It’s a pretty sound but it chills your blood, according to Louie, who has heard it. He says, “If you hear them coming, run.”
No, we think. Not our girls. How could those sweet things be dangerous?
Edwin Ebersole III
Five a.m., and we’ve been on this bus for so long that the babies are panicking, not all at once, but more or less sequentially. Yow, one cries. Wawww, goes the next; uuuck and aaah aaah aaaa; and the big ones erupt in counterpoint, Are we there yet, wawww, are we there yet, aaaah aaaah aaaa, Are we there yet? Bwaaaaaa, Are we . . . it’s like a class project on chain reaction. The racket is exponential and we’re all too anxious and depressed to make it stop and the only thing that keeps me going on this excursion is the glittering secret in my pocket and the chance that I can get what I want out of this trip, up there at the top. It’s taking too long!
Fifty movers and shakers with wives and kids, riding into the experience of a lifetime in a stinking, overloaded repurposed Grayhound bus, and why? Evanescent Tours sold us on the trip of a lifetime. It was the card. Triple cream stock. Engraved. Gold ink.
EVANESCENT TOURS PRESENTS:
THE TOP OF THE WORLD, VIA LUXURY COACH.
PALAMOUNTAIN OBSERVATORY EXCLUSIVE
And the kicker?
by invitation only
Who wouldn’t bite? No riffraff, just us, the business elite, and, better? Every man on this tour is like me, tough, successful, rich. No ordinary guys on this bus. They can’t afford it, and for us, top of the world, with more TK. See, these pretty little Girl Scouts vanished up there when they were small, nobody knows how. The lost little girls must be big girls by now. Every man on this bus has stated reasons for riding up the mountain, but at bottom, there are babes in those woods and they need us.
We’re going up the mountain to hunt. Like we can get back something we lost before we even knew it was missing.
The hell of it is, Serena’s on to me. I plugged this trip as our second honeymoon, that I’d booked especially for her, but she knows. Nowhere is it written, but she knows we’ve never been happy. She jumped up in the middle of the night and dragged our girl Maggie off to sit in the back, and for what? All I did was move on my wife in the dark because she is after all my wife, and we’ve been traveling for so long that my want ran ahead of me.
Dammit, the bus was dark. They were all asleep.
I thought, 2 a.m., okay, let’s make the time go by a little faster—you know.
Serena slapped my hand away. “Back off, you horny fuck!” and I went, “I was just . . . ” which devolved into the usual.
Serena: You always . . .
Me: I never, and besides, you . . .
Her: I always, and you say you love me but you never . . .
This happens to couples in enclosed situations: the vacation house, the Carnival Cruise. This bus.
Thousands I spent to get us here, high-end launch party at a luxury hotel on the coast, with us done up like kings: for me, Gucci shoes, the Hugo Boss tux with the Armani vest. I even bought Serena a Valentino gown. Champagne smashed across the prow of our private vehicle, full access to the Observatory, satisfaction guaranteed, I bought front row seats for the spectacle of the century, and where are we?
Nowhere.
We’ve been rolling for days, all the toilets are stopped up and the video player is kaput. We’re running out of food, probably because the driver got us lost back there. Worse yet, he isn’t speaking to us.
We don’t know if he’s sworn to secrecy by Evanescent Tours, or if he’s pissed at us for bitching, or just plain out of control.
I personally think the captain is mad. This Clyde Pritchard is one hostile hick. He drives without stopping except for gas, at which point, given the sticker price on this extravaganza, he should let us get out, relieve ourselves at the Roaming Mountains Dine and Dance that we whizzed past an hour ago instead of in one of his rolling cesspools, he should let us visit our luggage for necessaries and eat hot food for a change, instead of the freeze-dried dinners Evanescent Tours Incorporated vacuum-packed for the days or is it weeks we’ll be in this rat trap.
—Later
Last night the judgmental knuckle-dragger threw packs of beef jerky and rattler paté at us, one each, and warned us to limit fluids because, well, you don’t want to know. Today it was oyster crackers, one miserable packet each, stamped with the name of some crap diner in the flatlands. Are we low on food? What if he runs off the road out here where I can’t get a signal? What if we have to kill and eat each other, in hopes somebody will see the vultures circling and rescue whoever’s left?
