by Adrian Birch
“Fuck you! Fuck you!” Bryce was sobbing. His legs were flailing around, knocking into my shoulders. “Fuck you!” he screamed again and again.
We felt the coffin being lifted by the backhoe. Someone must have put a rope or a strap around it, because we started swaying.
Then we felt ourselves being lowered. We dropped farther and farther down, before the coffin finally came to a rest.
Neither of us stopped pounding and screaming. “Please!” I heard myself shouting. “Pleeeeease!” I said it over and over again.
Then there came a deafening whuuuf as the backhoe dumped hundreds of pounds of dirt over the lid. The coffin jolted. The wood creaked. There was another whuuf of falling dirt, this one muted and barely audible.
And then there was only silence.
* * *
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Bryce cried to himself quietly.
A little while later, I felt him slip a hand under my knees. He drew a deep, shaky breath in the darkness. He wrapped both of his arms around my legs, hugging them. He was kind of like a little boy hugging a teddy bear in the middle of a dark night.
It’s hard to explain what I felt then. Mostly I didn’t want to think about the reality of what was happening, so maybe I was in denial. I don’t know, but there’s just something about the presence of the last human being you’ll ever be with in the world. You share something with that person that no one else could ever understand.
I put my hand on Bryce’s knee, and then I hugged my arms around his legs, too.
For a moment, claustrophobia seized me intensely. But I closed my eyes so the darkness wouldn’t be as consuming and forced myself to pretend that I was just lying in bed beneath thick sheets.
What I’m going to say next will sound absolutely crazy and probably perverse, but when you’re desperate to escape a horrific experience, you find a way.
I felt for Bryce’s belt buckle in the darkness.
I unclasped it and then unbuttoned his jeans.
He froze. His entire body went rigid.
I’m small, and the coffin was made for a large person, so I was able to bend my knees a little and maneuver myself lower in the narrow space.
I reached into Bryce’s underwear and brushed my fingers through the coils of his pubic hair. Then, very gently, I slipped my fingers around his penis. It was warm. I could feel his heartbeat.
His breathing deepened. He squeezed my legs tighter.
I was terrified of dying, but part of me felt more alive than ever. Waves of obliterating attraction passed from my lips to my knees. I didn’t want to think about anything other than Bryce’s warm body.
He shifted his weight, scooting his body around so that he could move his head inside my knees. Then he put his hand between my legs. I rotated my pelvis and pushed back against his touch.
I pulled his pants and underwear down around his thighs as fast as I could and put his penis in my mouth. For a moment, all I could think about was making him come. If I could just focus on this and the pressure of his fingertips between my legs, then it didn’t matter where I was.
He was breathing harder now and moving his hips very, very gently.
I felt him unbutton my pants and, in one sudden motion, he straightened my legs, pulled my pants and underwear together down to my ankles, and spread my thighs.
His breath was suddenly on my naked vagina. Very softly, I felt his tongue begin to trace my labia. In the next moment it twisted around my clitoris.
I couldn’t help but let out a gasp. His hands spread around my waist and down over my butt. I squeezed his penis, slid my lips over it again, and matched the rhythm of his tongue.
I came before he did.
For a moment, I wasn’t trapped inside a narrow box. For a moment, my world wasn’t in pieces. For a moment, I was just a girl again. Unafraid. Alive.
He came right after. He must have been waiting for me. I felt his semen flow across my tongue. I squeezed my grip around his penis as tightly as I could. I hoped I’d made him feel as happy for a moment as he’d made me feel; I hoped I’d let him escape.
I held his semen in my mouth and tried to catch my breath. In a moment of strange, irrational self-preservation, I thought about Mr. Hershel and the horrific infestation of larvae that had filled his skull cavity; the illness that had almost killed Morgan soon after she’d been attacked; the body I’d help Ian carry from the locker room; and what the boy who’d locked us into the coffin had said about keeping the “disease” from spreading.
And I quietly spit out Bryce’s semen.
I knew I was about to die anyway. I’d already had sex with Bryce—maybe even without a condom—and if he was carrying whatever terrifying disease that was causing people to act so bizarrely, he may have already passed it to me…or maybe I’d even passed it to him. Either way, there was some part of me that wouldn’t let go of any chance to stay alive, no matter how small it was.
Bryce hugged my legs again and rested his head on my inner thigh.
“I don’t want to die,” he whispered. He was no longer crying. It was just a simple, quiet statement.
I pulled one of his knees up and lay my head on it. I rested my hand on his leg and very softly rubbed my thumb back and forth, just to let him know I was still there, and awake.
He reached for my hand in the darkness and held on to it.
I clicked on my phone, squinting in the sudden glare of the screen. I kept it on just long enough to see that there was only 2 percent of the battery left, and no reception to speak of.
I turned off the screen, lay my head back down on Bryce’s knee, and tried to prepare myself to die.
It occurred to me that if I kept turning on my phone, soon it wouldn’t turn back on. After that I wouldn’t ever see any kind of light again.
January 20th, 2014
2:58 a.m.
