by Jerry Cole
The world was shifting.
Thomas took several staggering steps forward. His face was scrunched up, his eyes watery. He swept both hands on either side of himself. Marcia rushed toward him, moving like a much younger girl, a girl in love. She pressed her cheek against his chest, allowing him to embrace her. The motion was tender, loving. The look on Isaac’s face told Wyatt that Isaac had never seen his father act in such a manner.
The potential of dying did strange things to people.
The children appeared on the steps, blinking at the adults with incredulous faces. They wore little pajamas, all patterned with various cartoon characters that Wyatt had forgotten the names of long ago.
Monica snapped into action. It seemed that that was the way of Monica, the more volatile sister.
“All right. If we’re done with the theatrics, then I think it’s about time we got the hell out of here,” she said. “Kids, pack up your stuff. Everyone else, gather your things. We’ll meet in the driveway in ten minutes. And I don’t want any messing around up there, you three. This is serious.”
The children scampered back upstairs. Wyatt jangled the keys, mentioning that he had an entire RV and could take all of them at once. Monica said she wouldn’t leave her car. When Thomas said he couldn’t possibly leave his truck, Marcia stepped in and said, “That old thing ain’t worked in the past five years and you know it.”
Thomas seemed to know better than to argue. He brushed his fingers through his hair. Isaac took several steps toward Wyatt, drawing his arm over his shoulders. He whispered, “I think we should tell Daddy that…”
“I know,” Thomas Baxter sighed, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes burned toward Isaac, but they held no malice. “I knew the moment you were born that you were a bit different. And I hate myself every fucking day for…”
He trailed off. Wyatt couldn’t imagine the pain that churned between father and son. These words seemed to be all that Thomas could possibly utter. But for Isaac, perhaps they were enough.
“Wyatt is someone very important to me, Daddy,” Isaac murmured. “I just need you to know that, before we drive out of here.”
“Son,” Thomas began. “I know you have an understanding of the world that I never did.”
This was perhaps enough. Monica snapped her fingers at all of them, demanding that they scurry. Outside, Everett McLean howled at the moon, seemingly giving into the bizarre notions of any man who’d been given too much power. Wyatt’s stomach clenched. He shifted his backpack on his shoulder.
“I have to go get the RV,” he hollered, remembering that it was just across the field, near the saloon.
“Don’t you dare leave that little girl and Kenny here,” Marcia said, thrusting her little frame toward Wyatt. “They’ll die here. You understand me?”
Wyatt bowed his head in answer. He felt the way he had once, in Indiana visiting a cousin, when he’d been running from a tornado. “GET IN THE CELLAR!” someone had screamed, while the sky had turned green over their heads. It had been the most bizarre sight of Wyatt’s life, until this.
It took Wyatt perhaps ten minutes to reach the RV. It felt like an impossible infinity. When he reached it, he discovered a shivering Clara and Randy at the side, their eyes hollow.
“Wyatt! What are you doing?” Clara demanded, her voice breaking. It was clear she’d been crying. She leaned toward him, her body reeking of alcohol, of sweat. “Everett went completely crazy, Wyatt. He—he tried to kiss me. Randy punched him. But he just ran off laughing.”
“We really need to get out of here,” Randy affirmed. “Have you seen Marney or Kenny? We can’t find them anywhere.”
“Did Everett get to Kenny? I swear, the guy has a thing out for him,” Clara whispered. She clenched her elbows tight with white fingers. “I don’t know if he wants him to get out of here alive, you know?”
“Don’t worry,” Wyatt said. “We’re going to get them on the way. Hop in.”
Wyatt yanked the RV down the little dirt path, toward the saloon. Once there, he discovered that many of the normal boozers had drawn outside, their eyes directed toward the orange sky over the field. From where they stood, the sky very much looked filled with aliens, beings from Venus coming to beam them all up.
Wyatt leaped from the driver’s seat, leaving the door open behind him, and shot through the door of the saloon. Marney was atop the bar, of all places, dancing to the music radiating from the jukebox, while Kenny remained on the ground, grabbing her heels as she danced. They seemed to have not a single care in the world. They hardly looked at Wyatt when he burst in.
