by Maaja Wentz
“Why’d you do that?” Zain asked. “Now he’ll come after us.”
“Don’t worry. He’s too slow to catch me.”
Drake floored it and wove past a couple of cars and a tractor. They had a head start. Drake thought he’d lost him, until the cop turned on his siren and the other vehicles had to pull over. Drake slammed down the gas pedal.
“What are you doing?” Zain’s voice went up an octave. “He’s a cop. Stop or we’ll go to jail.”
“Relax. I might go to jail,” said Drake, “but if I don’t lose him, we might never find the girls.” He risked a glance at Zain to see if his friend looked as panicky as he sounded.
Zain grabbed his arm. “Duck, slow down!”
Drake looked back at the road, which had veered left. He hit the brakes and steered left, but the car kept going straight. They crashed through a guardrail along a strip of grass and skimmed over a pond. For a moment, Drake thought they might clear it, but the back end caught water and dragged them down. The pond was deep, and they were in the middle, sinking.
DEAD DUCK
Icy water climbed Drake’s legs as it rushed into the car. The hungry officer had caught up and stood by his cruiser, watching them sink.
“They can make me go to the station, but no matter what happens,” Drake pointed at the cop, “don’t get into a car with Officer Hungry.”
“Course not. What, you think I’ve never seen a horror movie?” The water was to his chest and Zain’s teeth chattered.
“You should go now.”
“I’m not leaving you, Duck.”
They were crouching on the seats with a wisp of space between their heads and the roof. Sirens approached. Drake felt the tires settle gradually into the muck as the water rose to his neck. “He’s slow. You could get away.”
“I can’t leave you to be hunted. He thinks it’s Duck season.”
“Go!”
“You mean act as a decoy?”
“I mean go.”
“Not till I run out of Duck jokes.”
“I’ve gone cold on comedy.” Drake’s teeth chattered.
“You’re just jealous of my cool wit.” Zain forced his door open and waded away, holding a damp camera bag over his head.
Drake climbed onto the roof of the car. Icy air cut through his jacket but at least he was out of the Polar water.
An ambulance arrived, lights flashing, followed by a second police cruiser. The driver got out and ordered Drake to put his hands up. “Wade out to shore, now!”
“The water’s freezing. Are you trying to kill me?”
The newcomer and his partner stood beside Officer Hungry at the water’s edge. “Come now, or I’ll charge you with resisting arrest!”
“If I get hypothermia, my parents will sue.”
This got the three officers talking until Officer Hungry returned to his car and spoke on the radio. From the middle of the pond, Drake couldn’t hear him or read his lips. He hoped a crowd would congregate. He didn’t want to think what Officer Hungry might do without civilian witnesses.
BY THE TIME POLICE picked him up in a rowboat, Drake’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and he was shaking. Back on shore, paramedics wanted to take him to the hospital but Officer Hungry took them to one side and whispered something Drake couldn’t hear.
They gave him a blanket and got back in the ambulance.
His head felt fuzzy and he wanted to lie down. As the paramedics drove away, Drake still hadn’t been charged with anything. Was it possible they might let him go? He stumbled toward the highway but Officer Hungry grabbed his shoulders and marched him to the squad car.
As his brain started to thaw, Drake noticed the cop’s movements were swift and sure. He had been in a daze like Professor Rudolph before, but now he seemed normal, except when he put Drake into handcuffs and their hands touched. The cop’s fingers were cold as the pond. Drake shivered.
From the back of the police cruiser, Drake watched a tow truck operator and a man in a dry suit hook up the back end of his car. How many of these seemingly normal people, he wondered, were cold-blooded too? Were they dead? Sleepwalking like Professor Rudolph? Maybe the riot police who surrounded the campus were part of a conspiracy. They had arrived very quickly after the food fight. The question troubled him on the drive back to town.
At the police station, Drake shivered, handcuffed to a hard bench. They kept him waiting long enough that his hair dried out although his feet still squelched in his shoes as they led him to a solitary cell. Pangs in his stomach reminded him that he’d only had coffee for breakfast. They had offered no food, even though it felt long past lunchtime.
Processed, he sat on a narrow steel cot built into the wall of a holding cell. There was a stainless-steel toilet without a lid. On the floor beside it, a quarter roll of toilet paper had gotten wet and warped, hopefully with water. There was a solid door with a small window in it.
Drake wondered if the holding cell would make a good film location. It was authentically stark, colorless and depressing but, unfortunately, too cramped to fit a film crew. He’d need a much bigger room to recreate the claustrophobic feel of this narrow space. Drake paced. They said they were holding him for reckless driving but hadn’t asked him to make a statement or offered him a phone call. From time to time, officers would pass his door and peek in the window. It didn’t make him nervous until the last one looked Drake up and down slowly, a drop of drool escaping the corner of his mouth.
How long could they keep him without letting him contact a lawyer? Drake had surrendered his phone at the front desk, so he didn’t know the time, but his stomach announced it was hours past lunchtime. He tried banging the door, but nobody came. To take his mind off his stomach, Drake decided to nap on the steel shelf. He was just lying back, wishing he had a blanket, when a tall, puffy-faced officer unlocked the door. He ordered him out, then walked him along the corridor to a cage-like cell housing three other men.
