by A E Faulkner
While Jeff disappears into the darkness, Jasmine paces the opening. “I can’t believe he went down there. This is all her fault. She should be the one getting Chris out of there.”
“Jasmine, enough. This isn’t going to help Jeff or Chris,” Aidan says sternly. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, we just need to be ready to help when they need it.”
I close my eyes and recite a silent prayer. This is all my fault. If Chris didn’t hear me talking about getting the bags from the trunk, he never would have pulled this stunt.
Voices echo from the hole, but the words jumble together. After a few minutes, a dirt-streaked hand emerges from the depths. Aidan dives to the edge and reaches toward it. “I’m here, buddy. Just another six inches or so and I can reach you,” he calls.
Chris’ dusty mop of hair rises from the darkness. When he tilts his head back, the trail of tears slinking down his cheeks leaves a clean path in its wake. Aidan releases a loud sigh and heaves his chest farther over the opening.
Worried that the pit will devour yet another one of us, I scramble toward Aidan’s feet in an awkward crab walk. Plopping on my butt, I wrap my arms around his calf. “Jasmine! Help me!” I call impatiently. She rushes to his other side and grabs the other calf. Using our weight as leverage, he plunges farther into the hole.
A moment later he’s calling, “I got him! Pull!” Jasmine and I share a quick glance before we struggle to heave two bodies out of the opening. Sweat races down my back as my arms tremble with exertion. It doesn’t matter how much this hurts, I won’t stop until they’re safe.
Jasmine’s grunting echoes my own. Hot tears trickle down my cheeks and nose, blending with the drops of sweat that pause to sting my eyes before flowing down my neck. Spinning around Aidan’s leg like a pole, I plant my feet in the dirt. Using my leg muscles to push back while my arms tug him toward me, I gain about an inch of ground. It’s progress, and Jasmine notices. She takes up the same position and we continue to heft Aidan and his stowaway out of the crater.
About half a dozen brush burns later, Aidan’s body is completely out of the hole. His arms tremble as he hoists Chris up and onto the edge. Jasmine rushes over to Chris, wrapping an arm around him, guiding him away from the crevice. Tears streak her face as she calls down to Jeff in a shaky voice. “We got him! You coming out anytime soon?”
Jeff responds, “Don’t you worry about me. Take the little man back to the arcade. I’ll be there soon.” Smiling, she eases Chris through the desolate parking lot, toward the front of the building. Their steps are slow, and hopefully Chris’ breathing will calm enough to match their pace.
Aidan rolls over on his back, his chest rising and falling as he gulps air. I cringe at the sight of harsh red splotches where his shirt rode up and bare skin gave way to the dirt and rubble. After only a moment’s rest, he flips back over to his stomach and reaches his right arm into the hole.
A minute later, Jeff’s head bobs in the opening. His cheeks and tussled brown hair bear dusty souvenirs of his trip south. His hazel eyes sparkle with satisfaction, knowing that Chris is safe. Aidan gives a low chuckle and grasps Jeff’s open hand.
When the Malibu releases a sudden metallic screech and the ground begins to shift again, the contentment in Jeff’s eyes vanishes like a thin wisp of smoke.
Chapter 47
Reaching back into his seemingly never-ending reserve of energy, Aidan hauls Jeff out of the abyss in what feels like a nanosecond. Both guys roll away from the hole and scramble to their feet. I grab the bags Chris retrieved and follow as they dash toward the building.
After we’ve put a solid ten feet of ground between us and the sinkhole, we turn back to watch the car dive farther into the earth. Jeff shakes his head, saying regretfully, “We didn’t even get a chance to name her.” Aidan pats his back consolingly. “Next time, man. We’ll name the next one.”
“It’s not too late,” I say, my eyes latched on the vanishing car. “Barbie. I think we should name her Malibu Barbie.”
The guys solemnly nod. After a moment of silence for Barbie, we stumble back to the arcade.
