backed the car out of the driveway and popped the transmission into drive. She floored the pedal and they sped off down Cote Lane. They heard Leslie’s sh
outs disappear in the distance.
“Do you think she was upset?” Ami asked.
They continued down Cote Lane and Scott’s house vanished in the black horizon behind them.
* * *
Ami glided the Smart Car down the deserted Mullan Road without running into even one single car. Marc’s already knotty stomach became knottier as they got closer to the Albertsons. He realized he was already suffering post-traumatic stress disorder from the knife attack. He thought now might be the best time to ask Ami for the Xanex.
What if the Rat’s Nest Man and the Balloon Head were still there, hanging around, waiting for the next rabbit to fall into their trap?
“Maybe we should try branching off from Mullan before we get to Reserve,” Ami said, “What if those guys are still at Albertsons?”
“We can cut through to Broadway from Flynn Lane.”
As they approached Broadway Street, a wave of relief washed over them. The reflections of alternating red and blue of police lights shone on the Reserve Street overpass. There were white and black striped sawhorses lined into the shape of a giant rectangle, the section under the concrete overpass was lit up amply by the streetlights; it looked like a pro-wrestling ring. But instead of a dapper, tux-clad announcer in the middle, awaiting an answer to whether or not the crowd had a readiness to rumble, there was only a single patrol car. And an officer sitting on the hood.
Ami slowly pulled the Smart Car up to the blockade. As they began to step out of the car, the officer turned to them, placed his hand close to his holster. He hopped off the car hood and walked over to them slowly, head moving cautiously in all directions.
“Officer, I’m so happy that you’re—” Marc started and was quickly cut off.
“Can you please tell me what you think you are doing here?” the officer said.
Ami recognized him immediately. It was Officer Mitchell. Four months ago, the night of her dad’s death, he had been her arresting officer.
“Oh, look. Here’s trouble,” he said to Ami, “What do you think you’re doing out here tonight?”
“Um, we’re trying to get back to my sister. You see, she’s at our house up the Rattlesnake and no one else was home when they announced the evacu—”