I parleyed with the guys. “Does he know who we are? Nobody treats us like trailer trash. We’re rich.” A bunch of us got together and went up there to stick it to the slack-jawed hick. At least he could tell us which route he is taking, the East Slope Road, or the West Slope Incline, which is, like, our polite way of saying, Jerkoff, do you know what you’re doing?
He won’t answer. He snaps his head around, glaring, and when we don’t back off, he pulls a sidearm out of his belt. “Back to your seats or I fire,” he says, and he’s not kidding.
I pass a note to Serena, and watch it going hand over hand to the bench seat in the back, where she is braiding fishermen’s lures into our daughter’s hair. Without bothering to open my heartfelt apology, she tears it to shreds and braids paper butterflies in with all the other junk in Maggie’s hair.
My son Eugene the felon drags his paw across my arm. “Dad.”
“Shut up, Eugene.”
Kid goes, “I saw a sign!”
A sign. Like we’re pilgrims, looking for the golden calf or something. Oh wait. It says . . . but this pissed-off fool is whipping around curves so fast that I catch it out of the corner of my eye. Mount Palamountain. “Guys!”
Our heads snap back on our necks so fast that nobody hears. We take a sharp turn and start the climb. Our hearts rise up.
We are going to the mountain! The mountain, where I get mine.
Clyde Pritchard
I thought you’d be excited, but you don’t give a crap. I stop at the Overlook to let you look up at Palamountain and around at territory surrounding, it’s a perfect 360 but you don’t care, you just circle like bears fixing to take a dump right here on Overlook Point and the next thing I know, you’re wandering across the road sniffing for something in the woods, this Ebersole guy in the lead. Look at you, with candy wrappers stuck to your camp shorts and pork rinds ground into your big, white Jell-O thighs, drooling red because of the gummy rattlesnakes I threw you after lunch. Cover those legs, they’re disgusting! If I left you off right here I’d be doing you a favor, you wouldn’t be smarter by the time you made it back downhill to the highway exit ramp, but by God you’d be thinner.
I show you the nth wonder of the world, the full 360, and . . .
Okay, Clyde, try. “Friends, look up! From here, you can see the monster telescope move! At this height, critters you’ve never seen before streak by so fast that you don’t even know they’re stalking you, these woods bristle with undergrowth that you don’t see anywhere, winding suckers around petrified trees, and . . . ” Oh shit. “Wait a minute. Where are you going?” Uncouth fuckers. “Come back!”
But you run for the woods with your pants on fire, like you’ll find those girls hiding behind the next tree, so I do what I have to, it’s company regulations. I yell.
“Okay then, watch out! There’s rattlesnakes in those ferns and the last thing you want is for one of those mean suckers to bite you, they can strike up to six feet high,” but nobody stops.
“Okay, dammit. Go ahead and get bit.” I’d be glad, but I have to read off the warning card: Evanescent policy.
“When it happens, do not make a cross and try to suck the venom out. You have to raise the part that got bit higher than your head and hightail it for the observatory gift shop. Agatha can help you . . . if you get back on the goddam bus. Do you hear me? There’s antivenin in the gift sho
p and Agatha can call 911 for you on the landline, that is, if we get there before closing time . . .
“I warned you.”
Like you care. You crunch after Ebersole, loaded for bear. Agatha’s visiting her great-granddaughter in Scottsdale at the moment, and she might not get back until Thursday, but I did what I could, and you brought it on yourselves.
“Okay, assholes. Be careful out there.”
The Lost Girls
Oh yay hurray, another great day, running along in our badge sashes and deerskin shoes for we are, first of all, Girl Scouts, and so very proud! Melody Harkness is our leader now, and she’s the best! Moira’s put Girl Scout trefoils on the moccasins she made for us, for with the needles Stephanie carved from bones cut out of the last deer we brought down, and beads sewn on with hair pulled out of Delia, who has plenty to spare because it grew until it was long enough to sit on, Moira can make anything. For wild girls we’re pretty well dressed, considering. Scouting makes you resourceful. Steal a bed-sheet or two from the line behind the P.O. when Miss Archibald’s out delivering the mail and, man, Nancy will whip up a sweet outfit, and if anything rips, Ella will patch it, that’s her job.
