Abigail stood at the end of the walk. When she saw Mindy pull up to the curb, she did not wave or smile. She merely walked to the bus, opened the door, and stepped inside. She edged her way around Pamela and sat in the back seat.
Pamela said, “Hi,” in a singsong voice and twiddled her fingers over her shoulder. Then she turned around, smiled pleasantly, and said to Abigail, “By any chance do you have something to eat?”
Abigail stared bug-eyed at her and did not answer.
Pamela stuck out her lower lip, pouting; she heaved a great sigh, turned around, and settled back into the seat.
“Don’t worry, Pamela,” I said. “She doesn’t have anything but she’s as hungry as you are. We’ll be there soon.”
From the astonished look on Abigail’s face, I knew it was the first time she had been this close to the results of her spell.
Good. I hoped it scared her. I hoped she saw what she had done and the trouble she had caused, even though it was Pamela’s nastiness that started it in the first place.
I pulled the visor down. In the mirror I saw Abigail slide as far away from Pamela as possible and press against the side of the bus as if afraid to get near her.
Could fear make a witch less effective when trying to remove a spell? The thought sent a tremor of fear through me.
We drove east on Artesia Boulevard. At Aviation, Mindy turned left then made a right at Marine. We were almost to the 405 Freeway when Pamela cried out, “I’m starving!”
“It won’t be long, Pamela.” I turned around to reassure her. “We’re almost at that mall I told you about and you can have anything you want.”
“Oh, hi Olivia!” Pamela beamed. “Gee, that sounds awesome. It’s nice of you to tell me about it. I’ll return the favor sometime.” She leaned forward and patted my shoulder.
I didn’t answer, just quietly turned and faced forward. I already felt bad lying to her, and when she patted my shoulder so trustingly it made me feel worse. But the scary part was that I had been in the bus for over ten minutes and it was the first time she noticed me. Strangest of all was her friendliness. It was sincere. I had never heard her speak that way and sound like she meant it.
Without taking her eyes off the road, Mindy reached for her water bottle, opened it, and gulped a mouthful of water. Then she took a deep breath.
“You’re right,” she said, “what else could it be but”—she lip synched the words—a magic spell?
“What else could what be?” said Pamela, idly watching passing traffic. “Oh, look, there’s Tomboy’s! Can we stop? Please, please.”
“We’ll stop at the next one,” Mindy said, “where the burgers are bigger.”
Pamela threw herself back against the seat, pushed out her lower lip again, and folded her arms. “All right, if you say so, big meanie Mindy.”
Mindy pressed down on the gas pedal and the engine whined. “I wish this thing could go faster,” she muttered.
“You sound like someone I used to know,” I said, as I turned on the radio.
Pamela hummed along with a song. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you please turn up the volume?” she said. “I love to sing but I have such a terrible voice I would just die if anyone heard me.”
Mindy leaned forward and turned the dial as far as it would go. It still wasn’t very loud but it covered our voices so Pamela could not hear us.
“How far away is it?” Mindy said.
“About sixty miles.”
“What?” she yelled.
“Ssshh.”
“What?” she whispered. “Are you serious?”
“Just drive. We’ll be there soon.”
But it wasn’t soon enough for Pamela; after fifteen minutes she was complaining again.
“Can we go back and get take-out from El Sombrero?” she said, as we drove past a long line of restaurants, apartments, and single-family houses.
“There must be a restaurant somewhere,” she added sadly, peering at each building we passed.
“We’re almost there,” I said.
“To El-Som?” Pamela brightened.
“No. The mall.”
“Oh.” She slumped back in the seat.
When we left school, dark clouds had been moving toward us, but the sky overhead was still blue. The farther we went, the more the sky darkened. In the distance it took on a blurry gray look which meant it was raining hard and we would soon be in the middle of a downpour.
“Great, a storm, just what we need,” I said under my breath.
A lightning bolt knifed its way through the darkest section of clouds.
One thousand one, one thousand two—thunder clapped, followed by the distant roll that echoed from the hills. A few large raindrops spattered the windshield.
Mindy reached forward and turned on the headlights. Two beams shone on the road in front of us. She turned another switch and the wipers ticked back and forth.
When it rains in Los Angeles it does not take long for streets to become slick, and when they do lots of drivers speed up instead of slowing down, as if saving a few minutes outweighs the danger of slamming into another car and killing someone.
Fortunately, Mindy slowed down. This was the first time she had driven the bus in rain, but she had driven it through high desert winds. Volkswagen buses are not the steadiest vehicles on the road. Their high center of gravity makes them swerve when buffeted by crosswinds. It’s no fun thinking you are about to be shoved into a guardrail or over a cliff.
We drove steadily along; wipers ticking back and forth; silence interrupted by occasional radio static.
I heard snoring and looked over my shoulder. Pamela was slumped to the side, sputtering noisily, her cheek pressed against the window, her mouth open.
Wideawake and seemingly unconcerned, Abigail gazed out the window at a train moving parallel to us. At times she pulled her gaze away from the endless cars and looked at the vacant houses, their broken windows gaping like black holes. I wondered what was going through her mind but was afraid to ask.
