by Meg Kassel
“That’s where I used to sleep,” I say to him. To the dark quiet. “Right there, where you’re sitting. I had a purple sleeping bag and a Barbie book bag that contained all the pilfered goods I’d lifted from the assholes we shacked up with. It was mostly silly stuff, but things that would annoy them. Sunglasses. One sock from a pair. Packs of cigarettes. Remote controls.” I grin in the dark. “I took a lot of remote controls.”
“What did you do with all that crap?”
He’s talking. He sounds normal. My shoulders unfold from my ears and relax. “I usually kept it for a while, then found some place to throw it out. I didn’t really want the stuff. I just liked messing with those guys. I blamed them a little bit for why we lived like that—the reason my mom wasn’t much of a mom. I’d look around and see these nice families and wonder what I’d done to deserve living in a van, in dirty clothes.” I rap my knuckles lightly on the floor. “This shouldn’t be a kid’s home, but it could have been worse. My mom did her best to take care of me,” I say, and I surprise myself by meaning it.
He makes a disgusted sound. “Sounds awful, Ange.”
I close my eyes as faces of other children I’d met swim behind my eyelids. Children with addict parents who were not as scrupulous as my mom. In all those years, I hadn’t been touched by the men she was involved with. Some had tried. Some had offered her money and drugs in exchange for time alone with me. She’d laughed in their faces and threatened to cut off their balls if they so much as looked at me too long. “She wasn’t a good mother,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “I could spend a lifetime recording her mistakes. But, to her unwell mind, she was protecting me.”
“You’re generous. She should have let your dad take you.”
I laugh, remembering what my dad said about himself and his youthful days. And Mom’s paranoia. “Yes, but I can’t do anything to change it now.” My smile slides away. “And neither can she.”
I can sense, rather than see, him nodding. He doesn’t press the issue. “This is the most you’ve ever talked about yourself,” he says quietly. “After all these years of us being friends, it takes me being on the verge of psychosis for you to open up.”
“Yeah well, now if you tell anyone, no one will believe you.”
He laughs. It’s a good sound—familiar and real. It makes my heart warm to hear it.
“I’m curious how you knew this place was here,” I say. “I’ve never known you to muck around in abandoned mines.”
“Why not? If there was a mine anywhere in the county, someone I’m related to worked it. We’re not like Lacey’s family, where everyone has attended some fancy music school in Switzerland or whatever. I’m not related to anyone who’s been to college. Most never finished high school.” He shifts around, and suddenly I get it—the reason he’s uncomfortable with Lacey’s interest. He thinks she’s a class above. Too good for him.
I smile in the darkness. Interesting how despite my dad’s money, I’m not in this category. My druggie mom apparently leveled the field. That, and my dad’s family were miners, too.
“And before I found music, me and some of the other low-valley kids had bush parties out here. Never underestimate the powerful combination of boys, intense boredom, and the allure of signs that say ‘No Trespassing.’”
I smile. “You could have been hurt.”
“That was the point.” His clothes rustle in a shrug. “If there was no danger in it, there’d be no point in doing it. Just like you stealing your mother’s boyfriends’ remote controls. Bet they would have been pissed if they’d caught you.”
“Yeah.”
“Angie? I don’t feel homicidal. Just…angry sometimes. Like Lacey gets when she can’t get a chord progression right.”
My reply is immediate. “You’re not homicidal.”
“But you all said—”
“Beekeepers typically sting people who are unstable to begin with,” I say. “We’ve established that you weren’t unstable, but…” Ah, hell. I shake my head in the dark. “You have changed, Deen. You’re kind of…jerky. Reckless, too. Whatever is in that venom will continue to change you.”
“Unless…?”
“Unless nothing.” I reach for a bottle of water. My throat is so dry. “Reece says there’s no undoing a Beekeeper sting.”
“And you believe him?”
My thoughts spin, pulling distant memories, stitching them to recent events. “He knows more about them than I do.”
“Maybe he’s wrong.”
