The Thing at the Edge of Blundertown

by Jane M. Bloom

  She darted into Barracks I. It was still completely full. Gil sat among the victims, his head hanging in his lap. “Gil!” she shouted. He didn’t move. “What the hell are you doing?” He raised his head, but his eyes were shut. He looked almost as pitiful as the company he was supposed to be saving. She slapped him forcefully and yanked him until he rose, obligingly, to his feet. “I told you! Just do it.”

  Strands of hair hung over his brow, fluttering like the wings of a wounded bird. She realized he was crying. He was nearly inaudible, “They don’t—don’t even look like dogs. . .I can’t—”

  “You can! And you will. Now!” What was she going to do, are you kidding me? It was impossible to do it alone. This entire mission would be a failure. Penelope’s image blurred before her. It wanted to float away, but she kept pulling it back to her: Don’t go. Please don’t go, Penny. Don’t give up on me. Gil was an oversized rag doll, his broad arms hanging uselessly at his sides and his hair aflutter. As she stared at the pathetic figure, something large and ugly rose to her chest. From a deep, shameful place she didn’t know existed, cruel desperation took over. “Pee Pants,” she cried. “You’re nothing but a stupid Pee Pants!” She was staring him down. Suddenly she was unstoppable. Yes, she would go there. She mocked and taunted in a snotty, sing-songy chant that every child instinctively knows: “Pee Pants, Pee Pants, Nothing but a Pee-Pants.” She threw a quick jab into his chest. He didn’t even defend himself! Her taunts grew louder: “Nothing but a Pee-Pants!” her arms swinging wildly, slapping and jabbing his unprotected body. Next, she was circling him, hopping on one foot, then the other, as she twirled, diving in for a slap here, a punch there, belting out the schoolyard tune at the top of her lungs.

  It worked.

  “Stop it, damn it!” he screeched. “I am not a Pee Pants!” His fist was mid-air, ready to strike.

  The room went silent. They stood face to face, surrounded by a very captivated audience. Something like a giggle caught deep in her chest. Then in Gil’s. “Wow.” He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Twilight Zone.” He gazed at the mass of forms surrounding them. Then he looked away. “You’re a real you-know-what, you know.” He swung his hair skillfully around so it flipped off his forehead. He was back to the Gil she needed.

  In the so-called real world, an embrace like that between two sixth-graders at Blundertown Middle School might have generated some online drama. But there, in the privacy of that filthy prison, time stopped for them.

  Or so they would have wished. It was 5:03.

  While the world slept, the two of them worked quickly in Barracks I just as she had in Barracks II, corralling masses of innocent prisoners through the back fence. She looked each one directly in the face. With each face, her heart grew a little heavier and more frantic. None of these was Penelope, either. When the dorm had largely thinned out, Gil took command. He offered to finish up while Rae tended to the stragglers outside who had fallen from the pack. They were walking in circles or lying down, scattered throughout the grounds.

  When finished, he closed up Barracks I and joined her. He knew exactly what she meant when she looked at him. “No Penelope. Not yet,” he told her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “One hundred percent positive? Did you look at every single one?”

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “What if you didn’t recognize her?” She looked ready to cry.

  “Hey.” He put his arm on her upper back, where a thick cloak of curls used to be. “I know her. I wouldn’t miss her. We just haven’t found her yet, that’s all.” But his words offered only a sliver of comfort. He suggested, “She’s probably already out. Maybe she slipped past us.” There it was, the paltry Glass Half Full. His phone said 5:37. “Let’s run through the smaller buildings and then get out of here.”

  “What? No!” Rae snapped. “We can’t leave all these wanderers. There’s still, I don’t know, thirty, forty? We can’t just leave them.”

  “Most of them can barely walk. Remember what your dad said.”

  “We have to try. One of them is Penelope.”

  “Okay,” he hesitated, “but we only have, like, twenty minutes. We’ve gotta hustle.”

