Superman's Cape

by Brian Spangler

  The wind pushed against the van and the rain beat a heavy wave onto the windshield. Hurricane Dani wasn’t far enough up the coast to consider it a landfall moment, but Jill considered what Andy told her during her last call to him. He told her the winds and rains were spawning smaller storm squalls. And that the small stuff was doing enough damage to keep most of the news room busy. He told her about the tornadoes that were born off of the hurricane’s edges. Andy told her to play it safe. Go back for Jacob, but play it safe. He finished the call by warning that if the storm crept up alongside of them, then it was time to pull over somewhere and let it pass; don’t race the storm, he told her, don’t race against what you can’t beat.

  Steve mumbled something, he started and then stopped. Jill thought he’d been mumbling for a while. His cockiness was gone. His crassness to all things, from driving the van to the way he looked at her, changed. As the rains and winds grew wilder, so did Steve. His eyes hinted a frantic look. She thought he stood at the edge of hysteria, dipping his toe in just enough to test the waters before taking the plunge.

  Jill grew afraid. She needed Steve to keep it together. She knew she couldn’t drive, not in this stuff anyway. She needed him to put away his panicky mumbling and get them where they were going. Jill closed her arms across her chest and realized she was a little disappointed, maybe even a little mad. Grow a pair her Dad used to say to her brothers, grow a pair and get on with it, he’d said more than once. Steve needed to grow a pair. She needed him to buck up and get them back to the Connely’s place. For all they knew, Jacob might be dying.

  The decision to leave Jacob bothered her. At the time it seemed the right thing to do. At the time it seemed the only thing they should do. Sara Connely offered her door. She offered, and without a second thought they helped Jacob up the steps and into the trailer. But now, as they drove back, Jill didn’t understand why they just left him there. If anything, they should have put him in the back of the van and started their trek back to the station or to a hospital.

  “What were we thinking?” she asked, loud enough to distract Steve from his frantic mumbles.

  “What … wha-what, what’s that?”

  Jill frowned in his direction and said, “Didn’t say anything. I’m just thinking aloud.”

  “Ahhh. Ok then. We’ll be there soon, we’re only half a mile or so from the road leading back to the trailer off Route 17 -- man, the weather really picked up – didn’t it?” he yelled, though Jill still had trouble making out the words over the increasing noise of the storm.

  Another wave of rain pushed against the van. It pulled them to the side of the road before letting go. Steve pulled the wheel and righted their direction. Jill saw his hands jumping and then pushing down on the steering wheel. She looked over to him, he’s terrified. His panic was becoming contagious. She could almost smell the fear in the van’s cab.

  Jill shifted her weight against the protest of her knee. She needed to move. She needed to shake the panicked air that seemed catching like germs on the surface. Germs in the air. Only there was no courtesy antiseptic she could squirt a wet and cool relief with into the palms of her hands.

  “Good idea,” she said and motioned to the Styrofoam cup he’d moved between his legs.

  Steve leaned closer to her, his ear leading the direction, “What’s that?”

  “Your cup – no more reaching across the cab … Good idea.”

  “Chaw? Want some?”

  Jill tried not to laugh, “I’m good.”

  “Anytime,” Steve said and then picked up his cup to unload another collection.

  “Crap,” Steve yelled as an ash colored tree branch slammed onto the road in front of them. The branch bounced on the blacktop as Steve turned the van to navigate around it. They were too close and so he straddled the branch with the van, crunching the thinner ends under each of the tires. They felt the body of the wood bounce underneath them, banging as though fighting to get back up. Jill let out a small scream but then smiled when she saw Steve smiling.

  “We’ve got skid plates … it’s all good.”

  “I’m glad you’re driving. Not sure I would have made it over the branch the right way,” she answered but knew he couldn’t hear her.

  “You can’t hear a word I’m saying, can you Steve?” she asked, nodding her head up and down in an overzealous and sarcastic motion.

