The Yearbook

by Peter Lerangis

  “I assume you’re talking about this … Pytho,” Chief Hayes said.

  Ariana nodded. “You noticed the smell down there — ”

  “Chalky,” Chief Hayes replied.

  “Right!” Ariana said.

  “It needs chalk to survive?” I asked.

  “No, David,” Ariana groaned. “Look, how did you describe Rick Arnold’s body to me?”

  “It looked as if something had sucked the bones right out — ”

  “And what do bone and chalk have in common?”

  “Calcium,” I murmured. “They’re made of calcium.”

  “Or some form of it,” Ariana said. “Pytho is a calcium freak. Her tentacles, the walls around her, they’re all made of it. She takes it from her human sacrifices — ”

  “Yeah, but if Pytho’s as big as you say, she’d have to kill the whole town to get enough,” Chief Hayes said.

  Ariana shrugged. “I didn’t say I knew where she got it all.”

  “From the soil,” I said.

  “Huh?” Ariana and Chief Hayes both stared at me.

  “It was in one of the articles I saved from 1950,” I said. “The soil was depleted of calcium, and no one knew why.”

  We all looked toward the worn-out football field. “Sort of hard to know by looking, huh?” Chief Hayes remarked.

  “I’ll bet if somebody measured right now, the soil would have the same problem,” Ariana suggested.

  “Okay, genius,” I said, “so how do you explain these bony growths on all of us?”

  Ariana shook her head. “I’m not sure. I think some part of Pytho— some weird germ or virus — is getting into our systems through the smoke. It affects whatever makes calcium in our own bodies.”

  “Uh, before you completely lose me,” Chief Hayes said, “can we get back to this Coca-Cola business?”

  “Have you ever put a tooth in a glass of cola, Chief Hayes?” Ariana asked.

  “Uh, can’t say I have,” he replied. “Not recently.”

  “Well, if you do, the tooth will disintegrate.”

  “Something to do with the reaction of calcium with the carbonation and the acidity of the Coke,” I said.

  Ariana stared at me. “How do you know?”

  I shrugged. “Chemistry, I guess.”

  Chief Hayes nodded. “And when Mr. Sarro spilled some of his Coke on that piece of slate …”

  “Fsssshtt,” Ariana said.

  Mr. Sarro came out the back door with a long rope slung over his shoulder. He was rolling four hand trucks. On one of them was a cardboard box and a gasoline can. “We ready?” he called out.

  A smile spread across Chief Hayes’s face. “Let’s go for it.”

  We managed to load up the trucks with cola cases. Slowly we wheeled them into the school, then brought them backstage and carefully lowered them into the scenery shop.

  As we pushed the bulky trucks through the bookcase opening, Mr. Sarro stared wide-eyed at the walls. “Jeez,” he said, “I think I wrote some of this stuff.”

  Chief Hayes nodded toward one of the drawings. “Yeah, but no one drew a picture of you.”

  In a darkened area, half-hidden by scribbling, was a caricature of two basketball players, one ridiculously tall and skinny, the other squat and fat.

  Underneath were the words: FIRST THE MASS. CHAMPIONSHIP, THEN THE NBA! It was signed Charlie Hayes and Reggie Borden.

  Chief Hayes’s head lowered. “Ah, well. Life doesn’t always work out the way you expect.”

  The hand-truck wheels squeaked over the dirt floor. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I finally asked. “He was your best buddy.…”

  Chief Hayes held out a hand to quiet me. “My best buddy is dead,” he said. “The person you described was in Reggie’s body, but it was nothing like him.”

  None of us said a word as we rolled the cases deeper into the basement.

  As we got closer to the crack, the smoke began to swirl again. The ground beneath us thrummed. Mr. Sarro mumbled a prayer.

  Soon we were able to see the crack clearly. A mist spewed out, steady and rhythmic, but not nearly as thick as it had been.

  “What now?” I whispered.

  Ariana turned to Mr. Sarro. “Set it up, and show Chief Hayes what to do!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered.