  It was a relay without anyone to pass to. He carried a dog in each arm, and she carried another and a flashlight. At that rate, they had to make over a dozen trips to clear the place out. They sprinted. Even for Gil it was arduous. For Rae, it was sheer adrenaline. They dashed back and forth, scooping up dogs and racing to the exit, back and forth, pick up, drop, repeat, an egg toss at gunpoint. The animals had to be treated just as delicately, too, and each one was ruled out as Penelope. Each time they reached the fence, the barks and wails grew louder. Soon, someone would be calling the police. They were clammy with sweat.

  Suddenly, Gil came to an abrupt stop. “It’s time.” She bumped into him, full force, from behind. “Watch where you’re going!” he accused.

  “Me?” she shouted. He was so unbelievable.

  THE YARD WAS EMPTY. They’d rescued them all. Rae fell to the ground, utterly defeated. “Where is she?” she began to sob. An expanse of clouds had risen from behind a steep hill, creating a vibrant backdrop of crimson. It cast a strange other-worldliness over the vacant field.

  Gil stood over her. “Uh, we really have to go,” he urged. She continued sobbing. “C’mon. It’ll be alright. But you have to stand up.” He waited helplessly. “Don’t cry.”

  “Why not? You did!” She wept.

  He tried to think of something he could use against her from kindergarten, but nothing came to him. Then something much more recent popped up. “Hey. I could call you a ‘Dog Food Eater,’ you know.” She stopped to listen. “And start singing like a lunatic.” She sniffled. “Want me to?”

  “No.”

  “And hop around you like an Energizer bunny, and throw some punches. Want me to?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then. On the count of three, get up. Or I will.” He began, “One,” and paused. “Two.” She didn’t move. “Two and a half.” Still nothing. He sighed, “Damnit, Raelyn. Two and three-quarters.”

  She lifted a wimpy arm to him.

  He grabbed it and pulled her up. “Three.” He wiped away her tears with his thumbs.

  They had six minutes left. They would make a quick round through the outbuildings on the chance they would find her. It would be their final effort.

  Each building contained shocking revelations. The Groom Room was full of fur. Literally. Rae recalled how the groomer had shaved all the dogs—a solution to flea infestation, it was claimed. It was this cruel act that had triggered her own statement of solidarity with scissors to her own scalp. The fur was stuffed into clear garbage bags stacked from floor to ceiling and labeled, For Shipment: Ollie’s Upholstery, Inc. A large pile of loose fur had been swept to one corner of the room.

  “What in the—“ Gil was staring intently at the swept pile.

  “They shave them because—” He blocked her with his arm, still eyeing the corner of the room. She saw it too—a slight movement. Gil walked toward it with his flashlight. The pile stirred a little more, and out popped a skinny, jet-black puppy. He was furless and trembling. Two tiny, black circles stared up at Gil.

  “Hi, little guy,” Gil cooed and squatted in front of him. The puppy emitted a faint, high-pitched whimper. “You’re clever, aren’t you? You found the warmest place in this hellhole, under all this fluffy fur.” He scooped him into his arms.

  “OMG,” Rae came closer. “He’s probably only a few months old.”

  He tucked him into his jacket. “I’m taking him out of here. How about you check the next building real quick, and I’ll check those other two on the way out.” She conceded. “And then, Rae, we’ve gotta get to the car. We have less than four minutes. Meet you there?”

  “Got it.”

  The Storage Shed was organized into piles. Her flashlight revealed a large mound of unused toys: bal
ls of all colors and sizes, braided ropes, rubber bones, and rawhides. Another pile contained wrapped presents, most of them in holiday paper received but never opened, and countless unopened letters addressed to “Taddie,” “Archibald,” “Gertie.” The lump in her throat made it painful to swallow. Surely, buried among these things were her letters and gifts to Penelope. A third pile contained leashes, brushes, nail clippers, and toothbrushes. The largest was a mountain of clothes and bedding.

  “Hello? Penelope?” she called, hoping that Penny was another smart one hiding in a warm place. She rummaged on all fours through the pile of clothes. “Penelope, it’s me.” She crawled deeper into it, calling out again and again. No one was there. She dug herself out, sobbing, and closed the door behind her.

