by Nick Cole
Another stranger came lurching out of the blackness, eyes rolling white, mouth moaning. The stranger’s throat bore a simple bloody ragged tear.
Cory heard himself scream.
Then he pushed the lurching stranger with a loud, “No!” The stranger fell away, spinning off into the darkness and Cory ran until he reached the end of the street.
What houses do you know, Cory?
Cory tried to think.
He could hear the scraping sound coming closer again.
There’s the Farley’s. They have a dog that smells but he kisses your face if you ever get pushed down to the ground when the Farley Boys and their sister want to “play”. One time when they were “playing”, Cory got hit so hard he fell into the brick planter and cut himself on the forehead and they took him inside and put “stinging” on the cut. Their mom was nice and yelled at them and gave Cory a small cookie. Their house smelled like fall to Cory.
He didn’t see the Farley’s tan and white house with the dead flowers in the planter.
There was the house that belonged to the Chung family. They always had someone there for Cory to play with. That was how Cory thought of the Chungs. One of them was always with another. Always doing something. Sometimes Cory would come and stand over one of the Chungs and watch what they were doing and only their youngest boy, Scott, would be mean to him. Scott Chung who talked like he was spitting. His eyes always narrow and hateful when he glared at Cory. The oldest of the Chungs, Brian, always let Cory watch whatever they were doing. Building a go-kart. Dissecting a bee. Playing catch. Cory had never been inside their house because you had to take off your shoes and there was plastic along the hallway. Cory longed to take off his shoes and walk along one of the plastic strips, but there was never a reason for him to go inside and see if they had a mother who might want to give him a cookie also.
Sill, in Cory’s mind, the Chung’s was a friendly house. A house he knew.
He saw it right where it should be. At the end of the street at the top of the block. He crossed the empty street, hearing his daddy say, “look both ways, Cory.” You have to because they might not be looking when they’re driving their car. So you have to watch out for them.
Cory crossed whispering frantically, “I’m looking for cars, Daddy!”
On the other side of the street, he ran over the lawn of the Chung’s house and stood in front of the door.
There were dim lights on behind the small window to the side of the door. Somewhere in the house but not up front. Somewhere in the back.
Cory banged on the door, thinking of the plastic strips along the hallway. He started to take off his shoes.
The scraping sound out in the street was coming closer. The stranger was coming for him. He picked up his large tennis shoes and clutched them to his chest.
Stranger Danger, his mind screamed again.
That’s what he would say when they opened the door. When Brian Chung opened the door, he would say, “Stranger Danger!” and they would know what to do. They would know how to help Cory.
But no one opened the door.
The scraping sound behind Cory was coming closer and then, abruptly, it was gone.
Cory ran to the side of the house and opened the side yard gate. He heard it bang shut behind him as he threaded the small side yard and all the plants that clutched and scratched at his arms as he passed through them. He sat down heavily and put his shoes back on.
He didn’t like to be touched.
Even by plants.
In the backyard, he found a pool. Its blue light shifted and wavered as the water rocked and splashed against its sides. A man floundered at the bottom as Cory stood near its edge.
He wasn’t supposed to go near pools. He knew that.
Daddy would be mad.
“Take a step back, Cory,” he heard Daddy say.
Cory took a giant step back and stood on his tip-toes as he peered down at the man floundering at the bottom of the pool. Arms waving, clothes shifting, the man seemed to be trying to walk along the bottom but not moving forward at the same time.
Cory turned toward the house. Inside, he could see people moving around. All of them, maybe ten or so, moving and bumping into one another. Every direction all at once, slowly. None of them saw Cory.
Cory was glad because if they did, they might come out and yell at him to get away from the pool, because pools were dangerous for little boys who didn’t know how to swim.
Cory liked swimming.
But he didn’t really know how to swim on his own without Daddy holding him. On Saturdays, whether it was hot or cold, Daddy would always take him to the community pool. He would hold Cory as Cory did swimming.
Which wasn’t really swimming, as Cory hadn’t mastered the not breathing while you’re underwater bit. Still, Cory loved swimming. As long as Daddy was there to hold him.
“Hey Dummy!”
Cory looked up. Scott Chung always called Cory, “Dummy”.
Scott was leaning out a window.
Cory heard a dull thud. Thuds. Thudding. Now that he was paying attention to something else besides the beautiful pool, which he’d never known the Chungs had in their backyard, he was aware of all the other things going on.
Thuds.
Groaning.
Someone crying.
Cory wondered how many of the other houses in the neighborhood had pools.
“Hey Dummy! You better get out of here.” It was Scott. Cory liked Scott, even though he was usually mean to him. One time Scott had let Cory play action figures with him when no one else was around. Never again after that one time. But it had been enough for Cory to remember forever. They’d played in the dirt near a construction site, building a secret hideout, and Cory got to hold the Batman figure. Got to be the Batman who swung away from the avalanche of dirt that destroyed the secret hideout they’d carved out of a dirt mound. Then some mean kids from the other side of the train tracks had come and made fun of them, calling Cory a dummy and then Scott had left and he never let Cory play action figures with him again.
