Vacation

by Matthew John Costello

  She looked up at him standing there like her young son would if caught doing something he shouldn’t.

  “Sit down.”

  Jack maneuvered around the coffee table and sat down beside her, falling into the couch. His right arm brushed hers, and she felt the cooling sweat on it. Close now, she saw his face covered with sweat, and then the scratches.

  “What happened?”

  He looked away.

  “Jack?”

  When those eyes turned back to her, she knew he’d tell her everything.

  The room felt frigid. Christie had her hands locked together.

  She looked at Jack as he told her about the car, how the Blairs never left, then described what he saw inside the building with the smoking chimney.

  He hesitated then. He couldn’t go on. But then without any prompting, he finally finished his tale.

  And when he described going into the freezer and touching Sharon Blair’s body, Christie’s hands untwisted and went to her face.

  Did she sob? Or was it merely a gasp that she needed to muffle? Was her heaving all from the fear?

  She didn’t know. The feelings overwhelmed her. She felt Jack put his arm around her. Somehow that brought no sense of comfort.

  Finally, she brought her hands away from her face. She felt wet trails on her cheeks, drying now. She had been sobbing as quietly as possible. But that was done.

  “God, Jack.” Her voice a whisper.

  She looked in the direction of the bedroom, the kids. “Jack. What are we going to do?”

  Thinking all the time, he has to have some idea. He was her rock. He was someone who faces fear and death and madness every night. Surely he had to have a plan here.

  His voice low. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Now? Right now?”

  He shook his head.

  “No. You’ve seen the guards out there. And I can only guess what the roads outside are like at night. No, it’ll have to be in the daytime.”

  She looked right at him.

  “W-will they let us?”

  He took one of her hands. “I wasn’t seen. I got into their cookhouse, whatever the hell that place is, and no one saw me.”

  “And the car? The Blairs’ car?”

  “No one saw me get the keys. The parking lot was dark.” He took a breath. “I wasn’t seen.”

  Which Christie took to mean, I hope I wasn’t seen.

  After all, hadn’t Jack shown her all the cameras?

  Then the details.

  “How will we do it?”

  And those details rolled out, showing that Jack had indeed thought about it.

  “Leave everything. We split up and—”

  “No. We can’t—”

  A squeeze to her hand.

  “Listen.”

  “We can’t split—”

  “Christie, please. We have to split up. If we march to the car together, then they’ll know something’s up.”

  He didn’t add the obvious.

  Then we would never get out of here.

  “I’ll take Simon. You, Kate. Maybe you go by the lake. I’ll go near the game room. Then we go right to the car.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “We get in. We drive toward the gate. If they don’t suspect anything, they won’t have a plan to stop us. We’ll get out.”

  She shook her head. “It sounds crazy.”

  A harder squeeze. “Listen, Christie. It’s what we have to do. There are things we have to do over the next few hours. Do you understand?”

  More words not said.

  If we want to get out of here.

  If we want our kids to get out of here.

  If we want them to stay alive.

  Quiet for a few minutes. An old-fashioned wall clock with a luminous dial showed a little after four. Dawn wasn’t far away. Everything that Jack talked about would be happening in the next few hours.

  “What do we tell the kids?”

  Already she was imagining walking with Kate to the car. Her questions. Her reluctance to go all the way to the parking lot. For… what?

  Then getting them both into the car, fast, when every second might count.

  He said, “We have to tell them.”

  “No.” She shook her head. Almost moaned. “We can’t.”

  “We have to. Who knows what they’ll see. What we might face.”

  “They’ll be so scared.”

  “Yes. But, listen. We get them to the car. We leave.”

  She nodded at Jack’s words. Then, as if she had to be part of this plan: “Right. No discussion, no debate. You and I tell them we need to get into the car now. That this is a bad place. And we have to leave now.”

  Jack looked right at her, realizing the bridge she had crossed.

  Christie thought of her daughter, more obstinate and self-absorbed each week that she got older.

  But she also knew that Kate still had one foot in the world of a little girl.

  “I know Kate will understand. And Simon will follow her. We just have to do this fast.”

  “Yes.” Jack took another deep breath. “We can do this.”

  She didn’t say anything. Then:

  “Do we wake them early?” she said.

  “First light.”

  She saw Jack look at the door, the front windows of the cabin.

  “Right. First bit of light.” She choked on the words, feeling this close to sobbing.

  Instead, she raised a hand to his face. “You’re badly cut.”

  “Scratches. A bush.”

  She felt the thin lines of dried blood.

  “You should wash them.”

  “And you should sleep.”

  She curled her legs up and rested against him.

  “I don’t think I can do that.”

  Neither moved as the black night sky outside slowly began to lighten.

  ESCAPE

  35. 6:07 A.M.

  Morning. Jack tried to force himself to stop pacing.

  Christie led the kids out in their PJs, Simon’s with the Avengers battling a bad guy, Kate in a purple T with matching pajama bottoms.

  He wanted to tell them before they got dressed. Give it a few minutes to sink in.