  Once out on the dirt road, she realized she was missing her cell phone. She must have lost it somewhere in the heap. She returned to search for it, on all fours again, burrowing herself in the dense mounds of fabrics. Had she left the flashlight on or turned it off? she wondered. She saw no glow anywhere. For some reason, she started to panic. She began flinging items every which way, still buried among the garments. It had to be in here somewhere. The more she dug herself in, the more determined she was to find it. It was getting warmer and stuffier, and she was heaving for air. It occurred to her that she could suffocate in here. What a horrible, senseless way to die. Suddenly, her phone sounded. She followed the muffled ring until she located it, then breast-stroked her way out of the heap and raced out of the building.

  She was drenched in sweat, relieved to be in open air. It was 6:02. The lit screen from Gil screamed, WHERE R U?? Her father would be furious. She’d become so sidetracked; what had she been thinking? She didn’t need her phone. She didn’t even need the flashlight anymore. The sky had lightened several shades to deep periwinkle. Dawn was moments away. The night guard was hunched over in the upstairs window. When he saw her, he began muttering anew a string of garbled obscenities, but his voice was weak, his resolve depleted. “. . .Won’t get away with this. . . .” was all she could make out.

  As she ran past Barracks I, she stopped. Her eyes fixed on the closed door. She glanced in the direction of the fence, where Gil was long gone. High on the horizon, the world continued awakening before her very eyes. That was the thing about sunrise: You could watch patiently for a whole hour and nothing much happened; then in a matter of seconds, it was over. If only she had just a few more of those precious moments. Several remaining stars twinkled and lingered in the dawn, trying to hold on.

  Her phone said 6:05.

  She entered Barracks I.

  The open door offered some light to the center of the room, but left large interior wedges still in darkness. Gil had assured her that he’d given this building a final check. The dorm appeared bare except for a few worn rags flung carelessly about—remnants of what the occupants might have tried to pass for blankets or comfort in another lifetime. Yet the walls seemed to pulsate and breathe. In the darkness, the hollows moaned to escape their own shadows. Ghosts now occupied this place and always would.

  She stood there longer than time permitted. Gil would have chased as many dogs as possible into the woods before meeting her father. Any dog who meandered near the fence probably would be shot once the police were alerted to the break-in. No one would be returning for her. She remained there in a trance.

  Something drew her attention to the far corner. She would never know what caused her to turn there, for it was neither sound nor scent, and as dark as charcoal. She moved steadily toward it. On the floor was a clump, a small mound. She tried to adjust her sight in the darkness, but all she could make out was that it appeared motionless. She knelt down to study it more closely. It was a series of curved sticks, lined up one against the other, forming an encasement of sorts. With the tips of two fingers, she felt a thin, velvety covering over the curves. She identified them instantly as ribs. Her eyes, still struggling to see, followed along the dark mass lying there. She was now touching a jawline that protruded like the dull side of a knife. Above the jaw was Penelope’s left eye. It was open.

  Rae pressed her own face to the thin facial structure below, held her breath and listened. She smelled a warm, shallow exhale. Penelope was alive! She scooped the weightless body into her arms and caressed her in her lap. She began rocking gently.

  How long she held Penny there, rocking and humming in private reunion, she wouldn’t know. But suddenly it ended. As if a hypnotist snapped her fingers, she stood up, protecting Penelope close to her chest. She whisked a ragged bedsheet from the floor, wrapped it around Penny, and slipped out into the pastel morning.

  She wandered in delirium toward the back fence, where the hundreds of other dogs had already escaped. Their whimpers and calls echoed from the forest beyond. Sirens wailed in the distance. Initially the sounds came from behind her. Then they came from in front of her, where she was heading, instantly drowning out the animals’ cries. She began to run. The police sirens bellowed now in full, surround sound, increasing in terror as they grew.

  She scurried through the back fence on her knees, with Penny huddled to her chest. Several confused dogs met them at the opening. Something crunched under her kneecap.

  “Raelyn!” It was her father shouting amidst the clamor. His blurry figure appeared at the corner, and she realized her glasses were gone. His wide, sweeping arms beckoned. A series of loud “pops” echoed in the air, reverberating deep into the channels of her ears. He rushed toward her in slow motion, his arm commanding a halt at the flashing vehicles, his mouth shouting something. But she heard nothing.