“Can’t I go back where I was?”
“No. We’re extra crispy, uh, busy, today.” The officer held Drake’s gaze a little too long, mouth agape. Drake feared whatever happened next might belong in a viral video, or the Hannibal Lecter Cookbook. It was a relief when the officer locked him into the cage with a bunch of criminals.
At the beginning, the other prisoners ignored him. He sat on a bench and watched them beg passing officers for food, which never came. They might as well have been starving POWs in a war movie. Nobody was concerned with their rights.
A cop walked down the corridor with a box of donuts. The prisoners started whistling and banging on the bars.
“Don’t go, Sweet Things!” the fat one moaned. “Come closer.”
“I could eat you all up,” said the skinny one.
The big guy rolled his eyes and grabbed at his stomach, making obscene chewing sounds.
Their wolf whistles got no reaction, so they shouted abuse after the retreating guard.
THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON, prisoners retreated into their corners to chat or snooze. None turned their back on the others.
Dinner never came.
After lights out, the day’s dark comedy morphed into a psychological thriller in which sinister inmates drooled and stared at Drake. The skinny guy had bulging eyes and long scraggly hair that hung past his shoulders, like the ears of a beagle. The fat one looked more like a couch potato than a criminal, but his hungry stare gave Drake the shivers. The big guy was a head taller than Drake and built like Zeus. Every time he moved, the others shifted to keep Drake between Zeus and themselves.
It was creepy but manageable until Skinny Dog took a bite of Mr. Potato. Screams, wails, fists and feet flew as Zeus joined in the fray. Drake would never be able to recreate this chaos with actors. How could they simulate the prisoners’ grimaces and cruel laughter as they grabbed, mauled, and snapped at each other?
Zeus bared his teeth and turned his drooling attentions to Drake who fled into a corner, covering himself with his
arms and legs until someone grabbed his neck and he realized he would have to fight. Sitting in a shark tank, it was best not to wait like a helpless piece of chum. Drake stood his ground and shoved Zeus hard, which failed to budge him.
Zeus laughed. “You look tender and I want sushi.”
“Go find a fish.”
“I’m looking at one.”
Drake planned his counterattack based on extensive Kung Fu movie viewing. “Well, are you going to make a move or are we going to stand around, talking about it?” Drake squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. He was fired up in a new way.
Laughter sounded out of the dark. It was hard to see much of Zeus, just a tower of pumped up flesh, a murderous eye glint, and a gaping mouth.
Drake put his fists up. “You want me? Come get me.”
“You talk big for a little boy.”
Drake stood to his full six-foot height. He curled his fingertips like an action hero, beckoning Zeus closer.
The big guy threw a punch and Drake bobbed left, balanced on the balls of his feet. The man came at him again but this time when Drake weaved away, Zeus kept coming past him, throwing a punch at his gut on the way, then stepping into the corner behind Drake. Drake turned to face Zeus, which put his undefended back too close to the slavering, biting inmates behind him.
Bad odds. One-on-one, he might have dodged blows like Jackie Chan, but now? As he tried to feint right, then left, Zeus flashed a smile. From behind, somebody grabbed Drake’s shoulder and took a bite.
“What do you say, boys?” Zeus grinned. “He’s scrawny, but there’s enough to go ’round. Dig in!”
PRIYA SURPRISE
Hubbub on the campus lawn drew Priya to her top floor window. From that height, she discerned diving team jackets jostling among the student mob, as well as serving staff and security guard uniforms. Students streamed out of the cafeteria carrying boxes, bags, and trays of food.
Tonya had been right after all. The cemetery had infected at least a hundred students, and now they were penned in by riot police with gas masks and Plexiglas shields. Her guilt was confirmed when she opened the window and heard them chanting, “Feed us! Feed us!”
In the distance, she could see similar scenes repeated on the lawns around the other two residences visible from her window. At the same time, students who weren’t penned in were getting into cars and driving away but they didn’t get far. The roads around campus were backed up like rush hour as vehicles lined up for inspection at police roadblocks.
Police loudhailers declared the quarantine of Loon Lake would be humane. Priya believed their promises of food deliveries and medical treatment, until a wave of students tried to break through the barricade on the lawn around Mackenzie College and the police forced them back with dogs and tear gas.
Priya had participated in political demonstrations but they were nothing like this. Police pelted students with tear gas canisters and then, instead of letting them disperse, trapped them on the lawn with shields and clubs. Some students buried their burning eyes and faces in the grass. Others fell to their knees, swaddling their heads with their shirts, or clawing at their eyes.
She scanned the crowd for Tonya, Drake, or Zain but it was hard to make out faces in the crowd. Could her friends be okay? In the hallway outside her door, the sounds of showers and plumbing suggested a few people in the dorm were attempting their normal routines. For now.
Priya grabbed her phone and scrolled through last night’s texts and messages from Tonya, warning her to stay out of the cemetery.
More promising was a text from Drake. He and Zain were headed back to campus to pick her up. All she had to do was find Tonya and the four of them could leave together. She called Drake.
