by Milo Abrams
Nolan rolled his eyes as the Red Rocket pulled out into the street, "Of course, people can be such animals."
"Looks like the power is already coming back on for some people though," she said.
"Good," Nolan said, his eyes focused intensely on the road.
They tore over the pavement as they made their way out of Bugby and into Bushnell. The sun was barely above the horizon, giving the countryside a friendly orange hue. The grass glittered in the unseasonably cold morning air. The world seemed nothing more than picturesque, but Nolan couldn’t dispel the iron ball sitting in his stomach. He had left his son, as he had many times before, and he was gone. He secretly hoped they still shared the same world, that his failure as a parent and protector didn't lead his son to a place where he could no longer reach him.
Margaret distracted herself by reading news on her phone until Cray’s hardware began to materialize from the tiny speck that appeared in the distance. She turned off her phone, and turned to Nolan with tired eyes.
“Let’s stop? I have to pee,” she said softly.
Nolan raised an eyebrow. “We’re almost to the house, it'll just be a couple more minutes…”
She blushed and wrapped her arms around her abdomen. “I wouldn't ask if I could hold it much longer,” she said.
Nolan simply nodded. “I'm sure old Cray has a bathroom you could use. We’ll stop.”
The Red Rocket pulled into the cracked and tattered parking lot which was surprisingly empty for the early morning. They exited the truck and were met with a carelessly hung sign on a locked door that read: Sorry, We’re Closed.
“That’s strange,” Nolan said, “he’s always here.”
“I hope he’s okay,” Margaret added.
As soon as she finished speaking they heard a slamming sound that echoed from behind the building. The open countryside, coupled with the wall of trees across the street from the hardware store, manipulated the bang of Sam Cray slamming the tailgate of his pickup truck shut to sound like a gunshot. Margaret flinched but Nolan knew better. He left Margaret at the door and ran around to the back of the building. He had been there plenty of times before to help Sam unload his truck, and so when he found the nearly seventy-year-old man talking to himself and walking around his truck frantically, he was concerned.
“Hey Sam, you okay?” Nolan called out to him.
Sam didn't hear him. He patted his pants pockets and then sunk a hand deep down inside and pulled out a weathered matchbook.
“Sam?” Nolan said again as he walked up behind him. His voice scared Sam to the point he audibly yelled and fumbled the matchbook to the ground. Sam clutched his hand to his chest, only calming down once he saw his old friend.
“Oh, Doctor Callum,” he said trying to hide the titter in his voice, “I wasn't expecting to see you around here.”
“Just stopped because Margaret has to use the bathroom and said she couldn't wait until we got to the house.” He bent down and picked up the old matchbook. On the back, it had a picture of a UFO hidden by the white cracks from it bending in his pocket. Nolan’s face lit up. “Hey, I remember this place, it was up on Main Street.”
“Yes,” Sam said nervously. “The Flying Saucer Gas Station. My father worked there before it closed down. It was my inspiration for the hardware store.” His eyes darted back and forth, “I don't see your wife anywhere?”
“She's waiting out front,” Nolan said.
Sam instantly changed his demeanor. “Well we have to let the poor woman use the restroom!” He quickly grabbed the worn matchbook from Nolan’s fingertips and stuffed it back into his pocket. He hobbled to the front of his truck and grabbed a large set of keys and tossed it to Nolan.
Nolan looked down at the keys puzzled. “There has to be like fifty keys here, Sam.”
“It’s the only gold one,” he said, “it's only for the front door. Go on now, let your wife in.”
Nolan started to walk back around the store when he stopped and looked behind him. Sam opened the tailgate of the truck again and Nolan watched as his head twitched slightly. Sensing he was being watched, Sam turned and saw Nolan watching him and waved his arms wildly. His voice still had the same cool and friendly tone but his face was twisted with irritation. “Go on now before she has an accident! I'll be up in a minute.”