  Steve looked over and nodded up and down with Jill, “You bet,” he answered back. Jill couldn’t help herself, she laughed and waved a thumbs up in his direction.

  More of the rain’s pock-marks attacked the windshield, sounding out in loud ticks before dying off with the wiper blades. They were turning right and she remembered the location. The Connely’s trailer, and Jacob, were only a few minutes up the road.

  “Almost there,” she mumbled as the rear of the van began to spin its wheels while trying to escape the last of the blacktop. The van fought against the gravity of the small hill they turned on. The road to the Connely’s went uphill for a hundred yards with nothing but gravel to grab the tires. The mouth of the road was blacktop and Jill could see years of torture ground into it. Layers of tire were left behind as rain water flowed over it in a makeshift water fall. Steve’s voice grew louder in answer to the sound of the tires. He punched the gas pedal until the spinning rubber caused the van to dance; first swinging left and then swinging right. The tires screamed on the blacktop and Jill could see smoke coming from behind them.

  “Come on, you Bitch!” Jill shouted and pushed her hands against the dashboard of the van. She pushed. She rocked her body back and forth. She slowed when Steve started to laugh. She pushed once more as if to emphasize her wanting to help but then stopped and laughed with him as she realized her efforts were in spirit only. She gave him a hearty smile and as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor, they were thrown back in their seats. The van’s wheels caught the gravel pulling them up and over the hill.

  They both laughed some more as the front of the van settled at the top. Their speed continued to climb. The sound of stones propelled back behind them. The shooting rocks replaced the sound of screeching tires, as though spitting resentments to the hill they were stuck on.

  Steve was turned towards Jill, laughing at her, laughing with her as they freed themselves of the slippery road. It was a good laugh, a needed laugh but he didn’t see the tree that was approaching. He didn’t see the hugeness of it. Or that it had laid down in front of them. The downed tree was like a giant octopus hugging the gravel road that stood between them and the Connely’s place. He didn’t see the tentacle branches spreading in every direction. Jill saw it. She saw all of it in an instant and screamed to him. She threw her hands into the air, pointing at it. And it was only when the expression in her face changed did he turn his head. Steve looked up as the first of the tentacle branches speared a raindrop pock-mark that was beginning to fade.

  A blast of thunder punched Jill’s ears as a field of glass twisted through the air. A storm of broken windshield whistled by her and poured across her face, blanketing everything in its path. The van slammed to a stop, lifting the rear into the air. Jill felt the motion of her body thrown forward. She was aware of being airborne. She waited for the impact against the dash as glass cut into her. The momentum was fast. Too fast. She didn’t have time pull her legs in. She didn’t have time to put her arms out. She didn’t have time to breathe.

  The thunder in her ears dissipated and her torpedo boobs stopped all of her when she slammed against the van’s dashboard. At once any air she held onto exploded and was gone as glass rained down from all around her. The top of her head crunched the remains of the windshield. Flashing white streaks and stars flew in her eyes as she gasped to pull back the air that left her. I’m going to pass out, she thought and struggled to take in a second breath before her body fell into a bundle on the passenger side floor of the cab.

  When the lightning streaks and flying stars faded from her eyes, Jill struggled back onto her seat. Sh
e clutched at her chest and felt the first of many blood tears running down her face. Her torpedo boobs were bruised and she wondered if they might be crushed. When she looked to Steve she couldn’t figure out how it was that he could still be sitting upright in his seat. His hands were resting on the steering wheel and his eyes were looking straight ahead as though he were a simple snapshot, an image captured at the moment of impact.

  “Steve,” Jill called to him and then repeated, “Steve?”

  She jumped when he jumped. Then she saw him begin to grab at his neck and chest. His hands gained momentum as he pawed some more, pulling the skin around his neck.

  “Steve -- what is it?” Jill asked, but he didn’t respond.

  “What is it,” she persisted, “you’re scaring me!”

