Snowball

by Gregory Bastianelli

  Someone was screaming.

  That’s not me, is it? Felker thought. I’m not screaming, am I?

  No. The screaming was coming back toward the edge of the woods. Something told him Brodie hadn’t ducked.

  Felker got to his feet somehow, reassuring himself that nothing was wrong with him, no broken bones. He ran back toward the way they had come, toward the tangle of torn barbed-wire fence and the sound of the screaming.

  When he got to Brodie’s prone body, lying on his back at the edge of the woods, he stared down, cursing the full moon that now cast a spotlight on his friend in the snow. Either the cold air or the vision of horror before him snatched the breath from his throat.

  Brodie’s arms were spread-eagled and his body was surrounded by splashes of red soaking into the whiteness of the snow. But the brightest red was on the face of his friend, or rather where his face used to be.

  The barbed wire must have caught Brodie right under the chin, and the speed they were traveling had peeled the skin completely off his face, leaving a mask of pulsing red muscles and tendons surrounding the hole in the middle that was the source of the screaming.

  Felker took another swallow from his mug and the others in the RV stared at him aghast, faces pale. No one uttered a word.

  “He lived,” Felker continued when he set his mug back down. “They even managed to reattach his face, though now he has an ugly scar running down around the edge of his face like a chinstrap.” He tipped the mug back, draining the rest of the bourbon, before setting it back hard on the table. “That was my worst winter,” he said. “Till this one, that is.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Shelby looked on in horror when Lewis Felker finished his winter tale. Clark could see the lines of anguish etched in her tired face. He reached over and patted her leg in an instinctive act of comfort.

  “What’s wrong with all of you?” she said to everyone, though her eyes never turned from Felker. “What horrible stories. Why would you tell them?”

  Clark hoped she didn’t include his tale along with the others. His might have had a tragic outcome, but it certainly didn’t contain the lurid elements the others embodied.

  “It’s just a way of passing the time,” Werner Volkmann said.

  “Yes,” his wife concurred. “To show that we’ve all had worse winter experiences than the one we’re having. It’s a way of finding hope in a dreadful situation. To know we’ve all endured much worse.”

  Clark didn’t think Francine’s explanation did much to soothe Shelby’s current state. He kept his hand on the top of her thigh, sensing she didn’t mind and enjoyed its comfort. She even shot a half smirk his way, as if to say it was appreciated.

  “Maybe you’d care to share a story,” Francine said.

  Clark watched Shelby’s face shift from an expression of bewilderment to one of resentment. She had a story, he could tell. But it seemed something buried too far down for her to want to unearth. He was sure it was distressing.

  “You don’t have to,” he said, patting her leg again.

  She turned to him now with a full smile and eyes that seemed to get reassurance from his. But still the smile seemed sad.

  “I’m not going to,” she said, as much to him as to the others. “Some memories are best kept to myself. Right now I think I’ll check on the kids.”

  She rose and Clark felt disappointed she was leaving his side, but she surprised him when she turned and asked him to accompany her. He felt awkward and wasn’t sure how to respond. Still, he followed her to the back room, noticing the smirk from Graham and a disturbing leer from Lewis Felker.

  Once in the back bedroom, Shelby softly closed the door behind them, her face now only a dark silhouette before him.

  “I wanted to tell you something,” she whispered, after a quick glance back at her sleeping children on the bed. “I went to high school with you.”

  “Really?” he said in disbelief.

  She laughed. “I was only a freshman, and you were a senior, so you wouldn’t have known me. Plus I was kind of homely back then, skinny and a mouth full of braces.”

  “That’s so funny.”

  “I kind of had a crush on you,” she continued. “I remember you being on the hockey team, and I worried your handsome face would get smashed in or you’d lose a few teeth.”

  He chuckled at that. “I was a bit reckless on the ice sometimes.”

  Shelby smiled. “I just wanted a moment alone to tell you that, if I had to be trapped in a god-awful mess like this, I’m really glad it’s you that’s here.”

  And then before he had a chance to respond, she leaned up and planted a soft gentle kiss on his cheek. Clark was so taken by surprise, he didn’t know what to say.

  “We’ll get through this,” he said, taking her hand. “And when it’s all over, we’ll be able to look back at it as a special night.” He hoped he didn’t sound too corny.

  “I’ll let you get back to the others,” she said. “Think I’ll lie with the kids for a bit.”

  When he left the room and retook his position on the bench seat, he felt a touch of sadness she was not in the room. He enjoyed the comfort of her next to him and the glances they exchanged. It confused him to have feelings like this surface in such a bizarre predicament. He wasn’t sure how to proceed with it. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do. They were snowbound in a confined space under extreme circumstances. It left him with a feeling of helplessness. He wanted to be strong and take some kind of leadership role. He just didn’t know what to do.

  “Anyone else have anything?” Francine asked. “How about you, Mrs. Drake?”

  Joy had been resting her head against her husband’s shoulder, and now looked up as if jostled out of sleep. “Oh no,” she said, peering up at her husband. “I don’t think so.” Mason patted her hand and she dropped her head back onto his shoulder.