“The customer requested cannot be reached.”
Zain’s was the same. Why would they send her a message then switch off their phones?
She texted the other Ninjas who, to her relief, had heard from Drake. At his urging, they had all left town.
Tonya didn’t answer her phone, so Priya walked downstairs to knock on her door.
No answer.
Priya stood outside Tonya’s door, hugging herself, hoping her friend wasn’t infected. From the window in the hall, she looked down on a desperate scene. What would happen to the rioters on the lawn?
She looked down at the roadway through campus. Cars waited in a long line that wasn’t moving. Officers on foot were turning back pedestrians. It didn’t look like she could get anywhere fast, so she decided to wait for Drake and Zain.
On a whim, she called Shin. When he didn’t answer right away, Priya let it ring six times.
“Who is this?” It was Marta’s voice. Surprised, Priya almost didn’t identify herself.
Despite previous fainting spells, Marta sounded alert. “Priya, where are you?”
“Stuck in my dorm room.”
“Me too.”
“Are you and Shin okay?”
“I knew it! You’re still after Shin, well forget it. We’re getting out of here. My Mom is picking us up in an hour.”
“Can I come with?”
“That would be against protocol.”
“How’s she getting in anyway? Campus is under quarantine.”
“Oh, you know. Friends in high places. Nice talking to you. Bye!”
Priya thought she was going to hang up but in the background, she heard a scuffle.
Shin came on. “Are you in your room?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m coming to get you.”
“Worry about Marta. She’s the one who’s sick.”
“Her Mom’s picking her up in an ambulance, but she won’t take you.”
“Nice.”
“We’re not sick,” he said. “Let’s walk out together.”
Marta came back on the line. “If you care, tell him how risky that is. Mom can get us out if he doesn’t do something stupid, like wait for you.”
“The police will let us out if we’re not sick, right?”
“Sure, but Shin’s coming with me.” She spoke in her usual, forceful tone.
“You sound healthier.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
There was a knock at her door so Priya disconnected.
“It’s me, Shin.”
Should she open the door? She doubted it was safe for Shin to go with Marta, but anywhere was safer than staying on campus. She turned the knob and, leaving the safety chain on, opened it a crack.
“Hey Priya.”
She noticed he was panting and flushed, probably from running up the stairs.
“Aren’t you going to open the door?”
Priya hesitated. Something in his manner was different. “You should go back to Marta.”
“She’ll be fine. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.”
“Are you sick?” Shin tilted his head to get a better look through the opening. “Let me help you.”
She didn’t deserve his concerned looks, not after ignoring Tonya’s warnings last night. “I feel fine, now go.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Why are you so stubborn?” She unlocked the chain, but only to properly convince him to go. There would be treatment in the outside world and Marta needed someone strong to watch over her. Priya convinced herself of these motivations even as she flung open the door to let him in.
Which is why it took her completely by surprise when she and Shin rushed into each other’s arms.
WHO ARE YOU?
What would a curse feel like? Tonya closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.
It wasn’t like flames or a fist. It hurt like a full-body cramp. Muscles she didn’t even recognize spasmed and throbbed as the energy passed through. The hands gripping her relaxed and she heard Len’s body hit the ground behind her. She turned and saw his hands splayed, white against the autumn leaves. The rifle shattered.
A cold breeze ruffled her hair as she stood. Tonya flinched when Aunt Helen
put an arm around her and steered her toward the cemetery gate. “We have to see a doctor,” She leaned on Tonya so heavily they stumbled.
“I need to find my friends first.” Tonya stepped away from her aunt and pulled out her phone. “Just a sec.”
Aunt Helen snatched the phone and put it in her purse. “Sorry, Love. I don’t think it’s safe for you to see them, do you?”
Tonya didn’t answer. Could her aunt somehow know she was infected?
Aunt Helen ordered her out the gate. Leaning on Tonya’s arm, they walked to the parking lot of her shop where they stopped in front of her car.
“Get in, you’re driving.”
Tonya looked at her aunt’s face, pale and tinged with gray. Dark circles under her eyes reminded Tonya of a skull. Unable to refuse a dying woman, she got in.
Aunt Helen waited for Tonya to adjust the mirrors then handed over the keys. “Head north. I’ll let you know when to turn.”
Tonya pulled onto the road. “When will I get back to my friends?”
“Just keep driving.”
The woman on the seat beside her looked like Aunt Helen. She sounded like Aunt Helen, and she had fought against Len and the creepy farmer, but her aunt had never acted like this. This aunt slung spells like an assassin. Could Donna’s people have somehow taken over her mind?
“So, how are my parents?” Tonya glanced at her aunt’s face, hoping to detect a flicker of emotion.
No reaction.
The car slowed as traffic bunched up ahead. They were stopped at a roadblock. Helen got out of the car and went to talk to the officers in charge.
The next thing she knew, one officer walked back and directed Tonya to drive up the shoulder, passing cars to go around the roadblock.
Aunt Helen stumbled back into the car. “Turn right and then north at the next light.”
“How did you do that?”
Tonya knew very well her aunt had charmed them, but she wanted to hear it from the source.
