by Castle, Jack
Becca thought about calling after her, but she still wasn’t entirely convinced Peyton hadn’t been the one who had stolen her gun. She scanned the three men’s faces. If anything, they looked ashamed that a teenage girl was the voice of reason. Even Calvin was surprisingly silent.
Wally was the first one to speak. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe we’re all just being delusional.”
Big Leonard sighed loudly. Dropped his bag of ice to the table and then cupped his mug of coffee in both hands. Becca noted his paws were so big the mug practically vanished in them. He didn’t look up from his drink but he did lower his voice his voice when he said real slow-like, “It wasn’t any storm that hurled that can at my head.”
Becca really wanted to get on board with the delusional theory so it surprised her when she asked the big man, “So what, you’re saying we’re dealing with…” She had trouble saying the word. Or maybe she was afraid to say it, for at the merest mention might conjure them somehow “…demons?”
Big Leonard lifted his gaze and stared right through her. “Like I said, ma’am. I’m a Christian. I believe in the Almighty, Jesus, and Heaven above. The way I reckon it, is you can’t believe in one without believing in the other.”
Chapter 23
UBAR
Peyton was in Hell.
I am never getting out of here.
Her cell phone didn’t work. She liked to think her parents were worried about her but she hadn’t heard from her Dear-old Dad since he phoned in her last birthday four days late. And after the split, Mom usually came home from her double-shifts at the hospital and dropped into bed without even so much as a, ‘Night, Peyton’, or a, ‘How was your day at school, Peyton?’
No wonder Dad left.
After everyone, mostly a bunch of old folks, had finished breakfast, people were just sort of hanging around saying things like, “Wow, that was one heck of a storm last night,” and, “I wonder when we’re getting out of here.” There had been a few complainers, but for the most part, everybody seemed content drinking their coffee, reading their books and newspapers and, you’ve really got to be kidding me here, some of the older ladies were even crocheting. Peyton couldn’t believe there were still people in the world that even did that anymore. She had been certain they had all died out with the last ice age, like way, way back in like, the 1980s.
The Greyhound bus the tour group had ridden in on was gone and never coming back. If they had seen the things Peyton had seen, these old geezers would know that.
To pass the time Peyton had counted the bus passengers; not counting the fireman or the Big Lineman, there were twenty-two in all, most of which were blue hairs, the tour director, and the tall skinny guy wearing the Star Wars shirt who kept ogling her breasts at every opportunity. Gross. I mean, the guy has to be at least forty years old.
Wally the fireman entered. She hadn’t even realized he had gone. The storm was raging so hard outside that it took the combined effort of him, the old geezer doubling as a chef, the tour guide, and the big lineman to close the door.
Without even realizing she was doing it, she scooted to the end of the couch and grabbed a heavily used paperback and pretending like she was reading it. According to the synopsis the story was about astronauts finding a missing W.W. II pilot on the ocean floor of Jupiter’s ice moon, Europa. She continued to act like she was reading it but what she was really doing was eavesdropping.
“How bad is it?” Mrs. Becca asked.
“Pavement’s gotta have at least another six inches of snow on it. More in some places, maybe a few less in others.”
Peyton noticed they kept their voices down real low, probably so as not to alarm the others. She hated grownups that did that, always feeling superior, like they had to protect the kids. Please. Hello, it’s the twenty-first century. Kids can sue parents over a spanking now and emancipate ourselves whenever we like.
“What about the vehicles?” the big Lineman asked.
“The ambulance is still parked under the canopy at the gas station where we left it. Snow’s piled up all around it, but at least we won’t have to dig it out.”
“What about their bus?”
The firefighter shook his head. “Still no sign. Poor driver’s probably stuck somewhere down the road. I just hope he can keep himself warm until this thing blows over.”
Peyton lifted her eyes and saw Mr. Leonard do a double-take in her direction. Peyton was pretty sure she was busted but continued with her ruse of her reading her novel. The Big Lineman must’ve bought it because he told the fireman, “Even if we can drive out, how far down the road do you think we’ll get in this storm? With all that snow on the highway it might be best if we hole up here until the Calvary arrives.”