We take turns in the bathroom and kitchen, washing up as best we can in the meager sinks. Once we’ve banished most of the grime and dirt, we spend the day in silence, passing the time while Jeff tends to the slash in Wes’ leg, courtesy of the sinkhole. Aidan and Jasmine take turns keeping Chris amused while I wallow in my own misery. How did I end up here? I should be with my family, and at this point, I’ll be lucky if I ever find my sister.
After what feels like hours, I wander into the kitchen to find the others sitting around the stainless-steel table. What are they all doing in here?
“Hey, Quinn,” Aidan greets me. “We were just thinking we should eat some dinner and go to sleep, so we can get an early start in the morning.” He doesn’t say it, but I think it: thankfully we didn’t take all the food with us when we attempted to leave this place. Otherwise, it would all be wasting away inside that sinkhole.
Repeating last night’s meal, this time with a cloud of gloom hovering over us, we gorge ourselves on pizza. Jasmine takes a few slices to Wes and helps him eat before he allows sleep to lull him back under a restorative veil.
When Jasmine returns with Wes’ empty plate, she sends Chris back to the party room to try and get some sleep. Relief flashes through his eyes and an instinctual yawn escapes him. The kid must be worn out after the awful adventure today brought. Calling out a quick goodnight, he meanders out of the kitchen.
The four of us sit in an uncomfortable silence until Aidan slices through it. “So, Quinn, what happened out there today?” he asks, rubbing his chin.
“I told you. I was going to get the bags back. When I went to Wes’ room to get the keys, he told me that Chris beat me to it,” I explain. “The kid must have been listening to our conversation and took off when no one was looking.” Aidan and Jeff nod slowly, understandingly, but Jasmine just eyes me as if I’m a bug she’s about to squash under her shoe.
“As soon as I realized what he was doing, I ran out to the car, but it was too late. He had already started crawling into the hole and he wouldn’t come out. After he tossed out the bags, he was trying to get out when Jasmine’s voice startled him.” I shoot my own death glare at her. I owe her about half a million of them anyway.
Ignoring my comment, Jasmine volleys her eyes back and forth between the guys. “I’m glad you’re both okay after pulling off that rescue. I was really worried one of you, or Chris, would get hurt.”
“Yeah, guys,” I say. “Thanks for jumping in. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”
“If you weren’t here, none of that would have happened,” Jasmine huffs under her breath. Her ebony cheeks bear a tinge of red, which I’m guessing is her anger showing itself. I stand from my seat, resting my palms on the table as I lean forward and meet her icy gaze. “I’m not doing this right now. I’m tired.” Turning on my heel, I throw a quick goodnight over my shoulder. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
I swoop by the front of the arcade to grab my bag, and Riley’s, before returning to last night’s party room. Might as well claim it again. This time I’m sleeping alone.
Closing the door for privacy, I slide down the wall onto the floor. I’m beyond caring if my clothes are covered in carpet germs. Instead of grabbing my own bag, I reach for Riley’s. Digging around in it, my fingers latch onto her purple hairbrush. I stare at the brush as if I can will it into materializing my sister. Gently pulling it through my messy locks, I reach back inside the bag with my other hand, feeling around for any unfamiliar object I haven’t inspected yet.
When my fingers trace over a smooth square of folded paper, I snatch it before it tumbles back to the bottom of Riley’s jumbled belongings. The tattered edges of the blue-lined notebook paper confirm that it’s had a rough ride in the backpack.
Slowly I unfold the paper, not sure what to expect. What would Riley be carrying around with her? Leani
ng forward to flatten the sheet on the floor, my eyes devour the brief message written in slanted penmanship.
Riley,
I’m worried about you. So much has happened and everything is going to shit. I really think we can help each other. Dan and I got some plans and I’d love to tell you about them. We should talk – alone – and soon. You know where to find me.
Jim
Crumpling the paper, I shove it back into the purple backpack. With every last ounce of strength left in my arms, my anger erupts, and I pitch the backpack across the room. It slams into the wall with a satisfying thwack and drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Chapter 48
My frustration builds like the humidity before a downpour. First the stupid sinkhole, then Jasmine’s stupid attitude, and now I find out Riley and Jim were communicating behind my back. Why didn’t she tell me Jim wanted to talk to her alone? Did she meet him after he gave her the note? Did she know he was going to come get her?
