by Lundy Burge
through his closed eyes. The sky was a writhing nest of tangled lightning strands, screeching like hungry raptors. He was sure that the veins of the bolts would be burned into the back of his eyes like tattoos.
Then, there was silence and darkness. Bob heard Todd’s whimpering, “Dear God. What was that?”
Rather than answering, Bob opened his eyes and slammed on the accelerator. He wasn’t sure why going forward was so important, but he just knew he had to.
The lightning flashed again, but something was different. The bolt was much weaker, much shorter than the others, the lame one of the herd. The thunder following was more of a rumble. Five minutes later, it happened again, and kept happening every five minutes or so.
“Well,” Todd said, “This is better.”
Bob didn’t think so. He was afraid of this new lightning even more than he was of the earlier fireballs. Every time he felt its thunder, his ballistic heart threatened to stop entirely. He barely had his eyes on the road because he was staring so intently at the sky in anticipation. He wasn’t sure why he was scared, except that now he had no reason to stop.
He wanted to stop. He wanted to just brake the car right there and abandon Todd as he backtracked back to his wreck and beyond, just as long as he wasn’t going forward, not on this road.
He felt a pain in his hands. Looking down, he saw his knuckles were white.
“Hey,” Todd said, “How far did you say the place was?”
“It’s about ten minutes from where we are now,” Bob answered, “You’ll be able to tell in a minute.”
Because shortly the trees would have thinned and Bob would have turned onto the road that led to the residence of Mr. Montang.
Bob eagerly anticipated the turn off. He leaned forward in the driver’s seat so he could better see it.
But there was no road to turn off to, and the trees still flowed forth in a vehement army of branches and leaves. Bob sat back in his seat, stunned. Maybe it was too soon. Bob drove a little further and a little further. The trees still stood, there numbers strong as ever. Todd stared at the clock embedded in the radio.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” Todd said with smoldering anger, “You said it’d be ten minutes. Where the hell are we going?”
Bob was shaken. It took him awhile to finally speak.
“You—you don’t understand,” Bob stammered, “The trees—they shouldn’t be here. We’re supposed to be driving through a clearing. These trees aren’t supposed to be here!”
“But they are!” Todd yelled, “Did you miss the turn?”
“No!” Bob was trembling now, “No. The turn is in a field! And look around! Do you see anywhere where I can turn onto?”
“What the hell are you trying to do?’ Todd’s voice shook a little, “The trees didn’t just move in front of your turn.”
Bob’s stomach contracted, and threatened to vomit again.
The trees didn’t just move in front of his turn.
“But what if they did?” Bob mumbled to himself.
“What?” Todd demanded.
Before Bob could say anything, he had to stop.
Standing in the middle of the road was a young lady, no more than twenty. She had dark brown hair woven into a braid, a sharp nose, and big, wide, lime green eyes. She was turning slowly in sloppy, small dazed circles over and over. It was as if she had just landed there, or took so many drugs she’d forgotten where she was.
Bob got out, walked to her, and said, “Excuse me.”
She just kept turning like a twisted chain.
“Miss,” he said as he grabbed her arm, “Do you need help?”
She whipped her head around, and her eyes faced his. They looked clouded for a quick moment before she blinked and they shone forth in crystal clear fright. She swat his hand off of her and began to back away.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is B—“
“Where did you come from?”
“Miss, I saw you in the middle of the road. I stopped my car to keep from hitting you. You better be careful or—“
“What car?”
Bob turned back to glance at the Jeep not two feet behind him. It was still there.
“Ma’am,” he said, “ It’s right there.”
“I don’t see anything! Where did you come from?”
“Miss, I just want to help you.”
He walked towards her, but she began to run backwards, hugging herself.
“Please go away.”
“Miss,” he reached out to her.
She slapped him in the cheek before screaming, “Stay away from me!” and disappearing into the woods.
He was only able to be stunned for half a second when he heard the Jeep’s engine start up behind him.
Without thinking or blinking, Bob spun around and jumped in front of the vehicle before it was too fast to stop.
