by Dan Padavona
Life exists.
As she looked to her right, seeing Tom and Jen laughing and holding one another, for a fleeting second she considered returning to Storberry. Her optimism brimmed. There was a chance that the others were still alive. She could bring them back to the world.
But she couldn't put the teens at additional risk. The light at the end of the tunnel was before them, and she was damn sure going to get them to safety. She pressed her foot on the accelerator and—
She didn't see the tractor and attached hay cart until it was too late.
Life froze for her, like an abstract painting: the tractor in the middle of the road, representing some hidden meaning she couldn't discern; the yellow road stripe leading directly into it, forcing the viewer's eye to follow along; the split second before the violent conclusion; time frozen; all color lost in the silver beams.
Tires squealed against the road, and then the front grille exploded against the metallic bulk of the tractor. Something crashed through the front window, maybe fragments of the tractor's steering wheel. The truck flipped and landed on the driver's side, metal shrieking across the pavement's surface, as the truck continued to ridiculously slide forward, as though it meant to continue all the way to the interstate.
Leaving a trail of orange sparks behind it, the truck finally came to rest on the shoulder of the oncoming lane, the front end leaning into a ditch and the back end tilted upward like a whale tail.
Renee Tennant was dead on impact.
Eight
Tom awoke fifteen minutes later. He blinked twice, not sure where he was or why he was perched sideways. Then the crash replayed in his mind.
Panicking, he surveyed his surroundings.
The front windshield had fallen in on the driver's side, and the center and passenger side of the safety glass was riddled with multiple puncture holes, concentric spider webs crawling outward from each. The sky was a mix of stars and clouds, through which the moon shone a dim glaze of gray across the pavement. Grass grew in clumps out of the top of the ditch where the terrain leveled out, leading to an old, single-story home. A light glimmered in the front window. A small silo and barn framed the residence from behind.
The driver's side window was shattered. As he listened to water gurgling through the ditch, he saw Renee's head resting against the rocks, as though she was sleeping comfortably within the calming brook. But her neck was bowed grotesquely, and blood was splayed across her face. Jen lay crumpled against Renee. They had all been wearing their seat belts, Renee and Tom with the benefit of shoulder straps. Only a waist strap existed in the middle seat, but it had held Jen.
He didn’t see her breathing.
His stomach dropped out from under him. He had lost her in an automobile accident after they had survived so much to this point. I didn't kept my promise to keep her safe. She was all he had left in the world, and now she was gone, too. As clouds drifted across the sky, vague shapes against a sparkling background, he wished to die with Jen and Renee.
Her lips vibrated.
Blood caked her upper lip and nostrils, obstructing her breathing and forcing her to inhale and exhale through her mouth. His heart raced. She was alive, and he might save her yet. But he couldn't know how badly she was injured. If she had internal injuries, it would be too dangerous to move her. He prayed that the bruising was superficial.
Tiny cuts zigzagged across her arms and legs. The remnants of the broken windshield existed as a mound of jewel-like pellets piled into the corner. He wouldn't shake her to bring her back from unconsciousness. That would be too risky given the lack of information he had to work with.
“Jen...Jen.”
As her lips rattled with each exhalation, she breathed with a soft wheeze while resting insentient against the broken form of Renee Tennant.
“Jen. We need to get out of here. Please wake up.”
A gust of wind shook the vehicle, but it remained securely wedged within the ditch. He examined himself for the first time. The left side of his ribcage hurt from where the seatbelt held him. Superficial scratches marked his legs and his left arm. His head throbbed, but his thoughts came clearly. At least I don’t have a concussion.
Feeling along his ribcage with his hands, he found it was ginger, but nothing was broken. He had full mobility of his arms and legs. A little bruising wouldn't slow him down.
Thinking the people inside the residence must have heard the crash, he wondered why no one had come to their aid.
Then he recalled the tractor and hay cart—the perfect roadblock. County route 16 was nearly impassible with the obstacle in its path. The ditches beyond the shoulder were too deep to traverse. A motorcycle could have slipped past with a little work but not a car or truck.
Who blocks the only eastern road leading in or out of Storberry? He began to worry.
The side windows to Doug Masterson's truck were controlled by hand cranks. As he grasped the handle and began to roll the window open, he met resistance, as though something was askew within the door. The window fell halfway open when he heard something pop within the door. The crank turned uselessly, the side window having detached itself from the cranking mechanism. The top lay at an awkward angle, the open space too small for him to crawl through.
He slipped out of the shoulder strap, keeping the waist strap buckled so that he wouldn't fall down the truck seat. He placed both hands on top of the side window and pulled down. He was careful not to pull inward, fearing the window would snap against the pressure.
The window barely budged. He rested a moment, trying to conserve his strength for the multiple step escape he now envisioned. Maybe if he could straighten the window, it might slide freely or re-engage with the crank. He pulled down on the left side where the window was angled higher. The glass resisted him for a moment, and then it seemed to pop back into place.
