Pitch

by Jillian Eaton

That, more than anything else, brought on the panic. It rolled over me in waves until it sucked me under and I was drowning in it. My mind flashed through the last five seconds of memory over and over again, like a film reel stuck on repeat.

  Braking. Spinning. Screaming. Flying.

  Braking. Spinning. Screaming. Flying.

  Braking. Spinning. Screaming. Flying.

  Above me I heard voices. The words were broken up. My ears were buzzing. I tried to concentrate on what was being said. I needed something, anything to distract me from the darkness.

  “…out of nowhere. Couldn’t… in time.”

  “Is… dead? Oh God, all… blood.”

  “…move her? Is it okay… move her?”

  “I… know. I DON’T KNOW!”

  “Stop yelling.” The words come out of my mouth sluggishly, like I was trying to speak through molasses. I heard a sharp intake of breath. A muffled sob.

  “Lola, you’re alive.” Travis.

  “Everything is going to be okay, baby. You hear me? Everything will be fine. Can you… Can you move anything? Your fingers? Your toes?” Dad.

  Of course I could move my fingers. I could move everything. Nothing hurt. There was no pain. But I couldn’t see. Why couldn’t I see?

  “Travis, look! She’s moving her fingers. She’s moving her fingers!”

  You’d think I just won a gold medal at the Olympics. I sat up and reached out, my awesome fingers stretching towards what I could hear but not see. Someone locked their hand with mine. Travis. I could tell that girly grip anywhere.

  “I went through the windshield and I’m alive,” I said, my voice oddly detached, as if it belonged to someone else. I went through a windshield and I’m alive. That was strange. Didn’t people die when they went through windshields? Maybe not. Maybe they just went blind.

  “You’re alive,” said Travis. He squeezed my fingers. In the background I heard quiet weeping. Dad. Still not very good in crisis situations.

  “Travis,” I whispered. “I can’t see. Why can’t I see?”

  “Lola, your eyes are closed.”

  Oh. That made sense. The rush of color was nearly overwhelming when I forced my eyelids apart. I cringed away from it, away from the scrap of metal that vaguely resembled a car, away from the glass that covered everything, away from the blood that covered the glass. Instead I looked down at myself, examining the cuts that sliced through my flesh like I had been wrapped in thin red ribbons. I touched my face and didn’t need to glance at my fingertips to know they would come away bloody. I could feel the blood, running down my cheekbones, sliding into the corners of my mouth, dripping off my chin.

  “Travis, you should go stand over there with my dad,” I said, concerned. “You know blood makes you queasy.”

  His eyes wrinkled at the corners. “I guess I got over it. Lola, no offense or anything, but you should be dead. What happened?”

  It was a good question. I think I knew the answer, but I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. Not yet. Not when I wasn’t sure what the reaction would be. “I have no idea,” I lied. “Just lucky I guess. Help me up, would you?”

  Travis hauled me to my feet. Pine needles prickled up between my toes and I saw I had lost one shoe.

  “Here,” said Travis, handing me one of my own t-shirts that I had packed away. “Use this.”

  Gratefully I took the shirt and used it to rub my face clean, then my arms. When I was finished the shirt had gone from white to red. I tossed it in the bushes. “Dad,” I called out. “Dad, it’s okay. You can come back now.”

  He appeared instantly from behind a nearby grove of trees. It was obvious he had been crying. I didn’t hold it against him. Grown men do cry. Especially when they see their daughter get tossed through a windshield.

  “Lola. Lola. Are you all right? I thought you were dead. I thought… Oh my God it’s a miracle. A miracle.” His arms enveloped me. This time I hugged him back, because I could have lost him just easily as he thought he had lost me.

  He drew back to study my face and frowned. “But all that blood… I was so sure… You aren’t in any pain?”

  “None,” I assured him quickly.

  His frown deepened.

  “I mean it’s probably shock,” I amended. “My body is in shock. It will hurt later. A lot, I bet.”