  Mr. Sarro began opening the cases and setting them on their sides, lined up against the edge of the crevice, with the caps pointing forward. He said something to Chief Hayes, who ripped open the cardboard box and started pulling out rags.

  I watched him lay out the rags behind the boxes, and looked curiously at Ariana. “So what do we do, spill it and run away?”

  She shook her head. “We may not need to. Remember how Pytho reacted when we held hands? She went ballistic. Something about that contact, that demonstration of … you know, solidarity, or — ”

  “Or what?” I asked.

  “What?” Ariana repeated.

  “I don’t know … love?”

  Ariana smiled. “Solidarity.”

  We were both turning red.

  “Anyway,” Ariana barged on, “I believe that’s our best weapon. We have to try that first. The other plan may not be strong enough.”

  “You mean, go back in? Are you crazy — ”

  “Sssshhh … David, a lot of people have died because of this thing. You came along and cracked the code. You were the only person who figured out what was happening in this town. If I had trusted you earlier, maybe together we could have saved Jason.”

  “Don’t think about that — ”

  “No. I was too wrapped up in the yearbook, and Stephen, and all my stupid problems. But now I know what needs to be done, David. And I need you to trust me — enough to try this plan. Do you?”

  I looked into her eyes. I had never trusted anyone as much in my life. “Yeah.”

  Ariana took a Coke bottle and put it in her pack. “Just in case,” she said.

  I took a deep breath. Together we walked to the edge of the crevice.

  Chapter 29

  UNDER US BUBBLED THE putrid yellow-white mass of solid, liquid, gas.

  “Yo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Chief Hayes shouted behind us.

  His footsteps pounded dully on the basement floor.

  “We’re ready, Pytho!” Ariana screamed into the crevice. “If you want us, come and get us!”

  Chief Hayes grabbed my left arm. I resisted, but I was off-balance.

  I didn’t see what happened next. I was falling backward in the chief’s vice grip.

  But I heard Ariana’s shattering scream. And I felt something clammy lash around my other arm.

  For a moment, I thought the arm would rip off like a celery stalk. Instead, Chief Hayes let go — and my feet left the ground.

  I saw Ariana beside me, flailing, borne on one thick, oozing tentacle.

  Our eyes locked for a split second. Fear shot between us like lightning.

  The tendrils lowered us quickly. My stomach lurched, and by the time we reached bottom, I was fighting the urge to puke.

  We tumbled to the ground, a dozen or so yards from each other. The tendrils retracted into the smoking crevice in front of the three-seated column.

  “Welcome!” Jonas’s voice bellowed from above.

  I did not look at him. I was staring at the tentacles. They looked different. The one that had carried me had two small black lesions. Ariana’s looked as if someone had taken a chunk out of it.

  One glance at Ariana, and I knew she had noticed, too.

  “Hold me,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

  I ran toward her, arms open.

  Rrrrommmmm!

  A tentacle shot out of the small crack. It caught me on the jaw and sent me flying backward.

  I saw Ariana reach into her backpack. She pulled out the bottle and opened it.

  The tentacle whipped around her, tying her arms to her sides.

  With her wrist, she tilted the bottle and le
t it spill.

  TSSSSSSSSSSS …

  Smoke flashed from the tentacle. Ooze gushed upward. It stiffened, then unwound itself in one jerk.

  Something beyond noise, deafening and unearthly, welled up from the crack. I felt it vibrate my bones, echo in the chambers of my body. The noise expressed pain so intense, it brought tears to my own eyes.

  As the tentacle dragged itself back into the crack, Ariana raced over to me. We threw our arms around each other.

  “That was dumb,” Reggie Borden said. “Really colossally stupid.”

  “Have you both chosen to die?” Jonas asked. “Will neither of you join us?”

  Ariana and I stepped toward the crack, ignoring the voices. “How long will you last,” Ariana asked, “if we stay together against you?”

  “Separate!” Jonas commanded.

  “This will not work!” Annabelle cried. “Pytho will destroy you!”

  I looked into the deep gash. Against the steep wall, amid the roiling smoke, I could see a large, round pipe opening.