The lit windows of the isolated house watched him from a depthless sea of black. He shuddered, a cold dread descending on him.
The hand crank was still useless to him, but he was able to pull the window down with steady pressure. As though it had fallen into a mechanical abyss, the window gave way and dropped wholly into the door
Step One.
“Jen.”
She breathed through her mouth, lost within a dream.
There was no point to attempting to open the door, as gravity would just slam it shut again, probably at a precarious moment when his fingers were between the door and the truck.
As he clamped his right arm against the outside of the door to hold him in place, with his left hand he clicked the seat belt mechanism. The strap fell away, and he caught himself before he slid into her.
Grasping the door with his left hand to pull himself up, he strained against his own weight, feeling the hot pain in his ribs. He tugged his waist through the window. The truck was still wedged into the ditch, and he was thankful for its prodigious mass. No matter how much he jostled the vehicle, it didn't budge. He swung his legs out of the window and shifted his body around so that he lay across the open frame.
Step Two.
The flow chart branched in two directions at this point. The first option was that he drop to the pavement and try to find help. Knowing the farmer's tractor had blocked the roadway discouraged him from seeking aid at the house. Since the population of 16 and Winchester Road was sparse at best, there was no reason to wander up the road looking for help. He might wander for several hours before he found assistance.
Regardless, he had no intention of leaving her alone, and he wouldn't. However long it took, he would stay perched atop the window until she awoke or until help arrived by chance.
Or until something finds us.
“C'mon, Jen. We're almost out of this.”
He rested his head on his arm. His back ached as he lay planked across the open window. He had no idea how long he had lain unconscious, nor what time of night it was. The sky was black from horizon to horizon, which only told him that it was well after dusk and well
before dawn.
She coughed, causing his hope to surge.
As Tom slid his body down the truck and ducked his head through the window, she coughed again and then came awake. She had panicked, her breathing coming in sharp gasps which would lead to hyperventilation if she continued.
“It's okay. It's okay, Jen. You're all right.”
She turned her head toward him. He looked like an apparition perched in silhouette across the window. For a moment, the terror in her eyes suggested that she thought he was a vampire, too, but his voice reassured her.
She noticed the broken body of Renee Tennant, and she began to sob.
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God, she's—”
“Shhh. Slow down. There's nothing we can do for her now.”
“What happened to us?”
“There was an accident. The important thing is that we are still alive. But I need you to slow down and listen to me so I can get you out of here.”
The accident came back to her. The insanity of the tractor blocking the road from side-to-side. The screech of rubber against pavement. The jolt of the impact and the truck flipping to its side. The horrible squealing of metal.
“I can't move, Tom. There's no way I can crawl out from here.”
“Does your neck or back hurt? Can you move your legs?”
She complained of a dull pain down her neck and back, but that was to be expected considering what she had been through. Her arms and legs moved on command.
“They're fine.”
A wave of relief washed over him.
“Thank God. Hold tight. I'm going to get you out of there.”
He fumbled for the leather belt around his waist, unbuckled it, and pulled it free of the loops while holding himself steady with his left arm. He took hold of the buckled end in his right hand and dropped it into the truck.
“I'm not going to have enough leverage to pull you out with one arm. You’ll need to stretch up far enough to grab it and inch yourself up until you can grab the window frame.”
While the end of the belt dangled a few inches beyond her reach, she looked back at him doubtfully, still trusting that he knew what he was doing.
“Can't reach it.”
“You'll have to push off of her with your legs. Try to stand.”
The thought of propping her feet against Renee's broken body made her cringe, but there seemed to be no other way. Even if she tried to push herself off the steering wheel, she could only place one foot on the wheel at a time. And if she slipped, she would be in the dead woman's lap.
As she unbuckled the waist strap, gravity pulled her into Renee. Renee’s body was still warm, and for a moment she held out hope that the woman was still alive. But she had seen Renee's warped neck. She silently apologized to the woman who had been so good to her and shifted her body on the seat until her feet were planted against Renee's side.
She slowly straightened her legs, her body inching upward until the leather touched the tips of her fingers. She grasped the lifeline.
“Got it.”
“Good. Now look, my back isn't going to hold up much longer. The best I can do is to hold the belt while you use it to crawl out. There's no way I can pull you up from this angle. Try to plant your feet against the seat back. Just don't make any sudden jerks, or you'll rip my shoulder out of its socket.”
Jen lifted her right foot off of Renee's body and pressed it against the back of the seat until it felt secure. Trying her best to avoid any sharp movements that might injure him, she twisted her body, until she faced the rear of the truck with both feet planted into the seat back. She began to inch her way up the cab.
His shoulder screamed against the resistance. He didn't think he could hold her weight, but then he saw the determination in her eyes, and he knew he would not fail her. The half minute he supported her weight seemed like hours, but then the tension on the belt gave way and she grasped the outside of the window with her left hand.