Mr. Wally chimed in, “That’s what I was thinking. Besides, it’s not like we’re hurting for food and water. We’ve got plenty to go around.”
Miss Becca nodded. “We might want to think about rationing though after this morning’s feast. Who knows how long we might be here before help arrives.”
The Big Lineman spoke up. “When I was in college I used to run a summer camp. Part of my job was inventorying the food supplies; if you like I can handle that.”
“Good idea, Leonard,” Miss Becca said. “You’ve got the OP.” Then turning toward Mr. Wally (she didn’t know the fireman’s last name, just that he was cute though) Miss Becca said, “Speaking of food, I bet you’re starving, you haven’t had anything to eat since this morning.”
“Yeah, it smells good but, uhm, that’s not all I found. I think there’s something you two ought to see.”
“Why, what’d ya find?” Big Leonard asked.
Wally glanced right over her to see if any of the tour group could hear him. Satisfied they couldn’t he said, “I did a little exploring after breakfast this morning, ya know, see what kind of assets we had at our disposal.” He stumbled over his words, composed himself, and then began again. “Probably best if you come see for yourselves.”
With that said, Wally led Miss Becca and the big lineman toward the exit.
Peyton was pretty sure they didn’t know she was following behind them. She was always amazed how easily adults could forget she was there; like she had the ability to turn invisible or something. She would’ve asked to come along but they most likely would have said no. And the truth was she needed to get outta there. Sitting around doing nothing meant plenty of time to relive her experience in the school bus. Her friends--ALL OF THEM--mangled and mutilated like that. And why was she spared? Just thinking about it was driving her bat-shit crazy. No. Best to follow them outside and keep her mind muy occupado (as her Spanish teacher Mrs. Everson used to say). Anything was better than being in here with all these ole geezers, and alone with her thoughts.
Before opening the door again Mr. Wally stopped and turned toward them. “Here,” he said, handing each of them a colorful bandanna. “You might want to use these. The wind’s really kicking up out there.”
Even hanging back a little bit, Peyton could see Mr. Wally already wore a bright yellow bandanna knotted around his neck. She was about to wonder where he’d acquired them when she remembered spying a bunch on a rack on the counter in the gift shop in the motel across the highway. He waited patiently for them to don their kerchiefs. Peyton thought the fireman might see her but again, ‘cloak of teenage invisibility’.
She stifled a giggle. Miss Becca, the Fireman, and now the big Lineman, all wearing the handkerchiefs over their mouths, looked more like kids playing bank robbers. To Miss Becca, Wally said, his voice muffled, “Sorry, I couldn’t find another pair of safety goggles.” Peyton saw that both Wally and the Lineman were already wearing their own, albeit different styles, of safety goggles.
Miss Becca grinned behind her tan bandanna--Peyton could tell by the way her eyes crinkled--and replied, “That’s okay, I’ll just squint.”
Mr. Wally nodded back, adjusted the bandanna over his mouth, and the little bell jangled overhead as he opened
the door. The moment he did the howling wind shrieked at him like a screaming banshee, making all but the big Lineman stagger backward a few steps.
It’s almost like the storm doesn’t want them to leave, Peyton thought.
One by one each of them stepped outside and into the storm. After they secured the door behind them, she counted to five, and then followed. Before opening the door she glanced back over her shoulder and saw everyone still sitting comfortably in the diner. Although still anxious, they were all having a swell time gobbling down their snacks and swilling their coffee.
Old people are dumb.
As Peyton yanked open the door a feeling of dread came over her, like she was never going to see those smiling, chatty old people again. Would they miss her if she didn’t come back? Doubt it. Would they even know if she was gone? Her parents didn’t, why should a bunch of strangers give a flying fig-a-doodle-do?
Unlike with Mr. Wally, Miss Becca, and Big Leonard, the wind ceased suddenly, as though the storm was welcoming Peyton into its embrace. There now, Peyton, you’re not invisible to me, it seemed to say.