Cory had five best days of his life that he remembered. He would remember them for as long as he lived. The day he played action figures with Scott was one of those days. It was number three.
“Hey Dummy, I said you better get out of here. Everyone’s gone crazy.”
The thuds were coming from beyond Scott’s window.
“Cory get out of here!” he heard Brian’s voice yell from inside the room with Scott. But he didn’t see Brian.
Then there was the sound of wood splintering.
And then there was a sharp Crraack as though a flimsy bedroom door had suddenly given way and the strangers pounding at it from the other side had rushed in through the place where it once was. That kind of sharp crack.
And then Brian was screaming, “Stay away from my brother!”
And Scott was yelling. And then screaming.
All the dark figures inside the house were shambling up the stairs toward Scott and Brian Chung’s bedroom.
Cory circled the pool, staying well away from its edge. At the back fence he looked up, trying to see inside the room where Scott and Brian weren’t screaming anymore. He only heard low growling now. Growling like the growling of the mean dogs that lived in a yard on the other side of the neighborhood. The yard of the mean man who always told Cory his dogs would bite Cory if he tried to pet them. So Cory never did. Even though he wanted to.
The stranger from the street appeared from the dark side of the yard that led back to the side gate. He reached out for Cory and snarled, stumbling across the landscaping of the back yard. Cory turned to the fence at his back.
I’m Batman, he reminded himself as fear closed in about him.
He shot his right arm upward and made a “Bhuuuwwuush!” sound with his lips. This is what he does
when he simulates Batman’s rocket-powered grappling hook. What he did when he wanted to climb things like trees or fences.
“Bhuuuwwuush!”
When his imagination confirmed that the hook had gone up into the dark trees beyond the backyard, Cory, satisfied, climbed the back fence, then dropped down into the dark undergrowth that bordered the back of the neighborhood.
Chapter Eleven
Cory stood, breathing heavily in the thick darkness beyond the fence. The night-scent of the pine trees was heavy all about him. He was on the side of a hill that led down to the main road outside his neighborhood.
His head darted this way and that, looking for something, anything, familiar. He followed the slope of the ground downward, the trees and brush clutching at him, scratching him, pulling at his cape. His mask felt hot around his eyes. He pulled it aside and quickly wiped sweat away. Then he donned it again so no one would know he was just Cory.
He was breathing heavily.
“I’m Batman,” he whispered.
“I’m Batman.”
He turned on his flashlight. Shining it around, he could see nothing but the close trees rising off into the night above him. Stars shone up there in the empty spaces beyond the tips of the pines.
“I’m Batman,” he said one last time and then continued downhill, weaving in and out of the brush until he tumbled down a sudden steep drop and landed on a wide cracked sidewalk.
He was on the main road leading downhill from the neighborhood to the shopping center where the pharmacy waited.
“Go get the bag from Dr. Liu,” he reminded himself as he began to wonder why he was out in the night all by himself. Then he thought of Mrs. Sheinman who seemed very sick.
He looked at the wide curving street. He had never been allowed to cross it alone. Only if he went with someone else. And only at crosswalks.
“When the man turns green then walk across and don’t stop, Cory.”
The crosswalk was way back up the hill, and the streetlights were out along the street. No cars passed him in the darkness.
“Mrs. Sheinman is sick so I have to hurry, Daddy,” he said aloud to the stillness of the empty road. Besides, he thought, I’m Batman. Batman can do things Cory can’t. He shot his right hand into the air, aiming it at a tall house rising from behind the wall of a neighborhood on the far side of the street.
“Bhuuuwwuush!”
Then he leapt out into the street and dashed across, arm upraised and holding onto his imaginary rocket-powered grappling hook.
A van with only one headlight came speeding out of the night as Cory ran across the street. Its engine rattled loudly as it swerved, barley missing Cory, then sped off down the street, turning right into the parking lot of the distant pharmacy. Cory landed on the far sidewalk with a small hop. He turned and walked down the hill, through the dark, toward the shopping center.
Now he saw the big freeway curving away to the south beyond the fenced parking lot of the shopping center. All the cars on the freeway were stopped. Some still had lights on. Only a few. All of them were frozen and unmoving. No horns. No idling or revving engines for that matter. Just a long deep silence that made Cory feel uncomfortable as he watched all those unmoving cars facing south.
Sometimes when Cory had gone to this shopping center with his Daddy on a “hike”, as Daddy called it, he’d been fascinated by all the cars speeding off toward the south along the freeway. Cory would obsess at the sight of them and he would need to stand and watch, mouth open, making the same sounds they sometimes made as they changed lanes and sped ahead of some other slower southbound driver.
“Vrroooom!”
“Nunuunuuuuu!”
“Rowwwwr!”
Now nothing moved down there along the freeway. Hundreds of frozen cars stretched off into the distance. Headlights glared at stalled cars. Red taillights stared listlessly at more cars. To Cory, they were like the eyes of many dead demons or the bats that sometimes flew out of Batman’s cave. The long lines of unmoving cars wound their way south or, “thatway,” as Cory liked to think of that particular direction. The northbound lanes that led off to the more populated areas of Orange County and on into the very dense urban zones of Los Angeles were completely empty.