  Get dressed, because we have something to do.

  Simon flipped the pages of one of his comics while he sat down by his sister.

  “Why are we up so early?” Kate said. “Some vacation.”

  Christie didn’t say anything but sat down beside her daughter.

  Jack would give every dime he had for the mindless sound of a TV in the living room, blaring cartoons, news, infomercials—any goddamn thing.

  And as he waited, walking from the living room to the bedroom for absolutely nothing, he checked the windows.

  The guards had gone.

  That was good.

  No daytime guards watching over all the Paterville campers.

  Things getting back to normal.

  He turned to Simon, then Kate. Their faces finally registering that something was wrong with their father.

  “We have to leave—”

  “Leave?” Simon said. “But I like—”

  Jack crouched down close to Simon, giving Kate a look as well.

  “We have to leave, Si. There are bad people here. We have to go.”

  Neither of the kids said anything.

  Then Kate, in a small voice, said. “Bad people. You mean…”

  He shot a glance at Christie, who gave Kate’s hand a squeeze. Then amazingly, miraculously, Kate understood. Don’t ask that question. Not with Simon sitting so close. The squeeze signaling, Be strong if you can be.

  Outside, the sky had lightened some more.

  It was time to go.

  Instead, they all heard a knock on their door.

  There was time for just one more look at Christie before he went to answer it.

  Shana stood there.

  “Morning, Jack.”

  Christie had come up behind him
. He saw Shana keep her smile as she looked from Jack to his wife lurking just behind him.

  “Um… morning. Really early. Anything wrong?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Wrong? Don’t think so. Ed just asked me if I could hustle down here first thing and see if you had a minute to chat with him.” Another big smile. “I just do what the big boss says.”

  Jack gestured back at the interior of the cabin. “I was about to take my daughter to the game room.”

  “How nice. Dad and daughter.”

  He wanted to say no. No way was he going up to the lodge.

  But would that be normal? Kate was not ready yet. The request seemed innocuous. He turned to Christie to see what she might say.

  “If it’s only a minute.”

  As if that decided it, Shana turned, and started to lead the way.

  Jack said quietly, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  He followed Shana.

  “You okay, Jack? Seem a little tense…”

  Shana walked close, almost sliding into him as they walked to the lodge.

  Why this escort? he wondered. Another opportunity for Shana to play with him?

  “How come he didn’t come down to see me?”

  “Ed? I imagine he had something that you needed to see. I don’t know. State troopers coming soon. Another sideways glance. “You seem a little tense, Jack. A little tight.”

  “Yeah. Well, I didn’t bargain on dealing with a Can Head attack when I came here.”

  “Oh, that was rare. Trust me. Never happens. Ne-ver. Almost like it was something special.”

  She stopped at the bottom of the steps to the lodge.

  “Just for you…”

  “What?”

  Special?

  Just for you?

  “Gotta run. Lot of repairs we’re doing today. And we’re down a few people.”

  She started away.

  Jack walked up the steps.

  * * *

  “Have a seat, Jack.”

  “I’m good. Look—”

  “I know. You want to get back to your family. I get that. But listen.”

  Lowe stood up and walked close to Jack. His gut strained against his pants and his plaid shirt.

  The closeness of Lowe, the size of the room, all made Jack feel dizzy.

  “Have you thought more about what we talked about? Last night?”

  “No.”

  A big Ed Lowe smile. “Wish you would, my friend. You could be great here. Your family. Plenty to eat.”

  “We do okay.”

  “And tell me, do you really want them to be outside, those gorgeous kids of yours?”

  Small bodies behind Sharon Blair, swinging on meat hooks.

  Gorgeous kids.

  “I take care of them.”

  “But you think this is all over? That it will all end soon? More and more Can Heads every day, Jack. Every damn day! They’re winning. And soon, places like Paterville will be the only refuge. A last stand. And trust me, Jack. We are ready.”

  A last stand? Can Heads on the outside, and Can Heads inside. Except here, they can smile, talk. As if they had made a choice what side they were on.

  “You forget. My job is stopping them.”

  A bigger smile from Lowe.

  “Jack, do you know what did this? What changed the world?”

  “The drought. That, or all the strange playing with DNA, the weird genetics.”

  “Pick a theory, Jack. What’s your favorite? ’Cause, you see, it doesn’t much matter. It is whatever the hell it is. This is the world. I’m afraid if people like you don’t get that, then you can join the dinosaurs.”

  “We done here?”

  “Stay, Jack. Your wife can enjoy the lake. Kids, the clean air. We’re just beginning our little experiment here.”

  Experiment? Lowe didn’t even bother to use the word “camp.”

  Did Lowe know something? The air grew thicker as if filled with an unbreathable dust.

  He had to fight the urge to say anything.

  Lowe laughed. “Your final answer, Jack? No?”

  “You got it. Just want to enjoy the rest of my vacation…”

  Did the lie pass?

  “… then go back to the real world.”

  Lowe’s smile faded. “This is the real world, Jack.”