  “Mr. Sawyer?”

  Clark looked at his friend. Sure Graham had a story, and it was probably more tragic than anyone else’s here, but would he tell it?

  Graham grinned back at Mrs. Volkmann. “Gee, I don’t know.”

  The old woman peered closer. “You must have something. Everyone in New England has experienced some horrible winter. You can’t be an exception.”

  Graham was silent, seeming to study the woman, but maybe just reaching back into his memories, way back. Like with Shelby, Clark could see the pain on his friend’s face. Even though Clark knew the story, he didn’t ever recall his friend telling it to anyone. He doubted he would in this circumstance, but maybe it would help him purge the pain associated with it.

  “Most of my winter memories are pleasant,” Graham said.

  Clark knew he was lying.

  “All of them?” Francine asked.

  “I really like the season. It’s one of the reasons I stayed in New Hampshire. It’s just a beautiful part of the country.” He looked around the table at the others as if wanting to disperse any disbelief. “Seriously. My wife, Natalie, and I have three daughters and we made sure they all learned to ski and ice-skate so we could enjoy the season. And last Christmas, we bought snowshoes for all of us, so we could take winter hikes on some of the wooded trails.”

  “And nothing bad has ever happened to you?” Werner asked this in what sounded like a tone of disbelief.

  Graham shrugged. “Not really.”

  Don’t tell them, Clark thought. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Don’t let them push you.

  Graham looked down at his clasped hands in contemplation and then raised his head. “There was one thing that comes to mind. It happened when I was a kid.”

  Clark braced himself for the story that was about to come, but it wasn’t what he had been expecting.

  “In middle school there was this bully by the name of Leroy Sledge. You remember him, Clark, right?”
<
br />   He nodded, too surprised to vocalize an answer, wondering why Graham had chosen to tell this story.

  “He thought he was a big shot,” Graham continued, “just because his family was rich. They were the founders of the Sledge & Ferrin Game Company in Manchester. He used to brag about it all the time. He looked down on the other kids. Plus, he was bigger than our classmates, I think because he stayed back in school a couple years. He may have been well-bred, but he wasn’t very bright. But he always talked about how he was going to inherit the company when he grew up, and we’d all end up working for him some day, just like a lot of our parents. He was a snot. We all tried to just stay out of his way, especially out on the playground at lunch or recess. But avoiding him was not always possible. Right, Clark?”

  Indeed, Clark knew the day Graham was going to talk about. It was lunchtime and everyone was out in the playground. Clark and Graham and a bunch of their friends were playing king of the hill on top of this huge pile of snow from where the plows had cleared the hot top in front of the school. As usual, Clark and Graham had managed to keep their perch on top of the hill, tossing back down any of their friends who tried to usurp their claim.

  They worked together as a team, but there could be only one true king, so when the bell rang to signal the end of recess, Clark gave Graham a shove and watched him tumble down the side of the mound, laughing when his friend landed at the bottom. Clark pumped his fist in the air, claiming his throne.

  He descended the hill to prepare to head back inside the school, approaching where Graham lay, extending his hand to help his friend up.

  “Screw you,” Graham said, his pride hurt.

  “It’s called king of the hill, not kings,” was all the answer Clark could offer before shaking his head and walking away. He knew his friend wouldn’t be mad long and soon they’d be yucking it up in math class, if that was possible.

  He turned to look back at his friend, just in time to see that Graham had risen and was winding up to launch a snowball at him. Clark saw the snowball hurling toward him and ducked. A look of fright came over Graham’s face that Clark didn’t understand until he turned around and realized the snowball that missed him had struck Leroy Sledge in the side of the face.

  Leroy’s face was red, not just from the impact of the snowball, but because of the anger that flared up inside him. He charged toward Graham like a locomotive and Clark yelled for his friend to run. Graham took off, with Leroy close on his heels.

  Rubber snow boots were not very conducive to running, but Graham gave it his best effort, though there really wasn’t any place to go. Clark followed after the duo, not sure what he could do except make sure someone was there to witness whatever came next. Graham raced around the playground, zigzagging, hoping to throw the enraged Leroy off his track, but the bully kept pace. Clark followed them down toward the ball field beside the school.

  The three of them weaved in and out of the crowd of students filing into the building, some shouting encouraging words to Graham, others egging Leroy on. Nothing like a good schoolyard fight. Graham was a good athlete, and would eventually end up playing basketball and baseball in high school, but that day on the playground he just plum ran out of gas.

  Down in the ball field he stopped, turning to face his pursuer.

  “I give up,” Graham said, raising his hands in a surrender pose.

  Leroy bore down and charged into him, like a football lineman sacking a quarterback, throwing his shoulder into Graham’s midsection and driving him into the snow. It was a good thing there was plenty of it on the ground, because it blunted the force of the impact when Graham landed with Leroy’s stocky frame on top of him. Graham must have gotten the wind knocked out of him, because Clark did not hear him cry out.

  By the time Clark got to them, still not sure what he could do about anything, Leroy had flipped Graham over onto his stomach and had grabbed a fistful of the back of his friend’s hair. Leroy proceeded to give Graham a whitewash, shoving his face into the snow and rubbing it back and forth with a fury.