(This is interesting. I wonder. Why does the wind cease for Peyton?)
But once Peyton stepped outside, well now, that was a whole other matter entirely; the flying ice particles stung her face like needles. She did her best to shield herself with one arm while using her other hand to keep the neck of her sweater firmly over her mouth. She quickened her pace before the others crossing the highway had vanished completely.
She could see Mr. Wally was in the lead, and then the big linemen, with Miss Becca last in line. She kept her eyes focused on Miss Becca in front of her, who had her head down, forearm blocking her face, the ends of her trench coat flapping briskly in the wind.
The pavement was thick with fresh snow as the four of them made their way across the asphalt parking lot looking a lot like Arctic explorers closing in on the North Pole. Or at least the way she imagined they had; she’d never actually been anywhere farther North than the Canadian border.
As they trudged miserably past the gas station on their left Peyton noted the gas sign out front by the road swung mightily back and forth on its thick chains. The snow flurries were so thick, only its shape was still visible. It didn’t matter; Peyton remembered what it read anyway: Paradise Gas.
(Huh. I guess the business proprietors of the Motel, Gas Station, Diner, and Lounge weren’t exactly the most imaginative bunch when it came to names.)
They post-holed passed a small shed on the edge of the parking lot that housed dozens of propane canisters. Peyton could see where the wind had torn the shed’s small door right off its hinges.
Trudging after them she became startled when Big Leonard yelled, “The storm’s getting worse.” But he wasn’t yelling at her, she still hadn’t been discovered. And if Mr. Wally had heard the big Lineman he didn’t take notice. They took several more difficult steps before Miss Becca asked, “Are you sure this is necessary?”
Mr. Wally didn’t answer her either. They crossed the parking lot and reached the side door of a rectangular cinderblock building. ‘I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house down,’ came to mind. If memory served, it was some kind of mechanic’s garage. Not the big fancy kind with the heavy duty lifts; no this was more like the ‘change your tire and check your oil’ variety. Funny, she must’ve passed this ole gas station a hundred times and never gave it a second thought. In fact, before today she couldn’t have told more than three things about it. Usually her mom pumped the gas while she played on her phone.
Mr. Wally opened the door like someone who already knew it was unlocked and pushed his way in. Because the interior was so dark and they were all busy shaking the snow from their clothes, she was able to slip inside undetected.
Maybe I should be a spy when I grow up.
Mr. Wally flicked on the light switches near the entrance and several banks of overhead fluorescents slowly blink-blink-blinked to life.
Peyton fought down the urge to murmur, ‘It’s alive.’
The lights lit up a large room with a low ceiling. The overhead bulbs were dim and Peyton was glad the others were in front of her. The lights revealed only spacious garage space, several work benches laden with tools, and rows upon rows of storage shelves. Whatever vehicle was normally kept inside was gone. If anyone had asked her, it was hardly worth making the trek through a snowstorm.
“Well…” the big Lineman began, with his fists on his hips, which was weird, because Peyton didn’t think anybody ever stood like that, except maybe Superman or Peter Pan, “At least we won’t starve to death any time soon.”
At first Peyton was confused by the big man’s statement but then she took another glimpse at the storage shelves and saw they were filled with big round cans of food.
The big lineman bellowed, “Whoever owned this place must’ve been some kind of post- Apocalypse nut job.”
“Lucky for us,” Miss Becca said, and then leaned in close, and in spite of her low tones Peyton could still hear her. “Is this why you brought us out here, Wally, to show us food?”
Wally shook his head. And he looked kinda funny, like he was seasick or something. “No,” was all he could manage. The firefighter looked up at Big Leonard and then saw her in the shadows. Realizing she had followed them but saying nothing, he said solemnly, “In the back room. Follow me.”
The way the fireman said it, ‘Follow me’, and then gloomily set off for the back room, Peyton wasn’t sure she wanted to go back there.
A thin distressed voice inside her head told her not to follow them in there. But in the end she did anyway.