  She was bouncing in his broad embrace, the torn bedsheet draped around her shoulders. A tremendous roar consumed the world. Suddenly, an intense, bright light appeared from above. It hovered over them, suspended and radiating. Her father ran directly toward it, the wind blasting with centrifugal force. She was lifted high above his head, the torn, white sheet whipping around her like an angel’s wings taking flight. Another set of arms grabbed her from the blinding light source above. She found herself in the arms of medical personnel dressed in white. It was her mother.

  “Go!” Nurse Devine shouted to the pilot. The helicopter lifted away from the chaotic world below.

  Rae was seated in back with Penelope swaddled in her lap, and the aircraft shook and vibrated. Through the deep rumbling of the engine, the pilot’s cries trickled through: “We need,” his thin voice bellowed—“Good God, what a sight. The dogs. . .send medical supplies, water. . . .” She noticed the sharp smell of disinfectant and her right leg propped in her mother’s lap. Nurse Devine was wiping her calf with a soaked red cloth. It occurred to her that she had no feeling in any places her mother touched.

  “A bullet must have ricocheted off something,” her mother reported in skilled calm. “You’ll be fine, baby.” But tears pooled at her lower eyelids, ready to topple over the edges. She began wrapping gauze around the wound.

  “Mom. Penny needs water.” Her voice made no sound amidst the blaring of the engine. A paper cup appeared. Penelope immediately began lapping it up with sloppy licks, sending water flying everywhere. A dark, cold spot appeared in the crook of Rae’s pants. She pictured Gil on the kindergarten bus. Then she pictured him in their agonizing moments in Barracks I, their laughter so wildly out of place. Both seemed equally a lifetime ago. She began to giggle. Her mother examined her face with a clinician’s eye and a worried frown.

  Rae turned away and looked out the small, curved window. They were flush along the tree line near the peak of a hill. The sky was awash in shades of pink, diffusing downward in wide bands. But as the helicopter cleared the jagged tops of the trees, she blinked at the breathtaking sight on the other side: The entire sky was transformed into an expansive burst of light —an immense arc of fiery orange and yellow emanating infinite power in all directions. It was the Earth’s awesome halo, the morning sun.

  “Wow.” She was transfixed.

  “Don’t look directly at it,
sweetie,” her mother cautioned. “It can blind you.”

  Rae turned to her. The awakening universe cast iridescence in her mother’s eyes, a watery, gilded green. She studied the colors, the gradations of lightness and depths of the first set of eyes she had ever looked into nearly twelve years before. Amazing, all this time, and her mother wasn’t a bird, after all. Rae was gazing into the face of a swan, a majestic Trumpeter queen. Holding Penelope, she scooted toward her and leaned into the pillow of downy feathers, the wide expanse of wing white as snow. Her head was suddenly very heavy. It settled into the warm whiteness, and her eyelids drifted closed.

  “Hello, there, My Lady,” she heard the Swan Mother say. “Welcome home. . . .” But the voice grew faint, falling out of range. It was the last thing she remembered.

  CHAPTER 18

  Penelope Park

  A CYNIC WOULD SAY IT WAS THE PAIN MEDICATION. But in the hospital that night, something wonderful happened. My Glitter came back!

  First, it was just a few blindingly bright specks. What is this? My curiosity was awakened. Then, like before, out popped a small group here and another group there of vibrant, multi-colored sparkles, spinning and dancing. They poured out in abundance and grew into an amazing kaleidoscopic masterpiece: fiery turquoise, scarlet, emerald, bronze and copper, lavender, magenta, silver, azure, chartreuse, and gold. The colors shone through as if beaming from an intense, infinite light source, every particle glowing and twinkling a thousand-fold. It was a breathtaking sight to behold.

  The amazing thing is that the Glitter came back to me as if it had never left. It occurred to me then, as I watched in the pitch darkness, that perhaps it had never disappeared after all. Perhaps it had always been there, off to the side, in the depths of my despairing mind. I just hadn’t looked hard enough for it. When I became disheartened with the world, I’d forgotten to look, and eventually forgot it even existed.