  “We have aspirin,” he said, as if a couple of aspirin would help me if I really did feel the pain I should have been feeling.

  “You’re cuts are closing up already,” said Travis. He didn’t look as convinced by my evasive answers as Dad was.

  I shrugged. “Blood clots in seconds, Travis. We learned that in health, remember?”

  “Yeah, but -”

  “What about you?” I said, flipping the subject around. “That looks like a pretty big bump on your head. And you, Dad. You have a gash on your forehead.”

  “I bailed right before the car hit the tree,” said Travis, rubbing the sizable lump that had formed just below his hairline. “I’ll be fine.”

  My eyebrows shot up. I was impressed. Usually Travis was on the ground crying for a doctor if he got a paper cut. Running away from blood thirsty vampires has been good for his confidence, apparently.

  “I’ll be fine too,” said Dad. “But the car…”

  Collectively we turned to survey the damage. It didn’t look good. The car was nothing more than a crumpled heap of metal. What supplies had been salvageable were neatly stacked to the side, which had to be Travis’s handiwork. I glanced up at the road, shading my eyes against the sun. The car had gone an impressive two hundred yards (give or take, I had never been great at eyeballing distances) into the woods after it had sailed over the ditch.

  “This is all my fault,” said Dad. “If I hadn’t been going so fast… If I had been paying closer attention…”

  “It’s not your fault, Mr. V. Someone blew up the road.”

  So there really had been a crater in the middle of the road. In the middle of the road right where the exit for the interstate was. The only exit we had. They planned this, I thought. They planned everything.

  I consulted the watch Travis always wore on his left wrist. “It’s almost noon. We have seven hours until it starts to get dark. That’s plenty of time to walk back to town, restock our supplies, and get another car.”

  “Go back to town?” Travis looked like I had just suggested we head out for Timbuktu. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  It was nice to know my best friend hadn’t gone completely fearless on me. “What other choice do we have? Stay here in the woods?”

  “Lola is right,” said Dad. “Over half our food and water was destroyed. We have to get more.”

  “And then where are we going to go?” Travis asked. “You saw the road. It’s the only one out of here.”

  A valid point. There were other roads, of course, but none that headed north to where we wanted to go. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to think of another idea.

  “The old Renner Hotel,” Dad said abruptly. His entire face brightened. It was the happiest I had seen him in weeks. “Out past the elementary school. It’s been abandoned for years. No one ever goes out that way.”

  I instantly thought of Angelique and how Maximus had said it would be easy for her to track me if I was near. I opened my mouth to object, but Travis spoke up first.

  “That could work,” he said, scratching his chin. “At least it would be a good temporary solution until we figure out something better or help arrives. Great idea, Mr. V.”

  “Thanks,” said Dad, looking pleased. He looked at me. “Lola?”

  I should have told them about Angelique right then and there, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the fact that a normal girl should not have survived crashing through the windshield of a car at ninety miles per hour. A normal girl definitely could not have gotten up and walked away unscathed. Yet I had done both, which meant… Well, I didn’t know what it meant. Or at least I didn’t want to admit what it co
uld mean, not to myself and certainly not to Travis and Dad. “I, uh, don’t think that’s a good idea. I still think we should try to get to the mountains.”

  “How would we do that if the interstate is blocked off?” asked Travis. “The hotel is our best shot. It’s been empty for so long they wouldn’t expect anyone to go there.”

  “Or they would expect everyone to go there because it’s been empty for so long,” I pointed out.

  “Travis is right,” said Dad. “It’s our best shot.”

  Two against one. I had a bad feeling about this, but what could I do? Either admit one of the Drinkers had bitten me, or keep my mouth shut and go along.