  “Right.”

  Jack turned, and gasping for air, left Lowe’s office, hurrying down the hallway filled with offices, all with closed doors, to the reception area of the lodge.

  Was everyone looking at him?

  Or did he just feel like everyone was?

  * * *

  Jack walked into his cabin and Shana stood there, waiting for them.

  He stopped and looked around, finally calling out. “Christie, kids?”

  “They’re not here.”

  He went up to Shana and wrapped a hand around her upper arm, squeezing. “Where the hell are they? Where’d they go?”

  “Oh, now you want to get physical?”

  He squeezed harder.

  “Starting to pinch, Jack.”

  “Where the fuck is my family?”

  “Not here, obviously. Wish you had accepted Ed’s offer. You could have such a good time here with us. Life, as they say, can be good.”

  Jack’s other hand went to her throat. “I will ask you one more time, bitch—where is my family?”

  Her eyes moved slightly to the side. Jack sensed movement, then realized that she wasn’t alone in the room.

  A stupid mistake on his part.

  He released her arm, ready to grab the gun from his ankle holster, when a needle jabbed into the back of his neck.

  “What?”

  He spun around. A guard backing away, lowering his gun.

  But already the syringe started to work.

  Jack’s hand went to the back of his head, feeling the needle still sticking in there like a dart.

  Looking forward, Shana turned blurry. No longer smiling. Her mouth open.

  No, he thought. Christ, no.

  His last thought as he fell to the floor, and everything went black.

  36. 4:47 P.M.

  Voices.

  “Fuck it. We can eat, then come back and get to him. If Lowe lets us.”

  Jack remembered the smell. He knew where he was. The charnel house, the cookery.

  He wanted to open his eyes, but then those voices around him would know that he was conscious.

  So he kept his head down, locked in the same position, his brain throbbing from whatever cocktail they had stuck into him.

  One voice—the cook’s.

  “C’mon, just leave that shit for now.”

  Another voice, closer. “Think we can do it when we get back? Lowe won’t—”

  Dunphy laughed. “Best not fucking guess what Lowe will or won’t do. Best you just shut up and cut when I say cut. Capiche?”

  “Yeah. I… er… whatever you say.”

  Another booming laugh from the cook.

  Two of them. Leaving from the sound of it.

  Jack tried to get a sense of what his situation was without any discernible movement.

  On a hard back chair.

  Hands tied tightly to the back. Another rope wrapped tightly around his chest. His feet pulled tight, each one tied to a chair leg.

  Tied up, trussed, and ready to go.

  He knew that the freezer was nearby.

  He thought of Christie. The kids.

  No, he begged.

  No. They can’t be in there.

  If they were… if they were—he’d slaughter every person, every human animal that lived here.

  They have to be alive.

  Otherwise, he’d be dead already.

  They want me to stay here, to help them.

  Lowe wouldn’t kill his only bargaining chip.

  That’s what he told himself. The logic of it clear. But then other thoughts, a voice that said, does logic work here? Does logic and reason and empathy
—does any of that human shit work in this hell?

  “C’mon, asshole,” Dunphy barked one last time.

  The sound of a door. A bit of air, then the air cut off. The door closing.

  Jack sat there, head down. And waited.

  Counting. To one thousand, so he would force himself not to rush. 998… 999… 1000.

  Slowly, Jack opened his eyes, keeping his head in the same position.

  The cookery came into view, his eyelids a slowly raising curtain.

  Seeing it made the smells seem more intense.

  Now to raise his head.

  He did that slowly as well.

  Until he had his head up and could look around at the place, turn his head and see the tables, now with fresh carcasses on them.

  Please, he begged. Please.

  The angle bad. But one table had a larger body, an adult. The other, someone smaller.

  Almost crying with the pitiful thought now. Please.

  He kept staring at the inert, partially dismembered bodies.

  The adult. A woman. The shape round. Someone not too big, someone round.

  Not Christie.

  He thanked whatever had granted him his pleading wish.

  Only then did he look over to the other table. A small body. Impossible to tell anything more than that.

  Impossible from this chair.

  I have to get out of this chair.

  For the next few seconds, his entire being focused on that one task, one that he refused to admit was impossible.

  The chair stood near the table that had been his hiding place the night before.

  A time that seemed weeks, months, a lifetime away.

  He faced out, toward the main area of the cookery, facing the freezer.

  He couldn’t turn and see behind him.

  But he remembered crouching near here, and seeing the butcher’s knife on the floor.

  Somehow a knife had slipped off the table and no one had seen it. Not in their alcohol haze, not with so many blades and saws arrayed on the walls of the room.

  What’s one knife on the floor?

  Would it still be there? No way to tell. Impossible for him to see.

  He tried to think if he had other possibilities.

  He had been tugging and wrenching at the ropes around his wrists. But they were tight; whoever had tied him up was competent. And the same went for the lashing of his feet to the chair legs.

  Some kind of strong elastic band went around his midsection, knotted behind him.