Author’s Update
Now that I’ve finally finished Part 3, I feel like I could sleep for a day straight. I might just do that, in fact. As soon as I post this. I don’t have to go school, so why not? I’ll start Part 4 when I wake up.
Anyway, I really hope everyone liked the third part of Dead in Bed. A lot happens in it, and it’s the longest segment yet. As always, feel totally free to tweet @BaileySimms with any questions. You can ask me anything except for what happens next! I can’t give the ending away.
Some of you messaged me asking about “Kyle.” I guess I should stop using quotes and just get used to the pseudonym.
Honestly, things could be better with Kyle. I think I made a mistake.
I know I shouldn’t be writing about this, even if I’m not using our real names, but I don’t have anyone to tell, not even my best friend—for reasons which maybe I’ll try to explain later, but not now. And I don’t think I can stand keeping it all inside and not sharing it with anybody.
So, my dad finally turned our internet back on. I told him I need it for a school project. Luckily he let me write all week without saying anything. As long as he doesn’t see what I’m actually working on, I think I’ll be okay for now. But Kyle didn’t know this. He was so sweet on Friday—he showed up again and parked across the street in case I needed to use his iPad Wi-Fi. It was pretty late when I got his text, almost midnight. But I wasn’t asleep.
I’d been so irritated with my dad, and so sick of being stuck at home all day, and so bored, I kind of climbed out my window to go say hi to Kyle. My doctor would kill me if he knew, but I made it over the sill without hurting myself.
Kyle was really surprised to see me. He definitely didn’t expect it. He was happy, I could tell, but he was worried I’d get in trouble, too. We sat and listened to music for a while.
And then he kissed me. We’d never, ever kissed before. I had so many butterflies in my stomach when he leaned over.
But that’s when I made my mistake. I kind of…gave him a blowjob (I hate that word, but I don’t know what else to call it). I’d never given one before,
and I’m almost seventeen. It wasn’t just because I needed to write the scene with Ashley and Bryce Tripp in the coffin and I didn’t really know how, in case you’re thinking that. It wasn’t just, like, research. I really like Kyle. A lot. And after he kissed me, I just wanted something else to happen. I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to make Kyle feel good. I wanted to make him feel at least as good as he makes me feel every time he texts me.
He kept telling me I didn’t have to do it, which kind of bothered me because he must have thought I felt obligated or something. When it was over, he got kind of distant and said he should go. He squeezed my hand. He was so worried that I was going to get in trouble. But…I don’t know. He was just acting weird. Like, not the same Kyle as before.
The worst part is my dad found out he’d been parking outside our house. Thank God he didn’t catch me sneaking out—I’m sure he didn’t because I’d be in so much trouble by now if he’d seen me. But what he did do was call Kyle’s mom and tell her to keep her son from “lurking” around our house. It was so embarrassing.
Anyway. I texted Kyle afterward, and he still hasn’t gotten back to me. That was two nights ago. He probably hates me. I’m really, really scared I ruined everything. I’m sure he thinks I’m a slut. I know I made a really huge mistake. I don’t know why I did it. I’m so, so sorry (I wish Kyle could just read this and see how sorry I am).
I’ve decided the best thing to do is focus on writing Part 4. After I get some sleep, that is. I’m actually really excited about what’s coming up next.
Thanks for reading!
xxBailey
January 26th, 2014
3:17 p.m.
Part 4
Milk and Honey
My phone’s battery charge ticked down from 2 percent to one.
I shifted my weight and changed the angle of my head on Bryce’s knee. I managed to find a slightly less cramped position. The air was getting thinner.
We’re just in bed, I kept trying to tell myself. We’re just in bed, under the covers, in a dark room. Soon, I’ll fall asleep.
I was scrolling through photos of my family. Any second now my phone’s screen would switch off, and I wanted to see everyone one last time.
I was looking at Tyler and Haley in the photo I took of them before Tyler’s first football game. He was lifting Haley off her feet, and they were both smiling ecstatically. I flipped to the next image: Shawn and me right after our wedding. He was thinner and looked happier than I’d seen him in a long time. Flip. There was my mom, knitting on the sofa. Flip. And there was my dad. He was fishing, sitting in the old lawn chair he always took to the river, gazing at the camera with the gentle look that was unique to him.
I felt my chin start to quiver. Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t help it; of all the people I’d never see again, I thought I’d miss my dad more than anyone else. I tried to cry quietly so Bryce wouldn’t hear me.
I wiped my eyes with my shirt collar. When I opened them a text had appeared on the phone’s screen.
Could this be possible?
I looked at the cell reception meter. One tiny bar had appeared, then quickly vanished. For a moment my phone must have gotten just enough reception for a text to come through.
It was from Shawn:
i know where u r. why out there? r u with bryce t?
My eyes flashed over the text, reading it a second time. What did it mean? How could Shawn know where I was? Had he somehow traced my phone? Did he know I’d been buried alive? If so, what did he mean by “out there?”
My phone’s screen went black. The battery was dead.
* * *
It started as a low rumbling sound. I was breathing so fast I could barely hear it, but it was there. I was taking in deep gulps of air, and I still felt like I needed even deeper and deeper breaths. I’d never experienced any feeling like this, except maybe in high school after I’d sprinted around the track. I knew I was about to pass out any minute now.