  Jill pushed past the pain in her leg and moved around her seat until she could see the tree. The octopus branches had invaded the van’s cab. It seemed everywhere she looked there were branches and broken glass and blood. The smell of fresh cut trees and warm blood seized her nose. She shook it away and turned back to Steve who was struggling to say something.

  “What is it, what is it, where does it hurt?” she asked, and then moved in closer.

  “Aaaaaaaggghhhh cannnnnnntt,” Steve tried saying as a mix of vomit chaw and blood dropped from his gaping mouth. When he tried to move again he yelled another mouthful of vomit chaw and blood. He pushed his hands to his neck and as he turned he sent a flood of blood to spray against the window of his door.

  Jill flinched to the blood spraying back. She jumped as Steve let out a gasp of air while the blood slowed and then sprayed again. Terror and a sensation to run was overwhelming. There was so much blood. Too much … he’ll die, she mouthed and realized he had only minutes to live if she couldn’t stop the bleeding.

  Leaning over, Jill saw a branch impaled through the back of his seat. The branch took more than just the seat; it stole a large uninvited bite of Steve’s neck. It’s an artery or a jugular, she guessed and pressed her hands against the open cavern in his neck. She caught his eyes with hers and could see him begging her for his life.

  Steve begged Jill as though she were the holder of his life. As though she were the giver or the taker-away of what would be his next day or his last minute. Jill nodded her head and tried to speak in a soft voice. She tried to assure him that she was there and that he was going to be okay. She told him she would stay and that she wouldn’t leave him.

  Another flood of arterial blood sprayed against the window and bounced into her hair and onto her face. Her nose filled with more vomit chaw and blood, causing her stomach to leap in turns and flips.

  “Steve – listen to me, this is bad … really bad. There is a lot of blood coming out and I need to find something to stop it.”

  “Aaaaaaaggghhhh cannnnnnntt,” Steve spat against the air as Jill pulled on one of his hands to help cover the hole in his neck. She could feel the cold in his calloused hands. It was then she realized his minutes were dying away. So much blood, she mouthed again. His hand could only cover a part of the torn tissue as another wash of his blood painted the window and door.

  Before she could stop herself, Jill turned her head and vomited air. She pushed a fast breath and then tried to force out the blackness intruding her eyes. When her head cleared, she turned back and continued talking as another push of blood leapt through Steve’s fingers and splashed the window.

  “Steve, stay with me. Hold your hand there. Tight! And stay with me!” Reaching behind her, Jill begged to find anything she could use that might help. When the gargled sound of his breathing stopped and all that was left to listen to was the wind of the storm, Jill knew Steve was dead.

  “Oh shit! Steve!!” She yelled at him with tears pulling on her eyes. She turned toward his open stare. His eyes were frozen. The bleeding stopped. Even dead, his eyes told her he was afraid. Jill put his hand back down to rest it in his lap. She fought her emotions and then let go and began to cry. Emotion weighed on her as she struggled to steady her trembling hand. She put her fingers over his eyes and closed them a final time.

  Forfeiting, Jill dropped her hand onto Steve’s chest and told him how sorry she was that he was dead. She continued to cry for a friend she barely got to know. She cried against the winds and the rains as they continued to bear down. She heard all of it and then for a moment none of it as the world around her fell quiet. Now all she could hear was her own sobbing broken by the sounds of her screaming.

  34

  Chris watched Jonnie as he left the embrace of his arms and turned toward his mother. Jonnie’s little feet stuttered once but he finished his run standing. He was greeted by his momma with a hug and a kiss on his cheek. Sara’s expression was a good one. A happy one. She embraced Jonnie. Chris smiled as Sara went on kissing her son’s head and cheeks amidst his giggles and playful dancing.