“You're almost there, Jen. Now, I want you to carefully let go of the belt and grab the bottom of the window with your right hand. But keep your feet against the seat so you don't slip down.”
She had to get it right the first time. He didn't think his shoulder could handle a second attempt. With her legs shaking like a newborn calf's, she released her grip on the belt and grasped the window before she lost balance. Panting, she held on with trembling arms.
“I'm going to grab your arms now and pull you forward until you can balance yourself on the window frame.”
Her legs continued to shake. Her arms burned with muscle fatigue.
“I'm not strong enough.”
“Yes, you are. Just think about getting out of there. It will be over in a few seconds.”
He swung his body to the side so that his legs were draped across the back side of the truck, using his arms and mass to pull her forward through the window. She hung precariously out of the window, sure she was going to fall headfirst into the rocky ditch, but he dropped to the ditch below her, ready to catch her if she stumbled.
Catching her breath, she pulled her legs through the window to sit on the edge of the frame. She dropped into the ditch, her sneakers soaking through within the flowing creek. She was free.
Step Three complete.
They bounced out of the ditch onto the unkempt lawn fronting the farmhouse. He hugged her against him, and they held each other for a long time without speaking. Like specters, dappled shadows drifted through the grass as the moon moved in and out of clouds. The field across the road had vanished into a building fog, the saturated terrain condensing into the crisp night.
“Where the hell are we?” she asked.
“Somewhere on route 16. A long way from town. Not that I'd consider going back.”
She nodded in agreement, and—
She gasped.
She saw a face in the farmhouse window, but it had disappeared behind the wall.
“There's somewhere in there, Tom.”
As he looked at the farmhouse, the orange glow of a lone lamp shone through the window. Nobody was at window now, but he believed her. No, they would not find help here. The road blockage was deliberate. He was certain that it was meant to prevent anyone from entering or exiting Storberry, which meant that the person inside was either insane, or worse.
His flesh crawled with goosebumps, as though a black window had dropped down the back of his shirt. The night closed about them. Fog advanced out of the field to cross the road, an ethereal army of gray on the march.
The truck lay shattered in the ditch, the ghostly outline of Renee Tennant crumpled within. Several metallic pieces from the tractor were strewn across the pavement, though its main bulk stood unwavering, spun slightly on the center lane. The hay cart had disintegrated against the far ditch, its contents waiting to compost within the tall grass. County route 16 continued apathetic beyond the carnage and faded to black.
“We should go,” she said.
He nodded without taking his eyes off the farmhouse.
They jumped the ditch and walked along the left shoulder. As Tom glanced back at the tractor, the steadfast mountain of metal shrinking with each step forward, he recoiled from the prospect of another car discovering too late the massive roadblock.
No lights existed ahead. They would have to make do with the dim light of the moon. Winchester Road couldn't be too far ahead, but the gloom would be no less thick there.
Katydids chittered and crickets filled the night with song. As gravel crunched under their feet on the endless stretch of blacktop, the ocean of fog thickened below them until their legs vanished below their calves.
But there was another sound in the night.
Tom grabbed Jen, and they stopped on the shoulder.
Footsteps coming, not far behind.
A look of dread crossed her face, silver in the moonlight. He pulled her by the elbow, and they ran into the unknown.
Nine
As Blakely Hill leveled out near downtown, Mary loo
ked behind to see the humongous shadow coming. From fifty yards away and closing on them, its silhouette towered above the lower tree branches framing the sidewalk.
The town center was straight ahead, but the storefronts were dessicated bodies of inactivity. The crosswalk sign commanded, DON’T WALK, in bloody red letters.
Evan glanced left and right at the juncture, looking for somewhere for them to hide. Mary realized she didn't even have the keys to her café with her.
They crossed the desolate intersection and raced toward their final vestige of hope: the police station around the corner from Washington Street.
Their legs became rubber bands that would not support their pace much longer. Lungs burned with exertion, and Evan's back tore with every jolt of foot against pavement. Halfway down Washington he glanced back to see the thing crossing the intersection, the red hue of the intersection traffic light revealing its ghoulish countenance in an eerie glow.
They cut right through an alley between two office buildings along an unlit pathway as shadows seemed to reach for them. When they passed a dumpster pockmarked with rust, which bled ocher in elongated drips, something shifted within at the sound of their coming, and Mary quivered at what lay waiting.
The alley opened to a lighted parking lot, fronted by two smaller buildings and another alley to the left. They cut through the lot, hoping they would throw the thing off their path. Mary turned back to see a shadow rise along the office building, growing against the wall.
The second alley deposited them onto the sidewalk of Court Street. The police station was less than one hundred yards away, not far from Jensen Road. They cut across rectangular lawns fronting the buildings along Court, avoiding the sidewalk and remaining within the shadows. The vampire hadn't found them yet, but Mary knew the monster would come for the fools who had attempted to kill it.