I wince at the hope in his voice. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Suddenly, I can’t bear to be alone in here with him. I feel like I’m running out of oxygen. I hate telling him that magic bees are corrupting his mind, that nothing can stop it. I stick my head out the open rear door and gulp in a breath. “Hey! Where are you guys?” I call to Reece and Lacey.
“We’re here.” Reece’s voice is close. The side of the Bus dips and groans as Reece and Lacey climb inside.
“We were eavesdropping,” Lacey states. “It was wrong. A shameful breach of privacy and I apologize for it.”
“Refreshing, not to be the one apologizing for a change.” Deno murmurs.
Lacey’s sigh of relief is audible. “Oh good. You’re talking.”
“Never thought you’d say that, did you?” There’s a smile in Deno’s voice.
“We didn’t want to interrupt your conversation,” Reece adds. “It sounded…important.”
Maybe it’s the darkness, making me hypersensitive to the voices around me, but there’s an edge to Reece’s words. It pricks my attention, making me think of the smell of milk left out too long in the sun. Maybe Reece would have liked me to share all that ugly stuff about my childhood with him, but Deno needed the honesty. He needed to be trusted with something important. To know he still could be trusted.
The Bus falls into silence. Except for the rustle of a bag of chips being opened and then the sound of someone crunching.
The smell of salt and oil and processed potato fills the space. Not a particularly alluring odor under most circumstances, but I grope for the backpack and pull out a random snack bag.
Pretzels. Eh. Figures. I resign myself to my least favorite snack. “Maybe the magic affecting harbingers and Beekeepers is changing. Maybe you aren’t screwed, Deno.”
Reece smiles, I can sense it. “Angie, you’re turning into an optimist. Is this a new hat for you?”
I stick out my tongue at him, and he laughs as if he saw it. “Can you see in the dark?”
“No,” he says, but I’m not sure I believe him. “Who knows? The magic is changing. I can feel…” His voice fades off to a hush. He rubs his hands together. “I’ve soaked up more death than this and not burned so hot.”
My brows knit. “Are you worried?”
“About myself? Never,” he says matter-of-factly. “My whole life is a worst-case scenario. Honestly, I’d welcome an opportunity to die—really die.”
The Bus falls quiet once again. No one knows quite how to respond to that. Not when the rest of us are desperate for a way to live.
“Okay, so I think we need to form a plan,” Lacey says. “I don’t think Deno should stay here, considering his…what happened to him.”
She was going to say “condition.” It was right there on her tongue. It’s still hanging in the air, as dark and sharp-edged as the death sentence Reece thinks it is. I’m just not as ready, or maybe as hardened, as he is. “What do you think we should do?” I ask her.
“I think we should split up.” Her words are quick and defensive, like she expects an argument.
No one says a word. There’s only the quiet crunching of potato chips and pretzels.
Lacey clears her throat. “The Bus is so visible now, the Beekeeper will instantly recognize it. Earlier, when Reece and I were watching the mine entrance, we noticed that only Rafette was there. The others had left. And for whatever reason, Rafette left frequently—like once an hour he’d go somewhere.”
&
nbsp; “It’s hard work to stay in human form after a crisis is over,” Reece puts in. “I imagine he’s returning to a place where there’s still fear and chaos so he can feed off it. The rescue site, is most likely.”
“Right,” Lacey says. “So there are times when the entrance is empty—only breaks, but we can use them. If Deno and I were to take the Bus, we could lead him away from here. He’d probably figure it out that he’s following the wrong kids pretty quickly, but you two would have a chance to split. You’d be on foot, but it’s better than staying in here, in case he decides to wait it out.”
Silence again.
I don’t want to split up. My body reacts at the mere thought of not knowing what was happening to them. “Where would you go?” I ask.
“The school,” she says. “That’s where the rescue operation base is. We could try to meet up there. There will be people there. Real people.” She makes a little noise. “No offense, Reece.”
“None taken,” he replies.