As Nolan reached the corner of the building he stopped and then peeked around, trying not to let Sam see him. Something didn't feel right. Nolan wasn't really attuned to his intuition but even he could tell that something was wrong with Sam. He watched as the old man quickly pulled a tarp from the side of the building, uncovering a large stack of red gas cans. He picked them up one at a time and tossed them into the back of the truck until every single one was inside. As soon as he slammed the tailgate closed Nolan quickly ran back around front. Margaret was squirming in the front seat of the Red Rocket, her face red from anger and the strain of holding her bladder from exploding.
“Where have you been?” She yelled.
“I got the keys from Sam, he's out back. C’mon I'll unlock it so you can pee.”
She carefully stepped out of the truck, walking slowly as if just one misstep would result in the release of all her pride and dignity. Once inside, he showed her to the bathroom and as soon as he made it back out to the main area by the register, Sam was standing at the door out of breath. This was uncharacteristic of Sam as he never moved quickly for anything.
Nolan eyed him.
“I heard about what happened to your boy,” Sam said suddenly.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Nolan said, his tongue sharp and his skin extra sensitive.
“I heard on the news about him going missing. Do you have any leads?” Sam maintained his soft tone of voice. The bags under his eyes were purple and deeper than normal.
Nolan shook his head. “We’re heading out to the house now, the police have a search party about to search the woods.” He looked out the window where he could see across the street. The long country road that led back through Bushnell and into Monroe was straightforward, but on the other side of the street the wall of trees was identical to the one behind Nolan’s house. Sam followed his line of sight.
“You see something?” he asked, his tone slipping into slight nervousness.
“You've been around a while,” Nolan replied, “how far do those woods go?”
“They're run from here straight across nearly to Pennsylvania,” Sam said as he cracked his knuckles in loud annoying pops. “They'd be the same ones behind your house.”
Nolan couldn't resist asking him any longer. “Sam, are you feeling okay?”
Sam was severely sleep deprived and unable to focus. His left eye twitched, pulling his lip up slightly. “Actually,” he said, “I haven't slept the last couple nights.”
Being a doctor, Nolan was aware of the effects of sleep deprivation. He stepped closer to his old friend and that's when he got a good look at him. Sam’s clothes were often dirty from working all the time, but this time his overalls weren't a perfect match to his hands with streaks of black grease and dirt where Sam had wiped his hands off across his waist. This time they had dark reddish brown streaks across his front and as Nolan moved his eyes to Sam’s hands he noticed a small amount of dried blood. There was no denying it—Nolan knew blood in all its forms.
“What happened, are you bleeding?”
Sam was surprised at Nolan’s astute observations. He had been so tired from the sleepless nights and so on edge since his encounter with the monster the night before that he had forgotten to clean himself up. But he knew he couldn't tell Nolan what he had seen. He knew that no one would ever believe him. “Oh, it's nothing,” he said trying to distract Nolan. “I think I hear your wife coming. Listen, I have lots of errands to run today so I have to lock up. You understand?”
Nolan was taken aback by how quickly Sam shut him down. He handed the large keyring back to Sam as Margaret walked up behind him holding her nose.
“So
sorry I took so long.” She looked at Nolan and Sam and could feel that something was off. “Is everything okay?” she asked Nolan.
“Never better,” Sam answered her. “Listen sweetheart, I have to lock up the store so I need you kids to scoot.”
Nolan and Margaret looked at each other in surprise. “Uh, yes. Of course,” she said.
Sam forced a smile and saw them to the door. After they stepped outside he opened the door again and called out to them. “I just want you to know that I'm very sorry for what happened to your boy. Please don't go into the woods.” Then he slammed the door and locked it.
Once they were back in the Red Rocket they finally spoke. Margaret still spoke in a hushed voice even though Sam was nowhere in sight. “Does he always act like that?”