  Pinching my lips together I swung my duffel bag over one shoulder and headed up to the road, leaving Dad and Travis scrambling to catch up.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Renner Hotel

  The Renner Hotel used to be our small town’s one claim to fame. Back in the sixties or seventies (I never paid much attention in history) the land it currently sat on was purchased by a banker from New York City. With dreams of creating a world class hotel he dumped millions of dollars into building a state of the art two hundred room facility. Within fifteen years the hotel was bankrupt and had sat abandoned ever since. It seemed rich people liked their hotels in New York just fine and saw no reason to venture to a little hick town to spend their hard earned money, while people in the town had no reason to stay in a hotel when they lived five miles down the road.

  “There are going to be rats and cockroaches and rats,” I predicted as we trudged across the enormous cornfield that separated the hotel from the town. “Great big rats with sharp teeth and long whiskers that will pounce on us in our sleep and rip our throats open.”

  “If you’re trying to scare me it’s not working,” Travis said mildly.

  I glared at him. “Why not? You hate rats.”

  “I would rather face down a hundred rats than one of those things from last night.”

  “A hundred rats?” My nose wrinkled. “That’s a lot of rats. That many rats would definitely kill you. They would crawl all over you and chew out your eyeballs and climb in your mouth -”

  “Lola, that is enough,” Dad said sharply.

  I stopped talking. Dad wasn’t doing so great and I didn’t want to raise his stress level any higher. Being forced to see his friends and neighbors dead in the street, their bodies flayed open and reddening in the sun like cooked lobsters, had done that for me.

  We had stayed out of the houses as much as we could when we searched the town for supplies, but there had been no avoiding the bodies. They were everywhere.

  I had still been carrying some flicker of hope that we weren’t the only ones who survived the night, but that had been quickly extinguished. If anyone was still alive besides the three of us they were long gone.

  There was one more reason for Dad’s mounting stress. It was just past six o’clock. Under normal circumstances this was when he would come home, slump on the couch, and pop open his first of many beers. I knew the fine line of perspiration gleaming high on his forehead wasn’t just from walking. I should have saved a couple beers. It was stupid of me not too. Would I rather be with someone who was slightly drunk or someone who was going through the throes of withdrawal? I still remembered – vividly – the one time Dad had tried to stop drinking cold turkey. It was not something I ever wanted to witness again.

  “I have to go back,” I said.

  “What?” Dad and Travis said in unison.

  “I, uh, forgot something.”

  “Lola the sun is going to start going down in one hour,” said Travis. “We don’t know when they can come out. They might not have to wait for it to be completely dark.”

  “And we have everything we could possibly need,” Dad added, gesturing to the small mountain of supplies we had piled into two wheelbarrows.

  I met his gaze. “I forgot one thing. It won’t take long. I know exactly where it is.”

  His eyes immediately cut to the ground and I knew that he knew what I was going back for. “Lola, I -”

  “Don’t.” I held up my hand. “It’s fine Dad. I’ll be quick. I promise.”

  I could tell he wanted to tell me not to go. To forget the beer. But he couldn’t force the words out.

  “What is going on?” Travis wondered out loud.

  “None of your beeswax,” I said, punching him on the shoulder.

  “Ow that hurt. Why do you always do that?”

  “I’ll be back before dark. Where will you be?” I asked.

  Still not looking up, Dad mumbled, “Room two fifteen. Your, ah, mother and I stayed there. Once. It’s a nice room.”

  Surprise lifted my eyebrows as high as they would go. “You did? When?”

  “A long time ago. Before you and your sister were born.” When we were happy.

  He didn’t say the words out loud. Of course not. But they lingered between us just the same, a silent reminder that my sister and I had wrecked our parent’s marriage.

  “Room two fifteen.” I managed a tight smile. “Got it.”

  Travis grabbed my arm right above the wrist. “Lola, this isn’t a good idea. Whatever you forgot we can get tomorrow.”

  I shrugged him off. “I’ll be fine.” And then, in a quieter voice only he could hear I said, “Look after my dad, okay?”

  “Okay,” he whispered back.

  Good old dependable Travis. Impulsively I leaned towards him and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. Turning, I let the corn stalks swallow me up.