There was a small cassette player in the center of the dashboard. None of us owned any cassettes and Mindy forgot to bring the plastic box they were stored in. I tried tuning the radio but could not get anything. Some joker must have broken off the antenna because all that was left was a little hole in the side of the hood where it used to be.
I finally found a station so that every now and then a blip of singing or scratchy music interrupted the static.
The farther north we went the harder it rained. We were soon in a downpour. The back-seat side window would not close all the way. A reckless driver flew past us on the right shoulder. His tractor-size wheels fishtailed streams of water from both sides and drenched the bus. Cold water splashed through the one-inch gap in the window and for a few seconds I could not see the road.
Pamela coughed and sputtered. “Shit! What the—” She breathed hard, blinked her eyes, and stared straight ahead.
My heart jumped. Had splashing water broken the spell? What would she do when she realized how she had changed; not to mention finding herself in the car with the three of us. I remembered the way she attacked the vending machine and beat up me and Mindy.
I held my breath and watched her through the side mirror.
“Oh, well.” She smiled and gave a little shrug. “A drop of water never hurt anyone.” She yawned and nestled back into the corner. In a few seconds she was asleep.
“I hope we get there soon,” Mindy said, gripping the steering wheel.
Glancing at the side mirror, I saw Abigail white as a ghost.
So, she did not expect Pamela to wake up either. Great. The whole purpose of the trek to the landfill was to remove the spell and return Pamela to her former self. What if Abigail was not any good at witchcraft? One spell had already gone wrong. Would she totally fail this time?
Her shocked expression now sent a different thrill of fear through me. If a few drops of water brought Pamela out of the spell for a couple second
s, what would happen when she stepped out of the car and into a downpour? There must be a special way to remove a spell, as opposed to having it ripped away accidentally. Or so I hoped.
I checked the mirror again and saw Abigail once more gazing at the scenery, her mild expression back in place. I hoped the rain stopped before we reached the landfill. By the looks of it, I would not get my wish.
“Asshole.” Mindy glared at the red taillights of the driver who flooded us.
In front of us, a line of cars wound around a curve and out of sight. The same truck swerved back onto the shoulder, sped past the cars, and disappeared in a haze of spray and rain.
“Hmm?” Pamela murmured, as she glanced around. “Who’s an asshole?”
My heart leaped. Had she woken up again? How did the spell work?
“No one,” I said quickly. I waited, afraid to see how she would react. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.
The roads were flooded, the gutters overflowing. Some of the cross streets had turned into canals. I could barely see through the fogged windows.
Mindy pulled her sleeve over her hand and wiped the windshield which gave her about a hand’s width of visibility.
“Where’s the heater?” I asked.
“It doesn’t work.”
I pulled my hoodie out of my backpack and wiped the window next to me. Through the clear round spot, I saw golden arches ahead on the right, a row of cars lined up at the drive thru.
“I’m hungry,” Pamela moaned.
Oh my god. If she saw McDonald’s she would reach over the driver’s seat, grab the wheel—even if she had to knock Mindy senseless—and steer into the driveway. She would then drive to the speaker and order everything on the menu.
I held my breath and waited.
Pamela shifted her position, rested her head against the window, took a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a long whoosh. Once more she went back to sleep.
Stress—lots of it. I hoped I could deal with whatever happened next.
Half an hour passed. Black sky ahead of us, rain pouring down, and the comfort of home far behind.
“Do you know where we are?” Abigail said meekly, as she stared at the floor.
“Not exactly,” said Mindy. “But unless we missed the ramp, we should be close.”
Missed the ramp?
I had no idea how we would see an exit to the landfill. Would it be a one-lane off ramp with no advance warning until we were forty feet from it? In this rain it would be hard to see a jumbo screen with neon colors.
Lightning flashed and crackled. In the stark light I saw a sign on a tall chain link fence: Waste Management Landfill Private Property No Trespassing.
The lightning stopped. Sheets of rain blurred the windows. I was so sure Mindy would turn into the driveway I leaned into the turn in anticipation.
We drove past the sign.
“Wait,” I began, “wasn’t that—”
“No,” Abigail said, her voice soft. “Keep going.”
Mindy blinked, shook her head, and slowed the bus.
“Turn here.” I pointed at the offramp.
“No. It’s farther,” Abigail said, in the same soft voice.
Mindy sped up and drove on.
What is happening?
“Almost there,” Abigail said.
I stared at Mindy who was still focused on the road, then looked at the side mirror. Abigail caught my eye and smiled. I stared at her.
“There it is,” Abigail said. “Slow down.”
“There what is?” I said. “This can’t be right. Mindy, turn around. I think we passed it.”
I had done an essay on recycling methods. Landfills aren’t what they were a long time ago. The newer ones are clean and modernized—or so I hoped—not like the place Abigail was staring at.
Barbed wire circled the top of the fence. A narrow driveway led to a locked gate with chains and a large padlock. A sign on the fence said Finder’s Hill. It looked like an abandoned multi-storied junkyard.
“We have to find a way in,” Abigail said.