  “Enough!” someone yelled behind Clark, an adult, one of the male teachers who had been assigned playground duty.

  Leroy gave one final shove of Graham’s face into the snow, and then rose off him. He shot Clark a deathly glare as he walked by, as if to say: ‘You’re next.’ Clark trembled in his boots, relieved to have escaped some retribution, even if just for the moment.

  Clark went over to where Graham lay, his friend struggling up to his knees. Graham’s eyes were wet with tears, snow still clinging to his face, blood streaming from his nose. In the snow before him was the impression of his face, red smeared in the slushy mess.

  Looking back, it all seemed silly, and now Graham laughed at the experience in the RV with the others as he finished the story. What bothered Clark was that it wasn’t the story he should have told.

  “That’s it?” Felker asked, with a hint of disgust, looking down his pointy nose at Graham beside him with repugnance.

  Clark thought about how the man’s friend had his face ripped off and understood his disappointment, but if he only knew the story Graham withheld, he’d think different.

  “Did the bully get punished?” Joy asked.

  “I seem to remember he got suspended from school,” Graham said, looking to Clark for confirmation.

  “Sounds right,” Clark said. “But then he was always getting kicked out of school, especially in high school. Got in a lot of fights. Think he eventually got expelled from school for drugs and stuff.”

  “Guess his rich family couldn’t save him,” Joy said.

  “What did you say his name was?” Mason asked, his face intrigued.

  “Leroy Sledge.”

  “The game family?”

  “Right. Sledge & Ferrin Games. They make all kinds of board games, puzzles and stuff.”

  Mason sat back in his seat, his face bewildered.

  “Everyone knows those games. They make everything. Huge company.”

  “I know,” Mason said. “It’s just…weird coincidence.”

  “What?”

  “I know Leroy Sledge.”

  “You do?”

  “I did. I was his parole officer.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Graham stared across the table at Mason Drake, stunned by the revelation, feeling like something nasty was crawling around in his stomach. This was beyond bizarre. Normally, he’d dismiss this as some freak coincidence, but coupled with what he’d seen in the snowplow and Felker’s statement about the highway being gone, he felt on the verge of some unexplainable phenomenon, as if reality had tilted onto its side.

  Play it cool, he told himself. Don’t overreact. We’re safe in here, that’s all that matters. He just hoped that was true.

  “That is very odd,” was the response he flatly delivered. The fact that Leroy Sledge ended up having a parole officer was certainly no surprise. Graham guessed the family money had not been enough to keep him out of prison. Leroy was nothing but trouble in high school and never finished. That was the last Graham had heard of the boy. He figured the kid would end up on his feet eventually, given the family he came from.

  “Sledge, huh?” Felker said beside him.

  Graham turned.

  “I know that name too.”

  Whatever was crawling inside Graham’s belly sent reverberations along his sensory nerves, causing a prickling sensation all over his skin. What was going on here? He quickly shot a glance at Clark, who met his gaze with an equal amount of bewilderment. His friend said nothing however, apparently just as stunned. Graham looked back at Felker.

  “How the hell do you know him?” he asked.

  “I think it’s the same guy,” Felker said with a shrug. “Sounds like the name. I work at the Salvation Army homeless shelter. Guy named Sledge lived there for a bit a year ago. I caught him picking a g
uy’s pocket while the man was sleeping and had him kicked out. We take people in all kinds of helpless situations, but we don’t tolerate thieves.”

  Graham stared at Felker, thinking this man looked like he could live at a homeless shelter, and maybe he had at one time given the background to the story he told. Quite possibly that’s how he’d started working for the Salvation Army.

  “I’m speechless,” Graham said, looking at Clark. “Can you believe this?”

  Clark shook his head. “It’s unreal. But it has to be a coincidence. Nothing more.”

  “Sure,” Graham said, nodding, though he didn’t believe it for a minute. And locking eyes with Felker, he could tell the man didn’t think so either.

  “I heard it said once,” Werner piped in, “that there’s no such thing as a coincidence.”

  “That’s right,” his wife agreed. “Everything happens for a reason.”

  “Then what’s the reason for us being stuck here?” Mason said, though his tone belied a note of disbelief.

  “I’m not sure we ought to find out,” Felker said.

  “This night is getting a bit too creepy,” Joy said, hugging her husband’s arm tighter. “Can we think of something else to talk about?”

  A door opened and Shelby came out of the back bedroom. Graham was glad for the interruption.

  “Kids are still asleep,” she said, “thank goodness.” She regained her spot on the couch next to Clark. “The walls in the place are pretty thin, and I could still hear everything you were talking about.” This was directed to the whole group.

  “We’re not trying to frighten anyone,” Graham said. He noticed the eye contact she and Clark were making, and it made him happy for his friend. Maybe once they got out of this mess, some good would come out of Clark’s visit home. That would be nice considering the way his trip started.

  “I wanted to sleep,” Shelby said, “but I think I’m too nervous.”

  “And what are you nervous about, dear?” Francine asked.