The first part of the ride was uneventful. In due time I was alone on the bus with Rumble, with ten or so minutes to go until I was home. “Hey, how’s it going?” I asked him. He shrugged and kept watching the road. I tried again.
“Did you know our old driver, Miss Robin?” He shook his head slowly.
I think I told you the thing about dead people talking. They don’t always make sense. Sometimes what they say turns out to mean something later, and sometimes it never does. I decided to trust Miss Robin, though. I never had any reason not to when she was alive. So I said, “Penny says thank you.”
Rumble swiveled toward me, and the wheel came with him. Suddenly we were swerving and skidding as he tried to stay out of a ditch. Finally he got control and brought the bus to a stop in the middle of the dark road. We were lucky no one was behind us.
Rumble was breathing fast. “What do you know about Penny?!”
“Not anything, really, Mr. Rumble. She’s a little blonde girl, and I think she’s . . . not alive. Sometimes I have . . . like, dreams. And my dream told me to tell you she said thanks.”
The driver looked down at the floor. For a minute I thought he was going to talk to me. But all he said was, “She’s got no reason to thank me.” Then he got the bus going again. Before long I was standing by my mailbox, watching his taillights disappear into the night.
When I got inside, Dad was watching TV. “Hey, Lamar,” he called. “C’mere! You’re on the news.”
Afterward he wanted to know all about the stuff that was happening, so I told him over supper. About an hour and a half later, I was in my room doing homework when he knocked on the door. “Come in,” I said, and he did. And when I saw his face I felt my heart flip over.
You know the way you can live with someone but never really look at them close? Dad looked terrible. His face was dead pale, and I could see beads of sweat on his forehead. Dark circles lurked under his eyes.
I haven’t told you much about Dad, except he works making trucks out in Fielding. I’m taller than he is, but he’s in amazing shape at forty-something. Back in the day he was quite a jock. A couple of major-league baseball teams expressed some interest when he graduated high school, but his parents needed him around. “I was OK,” he told me once, “but the majors . . . that prob’ly wasn’t in the cards.”
So he went to the factory and seven years later married my mom. Three years after that, he lost her and became a single dad. We’ve always been close. He likes to tell me about the time when I was a little kid, maybe in second grade, and we were talking about which one of us had known the other one for the longest time. Dad said we were the same, but I said it was me. “You’ve known me for seven years,” I said, “but I’ve known you my whole life!”
When he came in looking bad, I jumped up from my chair and told him to sit down. He smiled a little. “It’s OK, Lamar. I’m just tired. I was thinking I’d turn in early. I just wanted to . . .”
His eyes rolled up and he slumped over. I caught him and lowered him gently to the floor. I couldn’t get him to come to. I dialed 911. They said an ambulance was on the way. All the time I was waiting I was thinking, This can’t happen. I didn’t dare to think about losing him.
The paramedics finally came. They hooked Dad up to some oxygen and wheeled him into the ambulance. “Can you drive?” one of them asked. I said sure and followed them in Dad’s car to County Hospital.
The doctor found me in the waiting area about an hour later. “Lamar, right?” he said and shook my hand. “Your dad had a heart attack. He’s stable now and he’s resting, but we’re going to keep him for a few days, run some tests to see if he needs any more procedures.”
“Can I see him?”
“Sure, for just a minute. But then the best thing you can do is to go home and get some rest. We’ll keep you up to date, and we’ll call you if there’s any change in his condition.”
When I saw Dad he was sleeping. They had him hooked up to a monitor and an IV stand. I leaned down and told him I loved him and that I’d see him in the morning.
I tried to pay attention to my driving on the way home. That was easier in town, with the lights and at least a little traffic. But before long I was out in the country, where it was just dark. Occasionally, I could see the lights of houses through the trees or a spotlight on a pole when I passed a farmyard. The moonlight made patches of snow seem to glow. I watched the white center line and tried to be alert for ice, but my mind kept leaving the road. I thought about Dad, going through the list of ways I couldn’t help.
