by Dan Padavona
After Ricky vanished into the shadows, Viper and Hank heard the crash of pots and pans. Hank winced at a loud clang, boom, and crumbling sound, as a pan was thrown against plaster. It sounded like the kid might throw the world’s biggest temper tantrum.
“What’s he doing?” Hank asked. “It sounds like he is wrecking the place.”
“The kid is a Grade A asshole. If I have to travel with him for another day, I’m probably going to kill him.”
A minute later, Ricky returned with a big grin on his face and five loaves of bread cradled in his arms. “I had to do some rearranging.”
“Did you have to wreck the place?” Viper asked.
“You think they are planning to reopen this year? It’s like I told you in the truck. It don’t matter what anyone does anymore. Nothing matters.”
Across the street, inside the Citgo, Viper grabbed two jars of peanut butter and jelly and a handful of beef jerky. The kid stuffed his pockets with candy bars and condoms. When Ricky noticed Hank and Viper staring at him, he said, “Gotta be prepared. There’s bound to be a few whores left in the world.”
They sliced bread and built sandwiches inside Hank’s kitchen. Ricky’s sandwich was four layers thick with bread and toppings, and when he bit into it, jelly oozed out of the bottom of the sandwich and splattered on the linoleum.
“You clean that up, kid.” Viper’s glare was hard and left no room for argument. Ricky slapped the sandwich down on the kitchen counter and wiped up the spill with a wet paper towel. Snatching up the sandwich, he stomped into the living room.
Viper shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hank. Let me finish my lunch, and we’ll get out of your hair.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Hank said, but his eyes searched around the corner of the kitchen into the living room, as though he didn’t like having Ricky out of his sight.
“Why do you want to stay in Chardray, Hank? Until we figure things out, it might be safer if you weren’t alone.”
Sighing, Hank slumped into a chair in front of the small, wooden kitchen table. The wings were down on the sides, leaving the two table ends open for chairs. Viper sat in the chair across from him.
“I was born and raised in Chardray. Got bused to the high school seven miles north, but otherwise spent my days in Chardray. Eventually made some good friends and started a family. I even carved out a respectable living, helping folks keep their houses standing. Unclogged who knows how many pipes, replaced my share of rain gutters, installed washers and dryers, painted almost every house in Chardray—some more than once. Even put on a few roofs and installed electrical wiring.
“I buried my wife three years ago—lymphoma, the doctor said. Daughter’s been gone ten years. Amy got a degree from the community college,” Hank said, his eyes brightening. “She was the first of the family to go to college. She married a good man and moved to Atlanta. Now…” The light in his eyes flickered out, and something haunted took its place.
“Maybe she’s still down there, Hank.”
Hank shook his head, his eyes fixed on the yellowing wallpaper over Viper’s shoulder, as though he was setting the pattern to memory. Enveloped by the quiet of the little house, they sat at the kitchen table. The refrigerator stuffed into the corner did not hum, nor did the clock over the sink tick. The hands were stuck at 10:50, as though reaching for the stars.
“It’s a helluva thing—everyone just up and disappearing.”
Hank scratched behind his ears. “God’s will, I reckon.”
When the quiet became overwhelming, they pushed themselves up from the table. In the living room, they found Ricky seated on the couch, grinning, holding a picture frame in his lap.
“You old dog, Opie,” Ricky said.
“Put that down,” Hank said, stepping toward him.
“You never told me you had a daughter. Well, had a daughter, I suppose. Damn shame, too. I could have shown her a good time.”
“That’s all I have left to remember my Amy by.” Hank forced the words past the lump in his throat. “You put that picture down. She wouldn’t have been caught with the likes of you.”
“Amy?” Ricky made a low, crooning sound in his throat. He grinned a toothy grin, turning the picture toward Viper. “Will you get a look at that, hoss? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to take this one for a roll in the hay.”