By the time Cory made the entrance to the DrugCo parking lot, he could hear the sound of the rattling bus that had nearly run him down trying to start. Trying to, and failing. As Cory walked forward into the parking lot, he started to imitate the sound of the small coughing Volkswagen bus parked in front of the pharmacy.
“Whhrrrr...whrrr... whrrr...” he said as he approached.
A large man leaped out of the driver’s seat holding a massive lug wrench. He squared off against Cory and raised it back over his wide shoulders.
“Stay back, man!” he shouted.
Cory stopped moving forward.
“Whrrr... whrrr... whrrr,” he continued.
The man looked at Cory, noting the Batman costume.
“You’re not one of ‘em are you?”
Cory stopped making the sound of the Volkswagen bus starter that wouldn’t start.
He stared at the immense man. He was young, bristly beard, shorts and flip flops. A tank top and a button down Hawaiian shirt.
“I’m Batman,” whispered Cory.
The man shook his head, lowered the large wrench as he completely forgot about Cory, and turned back to the van.
“It’s not working, Bob,” came a woman’s voice from within the darkened vehicle.
“We just gave it to her. Give it a few minutes, Tab.”
Cory looked inside the van. A young woman, blond, tan, tired eyes, held a small tow-headed girl on her lap. The girl was breathing heavily, gasping for air. They were sitting on the back bench of the bus. Another little girl, blond and only slightly older than the little girl on the blond woman’s lap, stroked the arm of her gasping younger sister.
Bob the big man had opened the rear engine compartment to the old van and began to bang around inside, muttering to himself as he did so.
The girl continued to gasp. Dark circles ringed her wide brown eyes. Eyes now watching Cory.
Cory began to mimic the sounds of the gasping girl. Softly. Watching the little girl. Breathing with the little girl, who slowly, breath by breath, began to breathe normally again.
The tired blond woman smiled, murmuring. Then she looked up at Cory. Then back down at her child. “See honey. It’s okay now. ”
“It’s okay now, Finn,” said the other little girl who continued to stroke her little sister’s arm. “It’s okay now.”
The tired looking woman looked up at Cory again. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m Batman,” whispered Cory flatly.
“Bob?” she said.
“What?” came Bob’s muffled voice from deep inside the engine compartment at the rear of the vehicle.
“I think... he’s special.”
There was a sudden bump and the entire vehicle shook.
“Owww!” groaned muffled-voiced Bob.
“Bob, is everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Pause. “I banged my head.”
“Daddy banged his head,” giggled the older little girl to her younger sister.
“Shhhh,” whispered their mother. “That’s not funny right now, Ollie.”
The tow-headed one on her lap, blond curls, belly sticking out from under a t-shirt, smiled up at her older sister.
“Bob, I think we need to take him with us,” said the tired blond.
“Okay, whatever,” said Bob matter-of-factly.
“Do you want to come and get in here? Go with us someplace safe?” she asked Cory.
Cory shook his large head slowly. “No. Hafta go and come right back with a bag for Mrs. Sheinman.”
The tired blond bit her lip for
a moment. Thinking. Then, “I think you’d better get in and come with us. It’s not safe out there right now. Not tonight.”
The older little girl, Ollie, rainbow striped heavy knit sweater and long curly blond hair shook her head at Cory, her punch-stained lips silently repeating the words, “Not safe.”
“Because of Stranger Danger,” said Cory.
“Ummm?” The tired woman looked around, seeing things not there, seeing recent episodes. Seeing things one never forgets. “Yeah... that’s one way of putting it....” she paused, looking straight at Cory. The unconscious signal humans use to communicate when the other human being communicated with should offer a name by which to identify themselves for the remainder of the conversation. Cory, of course missed the signal completely.
“Batman,” she said softly.
“I’m Batman,” confirmed Cory.
Then her eyes widened as she saw something off over Cory’s left shoulder. “Bob, they’re coming!” she shrieked.
Bob banged his head again. Muttered something lost deep within the engine compartment. Then, once his head was out from within, he groaned an, “Oh, man!”
Cory turned, following their gaze. At the far end of the parking lot, shambling up from the freeway, more strangers were coming, weaving around a few abandoned cars as they stumbled forward.
Bob touched Cory’s shoulder and Cory recoiled.
“Sorry,” Bob muttered breathlessly. “What did you say your name was?”
“I’m Batman,” said Cory flatly, composing himself with a heavy breath.
“Okay...” Bob ran to the back of the old surf bus, slammed the engine compartment shut and locked it on a rusty click, then loped back to Cory, his flip flops flip-flopping in loud slaps against the surface of the parking lot. Bob’s eyes were darting everywhere as the little girl whose name was Ollie shrieked, “Daddy! They’re coming!” Then, “Don’t look at them, Finn.”
“Girls, I want you to lay down on the floor,” urged the tired blond.
“Hey!” it was Bob staring straight into Cory’s eyes behind the mask. “I need your help right now, ok?”