A loud knocking at the door stills my swirling thoughts for the moment. “Quinn, everything okay in there?” Jeff calls.
“Fine, thanks,” I say stiffly, hoping he takes the hint and leaves me alone. Whispering voices outside the door confirm that I’m not getting off that easily. When a softer knock sounds, I call out an impatient, “Come in.” Might as well get this over with so I can be alone again.
A small face peers around the opening door, his wide eyes meeting mine. “What was that bang, Quinn? It was really loud,” Chris says nervously. Great, I must have scared him.
“Oh buddy, I just threw a bag across the room and it hit the wall, that’s all it was,” I say calmly.
“Wh-why’d you do that?” he asks skeptically. I motion for him to come all the way inside the room. When he does, I pat the floor next to me, encouraging him to have a seat. He cautiously approaches, lowering himself down until he’s sitting next to me cross-legged.
“Look, I just got upset and I took it out on my sister’s backpack. That’s all,” I explain, pointing to the dejected purple bag slouching on the floor across the room. “Don’t you ever do things because you get caught up in a moment?”
“Yeah,” he says with a shy smile. “Kinda like today. I heard you talking about getting the bags out of the car, so I wanted to help and do it.”
I turn to meet his eyes. “About that…you really shouldn’t have done it. You could have gotten really hurt and it would have been all my fault.”
He bows his head down, breaking our visual connection. “I just wanted to help,” he starts. “I don’t want everyone to think I’m worthless.” The last word comes out as a whisper, but it radiates in my head. Instantly, my heart aches for this boy who’s worried that someone would consider him worthless. I wonder how many times in his short life he’s heard that word.
“Chris, they would never think that. I would never think that. And you shouldn’t ever think you’re worthless.” Every word is adamant. I need him to believe me.
His eyes trained on the floor, he swipes a few stray tears from his cheeks. I don’t know what else to say so I match his silence. If only Riley were here. She’d know exactly what to say to help this kid feel better.
Silence overtakes the room. What do kids talk about? After a few awkward minutes, I open my mouth and chase out the only words that cross my mind.
“So, Chris. Jasmine seems to really like you,” I say. Before I can really contemplate if this is wrong, I go for it. “Does she ever talk about me?”
“You? No.” He pauses a moment to scrunch his face up, as if he’s just caught a whiff of something foul. “But I don’t think she likes you very much,” he answers innocently.
Leave it to a kid to be the most honest one in our little group.
“You know, Chris, I think you’re right,” I say. “And I just don’t know what I ever did to make her hate me so much.”
“You don’t know? Really?” he says, glancing at me. I swear Chris snickers under his breath as he tries to comprehend my presumed stupidity. Oh well, at least I’ve taken his mind off our earlier conversation.
“No, I really don’t know,” I answer honestly.
Chris turns his head my way, his green eyes zeroing in on me conspiratorially. “So, I think Jasmine likes Jeff. Like, a lot. And I think she doesn’t like when he pays attention to you,” he says proudly, crossing his arms.
I stare at him, digesting his words. Could that be it? She’s been acting like this because of some trivial teenage jealousy?
“Well, that’s crazy,” I retort. “He’s friendly and he helped me feel like a part of the group. Besides, I…” I catch myself. I don’t really need to have this conversation with a ten-year-old.
“Oh, I know, I know,” Chris says. “You like Aidan.”
The fire in my cheeks burns all the way to my toes. If mortification was a grain of sand, I’d be basking on a beach right now.
And just like that I’m done talking. No point in risking conversation that may result in further humiliation on my part. Shooting my arms over my head in an attempted stretch, I force a yawn. “I’m getting really tired, Chris. You must be too. Why don’t we call it a day and get some rest?”
He smiles knowingly, but I don’t care. “Goodnight, Quinn,” he says before he rises and strides out the door.