The brakes worked, and he heard Todd mutter a curse. He bolted for the passenger door and got in as the Jeep was accelerating. He was about to close the door when he felt a heavy blow to his ribs. He turned to see Todd trying to push him out of the car with his fist. He kept punching him like a lunatic, but Bob grabbed hold of his seat as he reached for the door.
“Todd, stop!” he yelled.
“Get out of the car!”
When Todd saw that punching wasn’t working, he rearranged himself and started kicking Bob instead, miraculously maintaining a straight path as they barreled down the road at about thirty-five miles an hour. Bob winced each and every time Todd’s steel-toed boot meet with his shoulder, arm, ribs, and stomach. But just as his hold was weakening, his frantic hand reached the door handle and pulled it closed.
“Get out of the car!” Todd screamed, still kicking Bob.
As Bob opened his mouth to speak, Todd’s foot made contact with his jaw. Bob grunted as his hands went up to his face. He tasted his own salty blood pooling in his mouth. His tongue felt a tooth that was loose but in no danger of falling out. Todd was still kicking his sore side.
“Todd, Todd, TODD!” Bob screeched. As he said his name the third time, his own fist collided with Todd’s stomach.
“Agghh!” Todd said, and the car started to swerve maniacally all over the road. Bob gripped the dash board for support, watching as the car curved where the road was ramrod straight. Coughing, Todd managed to get his foot back to the driver’s side and straighten the car out.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bob said.
“Me?” Todd wheezed, “You’re crazy!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Remember when you stopped for no reason and got out—?”
“There was a woman in the middle of the road!”
“No there wasn’t!”
“Were you staring at the damn clock again? She was right in front of us!”
“All I saw was you talking to yourself and grabbing air.”
Bob sat in angry silence as he soak in all he had heard.
“Okay,” he said at length, “so what if I’m crazy? You’re driving and I don’t have anything to hurt you with. Look.” He emptied his pockets, which had a couple of dollar bills, a wallet, and his cell phone in them.
“All right,” Todd said, “I’ll drop you off at a gas station and you can call someone who will get you, okay?”
“Fine,” Bob said.
There was a silence for about thirty seconds before Todd said, “Remember this if you think about trying anything: I’m younger than you, I’m probably stronger than you, and I sure as hell can get angrier than you can. Besides, I’m not afraid to ram this Jeep into a tree, and I’ll make sure it hits your side first.”
“Fine,” Bob said.
Todd drove and drove and drove. They never saw a gas station. Or any telephone poles. Or any people. The only thing Bob saw besides the ugly trees and the road was Todd’s eyes darting towards him every five seconds.
And the kids in the middle of the road.
Really, the
y were teenagers, all past fifteen, but in your forties, everyone under twenty-five is a kid, and sometimes they can even be a little older. They were three boys. Two of them, the littler ones, had hold of their buddy’s royal blue and saintly white trucker hat, who was at least four inches taller than both of them. They seemed to be playing a warm game of monkey-in-the-middle with it. A Kodak moment. Friends forever young playing in the middle of the road. All was right with their world.
Bob wasn’t scared just yet. His jaw set, his eyes widened, and his skin contracted as a prelude to a cold sweat, but he wasn’t scared. Just concerned.
“Todd,” Bob said with much effort, “Slow down.”
“What for?” he said innocently.
“What for?” Bob demanded, “You’re about to hit three kids!”
“I don’t see them,” he said calmly.
He barreled forwards. The boys kept playing. Picture. Perfect.
“Todd, for God’s sake, stop!”
He didn’t. Bob could see the boy’s euphoric laughter. No worries. Footloose and carefree.
“Look,” Todd said as if he was explaining math to a kindergartener, “You said it yourself. You’re crazy. Those kids aren’t real. I can’t hurt them.”
He just kept coming at them like a bullet made wrecking ball. Now Bob was scared. He tried to think of something, but the horror of what was happening blocked all the synapses that were trying to help him. But one message got through to him, crystal clear like it was spoken to him.
He lurched forward and grasped for the car horn. He almost reached it when Todd punched him right in the eye. Pain went all through his face as he instinctively grabbed for his eye.
“Please honk,” his mouth managed to say, “Warn them, please!”
Through his good eye, he could see that they were
