to make any sense.
She’s near the end of Townsend when another car pulls out of a side street in front of her. Sue hits the brakes. The Expedition goes into a skid, its back end coming around and finally stopping less than five feet from the other vehicle. Sue’s heart stops.
It is the old farm pickup.
It sits perfectly still in front of her, its engine burbling, its headlights on. Before Sue has time to react the door opens and the driver jumps out.
This time he’s standing directly in her headlights and she sees him clearly, the outline of his body as clear and bright as a life-size cardboard cutout of a pop star in a record store. But even so, the disconnect between what she’s expecting and what her eyes actually report is surprising enough that it still takes the data a moment to percolate through her consciousness.
He’s just a kid.
No, she thinks, not a true kid, but young and lean, late teens, with a long face, short-cropped hair, and no expression. His eyes are cups of shadow. He’s wearing a T-shirt that hangs out over his jeans, and no jacket. And he’s headed toward her.
Sue is still fumbling for the wheel even as he runs over to the Expedition and comes right up to the passenger side, yanks the handle, and opens the door. He actually tries to climb inside before realizing that there’s something in the way.
“What the hell is this?” He’s got a surprisingly deep voice for someone his size and age, and a big Adam’s apple that goes up and down as he talks. He yanks the blanket off so Marilyn’s face is exposed. “Holy shit!” He jumps backward, practically tripping over his own feet, and stares past Marilyn at Sue. “There’s a dead girl with no eyes in your front seat!”
“Who are you?” Sue asks.
“ There is a dead fucking girl with no eyes in your front seat!”
“That’s my daughter’s nanny, Marilyn,” Sue says, and she sounds so calm saying it that she too is having some difficulty believing all of this is unfolding quite the way it seems to be. “You don’t know anything about that?”
“It’s already happening. Oh shit, I knew it, it’s already too late.” Now the kid is opening the door to the backseat, climbing into the Expedition on the right side behind Marilyn’s body, and crouching down with his head low as if anticipating a mortar attack. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” This doesn’t come off as a demand so much as a plea, as if he’s on a mission as urgent as hers. “I’m serious, lady! Let’s go!”
“Who are you?” she asks again.
“I’ll tell you later, just hit it.”
“Hold on,” she says. “You’ve been following me. You’re telling me that you don’t have anything to do with my daughter’s kidnapping?”
“Not me.” The kid shakes his head and points. “Him.”
Sue is about to turn around and ask the kid who he’s talking about when she sees another car coming toward them from behind, rolling down the middle of the snowed-over road toward the pickup. She sees it clearly now. It’s a van, the old-fashioned rectilinear model of no particular color.
“Who is that?” she asks.
“Look,” the kid says, “I’m telling you for your own sake as well as mine, we’ve got to get out of here right now, okay? The dead travel fast. Just get us the fuck out of here.”
“First tell me why you’re following me.”
“To protect you!” he explodes. “Now come on, let’s go.”
Sue puts the Expedition into drive and starts moving east down what’s left of Townsend Street. At the same moment, on the other side of the street, the van is pulling up alongside the kid’s pickup, where it creeps to a halt. She sees movement inside the van, dark and indiscriminate, and then they’re too far away to see anything else.
“Who was in that van?” she asks, as Townsend Street trails away and becomes Route 117 in her rearview mirror. “Was that the man who kidnapped Veda?”
The kid crouched
She’s near the end of Townsend when another car pulls out of a side street in front of her. Sue hits the brakes. The Expedition goes into a skid, its back end coming around and finally stopping less than five feet from the other vehicle. Sue’s heart stops.
It is the old farm pickup.
It sits perfectly still in front of her, its engine burbling, its headlights on. Before Sue has time to react the door opens and the driver jumps out.
This time he’s standing directly in her headlights and she sees him clearly, the outline of his body as clear and bright as a life-size cardboard cutout of a pop star in a record store. But even so, the disconnect between what she’s expecting and what her eyes actually report is surprising enough that it still takes the data a moment to percolate through her consciousness.
He’s just a kid.
No, she thinks, not a true kid, but young and lean, late teens, with a long face, short-cropped hair, and no expression. His eyes are cups of shadow. He’s wearing a T-shirt that hangs out over his jeans, and no jacket. And he’s headed toward her.
Sue is still fumbling for the wheel even as he runs over to the Expedition and comes right up to the passenger side, yanks the handle, and opens the door. He actually tries to climb inside before realizing that there’s something in the way.
“What the hell is this?” He’s got a surprisingly deep voice for someone his size and age, and a big Adam’s apple that goes up and down as he talks. He yanks the blanket off so Marilyn’s face is exposed. “Holy shit!” He jumps backward, practically tripping over his own feet, and stares past Marilyn at Sue. “There’s a dead girl with no eyes in your front seat!”
“Who are you?” Sue asks.
“ There is a dead fucking girl with no eyes in your front seat!”
“That’s my daughter’s nanny, Marilyn,” Sue says, and she sounds so calm saying it that she too is having some difficulty believing all of this is unfolding quite the way it seems to be. “You don’t know anything about that?”
“It’s already happening. Oh shit, I knew it, it’s already too late.” Now the kid is opening the door to the backseat, climbing into the Expedition on the right side behind Marilyn’s body, and crouching down with his head low as if anticipating a mortar attack. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” This doesn’t come off as a demand so much as a plea, as if he’s on a mission as urgent as hers. “I’m serious, lady! Let’s go!”
“Who are you?” she asks again.
“I’ll tell you later, just hit it.”
“Hold on,” she says. “You’ve been following me. You’re telling me that you don’t have anything to do with my daughter’s kidnapping?”
“Not me.” The kid shakes his head and points. “Him.”
Sue is about to turn around and ask the kid who he’s talking about when she sees another car coming toward them from behind, rolling down the middle of the snowed-over road toward the pickup. She sees it clearly now. It’s a van, the old-fashioned rectilinear model of no particular color.
“Who is that?” she asks.
“Look,” the kid says, “I’m telling you for your own sake as well as mine, we’ve got to get out of here right now, okay? The dead travel fast. Just get us the fuck out of here.”
“First tell me why you’re following me.”
“To protect you!” he explodes. “Now come on, let’s go.”
Sue puts the Expedition into drive and starts moving east down what’s left of Townsend Street. At the same moment, on the other side of the street, the van is pulling up alongside the kid’s pickup, where it creeps to a halt. She sees movement inside the van, dark and indiscriminate, and then they’re too far away to see anything else.
“Who was in that van?” she asks, as Townsend Street trails away and becomes Route 117 in her rearview mirror. “Was that the man who kidnapped Veda?”
The kid crouched
Similar Books