There’s tons of food for girls who know how to find it, you can kill it in the woods or dig it out of the dirt, plus, there’s food in gangs of places you wouldn’t think to look, like, there’s food in the day trippers’ cars and summer cabins and down at Piney’s store in Elbow; there’s food on picnic blankets and food on windowsills just asking for it so don’t you moms worry about us.
In spite of what you think happened, your Scouts that used to be so little and cute are fat and sassy now, and we’re doing fine, fine, fine. We run along singing, just not so anybody but us can hear, we are that fine, and our songs are wonderful! We move fast and keep it low, so you can’t hunt us down and catch us, and the fun will never end. If it did, that would be the end of us so if you were thinking of catching us, forget it or it will be the end of you. Nobody sneaks up on Troop 13, our motto is Be Prepared, don’t even try.
We get what we want and we keep what we have which is fun, fun, fun, Troop 13 is forever, so beware.
Ida Mae Howells
19—
I’m so lucky! I’m a happy, lucky girl, running free with my sister Scouts, and all because I chased a kitty in the woods when I was little, and got lost for good which was lucky, lucky because it was so awful at home.
It was the day our grade came up Palamountain to see the stars.
I got so lost!
I wouldn’t of, if everybody wasn’t so mean to me, so I guess that was lucky too. We were up to stars in first grade so Mrs. Greevey brought us all the way up in the school bus to see stars through the giant telescope. Ahead of time I was very excited to come, but it was awful on the bus. Betty Ann and them said eeeww, dirty underpants, when I fell down getting on the bus. They wouldn’t sit with me, which, it’s not my fault Uncle Martha’s always gone and never did the wash, so I had to ride all the way up the mountain in my dirty underpants all by myself. Also it was loud and ugly in the bus, because of all those boys yelling at you and rubbing stuff in your hair and them all fighting in the aisles. Mrs. Greevey yelled that she would buy us all ice cream sandwiches at Piney’s Store when we got to the Elbow if we would only shut up, she yelled and yelled but it only got worse.
Mrs. Greevey made the driver stop at Piney’s anyway, either it was them ganging up on her or she forgot. Kids jumped down and ran into Piney’s so fast that Mrs. Greevey fell down and hurt herself, I think she even cried. She was too upset to count when we went into the store and I guess she wasn’t counting when they all came back after, except not me.
They left without me, and you know what? I was glad!
See, Gerald pushed me down the back steps and my ice cream all squoze out of the sandwich and got mooshed into the dirt. They all laughed, so I had to get down and play like I had a rock in my shoe until they got bored of waiting for me to get up and forgot. Then Jane threw a rock at Billy Carson and Gerald and them piled on her, which pretty much served her right. I ran into the woods while nobody was looking so I wouldn’t have to mess, I went way, way up there on the hill where it was quiet, so I never even saw them get back on the bus.
The cutest little kitty came up to me!
I tried to pet it, but it ran away so I ran after it, it looked so cuddly and soft. By the time I gave up, I was lost and it was getting dark. Well, I could of screamed and hollered until somebody down at Piney’s Store would of heard me and they came up and found me, but then I would of had to go sit in the store and wait for the bus to come back down and I’d have to go home to Uncle Martha and them. I’m not never going back, I’d rather die. So I just set there doing nothing and waiting for the kitty to come back, and my bones would still be sitting there waiting except there were noises in the woods like kids trying not to laugh and the next minute, they came.
It was this wonderful lady Miss Tracie, with a special scarf around her hair. I found out later that meant she was the troop leader, and those cute things on the girls were badge sashes and Girl Scout pins with three gold leaves, so just when I could of starved to death or died of loneliness, Troop 13 found me and I went home with them.
They didn’t ask who was I or was I lost or what was I doing up there. They just brought me back to their camp and fed me on pigs in the blanket and s’mores until I couldn’t eat any more so when I felt better, I explained. Miss Tracie said be glad that kitty was too fast for me because there are no kitties in these woods, just mountain lions, and if the mother had found me I would be dead by now.