Nolan shook his head. “Something’s definitely up with him. He said he hadn't slept very well. Maybe that's it.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
Sam walked past the counter and toward the restrooms. There were three doors, two were restrooms and one was a small office where Sam did the books and kept a few personal things. He pulled out the pile of keys from his pocket and fumbled through them until he found the one he was looking for. He slid it into the knob, took a deep breath and then pushed the door open. As soon as he opened the door he could hear the flies buzzing in the dark. He flipped on the light and fought back the vomit that shot up his throat past his broken heart. His eyes instantly watered as he looked down at Charlie’s body wrapped in a blue tarp on the floor, sitting silently in a growing pool of blood on the dirty shop floor.
“I'm so sorry my sweet grandson,” he cried as he closed the door and locked it.
He sat in a chair at the backdoor for a few minutes as he built up the courage to carry on. He knew he had to do it. The haunting images of the night before wouldn't leave him alone and the summer heat mixed with the heavy storm only accelerated the decomposition process. It was an accident, he knew that, but he knew the police would never believe that he hadn’t killed Charlie. He never could have. After his parents died in a car accident when Charlie was just a baby, he took him in and raised him as his own. All they had was each other and no one else in the whole world. His eyelids quickly squeezed the tears out as the memory of the monster gripped his mind and wouldn’t let go—he could see it as clear as day again.
He had waited at the store every night since the break-in. Charlie wanted to help watch out with him but Sam refused. It had been a series of long and boring summer nights. The store was stuffy but Sam was convinced that the burglar would be back. The night the storm rolled in, Sam made sure that Charlie had everything he would need to ride out the storm.
“Just stay inside and keep the radio on,” Sam told him. “If they say anything about taking adequate and immediate shelter, that means get in the cellar.”
“You shouldn't be going out, it's already raining pretty hard,” Charlie told him. “You can go back to the store tomorrow.”
“There might not be one!” Sam said heading for the door. “I have to unplug everything. That old building has just as old wiring, and if the storm hits right, those old wires will burn the whole place down and then we’ll lose everything!”
He couldn't believe how relevant his words to Charlie were, given what he was about to do. He walked to the back of the building and got into the truck and started it.
He wasn't gone long before the storm had hit too hard to go back home. He picked up the phone to call Charlie back home but it shocked him, causing him to drop it. “God damn it,” he yelled. It was no use. He stared out the window at the impenetrable blackness. Every few seconds lightning cut through the dark, bringing the world back to life for just a moment. It was raining too hard to drive home so he decided to wait out the rain. After unplugging everything in the store, heavy thunder rolled in and the power went out. There was nothing left for him to do but wait and so he did.
The hardware store was all he had left and ever since the break-in, Sam found it hard to sleep. He would doze periodically throughout the day for an hour or so but he could never stay asleep. His anxiety ate at him, giving him bad dreams and even bad thoughts. He was a beloved figure among the country crowd in Bushnell and beyond, and in all his years of owning and running the store, not once had anyone ever attempted to steal from him. The country was wild but there was an inherent respect that people had out there.
Thunder woke him a couple hours after midnight and the rain hadn't let up. He sat up in a chair next to the register and watched the lightning through the window when suddenly he heard something fall in one of the aisles toward the back of the store. He quickly grabbed his flashlight and shone it back into the aisles, cutting through the dusty air in sweeping beams. He hesitated before calling out into the darkness.
“I know you're there. Drop everything and come out slowly, I have a gun.” He quietly walked behind the counter and pulled out his rifle and wrapped his finger around the trigger. No one came out.
He was left with no choice but to take the flashlight and slowly walk into the dark. He gripped the gun tightly and hobbled as quietly as he could down the main aisle, sweat drenching his neck and thunder rumbling around him. There were no windows anywhere in the store but the front and as soon as he saw some light in front of him he knew its source. He picked up the pace until he rounded the corner back by where the deer feed was kept and saw the backdoor open. The rain poured in as the lightning flashed and he could hear the unmistakable squish of footsteps outside the door. He held his breath and turned off the flashlight just before a shadowy figure appeared, silhouetted by flashes of lightning from outside.