  Sara began to pull her hand from Chris’s hand, but then hesitated. She glanced to Chris as if to say -- I am letting go, but only for a moment -- and then released his fingers. With both arms, she pulled all of Jonnie closer to her. Jonnie’s time in the hug lasted only a minute. He squirmed until she let go with reluctance falling from her hold. Returning a grin full of baby-teeth toward Chris, Jonnie dipped his small frame to the floor just enough to pick up his blue cape. And like before, he threw the blanket around his shoulders with one swing of his arms and then tied it off in a knot of fingers beneath his chin. Jonnie giggled another smile to his Momma and Dad and then ran off with the blue of his Superman’s Cape lifting and flapping behind him.

  Sara dropped her hands and shook her head as she half stumbled in a step toward Chris. “How is this possible? How are you here?” Chris heard hesitation in her voice. He wanted to give her the answers but he had none. He only knew that he was here with her and Jonnie, and that he needed to go get Kyle.

  He stayed quiet for what he thought was a long time. Every time he was close to knowing what he wanted to say, uncertainty interrupted him, leaving him without words. When he was ready, he turned to see if Jonnie was far enough from them and answered, “I guess I know why … but I don’t know how.” Sara furrowed her eyes in confusion. Chris continued, “I do know … I only have a very short time and then I have to go back.”

  At those words Sara moved to him. She knelt down in front of him. She leaned in so that her body was facing his. She put her hands on his and said defiantly, “The hell you do! Listen to me. You are Here! You can stay with Us!” And before Chris could respond, Sara slapped his chest as a tear fell.

  Chris pulled her hands together, holding his grip firm but gentle. “Listen to me, it wouldn’t be right. It is me, and it isn’t me.” As he finished his words, a warmth swallowed his last breath. He gasped as a flood of memories poured over his mind.

  It was Jacob. His thoughts. His memories. They were an unfamiliar landscape. But now his memories were there too. Chris thought they might have been there all along. But now, with Sara just a breath away from him, he could see them, feel them, and even touch them. Years of images in a mind-store glowed as brilliantly as reflected sunlight from an afternoon storm, when everything seemed to sparkle from drops of rain. He drank it all in, and in a moment he began to consider what his wife was saying.

  He could stay. Sure, it was Jacob’s body, but so what? It wasn’t fair that he died the way he did. Why shouldn’t I stay, he argued with himself. And as that last thought crossed his mind, Jacob reminded Chris exactly who was who as he rapped his hands on the closed door from deep inside his mind.

  Jacob thumped against the door like a bass drum in a marching band. Parading his protest for being locked away in that room. Chris wanted to stay, but he knew he had to throw the idea away. He was here for one thing and he could not forget what that was.

  “Sara,” he said, his voice a broken whisper. He held her hands in his. He remembered how they felt. Sara stole his eyes with her own. He could read the regret in them before she heard his words.

  �
�Sara -- ” he started, “-- Kyle is dying …” and before he could finish, she pulled her hands from his.

  “Don’t you say that!” she snapped at him. She waved her hands as though shooing his words away. After a few seconds she brought her hands together and rolled her wedding band. “What do you mean -- how do you know that?” she asked weeping, as her body crumpled to the floor.

  “It’s why I am here. I know where he is! I know how to get to him and bring him back. Sara! Listen to me. He’s hurt, hon. He’s hurt bad and he is sick. Time is short and I need to go to him now. There’s no time to waste.”

  “Where is my son?” Sara pleaded.

  “Momma, what’s wrong? Why’ya crying?” Jonnie interrupted. His smiles and laughs had slipped away along with the corners of his mouth.

  “It’s your brother Jonnie – your Dad is here to get Kyle,” she answered quickly before Chris continued.

  “I don’t know exactly where he is but I know once I start walking I’ll be taken to him -- I only need to start walking.”

  “What do you mean, taken to him? Who is taking you to him?”

  Chris reached to her and pulled her closer to him. She was trembling. He held her hands close to his chest and then leaned over to kiss them and wished he could take her fears away.

  “Sara, I’m going to save our son. I think maybe this is restitution – that maybe he owes us … you, me, the boys,” Chris struggled to say as he motioned their hands upwards.

  “I died in that Dairy Queen, Sara. And maybe I wasn’t supposed to.”