She said I should thank my stars, but I was already thanking my stars because by the time the fire went out and everybody sang “Day is done . . . ” Miss Tracie decided I could stay. She called Council and they voted me in. This girl Myrna whispered that it was either that or, but she never told me the or. I was way happy because nobody voted to send me downhill to Piney’s, so I would never, ever have to go back to Uncle Martha and the bike gang, they said Piney would of sent me home and they might torture me until I told on Troop 13.
Now this is my home! Wherever we set down our Sit-Upons and build a fire and put up our tents. Camp is so, so much nicer than Uncle Martha’s big old shed on the freeway down at the tippy bottom of the hills, where they were so mean to me, plus I had to do all their dirty dishes and they made me sleep in the loft.
The first week Miss Tracie taught me the Girl Scout Promise and a bunch of other Girl Scout things, she asked did I want to be one. Yes! So by Saturday I was a brand new member of Troop 13 although I was only in first grade. See, Miss Tracie was a great, great troop leader, and they don’t have Brownies here. Plus something happened to this other girl in the troop and they needed one more.
That was so wonderful, they needed me!
That night we all stood around the fire saying the Girl Scout Promise, “On my honor I will try . . . ” where we promise to follow the Girl Scout Law. Miss Tracie and them and me, we all put our hands over our hearts and swore to “make the world better and be a sister to every Girl Scout,” and that is what we do.
Clyde Pritchard
“Here we are, people. It’s a short walk to the top from this point, but you have to stay in line and follow me. It’s steep.”
So what if the bus broke down on the West Grade and we’re here after closing time? I left voicemail so Gavin and Lionel will hang in long enough to give you the tour.
This is all your fault and I want you off my back. Eli had to truck new parts uphill from Elbow because you fat fucks overloaded my bus and it blew a Thing and now you’re bitching because we got here late, when it was you that ditched the wives and kids at the Overlook, two hours wasted sitting on our thumbs. Like your lost girls would be in there rubbing up against trees, all hot and ready to give you what you want. Believe me, you don’t want to tangle with them.
Two hours, and you come back empty-handed, red in the face and pissed off at me, and Eberso
le reams me out for making you late.
Shut up, asshole. We’re here.
Look at you looking back, like you’ll spot them flitting through the woods at the bottom of Observatory Hill. One of your women goes to look over the edge before I can head her off. She jams her fists in her mouth, all, eek and I have to grab her elbow and help her pull herself together before the others freak, but you don’t care. You don’t even see. The air is so thick with your desire that it’s hard to corral you and aim you toward the stone steps to the top.
Time to grab the walkie and start the spiel. I bang on the mouthpiece. “A-hem.”
I heard that dirty laugh.
“Welcome to the Palamountain observatory, crown jewel of the western range. We usually walk up from the parking lot, but I parked on the Last Incline because we’re late. Excited much?”
Parking on the ledge is risky, given that we’re nosed into an eight thousand-foot drop, but so is shoving you up the long, windy path from the parking lot at this hour, when tourists are more likely to stray and get lost or snakebit or worse.
I funnel you into the straight and narrow, a hundred stairsteps to the brass double doors as daylight thins out and starts to go. I think up mountain gods so I can pray that Gavin and Lionel are still on deck when we hit the top. “Light’s going, so watch your step.”
You’re all mutter grumble, mutter mutter, “ . . . food in this place,” “ . . . restaurant,” “bloody starving,” “ . . . restaurant,” Ebersole, belching, “ . . . food!”
The sun is in a nosedive and you’re thinking food? “There’s plenty to see once we get into the rotunda, plus the amazing Palamountain gift shop has snacks.” Yeah, I hear you snarling, “snacks!” Okay, Clyde, think fast. “Fountain pens and snow globes with the Palamountain dome. Observatory patches, spyglass mini-scopes. Sky’s the limit, you can get meteorite fragments, powerful pills for what ails you, moon rocks! Baseball caps and warmup jackets with the Palamountain emblem, show the people where you’ve been!”
Like that works. “ . . . Starving, get it?”
The Year's Best Dark Fantasy & Horror, 2014 Edition Page 5
