Lost Highways: Dark Fictions From the Road Page 11

  The hair on the back of her neck reminded Janet that in fight or flight, she’d never been one to fight. She forgot about her bladder and turned around, heading back out front without a second thought. She walked fast enough to feel rushed without seeming to run. She tried to remain calm and not presume anything, but broke into a jog the last few feet.

  “That was quick.” Brad was standing by the pump with Rett.

  “Changed my mind. People back there . . . they freaked me out.”

  “People?” Rett looked toward the building as if he could see through it. “How many?”

  “A handful.”

  “Shit. Not quick enough.” He spun and looked toward the pump, he’d only just begun pumping. He pulled the handle and stepped back, “Get in the car and get out of here. Go for the highway. I’ll try and bring you gas there. Otherwise wait there for someone. But stay on that highway.”

  Janet jumped in the passenger seat.

  Brad furrowed his brow at the man, “What? Why? We haven’t even—”

  “Boy, I ain’t joking around. Get a move on!”

  Brad fumbled with the door and got into the car, the driver’s seat was up too far from Janet driving and he rammed his knees into the bottom of the dash. With his left hand he reached down and flicked the release to send the seat back a couple inches, his right hand turned the key to start the car.

  The gas gauge needle didn’t move above EMPTY. Fumes at best, he thought. Maybe enough to get back to the highway.

  He held a hand up to wave at the attendant but pulled it back when he saw his face. Fear shown through the grease and dirt, widening his eyes and making the whites appear jaundice in the yellow light of the pump lamp.

  Brad put the SUV in drive and pulled forward. As he steered left to get out of the lot, his headlights washed across a dozen faces blocking their way and he hit the brakes.

  “What the—?” He let the question hang in the air.

  “Drive through them.” Janet sounded unreasonably panicked.

  “Jesus, Janet, that’s murder.”

  “Look at them. Look!” She flicked her hand forward, overtly motioning toward the crowd. “Do they look like they want to invite us to a picnic?”

  Brad considered the group in front of them. Each one dressed in dark clothes, their blank expressions neither welcoming nor menacing. They made no noise, took no action. They simply stood and stared at the SUV.

  Taking in the broader details as he scanned the crowd, Brad realized they were standing in the road—not on the lawns—and revved the engine as an idea formed. He let off the brake and drove for the corner, hoping to shoot through the break in their line and escape across the lawns. As he approached, they moved as one—each taking several steps to the side—and closed the gap. Brad slammed on the brakes and stared at their disturbingly emotionless faces in his headlights. The crash of breaking glass combined with Janet’s scream broke his momentary trance.

  Glancing over, Brad saw something had been thrown at the backseat window, shattering it. He could feel the cool night air. He heard absolutely no sounds other than the engine of the SUV and Janet’s staccato breaths. He threw the Explorer into reverse and hit the gas.

  He felt the thump before he heard it.

  His rearview mirror showed more people surrounding them from behind.

  He checked his options—a dozen townsfolk in front of them, another handful behind, and the gas station garage to the right. The only opening was the road to their left, but the pump stood between them and it.

  As if to rub in their limited options, the Explorer’s engine chugged and coughed, reminding them of their lack of fuel.

  Brad watched in the rearview mirror as the man he’d knocked over stood up and took his place back in the line of residents. A shiver ran up Brad’s spine.

  “What shoes are you wearing?” Brad asked without looking at Janet, as he kept darting his eyes between the crowd in front of them and those in his rearview mirror.

  “What?”

  He could feel her staring at him.

  “Can you run?” His words were punctuated with an unspoken seriousness, but his volume was low, his tone calm.

  Janet’s eyes got bigger as she turned in her seat. In her sideways position, she looked from the group in front to those behind and then to Brad.

  “How? Which way?”

  “Back there . . . ” Brad jutted his chin toward the garage. “What was back there?”

  “Houses. And a handful of people just standing in the dark.”