The coffin started to creak, and as the rumbling noise grew louder the earth began shaking a little. Bryce, breathing as frantically as I was, started banging on the lid. Little bits of dirt fell on our faces.
When I felt the coffin lurch, for a moment I thought it had caved in. But then I realized we were being pulled out of the ground and then set down roughly. Before I could even process the fact that we’d been saved, someone pried open the lid a couple of inches. There was a flood of cool air and bright light. I swallowed gasps of the fresh oxygen as if I’d just been deep under water. Bryce kicked the lid fully open.
The sky was overcast, but it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sudden daylight. A man was kneeling over the coffin with a crowbar. He was wearing a combat helmet. As his face faded into view, I found myself staring at the last person in the world I thought I’d see.
It was Jason Gibbs.
I hadn’t thought about Jason since breaking through the police barricade at the fair.
“Fucking hell,” he said. He turned and called out over his shoulder, “Just in fucking time!”
Then I saw who he was calling to. It was Shawn. He was climbing down from a backhoe.
Jason held out his hand and helped me out of the coffin. I was still dizzy.
“Jesus Christ, Ashley,” he said. “You better be so fucking glad we got issued these GPS phone trackers. How the fuck did you two get in there?”
I ignored him and tried to make sense of what I was seeing. We were in an open field whose soil had been heavily turned over. In addition to Shawn and Jason, three other men where standing around an idling backhoe. All of them were wearing the same kind of combat gear as the men who had come to the house: helmets, flak jackets, boots. They all carried semiautomatic rifles.
Shawn kept his gun casually pointed at Bryce while one of the men put him in handcuffs. He hadn’t even stepped out of the coffin yet.
“What is this?” Bryce was still catching his breath. “You can’t do this. Why are you doing this?” Bryce looked at his bound wrists, bewildered. “You can’t… Are you the police, or what?”
“Home Guard rangers.” My husband was speaking in an official tone I’d never heard him use before.
Jason shoved Bryce with his rifle. “Just finished crash training yesterday, bitch!” He grabbed Bryce’s arm and dragged him toward a huge military vehicle parked behind us. “And your ass is under arrest!”
Under arrest?
Shawn held a pair of handcuffs toward me. For a moment I had an irrational flash of pride that he was finally applying himself, but this wasn’t what I’d pictured. Instead of joining the highway patrol, he’d become some kind of paramilitary Nazi.
“Give me your hands,” he said. He wouldn’t even look at me. “Give me your hands, ma’am.”
Ma’am? What was going on?
I gingerly held out my hands. “Shawn, why are you doing this?” I searched the faces of the other so-called rangers. I didn’t recognize any of them. “Where’s Ian?”
Shawn wouldn’t answer.
“I’m your wife,” I pleaded. “What is this?”
My husband just cinched the handcuffs tightly around my wrists. I looked around, trying to get my bearings. There were two other backhoes parked on the loose soil, plus the military vehicle. Otherwise just a low, gray sky surrounded us. We were somewhere far outside of town.
“What is this place?” I tried to look Shawn in the eye.
No response. Shawn and one of the other men grabbed my shoulders and put me in back of the military vehicle next to Bryce.
“Tell me what’s going on!”
“That’s classified information for my rank,” Shawn said. “You’ll have to ask the sergeant.” He nodded toward Jason, who was climbing into the driver’s seat.
“The sergeant?”
“Mass grave!” Jason shouted into the rearview mirror. “You two were lucky as fuck!”
* * *
Outside of Muldoon there’s a truck stop with a U-Haul center and
a gigantic, warehouse-size engine shop.
This was the first recognizable landmark I saw when Jason approached the highway. I expected him to pass it by, but instead he turned into the truck stop and drove the vehicle right into the warehouse.
Inside were countless U-Haul trucks—row after row of them. They’d all been stripped of their engines and were in various states of disassembly. Jason came to a stop beside one van without wheels; its axles rested on the concrete floor. Two of the men pulled Bryce from his seat, shoved him into the back of the U-Haul, slammed its door down, and locked it shut.
“Shawn.” I tried to sound calm and reasonable, but I had no idea why we were here or what was happening. “Please tell me what’s going on.” I steadied my breath. “Just…tell me what you’re doing.”
Shawn kept quiet. No one else said a word.
Jason maneuvered the military vehicle around scattered hydraulic jacks and made his way toward the opposite end of the warehouse. He stopped beside another U-Haul truck, this one with its entire front end missing.
Jason got out and jerked me from my seat. He shoved me into the back of the U-Haul.
“Shawn!” I screamed out. “What’s going on? Tell me!”
I could see my husband’s profile in the passenger seat. He didn’t even turn to look at me.
Jason reached up and grabbed the cord dangling from the U-Haul’s sliding door.
“You just hang tight,” he said with a terrifying grin. “We’ll let you know, ma’am!”
Then he slammed the door shut. I heard him lock it.
Once again I was in a dark space, this time completely alone.
* * *
I can’t say for sure how long I was locked inside the back of the van, but it must have been around five days.