“Kenny. Marney. We have to go. We have to go right now,” Wyatt said, surprised at how forceful he sounded.
Marney blinked big eyes at him. Kenny sputtered for a moment.
“Everett has set fire to the entire field. I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes the entire town,” Wyatt said. “We have to go this minute. Okay?”
Marney shrugged down at Kenny. With a whoosh, she dove into his arms and he twirled her around and around, making her giggle. The entire thing took far too long, forcing Wyatt to shift his weight from foot to foot, waiting. Finally, Marney dotted back on the ground, grabbed her bag on the other side of the bar, and shrugged. “I don’t know who’s gonna pour the beers the rest of the night. Oh, Ken. Make sure to grab the tips in the jar.”
Kenny did as he was told, slotting the bills into his back pocket. He grabbed Marney’s hand and the pair hustled through the shadowed bar, rushing toward Wyatt. Finally, Wyatt spun back around, ducking out the door and back toward the RV. Marney and Kenny fumbled in, discovering Randy and Clara shivering in the back seat. The reunion was vibrant, if brief. Marney flung herself at Clara, seemingly forgiving any sort of wicked banter they’d had previously. Wyatt cranked the engine and veered the RV back around, heading toward the ranch.
They passed the burning field. The journalists had abandoned ship completely. Everett McLean remained, along with perhaps fifteen or twenty people, dancing in the flickering light. The very edge of the ghost town had already caught flame. The smell of must, of burning mold, filled the air. Soon, the stars would be invisible, thrust back by the billowing smoke.
When Wyatt drew the RV up to the ranch house, everyone was in line on the porch, waiting. Isaac burst down the steps, racing in and positioning himself in the front seat. Marcia assisted Thomas into the back, sitting directly in front of Clara and Randy. Marney and Kenny greeted Marcia with glee, clearly enamored with the old woman.
“We really made a killing tonight, Marcia!” Marney cried. “You should have seen it. Kenny is a wicked bartender.”
“Well, all that don’t matter, now,” Marcia returned, grinning. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“Damn right, we are!” Marney said.
Thomas gave confused smiles to each of the members of the backseat. Monica and Trudy loaded the children into the other car and hopped into the front, giving Wyatt a thumb’s up. Seconds later, Wyatt slammed his foot on the pedal, veering out of the driveway. His brain ticked with adrenaline. They whipped past the field once more. All were quiet. The fire brewed over the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the ghost town, veering toward the inhabitants. It was clear the people of Rhode’s Pike were well aware, as they’d begun to do precisely what the rest of them were doing; running. Running as fast as they could.
As Wyatt thrust his foot deeper on the pedal and they neared the highway, Isaac drew his hand across his knee. Wyatt glanced toward him, gazing into his eyes. Isaac nodded an affirmation, a note that what Wyatt was doing was entirely right, entirely necessary. They would get through it together.
Chapter Twelve
Isaac
They drove through the night. Isaac’s heart struggled finding a regular beat again. He stirred with near-constant anxiety. He forced his head back, his hand still atop Wyatt’s knee, feeling the Texas landscape churn past them on either side of the massive RV windows.
But despite
the fear that permeated through everything, Isaac held a single thought in his mind, They were free. The nightmare was over.
His father remained in the back seat, unspeaking. The conversation they’d had at the ranch house filled Isaac’s mind, forcing him to analyze it from every angle. Something about what his father had said seemed apologetic, charged, eager. It seemed he wanted to start anew, even in the wake of potential death. There had been an understanding between them.
And then, watching his father accept the love offered from Marcia had been strange and bizarre and emotionally charged, making Isaac want to grip Wyatt’s hand and never let go. Each of them was just a person, grappling with their own loneliness. All they had was one another. Finally, it seemed that Thomas was leaning into that.
It had taken him a lifetime. And Isaac had never given his father the credit to have the ability to change. He was so grateful that he’d been proven wrong.