  “You think they’re still back there? Or did they come out here and become part of this mess? Do you recognize any of them?”

  Janet shook her head, “I don’t know. I couldn’t see much. It’s dark back there. Really damn dark.”

  “Then we go that way.” He glanced to his left, indicating the road on the other side of the pump. “Crawl into the backseat. If we both open the doors and run at the same time, maybe—”

  “To where?”

  “Rett said get to the highway. It’s back that way.”

  She pointed beyond the POST AND GROCERY, “Technically—as the crow flies—it’s that way, but who knows what’s in those fields and yards.” She acquiesced with a nod he didn’t see. “Okay. We run. Okay.”

  He knew repetition was her way of convincing herself she could do this. He needed her to be ready. “You say when.”

  “Okay . . . ” Her voice trailed as she climbed over the seat. “Oh, there’s glass back here.”

  “You cut yourself?” He heard the bits of glass clink in protest of her movement.

  “Nah, I avoided it.” She took a deep breath as she reached for the door handle. “Don’t you leave me, okay? Don’t . . . don’t outrun me . . . ”

  “I won’t.” He looked at her in the rearview mirror. “But don’t look back. Don’t slow down. You run straight down that street until we get to the main road that leads out to the highway. Okay?” He didn’t wait for her to agree. “How far is that? A couple blocks, right? Maybe three.”

  She squinted and tried to see down the dark road. “I think . . . yeah, three sounds right.”

  The Explorer’s engine sputtered and coughed its way to a full stop.

  “Oh God . . . ” Janet took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Okay. Okay, let’s do this . . . on three?”

  “One.” Brad started the count as he grabbed the door handle.

  “Two.” Janet pulled the handle on her door slowly, quietly, to release the latch.

  “Three.” They spoke simultaneously and pushed, their doors swinging open in a fluid movement that ended with each of them free from the vehicle.

  Janet slipped between the pump and garbage can, while Brad ran around front of the pump.

  “Kill him.” The elderly female voice exuded power and leadership. “Grab her.”

  Brad heard Janet gasp as she took off. They ran across the parking lot but dared not look back to find the voice demanding their doom. Reaching the pavement of the small street, they picked up speed, running straight down the road. Straight into the darkness.

  Brad kept Janet in his peripheral vision—either right next to him or slightly behind, but never out of sight. “Faster!” He spurred her forward.

  “I’m trying!”

  Brad heard the panic catch in her breath. He glanced back in time to see her eyes widen in fear a moment before he felt the slam from his left that knocked him down to the pavement. Janet shrieked but kept running, adrenaline more in charge than her desire to stop. He saw her run thirty feet farther before coming to a halt and turning back toward him.

  Whoever had knocked Brad down had run past him and crossed the street. Brad scanned the lawn, searching for his assailant. With his attention diverted, he didn’t see the second one come from behind and deliver a swift kick to his torso before darting back into the shadows.

  Janet’s scream pierced the quiet street as pain shot through his ribs.

  He reflexively curled up to p
rotect himself and frantically looked around for his attackers. Three figures ran from the shadows to become a flurry of feet and fists. Something solid in one of their hands caught the back of his head and Brad went down. Darkness greeted him before his face bounced off the pavement.

  Janet’s open mouth was poised for another scream but she held it when she saw Brad fall. She turned to run. She had to get out. Find help.

  Survive.

  In front of her, several silhouettes slowly walked toward her, fanning out and flanking her as they approached. She turned to the right and ran between two houses only to come to another street filled with people, as if they’d been waiting for her. She turned back the way she’d come and darted through the yard to make her way back to the street.

  She came out next to Brad’s unmoving body. His attackers had gone back to the shadows, perhaps to join in the hunt for her. Janet bent down, eyes warm with the threat of tears. Even in the dark street she could see the pool of blood under his head. She felt panic rise in her throat, tasting very much like bile. She put a hand to her mouth and looked around.

  The light of the gas station called her like a beacon. The attendant didn’t chase us.