“Lamar.”
Miss Robin’s voice. At first I thought it was in my head, but I looked in the rearview mirror. There she was in the back seat, wearing the white dress she’d been buried in. She looked worried.
“How are you doin’, Lamar?”
I started to answer and then—I guess it was just that someone asked and seemed to care, or maybe it was the long day—I couldn’t talk. It took all my effort not to cry.
“I know, honey, you’re worried about your daddy.”
I just nodded. I was afraid to try my voice.
“He’s resting right now, Lamar. But you’ll need to be strong. Do you believe in evil?”
I didn’t know.
“Evil is busy around here right now,” Miss Robin went on. “You can fight it, but you need to keep your eyes open.”
I managed a whisper. “Is Rumble evil, Miss Robin?”
“No, not that poor man,” she said. “But he’s weary and weak. And evil follows him the way a wolf follows a blood trail.”
10
I slept that night the way you sleep when you have a fever: drifting for a little while, then waking up and remembering how bad you feel. In the morning I called the school and texted my friends about Dad.
Notso got back right away: Sorry man. That’s messed up. See u when? I told him I’d be back in school the next day if Dad wasn’t worse. Bronski texted me, and Coach too. Nikki was like OMG call me!!!
I was back down at the hospital at nine. Dad was still in intensive care, but he was awake and talking, even though he still seemed tired. I did my best to hug him around the wires and tubes. Just like his regular self, he seemed worried about me.
“I’m sorry, Lamar,” he said. His throat sounded really dry, so I helped him sip from a cup of ice by his bed. “That must have been pretty scary for you last night.”
“It’s OK, Dad. How’re you feeling?”
“Not as bad as I look, prob’ly. Kinda surprised.” He tried to smile. “I called the factory, and that’s OK. I still have a job as soon as I’m back on my feet. Aren’t you missing school?”
“Just today, Dad. I wanted to check in on you. Don’t worry about anything. The house is fine, and I’m taking care of Marcus.”
“I told the doc you were on TV last night. He said, ‘I saw that! That was your son?’”
Just then the doctor came in and shook my hand. “I want to check on your dad,” he said. “Wait a minute for me by the nurses’ station.” I squeezed Dad’s hand and told him I’d visit him later in the day.
The doctor caught up with me a few minutes later. “Lamar, we’re going to keep your dad a few more days. He’s got two arteries in his heart that are significantly narrowed. We’re going to do a procedure—not surgery—to open those arteries up. Then he’ll need to take things slow for a while.”
I was just grateful he was alive.
When I thought she would be at lunch, I called Nikki. “Lamar!” she said. “I thought you’d never call! Are you all right?”
I told her what was up with my dad and that I’d be back in school Thursday if nothing changed.
“That’s great, Lamar,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Look, I talked to my Aunt Kate. A priest from St. Phil’s can meet us at the bus on Thursday at two.”
“He said he’d bless the bus?”
“That’s right.”
“OK, cool. I have a car while Dad’s in the hospital.
We can drive over there from school.”
The day went slow. I picked up around the house, worked some on a history paper that was due soon. Later in the afternoon I went back to the hospital. They’d moved Dad into a regular room, and we watched a little TV. It was dark by the time I was driving home.
When I pulled into the driveway, I noticed something missing right away. Usually, whenever Dad or I get home, Marcus comes out barking and jumping up on us. I called him, but he didn’t seem to be anywhere around. Then something seemed to move in the corner of my eye, and something else flickered in front of me. I heard a faint sound, like when a bird flies near your head.
I walked kind of quick to the front door. As I unlocked it, I turned back to the yard. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The clearing in front of the house was crowded with slithering shadows. They wound around each other like eels made of smoke, filling the gravel lane out to the road. They reminded me of the shadows I’d seen on the bus.