They walked out of the main garage and into the large storage room in the back. There was a small ventilation window near the ceiling and they could all hear the wind screaming outside to be let in. Peyton was glad to be on the inside and was already dreading the trek back to the diner.
As Miss Becca entered, she was the first to notice something on the wall by the sink. Peyton followed her gaze, not really wanting to, but doing it nonetheless.
Painted sloppily on the wall in blood red capital letters was a single word:
UBAR
Oddly enough Peyton’s first thought was, ‘UBAR, that’s not so bad’, but then wondered, What did the painter use for paint?
“Peyton, you shouldn’t be in here,” Mr. Wally said to her, but it was too late. For she felt the blood drain from her face when she saw the man slumped against the wall dressed in mechanic’s overalls. She clapped both hands to her mouth and heard a sort of whimpering cry and then realized it was coming from her. The mechanic’s sleeves were rolled up and on the floor next to his body were two things, a paintbrush, like the kind you might paint a fence with, and a discarded utility knife with its protracted razor blade covered in blood.
But the slit wrist wasn’t the worst of it, not by a long shot.
Peyton had looked away but it didn’t matter. In that instant, the image of the mechanic’s bloated and blackened corpse was forever burned in her mind. All that was left of the man’s torso was a pyramid of melted flesh. And topping that off was what was left of his ruined head.
Peyton felt her knees buckle and someone, she was pretty sure it was Miss Becca, came up behind her and steadied her by the shoulders. “C’mon, Peyton. You don’t need to be here.”
The smell of broiled flesh struck her nose, and for a long moment Peyton thought she was going to vomit right there on the floor.
Everyone pulled their bandannas back up over their noses. Everyone that is, except her. For she didn’t have a bandana, because she was the invisible teenage girl.
Wally knelt down next to the blackened and bloated body. When he spoke, he sounded like one of those C.S.I. guys on TV. Nodding toward an empty gas can that looked like it had been thrown across the room he said, “It looks like he dumped a can of gasoline on himself,” Wally then pointed to an old lighter lying on the floor near the body and added, “then lit himself on fire,” Wally then
hesitated, studying the corpse’s ruined head, “and as he caught on fire he shot himself in the head.”
“Talk about an overachiever,” Big Leonard joked.
Wally frowned at the lineman but said nothing.
“C’mon, Peyton,” Miss Becca said. “Let me walk you back to the diner.”
Peyton’s words surprised even her. “No, I’ll be alright. I just wasn’t ready for it, you know?”
Miss Becca, certain she was capable of standing on her own two feet, released her shoulders and asked Mr. Wally in a clinical tone, “Okay, if the guy shot himself, where’s the gun?”
Peyton watched as Mr. Wally sat down next to the body, pantomimed chugging gasoline on himself, tossing away the gas can, then lighting himself on fire. And then grabbing an invisible gun and blowing his head off. He leaned over as an equally invisible bullet struck him in the noggin and after his body naturally righted itself his left hand became trapped under his butt.
“Oh no,” Becca breathed.
Wally nodded in acquiescence.
“What?” Peyton asked, not following. “I don’t get it.”
Big Leonard was the first one to answer. “Our crispy critter… he is sitting on the gun.”
Peyton’s eyes dropped to the corpse’s left hand. Just like Wally’s had done during his pantomime performance, the corpse’s hand had gotten trapped under his butt; the dead man’s left hand, the one holding the gun, was hidden beneath him.
“Well I sure as hell ain’t getting it,” Peyton heard herself say.
Judging by her tone, Miss Becca seemed unfazed by the dead body. Maybe she had worked crime scenes before. “Considering the mess it made of the victim’s head that has to be at least a .40 caliber pistol. With all that’s been happening around here? A pistol with that much firepower might really come in handy.”
“I’ll do it,” Wally announced, using the wall behind him to get to his feet. Once he did he removed a pair of plastic gloves from a small pouch on his belt.
Beside her, Miss Becca bit down on her lower lip and shook her head. “With all that melted fat, you’re going to need help. You got a second pair of gloves?”