  She ran for the small building, hoping to at least hide long enough to collect her thoughts and form a plan. Janet skidded to a halt in front of the open garage door when Rett appeared at the edge of the light shaking his head.

  “No no no. I said run.”

  “They killed Brad!” The reality of her own words cracked her voice and gave her heart a pause.

  “Girlie, RUN.” Rett’s words were emphasized without volume—all the tone he needed was written on his face. “There are worse things than dead. Get to the highway.”

  He pointed at the same area of open field and backyards she had mentioned to Brad before they left the SUV—as the crow flies. She couldn’t see well enough in the dark. She didn’t know the area. She didn’t believe she could make it through the—

  “Run!”

  Rett’s command broke through her thoughts and her feet followed his directive. A small pickup truck came from her right. Its headlights washed across the landscape and cemented her decision for her, as she saw the uneven ground and large rocks in the field behind the small post office. She turned up the street she and Brad had initially taken to the gas station. The one they’d both tried to leave by.

  The one where his body lay crumpled.

  The truck turned to follow, the headlights illuminating the road ahead as it gained on her. She moved toward the side of the road, not wanting to be an easy target in the center. She passed Brad’s body without pause. The headlights fell behind, as she seemed to outrun them. Janet risked a backward glance and saw the truck had stopped by Brad’s body. The possibilities were outnumbered by her imagination and she gasped as she turned back to the road in front of her. She sprinted with everything she had.

  Her leg muscles burned. Her side hurt, and she remembered her full bladder. Her mouth and throat felt dry from harsh breaths. Her heart beat in rhythm with her pounding feet. She got to the main road and swung left. One more block of houses and she’d be out of the town. Then it was a couple miles to the highway.

  Okay, she thought. Okay, I can do this.

  Janet didn’t see the truck coming from her left, from the yard between the last two houses. With its headlights off, there was only a blur of motion before she was bumped off her feet to land in an unconscious heap in the ditch.

  ***

  Janet opened her eyes to lost time. It was still dark out. She remembered being hit, but the pain was subdued by her inability to move and confusion at the loud rumble surrounding her. It took only a moment for her to realize she was tied in the back of a pickup truck, tape of some sort across her mouth. The sound had been the grinding of gears as the truck came to a bumpy halt. Her eyes widened as she realized Brad’s body was lying next to her.

  The driver’s door opened behind her and she kicked frantically at Brad’s shoulder, nudging him as an unseen man spoke behind her.

  “I’m getting real sick of cleaning up your messes. Why you think I moved away?”

  A mumbled reply was answered with, “Well don’t bring me that one if she don’t make it.”

  Janet couldn’t twist enough in her bindings to see who was talking, but she could hear the irritation in the deep voice.

  Boots crunched on gravel as they walked past her, and she watched the silhouette of a man open the back of the truck. She pulled her feet back, curling up defensively. Hands reached in and grabbed Brad’s ankles. She thought she heard Brad groan in protest as he was pulled from the truck bed in one swift motion. His body landed on the ground with a sick thump followed by silence. Janet felt the heat of her bladder releasing as she waited for the arms to come back for her.

  They didn’t.

  Instead, the man slammed the tailgate shut and hit the side of the truck twice to indicate he was done.

  Wait . . . Why wasn’t I taken with Brad? What are they going to do to Brad?

  Janet’s confusion turned to fear as she recounted the things she’d heard: kill him, grab her.

  My God, why?

  What are they going to do with me?

  The truck lurched into gear, moving forward again as the night air chilled the wet skin between her thighs. She watched as Brad’s body was dragged into the shadows.

  Hot tears of selfish dread ran freely. She wondered what could be worse than Brad’s fate—worse than dead—as the truck bounced down the road away from the handwritten sign for Local Game.