  The only beer store in town was on the West side, opposite of the Renner Hotel. I walked briskly, splitting my attention between the sidewalk in front of me and the sun hovering just above the tree line.

  I should have taken Travis’s watch to keep track of the time before I left. Another stupid mistake. How many mistakes did you get before you ran out? It couldn’t be many more. I was, as they say, skating on very thin ice.

  I reached Main Street and automatically turned right. Only five more blocks and I would be at Bub’s Beer and Liquor. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten beer for Dad. Some part of me desperately hoped it would be the last.

  My shadow began to grow longer and longer, inching out across the street with every step I took. Goaded on by the setting set I went from a fast walk to a jog, dodging and leaping over bodies and broken glass like some kind of world class hurdler.

  The beer store loomed in front of me. The sliding glass doors were bashed in and I ducked through them, already looking down the aisles for Dad’s drink of choice. I took a case off the shelf. The weight of the twenty four cans dragged my arm down and with a grimace I hooked the bulky box up under my arm and held it securely against my side. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

  For a split second I considered one of the carts that have been overturned in the corner, then quickly changed my mind. A cart would make too much noise. Draw too much attention.

  I hit the sidewalk at a dead run. The sun had sunk below the tree line, and although it wasn’t yet dark, there was a definite sense of impending doom and gloom.

  My hair flew out behind me like a black cape and for the second time I cursed myself for not remembering to grab elastics. Tomorrow. I would come back and get them tomorrow. If I live that long.

  When I reached Main Street and dashed across I allowed myself one gasp of relief. Not far now. Not far at all. Travis had been wrong. The Drinkers couldn’t come out until it was completely dark.

  I was still thinking that when something grabbed my hair and yanked me off my feet.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Real Damsels Rescue Themselves

  I saw the eyes first. They swam above me, so vibrant in their intensity I had to look away. The voice came next. Soft. Crooning. Gloating.

  “Pretty pretty girl. I’ve found a pretty pretty girl. You ran too slow, pretty girl.”

 
A cold finger trailed down across my cheek. I struck it away. The voice giggled.

  “Ooo, a fighter, eh? Here, let me help you up.”

  Strong hands dug into my shoulders and hauled me to my feet so fast my head spun. The hands released me and I stumbled forward, catching myself on a lamppost. Holding fast to the metal, I spun around it to study my attacker as bile curdled in my throat. This can’t be happening again, I thought hopelessly. It isn’t night yet! It isn’t fair.

  This Drinker was a young man, slender and tall as a willow. His hair was pale blonde and cut short enough to outline the round edges of his skull. His t-shirt and jeans hung off him, too big for his wiry frame. His eyes were the same blue as Angelique’s. He grinned and held out one fist, slowly peeling back finger after finger to reveal what he had clutched in his palm.

  A ball of my hair. The bastard had ripped my hair right out of my head. While I watched he lifted the hair to his nostrils and inhaled deeply, his eyes flickering closed. When his tongue darted out, dark red against his pale white skin, I made a sound of disgust and looked away, stomach turning. The Drinker’s high pitched giggles filled the air.

  “I know what you are,” I bit out. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

  The Drinker darted forward, light as a cat. His pointer finger slid down my arm and I didn’t register he had sliced my flesh open until he danced away and sucked the blood clean from his fingertip. “Mmmm. Tastes like strawberries.”

  He stared at me expectantly, his gaze feverishly bright, no doubt waiting for me to start crying or fall to my knees begging for mercy. I did neither. My blood made a faint drip drip drip sound as it ran past my wrist and fell to the pavement. The Drinker licked his lips and began to circle me, much as Angelique had when she had me cornered the night before.

  “Where have you been hiding, moppet?” he asked. The corner of his mouth curled up. “Clever, clever moppet to last this long.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” I said, ignoring his question. I didn’t want to say anything that might give away Travis or Dad’s location.