  My breath caught in my throat. “That’s where the bodies went,” I murmured.

  The rumbling began again. Ariana began tilting the bottle.

  BOOOOOMM!

  Suddenly the ground split between Ariana and me. Fighting to keep balance, we let go of each other.

  “Ariana!”

  She was reaching toward me. I extended my arm.

  Our fingers locked. They stayed together for a second, then slipped.

  I slid off the broken ledge. Desperately I grabbed for it. My hands slapped uselessly against the slimy surface.

  I plunged downward, crying out at the top of my lungs.

  Dark droplets fell around me from above. Some glanced against the wall, sizzling.

  The smoke now blinded and choked me. I landed on my side and blacked out.

  When my eyes opened, Ariana was beside me, grimacing with pain. The cola bottle was in pieces a few feet away. I reached out with aching arms and held her with all the strength I had left.

  “Stop this nonsense!”

  Reggie’s voice was changing, becoming distorted and higher-pitched. Ariana and I glanced upward.

  At the top of the tripod, the three priests were gyrating. Their movements were jerky and involuntary, as if cockroaches had crawled into their robes. Their eyes bulged, and their mouths seemed to be peeling backward, stretching across their faces.

  “What’s going on?” I called out.

  “Leave Pytho … alone!” Reggie struggled to say. “Stop-op pouring the chemical-ical. Releasssssse each other. Pytho will go will go … back to ssssleep. She promises.”

  “And when will she return?” I asked. “What is it, twenty-two years from now? Then eleven? Ready to eat our kids? You think we want to let that happen?”

  “Stop! Go ’way!”

  The voice was Annabelle’s, but the tone was like a baby’s — pleading, almost crying.

  Crrrack!

  I jumped. A moldering chunk had fallen from the wall above, shattering at my feet.

  Ariana and I looked up. The walls had become mottled with black and gray spots.

  Reggie, Annabelle, and Jonas were now babbling in their seats. No, they were attached to their seats. Their feet had melded into the calcified stalk below them.

  Ariana’s arm tightened. “My god …” she murmured. “What is happening?”

  As we watched, Reggie’s face bulged in all directions. His ear pointed upward, then ruptured bloodlessly. A tendril emerged from his head, growing and twisting. It looked cancerous, chipped and covered with tiny lesions.

  In an accelerating rhythm, tendrils ripped their way out of the other two.

  “Yuth aaabba iggrashashasha rammm-mahh …”

  They were moving their mouths, oblivious to pain, spouting nonsense.

  Ariana was turning green. “We’re killing her,” she said.

  Slowly, a crooked and creaking tentacle rose out of the crevice. It hovered over our heads, its point flapping lifelessly. It grew, slowly winding and spiraling into a tight coil.

  Then, suddenly, it lashed out with blinding force.

  Ariana and I fell to the ground. The chamber jolted again and again. We bounced violently. My nose smashed into the floor.

  When I sat up, I saw what the tentacle was attacking: the wall. With each thrust, it chopped a deep hole, higher and higher. It didn’t stop until it was out of sight.

  Then it fell silent. The tentacle lost its rigidity and fell back into the crevice with a tremendous crash.

  I took Ariana’s hand. Together we walked to the vertical holes. The lowest one was about four feet up.

  “Come on,” I said.

  I gave Ariana a boost. She stepped into the foothold and began climbing.

  Chapter 30

  CHIEF HAYES AND MR. Sarro looked as if they were competing for widest mouth of the year. They stared at us silently, jaws hanging open. I wished I had some popcorn for target practice.

  “Fine, thanks, how are you?” I said.

  Chief Hayes shook his head once, twice. He unlocked his jaw. “I will suspend disbelief. I will not ask questions. This is my vow. Now, what do we do with these?”

  He pointed to the cases of cola, still poised at the edge of the abyss.

  Ariana and I took deep breaths. The smoke was wisping upward now in grayish-black puffs. Pytho’s moans resounded.

  “She’s weak,” I said.

  “She’s been weak before,” Ariana replied. “I say go for it.”

  “Hallelujah!” Mr. Sarro blurted.