  BACK SEAT

  BRACKEN MACLEOD

  The cold made her feet hurt. She was wearing the same sneakers she’d had since before the beginning of the school year, even though her feet had grown and her toes were pushing up against the ends. They were thin canvas and the flat soles were slippery on the black ice coating the road, but they were what she had. To combat the cold, she doubled up on socks even though that made the shoes feel even smaller and crunched up her toes more. Layering her socks worked at first, but the cold still crept in like needles slowly being pushed through the canvas and into the layers of cotton underneath.

  There was snow on the ground on the side of the road, but it wasn’t deep, not like the year before. She didn’t have to slog through it like then. This was that dry, powdery kind that you couldn’t make a snowman or even a ball out of—it just sifted through your fingers like weightless sand when you tried to shape it. It was the kind of snow that fell when it was so cold the condensation from her dad’s breath froze tiny icicles in his mustache and beard. When that happened, she used to laugh and try to pick the little pieces of ice out of his facial hair. He’d smile and bat her hands away, telling her to keep her paws off his beard diamonds. But the novelty of it wore off after the second week of record low temperatures, and neither of them acknowledged the tiny icicles anymore. They were headed into the second month of frigid temps now. That’s what they said on the radio. Record lows not felt in New England in a century. At nine years old, a century was a mythical length of time. Like “once upon a time” and “happily ever after.” One hundred years only existed in stories. Though plenty of things in New England were much older, she’d never met a person who’d lived a hundred years. She knew she wouldn’t be around in a century to tell anyone how numb her toes were. Cold wasn’t supposed to last like that.

  They walked along the side of the road toward the next house. She didn’t want to leave tracks, but the ice on the road was too slippery to walk on. She’d fallen a couple of times when they first got out of the car and her dad told her it was okay for them to walk in the snow on the shoulder. That was tricky because it was dark and there were no street lights out here to illuminate something in the shallow snow that might trip them. Just a faint, unsettling glow from the reflection of the moon behind the clouds. Hidden roots or not, if anyone came driving along, neither of them wanted to be in the road.

  The snow crunched softly beneath h
er feet. Her dad’s footfalls were louder, though he did his best to stay quiet—he couldn’t help his size. He walked in front of her and she tried to step in his footsteps. Though the snow wasn’t deep, it still got in over the tops of her shoes and froze her ankles along with her stinging toes. Walking in his tracks kept that from happening as much, though it still did.

  She made a game of it, pretending she was a ghost stalking him, walking in his tracks so when he looked behind him, he couldn’t see where she’d been. She’d stand in his footsteps and he’d see right through her and shiver at the thought that something was following him. What could it be? The spirit of a tragically lost girl he once knew? She thought it might be fun to be a ghost. Then, she could sneak into some of these houses—pass right through the doors and walls—and sleep in an empty room all by herself. Instead of in a car.

  The shelters in the city wouldn’t take them. A single man with a child was bad enough, but they definitely wouldn’t take in a single man with a girl. Men and women were kept apart for safety reasons, they said. Her dad argued that she was his daughter, and they said it was policy. She couldn’t stay in the men’s area and he couldn’t go in the women’s. We’re sorry, they told them. So, they had to sleep in the car. Her dad turned on the engine every couple of hours to run the heater. The sound of it turning over woke her up every time, but she pretended to sleep through the noise. She knew he wanted her to get good sleep so she could be alert in school. But then every few nights, they had to go for “The Walk.”

  She moved quietly behind him, pretending to be a spirit until they reached a driveway and he turned to remind her with a raised finger to be extra quiet. She didn’t need reminding. She knew.

  Stepping around her dad, she glanced at the mailbox, as if it mattered whose address this was. Most people bought those brass-colored metal numbers to stick on the side of their mailboxes, but this one had been carefully hand-painted. It was hard to read in the dark, but up close she could see. The person who’d done it hadn’t painted the street name, just the numbers five and seven. That was enough. She remembered they were on Summer Street. That had made her smile at first. It was nothing like summer out that night, but it was nice to think about warm weather. She was ready for some.