Wyatt drove with a sure hand atop the steering wheel. Isaac’s nose still filled with the scent of him. How he longed to soon lay stretched out beside him on crisp white sheets, listening to the sound of him breathing. He imagined them talking about this impossibly strange week months from then, whispering, “Can you believe that’s how we met?” He longed for normalcy. He longed to know how Wyatt took his eggs in the morning; what Wyatt looked like when he watched television; the kind of chocolate Wyatt craved when he gave into such a thing.
Monica rang Isaac’s phone just after one in the morning, suggesting that the entire crew head back to her house. “We’ve got enough space,” she said. “I don’t know how many folks you have in the back of that thing, but they’re all welcome for breakfast.”
Isaac chuckled, tossing his head back on the head rest. “You’re such a mom, Monica,” he said.
“I can’t help it,” Monica sighed. He could sense the smile behind her voice. “God damn, I’m so glad to be out of that house. Have you been listening to the radio?”
Isaac checked the back, noting that only Kenny seemed to be asleep, while the others’ eyes remained bright and cast forward, watching the road.
“Do you mind if I turn on the news?” he muttered to them, the first voice anyone had heard in hours.
“Do it,” Marcia instructed. “I want to make sure everyone made it out.”
Isaac flicked on the local news station. It was staticky, reminding him of old war movies. As the RV moved forward, the station eased into increased clarity.
“We’re hearing now of the happenings at the abandoned ghost town, Rhode’s Pike, where many journalists were stationed to write about a very strange event,” the radio announcer said. His voice was only vaguely tangy and Texan, as though he’d taken great efforts to shake off that Texan personality.
“They’re called the Venus 50, and they’re the 21st century’s answer to a cult,” he continued. “They had stationed outside of the ghost town, in an effort to prepare for what they said would soon occur; men and women from Venus, coming to Earth to save them. Of course, they also brought with them a whole host of drugs and alcohol and had a bit of a crazy overlord in their midst, by the name of Everett McLean.”
Someone in the back seat scoffed. Isaac turned up the station a bit, hanging on every word. It was bizarre, hearing your reality translated back to you in such a manner.
“In the wake of an accidental fire, it seems that Everett McLean himself set an additional fire, as a means to prove that the beings from Venus were communicating with the cult,” the radio announcer continued. “Unfortunately, he lost control of the fire sometime after ten this evening, and the fire reached the old ghost town, ultimately destroying half of Main Street, along with an old ranch on the outskirts of the field.”
Isaac glanced back at his father. Thomas wore a pained expression. He gripped Marcia’s hand, seemingly hard, although Marcia gave no sign of discomfort.
“Firefighters from a nearby town arrived soon after, ultimately saving one half of the town. They called for additional assistance, bringing several vans out to the scene to cart the members of the Venus 50 back to civilization. It seems that the millennials were ready to abandon the plan.
“As for Everett McLean, he was taken into custody at round about twelve-thirty this AM. During the arrest, he allegedly assaulted a police officer,” the announcer continued. “We will have updates on this story in the coming hours. But for now, I am grateful to say that no one was injured, and that part of the state treasure, Rhode’s Pike, was saved. The community has said that they will rebuild, if necessary, and that the men and women who have lost their homes will always have a place to stay. That’s Texas hospitality for you.”
The RV snaked itself off the highway near Austin, following closely behind Monica’s car. It was just past three in the morning, and Isaac’s head lolled about atop his neck. In the mirror, he could see Marney cozied up alongside Kenny, giving herself over to sleep. Randy and Clara—names Wyatt had muttered to him in the midst of the drive—were similarly slumbering. Still, Thomas and Marcia remained upright, staring straight ahead. Isaac imagined that this—their first departure from Rhode’s Pike in years and years—was a bit like death itself. It was like starting all over again.
Monica flipped out of her car quickly, with the motions of a mad woman. She waved a firm arm toward Wyatt, allowing him to snake the RV along the edge of the property. Isaac cut out of the passenger seat, listening as Monica spoke in a hushed voice, so as not to wake the neighbors.