“Grandpa?” the figure called out.
Sam instantly recognized the voice. “Charlie! He yelled as he turned the flashlight back on and ran for the door. “What're you doing here?”
Charlie ran from the doorway toward his grandfather, soaked to the bone from the rain. “You never came back and I worried.”
“You don’t worry about me,” Sam said hugging him. “How did you even get here?”
“I walked. It wasn't that bad, the rain was just too heavy to drive in.”
They were interrupted by another sound down an aisle behind them. Sam knew at that moment they weren’t alone. “Come out with your hands up or I'll shoot,” he screamed into the darkness.
They heard shuffling across the floor and then everything went quiet. Sam shot the flashlight beam around the racks in the aisles until the light reflected off two eyes peering from around the end of a shelf. Sam screamed as tools fell from the shelf and a loud whistle pierced the air. The world fizzed into a blur as the intruder ran from behind the racks, knocking down boxes of screws and bolts as it went. Lightning flashed through the open door lighting up the area, allowing Sam to see that it wasn't human. The dark sunken eyes glanced at him as it leaped through the air, its long white arms reaching for the ground to soften its landing. It twisted its slender body from the recoil and then ran for the door. Sam squeezed the trigger, releasing several shots that bounced off the metal racks and into the darkness as the creature knocked over another box and scurried outside. The adrenaline took over and Sam ran out into the rain and fired at the creature as it galloped on all fours across the road and into the woods, disappearing into the trees.
He couldn't believe what he had just seen. He turned around, expecting to see Charlie but he wasn't there. He ran back into the shop and found Charlie writhing on the floor with his hands to his chest. Sam ran down to him and saw the blood seeping from between his fingers.
Charlie had gone too quickly for Sam to drive him the over half an hour drive back into Bugby to the hospital. Even though the power was out, he had a landline phone in the shop that he used to try and call for help. Every time he tried to dial 9-1-1 he was met with a busy signal or the phone shocked him from the storm. By the time he moved Charlie into the pickup truck, he was unresponsive and stopped breathing before he could even leave. It wasn't until after that he r
ealized one of the bullets he fired ricocheted of a rack and struck his grandson directly in the heart.
He stepped out of the truck at the edge of the woods across the street from the hardware store and opened the tailgate, fishing out one of the cans of gasoline. Inhaling in short teary bursts, he unscrewed the lid and emptied the can all over the trees and grass. He then grabbed another and did the same thing. Reaching into the bed, he snagged a third gas can and poured it into a stream from the trees, through the grass and across the road. After moving the truck back across the street to the hardware store he emptied another can through the parking lot and along the edge of the building, creating a stream of gasoline that stretched all the way from the woods into the backdoor of the hardware store. He emptied the remaining cans all over the store then unlocked the door where Charlie was. With an unimaginable frown, he pulled out the matchbook, drew a match and then struck it. The flame danced as he threw it out into the store and then closed himself inside with Charlie forever.
30
The morning had consisted of walking through endless trees, jumping over fallen trunks, walking around pools of rain water, and fighting off incessant insects. All their water was gone and it seemed they would be lost forever.
“I feel like I'm going crazy in here,” Owen said. “All I see are trees! The same damn trees forever and ever! Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
Jack nodded, “We've been moving in the same direction for a couple hours now.”
“I can't believe how far from home we’ve gone,” James said.
Owen stopped suddenly and began sniffing the air. “Hey, you guys smell that?”
“I don't smell anything,” Jack said, “maybe you're having an olfactory hallucination. There's nothing but trees and wood smell out here.”
“No,” Owen said still sniffing, “it smells like smoke.”
James shrugged. He started sniffing the air also and then picked up on what Owen was talking about. “I smell it too, I think,” he said.