I hurried inside and locked the door. I thought of calling someone and felt lonely all of a sudden. No one knew that I saw things except Dad, and he never liked to talk about it, since it made him think of Mom. Anyway, he sure didn’t need any more worry right now.
I’d forgotten about food. We had some lasagna in the freezer, so I put that in the oven. The package said Family Size. I sighed, realizing all this stuff with Dad was way getting to me. OK, Lamar, I thought, get a hold of yourself.
That’s when I heard scratching at the back door. Marcus. But when I opened the door he wasn’t there. And the yard was still swarming with shadows. Was it my imagination? I was sure I’d heard scratching. Then I noticed the door. From top to bottom, it looked like it had been attacked by a claw hammer; deep scratches and gouges crisscrossed the wood and splinters littered the back step. Not Marcus. I shut the door and set the deadbolt.
I turned on the TV just to have some voices in the house, but something was wrong with the reception. So I put on my iPod and tried to chill while I waited for supper to warm up. A minute later, though, I heard a noise that didn’t seem to be part of the music, a kind of regular beat. There was someone at the front door.
I looked through the living-room window, but it was iced up, and anyway, it was too dark to see anything. Finally I unlocked the door and opened it.
Staring back at me was a white, hairless face twisted with scars: Rumble.
11
“I heard about your dad,” he said. “I thought . . .” He held out a plastic grocery bag. I told him to come in. He had brought milk, bread and butter, eggs, and orange juice. Stuff I was glad to have. I said thanks.
“I’m heating up some lasagna,” I said. “There’s plenty.” He nodded.
We sat down in the kitchen. Rumble took off his gloves and jacket. I could see that his hands were as scarred as his face. I wasn’t sure how to start a conversation, or even if Rumble wanted that. But he spoke first.
“You said the other night. That you see things. Like dreams.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are they always true?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes. Sometimes they’re just confusing.”
“I have dreams. A lot lately.”
“About what?”
“Wolves. Wolves chasing me.”
“What happens? I mean, do they catch you?”
“Sometimes. And when they catch me, they turn into fire. I can feel the burning.”
“But sometimes you get away?”
“Once in a while, when the wolves are just about to get me, someone chases them away.” He paused a few seconds, then looked at me and said, “Penny.”
“The little girl.”
He nodded. “I know her. Can I trust you to keep a secret, Lamar?”
“Yes, sir.”
He reached inside his shirt pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to me. It was a small article clipped from the Boston Globe, dated about two years ago:
Fiery Crash Kills Two
Two people perished in a fiery bus crash in Dunport Tuesday night. Robert Emmett, 47, the driver of the bus, and Penny Abramowitz, 9, both died after the bus left the road, plunged off a cliff, and caught fire. According to survivors’ reports, Emmett lost control of the bus on a patch of ice, causing it to veer toward the cliff, hitting several trees on the way. The bus came to rest on the edge of the cliff as its engine began to smoke. The driver unloaded 30 children through the rear door and jumped to safety before realizing that Abramowitz was still on the bus. Emmett went back for her. As he did so, the bus tipped over the edge of the cliff, falling some 75 feet and exploding in flames. By the time the fire was out, the wreckage and the remains of the two victims were incinerated, according to state troopers.
I handed the clipping back to Rumble. “You’re Robert Emmett?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you survive?”
“I don’t know. I remember everything up to the crash, trying to get Penny, but then there’s just a blank. I woke up the next day in my apartment. I had been dreaming about wolves.”
“Didn’t they look for you?”
“Everything was burnt to ashes. They assumed I was dead.”
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
“Guilt. I shouldn’t have run off the road. I should have saved the girl. I just couldn’t deal with it.”
“What did you do?”
“I had some cash and a car. I headed out to California, got a new name, a new license. Driving is really all I know how to do.”
“Why did you come back?”
“The dreams wouldn’t stop. And when Penny started showing up in them, it was like she was calling me. I thought maybe if I came back, the dreams would go away.”