“That sounds dangerous,” I say. “The valley is flooded. And most of the roads are blocked. Where do you expect to drive?”
“As far as we can,” she says. “We’re not the ones that Rafette guy wants. We’d be safer on our own.”
Safer is not safe. “You can’t drive the Bus. The gearshift is—”
“Sticky, I know.” Lacey sighs. “Angie, my Dad’s truck is a stick shift. Every old car has a funky gearshift. I can drive it, if you’ll let me. If it’s the Bus you’re worried about—”
“I don’t care about the Bus,” I burst out, cutting her off this time. “I’ve spent enough time worrying over this vehicle. I care about you and Deno and not going to your funerals.”
“No one wants to die, Angie.” Deno clears his throat. “Well, most of us don’t. I agree with Lacey. We should split up. First thing in the morning, when we have light, we’ll make for the school. I’ll find myself a padded cell before this stuff in my veins really kicks in.” He says it like a joke, but no one laughs. “Right. So you two find someplace else to hide, or find another route out of here.” Deno shifts around. The sound is restless, jerky. He inhales, sharply. “It’s hard to…keep my head together in here. I’m starting to feel…well, I can’t stay closed up like this. I can’t stay here, Angie.”
Reece shifts, then I hear the sound of long fingers dipping inside the pretzel bag and withdrawing with a handful. He’s been quiet for a while. His breath brushes my neck, shivering along my skin as he says, “Neither can we.”
37- through the low valley
Deno and Lacey’s exit is the exact opposite of our entrance. Reece and I watch them ease out of the mine, just as the dawn’s pale rays put color back in the sky. No clouds today, just the watery blue of morning. And no bees, as far as I can see.
“Maybe Rafette knows we aren’t in the Bus,” I say.
We’re standing only ten feet back from the entrance. Not far.
Reece doesn’t answer. He’s listening, head cocked. “Rafette isn’t here,” he says at last.
“You can tell?”
He nods. “I don’t smell him.”
Sure enough, there’s one distant caw, though not from any self-respecting crow—it’s Deno’s butchered interpretation—and we let out twin breaths. Of relief and anxiety. As we planned before Deno and Lacey departed, one caw meant no sign of bees. Two caws meant our enemies were out there, waiting to ambush, and we should stay where we are.
One caw means it’s time to run.
“The other Beekeepers are moving on,” he says. “They’re limited by how long they can stay away from their energy source. They helped Rafette, probably out of curiosity, but they won’t deplete themselves for his mission.” He holds out his hand with a crooked smile. “Ready to hike?”
I roll the sleep from my shoulders and take his hand. “No, but let’s go.”
We have a long way to go. Downhill, while better than uphill, is still lousy. The ground is uneven and rain-soaked, making my ankle throb and my ribs ache. Our ultimate goal is to get to the school, find emergency personnel, and get out of Cadence. By splitting up, Deno and Lacey take the van and hopefully get any watchful Beekeepers to follow them. This would give Reece and me a chance to evade Rafette by taking the direct, overland route straight to the spot where the helicopters seem to be coming and going from. However, that plan is subject to change depending on a multitude of factors I simply refuse to think about. Really, all we know is that we have to go. It’s the crappiest plan ever, but it’s what we have.
Gnawing at my mind is the knowledge that if Reece would just turn into a crow and leave, he’d be safe. He could rejoin his family, wherever they are, and be free. I suggested it, again, but he refuses to leave me until he knows I’m safe.
During the night, we worked through ideas, searching for the perfect plan, but there wasn’t one. Lacey had suggested staying in the mine, but Reece made the point that if Rafette decides to wait us out, we could be days or weeks without food and water. The facts were this: The next town is eighteen miles away, and we have no clue how to find a road to it. With Deno and me—but especially Deno—needing medical attention, the decision was to go.