The girl smiling back at Viper had a pretty face with high cheekbones framed by long blonde hair. A small gap opened between her two front teeth, the sort of minor imperfection that a family with money could erase with two years of braces. The generic pose and smile, which had her looking off at something unseen in the upper right corner, marked the picture as a high school senior’s photo. An off-the-shoulder, green tunic top revealed slender shoulders. The girl wore the tunic with the sort of pride that only a teenager with very little given to her would wear a new shirt.
“Take your grimy hands off of her,” Hank said. His neck twitched. His face edged toward the color of August tomatoes.
“You’ve had a lifetime of memories, old man. Don’t hog them all to yourself.”
“Kid,” Viper said, “I really think you ought to give Hank back his picture.”
“Aw, I don’t know, Viper,” Ricky said, tucking the frame under his arm. “There’s gonna be a lot of lonely nights on the road. At least let me have something to slap the salami to.”
“This is one of those times when you need to think about smart choices, kid.”
“Me and Hank’s daughter, Amy, are gonna get to know each other real well—”
Viper jabbed Ricky in the face, twice.
The blows were delivered before Hank ever saw a punch thrown. Ricky didn’t bleed, didn’t cry, and didn’t run like any sane man would have. He wobbled for a moment, trying to force his lips to form a syllable. Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell backward onto the couch. Before Ricky could drop the photograph, Hank snatched the frame and carefully placed it back on the shelf.
“Can’t say as that I’m sorry, kid.” In one effortless motion, Viper yanked Ricky off the couch and threw him over his shoulder. “My apologies for his behavior, Hank. If you would be so kind to get the door, I’ll take out the trash.”
The afternoon sun shone directly down on the tiny house. The south and west windows were a white glare of southern heat.
Hank pulled the front door open, and Viper walked through the threshold with Ricky suspended over his right shoulder, like the morning laundry. He crossed the lawn and headed toward Peter Pig’s.
“Where are you taking him, Viper?” Hank walked a few steps back, lifting the CAT cap off his head and wiping the sweat off his brow.
“Well, much as I’d love to leave the little prick out for the vultures, I figure that I should at least put a roof over his head.”
While Viper carried Ricky into Peter Pig’s, Hank waited by the side of the road. Through the windows, Hank watched Viper lower Ricky into one of the side booths. The kid slumped over the table, as though he was three sheets to the wind.
“Is he gonna be okay in there?” Hank asked, when Viper came out the door.
“Yup. He’ll probably wake up covered in flies. Better that than frying in the sun. He’ll be fine.” As they crossed the street together, Viper appraised two pickup trucks parked in driveways a few doors down from Hank’s place. “I hope you don’t mind, Hank, but I reckon I’m gonna borrow one of your neighbor’s trucks and be on my way.”
“Viper?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“What about?”
“Maybe it isn’t such a good idea for me to stay here alone. What would you say to me tagging along with you for a bit?”
“Why, that would be mighty fine,” Viper said, slapping Hank on the back.
“And you don’t have to borrow anyone’s pickup. Got my own Chevy parked on the side of the house. She ain’t much, but she’s reliable.”
“What
made you change your mind?”
Hank glanced up and down the town proper. Most of the houses were camouflaged by Spanish moss-laden trees, set back into the shadows like crouching lions. The sun drifted a third of the way down from its apex. Soon the shadows would spill out from the houses, enshrouding the silent town in blackness.
“Figured that maybe it was time to move on. Where are we going?”
“I was headed for the coast. But something tells me I should head south. Maybe into Florida. They got plenty of coast down there, too. I can’t say it’s much of a plan, but that’s all I got. You in?”
“Sure. Would you mind if I grabbed a few things before we left?”
“Take your time. We got all the time in the world now.”
South. Viper realized he had been heading south since Indiana, as though a beacon in the sky beckoned him toward The Sunshine State. As Hank disappeared into his house, Viper turned and looked to the left of the descending sun. South. Why do I want to go south?
