Read Online Pray To Stay Dead by Mason James Cole - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mason James Cole
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went inside. The bell jingled. Crate leveled the rifle at the dead girl’s face, and Daniel looked away. The shot seemed louder than the others.
“ We need to get out of here,” Guy said.
Colleen looked up at him and wiped tears from her face. Kimberly wept, her head lying atop her arms, which were folded atop the table. She looked like a kid taking a nap in class. “Where will we go?”
“ I think maybe we should take that guy up on his offer.” He shrugged, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He rubbed the fingers and thumb of his right hand and thumb together, fast—something he only did when he was nervous. “I don’t know.”
“ He’s weird.”
“ He may be,” Guy said. “But what choice do—” The door jingled, and Daniel crept in. Before the door could fully close, Samson eased it open and stepped in behind him. Guy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We don’t have much of a choice. We need to lay low someplace for a little while, before we…”
“ You want to go home, too.” She said.
“ I do,” Guy said. “I have to.”
“ Aw, look at that,” Crate said from outside. He somehow sounded both disappointed and satisfied. “Here comes junior.”
Eight
Sam—he really didn’t like to be called Samson; Colleen could see it in his face whenever Misty called him by his complete first name—looked happy when they agreed to come back to his place.
“ Far out,” he said, smiling at them. “We’ll have a good time. My dad sells doors and windows that he pulls out of old houses set for demolition. Refinishes them and sells way marked up. He and my little brother are down in Elk Grove right now, on a salvage run, but they should be back soon.”
“ Is your dad going to mind us being there?” Colleen asked.
“ Oh, no way.” Sam said, shaking his head and looking solemn. “He’s cool, man. We bring friends home all the time. Dad likes to party.”
No one said anything, and Sam’s smile relaxed. It really wasn’t party time. Colleen glanced at Guy, hoping to silently communicate what she’d told him not long ago: she didn’t like this kid. He was weird. Guy’s barely perceptible shrug was a reiteration of his previously-stated response to the matter: what choice did they have? Any port in a storm, and the dead were only going to keep coming to Misty’s.
The group talked idly, their conversation shifting back and forth from what was happening in the world to what they’d do once they got to Sam’s house, and Colleen tried to tune them out. Daniel mostly listened and watched. Kimberly, no longer crying but still watery-eyed and pale, sat close to Richard, whose eyes shifted over to the front door as if he expected a dead body to come stumbling through it at any second, and he wasn’t exactly crazy to suspect that.
Crate was outside cleaning his mess and keeping watch, Charles sat behind the counter, watching television, and Misty was in the kitchen, making a bit of a racket and filling the air with the scent of flame-broiled beef. Lunch was on her.
They ate their burgers and fries with little comment, aside from the obligatory restrained moans of satisfaction.
“ Thank you,” Colleen said, despite the fact that her burger was too greasy, the fries were over-cooked, the bun was stale, and she was trying to be a vegetarian. “You didn’t have to do this for us.”
“ She’s right,” Charles said from behind the counter, and Misty’s gentle expression crumbled into one of annoyance bordering on rage. “Get your ass from behind my counter and get out.”
“ All I’m trying to say is—”
“ Out ,” Misty snapped. Charles winced, and Colleen realized that he and Misty were in some way involved with one another. Or had been. The casual hostility with which Misty spoke to him could come only from familiarity, from intimacy.
Charles took his time leaving. They finished their food, gathered and threw away their trash,
“ We need to get out of here,” Guy said.
Colleen looked up at him and wiped tears from her face. Kimberly wept, her head lying atop her arms, which were folded atop the table. She looked like a kid taking a nap in class. “Where will we go?”
“ I think maybe we should take that guy up on his offer.” He shrugged, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He rubbed the fingers and thumb of his right hand and thumb together, fast—something he only did when he was nervous. “I don’t know.”
“ He’s weird.”
“ He may be,” Guy said. “But what choice do—” The door jingled, and Daniel crept in. Before the door could fully close, Samson eased it open and stepped in behind him. Guy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We don’t have much of a choice. We need to lay low someplace for a little while, before we…”
“ You want to go home, too.” She said.
“ I do,” Guy said. “I have to.”
“ Aw, look at that,” Crate said from outside. He somehow sounded both disappointed and satisfied. “Here comes junior.”
Eight
Sam—he really didn’t like to be called Samson; Colleen could see it in his face whenever Misty called him by his complete first name—looked happy when they agreed to come back to his place.
“ Far out,” he said, smiling at them. “We’ll have a good time. My dad sells doors and windows that he pulls out of old houses set for demolition. Refinishes them and sells way marked up. He and my little brother are down in Elk Grove right now, on a salvage run, but they should be back soon.”
“ Is your dad going to mind us being there?” Colleen asked.
“ Oh, no way.” Sam said, shaking his head and looking solemn. “He’s cool, man. We bring friends home all the time. Dad likes to party.”
No one said anything, and Sam’s smile relaxed. It really wasn’t party time. Colleen glanced at Guy, hoping to silently communicate what she’d told him not long ago: she didn’t like this kid. He was weird. Guy’s barely perceptible shrug was a reiteration of his previously-stated response to the matter: what choice did they have? Any port in a storm, and the dead were only going to keep coming to Misty’s.
The group talked idly, their conversation shifting back and forth from what was happening in the world to what they’d do once they got to Sam’s house, and Colleen tried to tune them out. Daniel mostly listened and watched. Kimberly, no longer crying but still watery-eyed and pale, sat close to Richard, whose eyes shifted over to the front door as if he expected a dead body to come stumbling through it at any second, and he wasn’t exactly crazy to suspect that.
Crate was outside cleaning his mess and keeping watch, Charles sat behind the counter, watching television, and Misty was in the kitchen, making a bit of a racket and filling the air with the scent of flame-broiled beef. Lunch was on her.
They ate their burgers and fries with little comment, aside from the obligatory restrained moans of satisfaction.
“ Thank you,” Colleen said, despite the fact that her burger was too greasy, the fries were over-cooked, the bun was stale, and she was trying to be a vegetarian. “You didn’t have to do this for us.”
“ She’s right,” Charles said from behind the counter, and Misty’s gentle expression crumbled into one of annoyance bordering on rage. “Get your ass from behind my counter and get out.”
“ All I’m trying to say is—”
“ Out ,” Misty snapped. Charles winced, and Colleen realized that he and Misty were in some way involved with one another. Or had been. The casual hostility with which Misty spoke to him could come only from familiarity, from intimacy.
Charles took his time leaving. They finished their food, gathered and threw away their trash,
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