We finished eating without saying anything.
“Mr. Rumble,” I said finally. “Why did you decide to tell me about this?”
“What you said about Penny,” he replied. “And these last few days, the dreams are different. When the wolves don’t get me, when Penny shows up just in time, there’s someone with her.”
“Miss Robin?” I guessed.
“It’s you, Lamar.”
12
I didn’t know what to tell Rumble. I just said, “OK. If you figure out something I can do, let me know.”
When he left, the shadows in the yard rushed after him. Like a pack of wolves, I thought. Then I heard a panting noise. Marcus came running up from wherever he’d been hiding in the woods.
Thursday morning I drove to school. On the way to homeroom I ran into Weston.
“How’s your dad, Lamar?” he asked. I told him, and he looked at his watch and said, “All right. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” I could tell he didn’t care all that much. As he hurried off, I wondered if I’d sounded like that to Rumble.
Since it was only a half day, I met up with Nikki, Notso, and Bronski at 11:30. My having a car was a big deal for all of us, I guess. We drove to the Chowder Hut for lunch. Then they came with me to the hospital and waited while I checked in on Dad.
He was sitting up in bed. “They’re gonna do this thing on Monday,” he said, “where they blow up balloons in my veins to make them wider. Doc says I might feel better than I have in a long time.” I was glad to see him in good spirits, and I told him I’d be back on Friday afternoon.
At ten to two we parked by the bus lot. Suddenly I realized we had a problem. The lot was several acres, and there were hundreds of buses parked there. How would we ever find ours?
“No worries,” Nikki said. “They have numbered parking spaces. Don’t you know the number of the late bus?”
Notso broke in. “Six-six-six?”
Bronski raised his hand. “Call on me, teacher!”
“Yes, Mr. Bronski?” Nikki replied.
“The activity bus is number 0331, license plate CT910331, since Coastal Transportation registered it in 2002.”
While Bronski was showing off, a very tall, thin, robed figure was approaching
from the direction of St. Philomena’s. He carried a small black bag.
“Hi, Father Mark,” Nikki called when he got close to us. He wasn’t old, maybe thirty, but his hair and beard were streaked with gray. He had lots of lines around his eyes. His robe was brown, with a hood; he had a cord for a belt, and even though it was chilly, he wore sandals over his black socks.
“Are you Kate’s niece?” he asked Nikki, then gave her a big hug. “My goodness, you’re not a little girl anymore!”
Nikki blushed and introduced us—his name was Father Mark Mulroney—and we went looking for the bus. There was a chainlink fence all around the bus lot, but the gate near the office building was open. We walked through and started towards the buses. Then we heard a door slam.
“Hey, you kids, where do you think you’re going?” The security guard caught up with us and looked us over. “This is private property,” he said. “See the sign? Authorized personnel only. You’ll have to leave.”
While I was wondering what to do, Father Mark said, “Mike! How are ye t’day?” and held out his hand.
“Father Mark,” the guard replied. “You know these kids?”
“Sure do. This is Nikki—she’s Miss Kate Presley’s niece. Nikki, Mike has twin sons in your aunt’s honors class.”
The priest introduced the rest of us. The guard was more relaxed, but still suspicious. “This some kind of field trip?” he asked.
“Nikki and her friends go to Bridgewater High,” Father Mark said. “But she’s a good Catholic girl, and she asked me if I’d bless her school bus. Isn’t that something?”
“That’s great, Father, but I’m not supposed to . . .”
“Ten minutes tops, Mike. It’ll give young Nikki peace of mind. Nikki, which bus are we looking for?”
“Zero-three-three-one, Father.”
The guard sighed. “OK. Go seven rows down and take a right. It’s about ten buses in, on your left. Ten minutes.”
“Bless you, Mike,” the priest said, beaming, and we went on our way.
The Late Bus (Night Fall ™) Page 3