It’s a harsh walk through the woods, not a trail, through brush and thick stands of trees. The wet leaves buffer some of our sounds, but we’re not stealthy. Eventually, we find ourselves in the backyard of a little blue house. I don’t know whose. This is not my neighborhood. My directions are all messed up. Behind the house, an uncovered grill sits on an empty deck—a reminder of easier times in the town of Cadence. We walk alongside the house to the front and stop. The street is quiet except for the omnipresent whir of helicopter blades. The street and front yards of all the houses on this side are flooded. Trees and mailboxes poke out of the thick brown water like forlorn survivors.
Inside the house, a small dog has detected us and starts up a hopeful barking. I think of Roger, and pluck Reece’s jacket. “There’s a dog trapped in there.”
“I hear it,” he replies.
“We can’t leave it.”
“We have to.” His voice is hard. He takes my chin between his fingers and tilts my face up to his. “Look, as we head down into the valley and into town, you’re going to see things. Terrible things. Don’t feel bad if you need to look away. Forcing yourself to look doesn’t make you a better person or anything. It just leaves you with memories you can’t erase.” He turns away from me. “That little dog is safer inside than out.”
My hands curl into fists. The cuts on my palms hurt, but I do it anyway. I’ve seen enough in this short life of mine. Enough suffering, enough death. But this time, he’s right. If Roger had come when called, he’d be here with us. And that wouldn’t be such a good thing. He’d be afraid and hungry. He’d be one more thing I’d be worrying about.
“Are we going through that?” I ask, pointing at the water.
Reece eyes the route ahead with distaste. “Looks like it. Prepare to get cold and dirty.”
I steel myself to the dog’s cries, but take note of the house number and street name. Maybe I’ll have the chance to tell someone about the dog.
Reece sets his jaw and strides forward, into the water. I follow, letting out a hiss of discomfort when the ice-cold liquid curls around my shins. In no time, my teeth are chattering. It feels like I’m chilled from the inside out. We’re three houses away before the dog gives up and falls silent. I try not to think about it.
We forgo the streets and cut straight through peoples’ yards. The houses become closer together and smaller the lower into the valley we go. Yards turn into small, fenced-in rectangles, and we’re back to streets, as the fences are not worth climbing over. Evidence of the landslide comes into view. A layer of dirt and gravel coats everything in brown—cars, trees, homes. We turn a corner, and the devastation comes into clear view. It looks like a bomb hit. But it’s the randomness of it that is truly disturbing. Some homes are destroyed, others stand untouched, as if spared by a divine hand
. And, looming behind it all, is the sad remnant of Mt. Serenity. Not a mountain anymore at all.
The water comes up to our knees here, and it’s thick with all the mud, making it feel like we’re slogging through peanut butter. A house with a duck mailbox comes into view, and suddenly, it all looks familiar.
“We’re near Deno’s house,” I spin around and stumble toward where my friend’s house should be.
“Angie, wait,” Reece says, but I don’t listen. I need to see if his house is still there.
I fumble with someone’s chain link gate and pry it open, cutting through their yard to the street on the other side. Relief turns my knees mushy. This section of street was spared serious damage. Deno’s house still stands.
I half expect the front door to slam open and Mrs. Steinway to come out in a billowing housedress, yelling at me to get out of the cold and have some pie. But the door doesn’t open. The windows are dark, like all the rest. I don’t know what happened to Deno’s parents, but I do know that Cadence will never be the same. It’s as scarred as the mountain behind it. I stand here in the ruins of this neighborhood, built so many years ago by the company that mined the broken mountain. I can’t imagine people living here again. Of civilization returning to this silent, drowned town. I think of my mom’s Bus, wherever Lacey and Deno took it, and it strikes me how, once again, the world I knew has been torn apart, obliterated.
A sound comes from behind me. Reece is across the street, standing inside a house that has the front ripped off. Smoke wafts from the wreckage. I can see his head and shoulders above the jagged opening, in what was probably the living room. I open my mouth to call out, warn him to get out of there. It looks horribly unsafe. Smoldering beams teeter above him, where a roof used to be. They could fall any minute, but I hold my tongue. The way he’s standing there is so strange. Still and placid, like a meditating monk.