A gulf wind ripe with moisture rustled the trees, raining helicoptering tree seeds down upon lawns which already grew up to his calves. Eventually the grass would become fields, and the tree seeds would take root. A decade from now, Chardray would be just another southern forest, crumbling houses sleeping at its center like a wilderness graveyard.
Nature began to take back what was hers.
CHAPTER NINE
Red Oak
The May breeze funneled down Cayuga Lake and rustled the trees along Main Street in Red Oak. In the golden hour of the day’s last light, the leaves sounded like a thousand ghostly mothers shushing their children. The trashcan in front of Bob and Mary’s Diner blew over. As the can rolled back and forth across the sidewalk, bits of garbage and paper spilled out and became plastered against the parking lot’s chain link fence. An awkward-leaning oak that Mrs. Baron, the proprietor of the Red Oak Cafe, had repeatedly asked the town to cut down, had finally fallen during a thunderstorm wind gust Monday afternoon. The tree lay, bisecting the storefront’s brick facade, the oak’s branches reaching through the shattered plate glass window and crushing two tables. Now the wind blew freely into the cafe. The scent of coffee grounds wafted through the town center.
In Tori Daniels’ Darden Street backyard, a beagle stood on its hind legs, sniffing at a garbage can set against the shed. A second dog, a Boston terrier, happily dug through the garden, stopping occasionally to munch on red leaf lettuce. Next door, a cat had been at the garbage for over an hour before losing its appetite. The cat’s stomach grumbled of spoiled meat, and as it heaved out a partially digested clump, the beagle darted over to steal the pungent treat.
From several houses came the songs of wind chimes, and nobody listened, while in the front yards, bicycles lay upon their sides like sick animals. The mailbox at 24 Darden was stuffed with bank statements, credit card offers, and the latest phone book. The book blew open, and yellow papers slowly tore themselves free, gliding across the street like tawny autumn leaves. The windows of the house at 28 Darden stood open. The afternoon rain had blown straight through the window, leaving behind a puddle which gradually worked through the floorboards.
The storm had also picked up a small tree branch and tossed it against the side of the Daniels’ home, where it punctured the screen to Tori’s bedroom. A curious blue jay flew in and out of the room through the torn screen, building a nest on Tori’s bookshelf. The blue jay was gravid and would soon lay eggs.
Now the sun abandoned the little town of Red Oak. In the purple gloaming, the town dwindled into shadow, as though under the fading stage lights of some tragic play. Except for the moon’s face glimmering in puddles, against glass, and on the placid surfaces of swimming pools, the town grew blacker and blacker.
CHAPTER TEN
A Guest at The Bay Palace
Her body glistening with sweat, Carina watched the outline of Florida Coasters over Darren’s shoulders, looming on the horizon like a contour painting against the night sky.
It was a few hours after sunset Monday night, as he mounted her for the fifth time in a shade over 24 hours. He panted warm breaths into her ear, thrusting into her to a silent rhythm. As she wrapped her legs around his, locking their ankles together, she pressed her fingers against his back. Stronger than he looked with clothes on, Darren tensed his back muscles, moaning into her ear. She bucked faster, choking back a chuckle as she eyed the distant humps of the park’s roller coasters. As the king bed rocked and jumped, she remembered rides on the coasters, the wind playing through her hair, her stomach falling out from under her with each drop.
His fingers locked with hers. She gave a delighted squeal when he pinned her hands near the headboard. A welcome breeze pushed through the window, caressing their slick bodies and raising goosebumps along their skin.
Carina moaned. Her abdominal muscles went rigid. She became one with the wind, one with the bed, one with Darren, thrusting her hips into his. He softly cried into her ear. She felt him explode inside of her. As they finished together, she could almost hear the defunct evening fireworks show exploding over Dragon’s Mountain.