“Bring everyone inside. I’m going to put the kettle on. Maybe a pot of coffee. God, I’m starving, too.”
The eight people in the RV scampered out, looking untamed, men and women who’d spent the previous days in the desert. Marcia’s little overnight bag bobbed along on her frame. She continued to grip Thomas’ hand. As they approached the stairs of the porch, she leaned toward Monica. “Thank you so much for welcoming us to your home,” she said, in the manner of a woman who knew it was proper to say such a thing.
“You’re always welcome,” Monica returned, seemingly very pleased with herself.
The ragtag bunch crowded around Monica’s dining room table. Isaac noted that the table was the very same one he’d grown up with and mentioned this. Monica nodded, saying, “I asked Ma if I could have it. She doesn’t have any use for it in that little apartment she’s living in now.”
Isaac realized it had been months since he’d spoken to his mother. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing toward Wyatt. He knew that this return to Texas hadn’t had come to its conclusion, that he needed to attend to his mother, to patch up old wounds.
Monica cooked bacon, eggs, hash browns, citing that it was “all she had in the house,” although it was clear she could have fed an even bigger crew. The children remained up with the adults, sitting on plastic chairs and tossing their feet back and forth above the floor. Monica’s husband rose for a moment, gaped at the large group, and returned to bed, muttering to himself. At this, Trudy whispered, “He’s really never been much help,” to Isaac, who was grateful, for once, to be included on the gossip, rather than being the source of it.
Just before serving, Monica requested that everyone pray. They did as they were told, bowing their heads and closing their eyes. Monica’s prayer was one that involved thankfulness for love, for safety, for getting out of Rhode’s Pike. There was a bit of a piousness in her voice, but Isaac decided not to fault her for it. It was simply her way.
They ate heartily. Marney continually thanked Monica, her voice light and sweet. “I really don’t eat meat very much, but this is absolutely amazing,” she said, crunching down on a piece of bacon. “Really, I would eat anything right now.”
“Even a horse?” Zoey piped up, ready to challenge her.
“Maybe,” Marney giggled.
Kenny gazed at her, love simmering in his eyes. He squeezed her elbow, before taking a large bite of egg. Wyatt slipped his own hand atop Isaac’s knee. Isaac looked at him, trying to deduce his inner feelings at
the strangeness of the night. But he saw only Wyatt’s serene expression, noting just how okay everything really was.
“What about New York, Isaac?” Trudy asked. “When do you need to make it back up?”
Isaac had given very little thought to New York in the previous days. He felt churned toward a separate reality. The rules and piousness of that other world seemed to no longer filter through him.
“Well, my students have been sending me their work over email,” Isaac said. “And honestly, they don’t show up to class very much as it is. They probably haven’t really noticed I’m gone.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question, does it?” Trudy asked.
Isaac chuckled, conscious that he couldn’t get around anything with his sisters. They were perfect characters in a novel, articulating precisely their wishes, without any use for “beating around the bush.”
“Well, it’s difficult to answer,” Isaac murmured. His eyes darted toward Wyatt’s, sending a message that his everything, his entire future could fall off the rails for this person. “I think the past few days have changed my life.”
“Does that mean you might stay in Texas?” Zoey said, smacking both hands across her little chest. “Please say you’ll stay in Texas, Uncle Isaac. Say you will.”
“At least for a while,” Isaac affirmed, shifting in his chair. “I want to make sure Daddy and Marcia are all set up.” He turned toward his father. “Was thinking that we could start checking out apartments later this week, if you’re feeling well.”
Thomas’ face was a bit pale, but his eyes were bright, active. He scratched at his still-sharp jawline. “Marcia and I will need a bit of help, sure. We ain’t been out in the world for a bit. Guess the rules have changed.”
Marcia beamed. She’d hardly touched her late-night, early-morning dinner, and stirred her eggs about with a fork. “I ain’t never lived in the city before,” she said.