Chapter 49
The night seems to last for days. My body keeps pace with the questions and accusations racing through my mind. I toss and turn with each new thought I have no way to resolve or confront.
Riley always got mad when I was rude to Jim. Was something going on between them that I didn’t know about? But she was so willing to take the bikes and leave, would she really do that if she was planning something with him? Why didn’t she tell me he gave her that note? How long did she have it?
Declaring defeat, I tiptoe out to the ball pit and curl up on its edge. Peering toward the colorful storefront window, my eyes trace the outline of a cerulean butterfly perched on a broad emerald leaf. With deepening breaths, my eyes drift to the yellow and black frog launching over a spiky seaweed-colored bush. The image seers into my mind as my body slackens and I drift asleep.
Sunlight spills into the large room, beckoning me to wake. I barely register movement above me when I hear, “I found her guys! She’s at the ball pit!” The swoosh of a body landing in an unnatural mass of plastic reaches my ears. Squinting, I focus on Chris, who’s happily swimming in the pool of balls.
Sitting up to stretch out the kinks in my back, I see Aidan trailing a limping Wes as he maneuvers himself to the kitchen area. Watching Wes’ every move, Aidan’s practically spring-loaded, ready to launch into action if needed. Jasmine calls out, “Come on, Chris. It’s time to eat.”
Flashing me a smile, Chris climbs out of the pit and motions for me to follow him. The combination of inadequate sleep and a lack of soft bedding leaves my muscles stiff and sore.
Rising slowly, I saunter after the group, joining them in the kitchen. Jasmine’s spread a breakfast of churros and chocolate chip cookies on the table. It sounds a lot better than pizza right about now.
Scarfing down the sugary confections, we debate our next move. Without a car, it’s a much slower go to Virginia. Jeff suggests that he take a recon mission to find us another vehicle, but Aidan and Jasmine don’t want to sit around this place any longer. They want to start walking and hope we come across a car we can borrow. I wholeheartedly agree. Our trip has stalled, and I need to move forward.
Wes insists that he can keep up with us, emphasizing that he wants to get moving, too. The original plan was for the guys to drop Jasmine off at home and then trek to Key West for a vacation. Now their intent is to accompany me to Langley Air Force Base, safely deliver Jasmine to her home, and then begin their own journey home. I guess I’m not the only one itching to hit the road again.
Chris sits in silence, happily shoving cookie after cookie into his mouth. Blobs of chocolate gooiness cling to his fingers and around his mouth.
Rather than disturb his obvious glee, we continue our discussion.
“You know,” Jeff starts, rubbing his chin. “We were lucky we didn’t get too far before we needed that First Aid Kit. Before we leave this place, we should probably look around and see if there’s anything we should take with us.” He eyes each of us and, seeing no dissent, continues. “We have to balance what we can carry versus what we really need, but it’s worth a look I think.”
“You’re right,” Aidan interjects. “We aren’t really planning ahead, and we should be. Who knows when we’ll find food again or bandages for Wes.”
“Yes!” Chris exclaims. “We need to find cookies and bring them with us!” And just like that, the kid’s back in the conversation.
Within the hour, our bags are loaded with water bottles, preservative-laden food, and every last bandage and packet of antiseptic gel from the First Aid kit. I can’t imagine we’ll be able to move at more than a snail’s pace. Besides the extra weight burdening our backs and shoulders, we’re all careful not to walk faster than Wes is able to hobble. He refuses any help, but our sluggish movement makes me antsy. I won’t complain, though. His bandaged leg looks painful, and red blots are already bursting through the white gauze.
The overcast sky offers some relief from the sun’s scorching rays, but humidity embraces every inch of my body. We follow the main road only until it branches off into a residential neighborhood. White posters decorate every fourth or fifth telephone pole. The stark black text printed on them instructs residents to seek shelter at designated local “safe zones.”
Jasmine spreads her arms out in question, asking no one in particular, “Why would people here need a safe zone?”
Scratching the rough stubble adorning his chin, Jeff points in the distance. “If I had to wager a guess, I’d say that’s why.”