“Mindy,” I said, “we’re not—”
A blistering white lightning bolt stabbed the ground less than thirty feet away. It crackled loudly like an angry god wanting to electrocute the puny human insects who had foolishly strayed into the wrong place.
Screams reverberated through the bus and rang in my ears. I realized it was me screaming—along with everyone else.
I rarely scream—except for spiders—but I couldn’t stop. When I finally did stop, I had to admit I felt better. After the tension of the last weeks, screaming was a relief—however short lived.
Goosebumps covered my arms, my heart pounded, I gasped for air.
“Do you want to help her or not?” Abigail said in a quiet voice.
“Yes, we do,” Mindy answered.
“Then we need to find a way in,” Abigail said.
I looked at Mindy but she did not seem to notice me. Abigail slowly blinked once. She looked totally daft. Pamela was still asleep and breathing heavily. Headlights illuminated the steady rainfall.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll do it your way—and then we’re out of here.”
“Of course,” Abigail said, “that’s all I want.”
“Over there,” I said, pointing. “The fence is down.”
I tried to take a breath, but it caught in my throat. To my own ears my voice sounded thick and garbled. Without realizing it, I had cupped my hand over my nose. Yuk! The dumpster was fresh air compared to this stinky place.
“Where?” said Abigail, squinting so hard her eyes were almost shut.
How could she not see it with those big glasses of hers?
“There!” I jabbed a finger at the hole in the fence.
Mindy did not look at the fence. The wheels were spinning in place and the bus wasn’t moving. “What the hell?” she said snapping back to attention.
“Doen do da,” I said.
“What?”
“Don’t do that.” I let go of my nose. “You’ll dig in deeper.”
She eased up on the gas till the motor was only idling, then pressed back down. The wheels spun, got traction, and the bus lurched forward. It rocked from side to side as it went through the mud then stopped. She let up on the gas, then pressed back down. The wheels spun again and we rocked back and forth.
I held my breath and prayed. No one knew where we were; no one would just happen to be driving by this place. My phone had no reception and if mine wasn’t working, neither was Mindy’s. If there were flares in the bus, we could light one. However, I’d never done it before and didn’t know if you need matches or a lighter, or if a flare would even stay lit in the rain. I thought about the emergency kit my dad has in the garage and wished I had brought it.
In the mirror I saw Abigail watching me. Did she have a special way of setting things on fire?
I pushed that thought away in the next breath.
The bus swayed, inched forward, and out of the muck. Mindy guided it over the rutted ground and through the hole in the fence.
We were now inside on a gravel road, dipping in and out of potholes. Lightning crackled and exploded. The concussion jarred us. I had never been this close to lightning. It sounded like the air was being torn apart. I dug my nails into the seat so I would not scream again.
We crept slowly along, rain pelting the roof. I cracked the door open an inch and heard water splashing everywhere. I heard a dull thud that sounded like a car door closing.
What the hell . . . No. It can’t be. No one in their right mind would come out here on a night like this.
Chapter 24. Summoned
Lightning flashed. The mountain in front of us turned stark white. Through the windshield I saw what we were up against.
Those were not hills or mountains, they were piles of things, new and used objects mixed with trash and garbage. I once heard the expression endless mountains marching to the sea, and now I knew what it mea
nt.
If my emotions were on a rollercoaster before, they went into a death spiral now. We would never find anything here.
I had the sinking feeling Pamela would eat herself to death, Abigail would kill herself because she had failed, and I would be arrested and charged as an accomplice. Since minors don’t have jury trials, I would be tried by the toughest judge who would find me guilty and sentence me to California Youth Authority for the maximum amount of time. I would never get a driver’s license until I was really old, because even if I did pass the test, I wouldn’t be able to pay for insurance since prospective employers would find out I was an ex-convict, and they wouldn’t hire me.
Okay, there I go, thinking about myself again.
Whatever. I couldn’t help it.
And poor Mindy, who was only doing me a favor, would be arrested and charged with aiding and abetting.
I took a shaky breath.
Stop being a drama queen. Why worry? None of it would happen. We’d all be dead.
“There’s no way we can find it,” I said, but no one was listening.
Pamela sat up and blinked her eyes. “I’m hungry,” she said. “You went the wrong way.”
Mindy gaped at the mountains of trash. She moved her mouth but could not speak, which was somewhat reassuring because it meant at least the two of us shared the same reality.
Not Abigail.
She stared through the fogged-up window as if seeing the most breathtaking landscape. She pulled her sleeve over her fist and wiped a clear spot on the window.
“I think it’s over there,” she whispered.
I stared at her. I could barely see two feet in front of my face. How could she know where anything was?
I never got the chance to ask. Through the drumming rain, I heard a car door slam—this time I was sure of it—and a person shout.
Who the hell was out here besides us?
“The book,” said Abigail, in that same mystified voice. “It’s there.”
Lightning exploded. It sounded like the sky would break apart.
Abigail did not flinch.
“Over there,” she said, “where the lightning is striking.” Her eyes were bright, and I knew it was not because of the storm.
One of Us: The City of Secrets Page 16