Within the throes of passion, she queerly recalled her times riding the Silver Serpent coaster, rising and falling with the humped track, her hair suspended in air as her body plummeted through exhilarating drops. She thought of how much alike sex and a good coaster were, and that was too much for her to handle. Overcome by emotion, her eyes glazed over, like freezing rain on a windshield. She bit her lower lip and began to laugh.
He rolled off of her, perplexed. “Something funny about my…eh-hem…performance?”
Her shoulders shook. She pointed toward the knobby bumps of the Silver Serpent. “That’s the second best ride in the park, now.”
He got the joke, and as he smiled over at her, he caught her contagious laughter. He lay clutching his stomach, his giggles shaking the mattress. It took almost a minute before his laughter quieted enough that he could speak. He wiped tears from his eyes.
“I’m glad we found each other, Carina. What were the odds that we’d meet?”
“Pretty good, considering we are the only two people staying at the Bay Palace. What I want to know is, after the world vanished, what on earth convinced you to visit a theme park?”
“I came for the rides.”
“You rode, and then you came,” she said, and that sent them into juvenile hysterics again, like a couple of giggling eighth graders.
She felt a deep warmth percolating inside of her as she looked upon him. He was a good man, she thought. Trustworthy. Resilient. Someone she might have worn a ring for had they met a decade earlier.
Brushing the hair out of his eyes, she ran a finger from his chin down to his navel, painting a heart shape over his chest.
In the 24 hours since the power failed, she noticed that her night vision had grown more acute. In the dull moonlight that skimmed the window overlooking the placid lake waters and park, she watched his skin turn white below where her finger traced and then fill with pink. “No, seriously. Why come to Florida Coasters?”
“Honestly, I thought there would be enough backup power to keep the lights on for a few days. I guess I was a little off with my estimations. You probably won’t believe this, but I’ve lived around here most of my life, and this is the first time I’ve visited.”
“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”
“I told you.”
“Have the rides met your expectations, Mr. Emerson?”
“Very much so.”
They remained within the resort for the sense of familiarity—somehow, being surrounded by its commercial grandeur allowed them to forget how alone they were in the world. The world-famous resort had once attracted 40,000 people per day. But in its abandoned state, the resort began to…change.
The Bay Palace corridors, once so festive and bright with the excited laughter of vacationing families, seemed haunted now. Hallways became lonely dungeon passages. Guest rooms held dark, hidden sec
rets behind locked doors. Even in the bright of day, the shadows seemed to move, giving the impression that something unspeakable crept outside the line of sight, waiting for the sun to set.
Neither Darren nor Carina could shake the feeling that they were not alone on the sprawling grounds, that within the guest rooms lurked dangers which crept out in the dead of night to stalk the vacated halls.
It had been 24 hours since the air conditioning failed, and although the resort walls had held a degree of coolness through mid-morning, the afternoon sun had baked the interior rooms, pushing the mercury within the suite up to 86 degrees by sunset. With the windows open at night, the room was an uncomfortable but livable 81 degrees.
“What now?” Darren asked. It was a larger question they had avoided until now. Without power, they could no longer rely on the safety of refrigerated cafeteria food. An assortment of non-perishables—canned peas and corn, granola bars, peanut butter, whole wheat crackers, bottled water, and energy drinks—were stocked in the store room behind the kitchen. Carina couldn’t stomach the idea of consuming the same packaged foods for another week, let alone a month.
“I’m starting to wonder if we’ve overstayed our welcome,” said Carina. “Remember what we talked about yesterday, about people venturing outside, now that the dust has started to settle?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe it’s time to see who’s out there.”
“If you’d told me on Saturday that after two days of quiet, I’d start to miss traffic jams and long lines at the checkout counter, I’d have said you were crazy.”
“And electricity. You’d have to go back quite a ways to find a time when our society survived without refrigerator freezers and email.” Carina’s eyes widened in the moonlight. She sat up, leaning against the headboard, as a smile worked at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
“Think of what?”
“We don’t have to go far if we don’t want to. Have you ever heard of Florida Bliss?”