  All of Mr. Sarro’s rags were stuffed against the cardboard cases. Chief Hayes grimly spurted them with gasoline as we uncoiled the rope back through the basement.

  It ended a few yards before the bookcase. Chief Hayes followed, dousing the rope itself with the fuel.

  “Is the school empty?” Chief Hayes asked.

  “Give me a few minutes,” Mr. Sarro said. “I’ll make sure.”

  The few minutes seemed eternal. We waited silently.

  When Mr. Sarro came down, he was out of breath. “Not a soul.”

  Chief Hayes pulled a lighter out of his pocket. “You guys go up. I’ll meet you.”

  “No,” I said. “We’ll do this together.”

  Chief Hayes looked defiant for a moment. Then he sighed. “All right. But I get to light it. I’ve got the longest grudge.”

  He flicked on the lighter and touched it to the rope.

  The flame shot high. We bolted up the stairs and through the nearest exit. Mr. Sarro led us out of the school. Ariana grabbed my hand as we ran across the parking lot.

  We were half a block away when the school blew for the first time.

  The blast knocked us off our feet. I looked back. The first floor was crumbling, and the school tilted. The air filled with smoke, black and sooty but with the faint odor of chalk.

  I covered my mouth.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Ariana cried.

  “Come on!” I shouted.

  Holding her hand firmly, I ran for the hills on the south side of town. In the growing soot, Chief Hayes and Mr. Sarro were nowhere to be seen.

  The sirens began immediately. Panic surrounded us. We wound our way through streets clogged with people.

  Ariana was right. We had not planned to explode anything. The gasoline was used sparingly, to guide the flame. The burning rags were supposed to heat the bottles so the caps would shoot off. Pytho would be doused with the lethal liquid.

  Pytho was supposed to decay to death. The school might sustain some damage — but not like this.

  The soot was spreading over the town. Screams of “Fire!” rang out. As we ran up the hill, we heard sounds of smashing glass.

  We didn’t stop. Unfortunately, neither of us knew the hill well. We found a path but lost it. Branches whipped against us, thorns ripped our clothes. We didn’t say a word until we got to a clearing. The ground was rocky, the trees thin.

  Below us
, Wetherby lay under a cloud — gray and dusty, but tinged with yellow and white.

  “Mom,” I managed to say. “She’s down there.”

  Ariana’s eyes were bloodshot and despairing. “What did we do?” she whispered.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. The bump on my forehead throbbed, and I rubbed it. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all a dream.”

  We sat there in silence for a long time. I expected — wanted — “The End” to appear across my field of vision. Like a movie.

  Ariana buried her head in my chest and began to sob. I was strangely numb. It hadn’t sunk in.

  Still hasn’t.

  I knew Ariana and I might be the only ones to survive this. Was it worth the price? And how long did we have to live? Pytho had warned us our sores would bind us to her. Did that mean we died when she did? Had we killed her? Had we done what thousands of years could not do?

  As darkness began to fall, prematurely, Ariana sank onto the grass and fell asleep. But I couldn’t. I reached into my pack and pulled out my pack of legal pads.

  And now I’m finished. I have included everything. Ariana has awakened and helped me remember. We’ll head down soon. The smoke is clearing, and there is movement. Sound. Life.

  We will decide what to do when we get there. We’ll save this journal. I don’t know what we’ll do with it.

  But whatever we do, well do it together.

  That is the only thing in my life I’m sure of.

  Part Ten

  Mark

  Chapter 31

  IT’S AFTER MIDNIGHT. WALTER Ojeda is snoring.

  Mark flicks on his night-light. He reaches into the box and pulls out the yearbook marked 1991.

  He sees his dad as a freshman, lumped in with his homeroom class. He looks a little nerdy, but his face is clear. None of those scars left by the plastic surgeon who had done such a lousy jobs on that bone disease.

  Mom’s in another class, and she looks gorgeous and confident.

  Neither of them had the disease then. Mark has always thought they’d met at the doctor’s office, fallen in love because of the neurofibromatosis they had in common.