A New World: Untold Stories (15 page)

Using the couch pillow to keep pressure on the towel, Trish takes out her phone. She’s startled by the number of texts she’s received. Most of them ask where she is, does she know what is going on, is she at the movies, where is so and so. She ignores the texts and thumbs her home number in the phone. She gets a recording telling her that circuits are all currently busy and to try her call at a later time.

She texts both of her parents’ phones telling them where she is and that she’s okay. The text ends with her asking them to text back that they are okay. Pressing ‘send’, the text takes a little time, but it eventually goes through. Tyrell had sent a number of texts and she responds to the latest by asking him to come to Katie’s if he can. In a flurry of texts, with a speed that only teens can achieve, she responds to the rest of her friends, mostly asking them what is going on. She then settles back with Katie, waiting for replies.

As the evening goes on, her worry increases. She hasn’t received a single response to her messages. The fact that not one of her friends reply tells her that the system may be down. She sends one to herself. As before, it says ‘sending’ for a while before it is gone. A minute passes and her phone chimes. Her test message has arrived. That worries her even further, but she can’t think of a thing to do about it. Katie needs her and, with the exits blocked, she can’t drive back into town anyway. There are a few back roads she could try but, even if she could manage to sneak into town, there’s no way she could get an unconscious Katie back into the truck on her own. She can only do what she can do.

Taking a deep breath to still her taut nerves, she sets her phone on the table and applies pressure against the towel that is becoming damp with Katie’s blood. Trish knows she should be having some sort of feelings; fear, dread, anxiety. She has those, but not as deeply as she knows she should.

Perhaps it’s the shock of the evening.

She understands coming off an adrenaline rush and thinks it could be that. The only thing she knows for certain is that she’s exhausted. Kneeling next to Katie, Trish’s body sore and her arms aching from holding the towel, she looks at her torn and bloodied dress. It was one of her favorites, but the thought dies almost as soon as it started. She jerks her head up. She closed her eyes only for a second and immediately dropped off.

I need to hold on for Katie.

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She starts awake. Although conscious, actual awareness is slow in coming. Confused and random thoughts circulate through her mind without any really taking hold. A semblance of clarity returns and, as she realizes where she is, panic jolts away the last vestiges of her sleepiness.

With her muscles aching in protest, Trish pushes herself off the floor. Her dress pulls against her skin where the blood soaked in, dried, and stuck. The cloth tearing from her injuries sends stinging sensations along her torso. Filled with alarm that she fell asleep, she looks to her friend lying on the couch.

Katie is lying in the same position with her exhalations coming in ragged, almost panting breaths. The daylight streaming through the partially open drapes falls across Katie’s closed eyes and, to Trish, she seems to be sleeping. Trickles of sweat has formed on her forehead and slowly run down the sides of her face. Removing the partially soaked towel, she sees the bandage is caked with dried blood.

At least it’s not still bleeding
, she thinks, hesitant to disturb either Katie or the bandage.

Although the bleeding has stopped, Katie’s pale face looks even more ashen than it had the night before.

I suppose that could be the lighting
, she thinks, looking for her phone.

Turning it from sleep mode, she sees that there aren’t any replies to her texts or phone calls. The lights of the living room are still on and she knows instantly that Katie’s parents haven’t returned. If they had, they would have freaked out upon seeing Katie’s condition. Looking around the room, Trish knows that it’s just the two of them.

Taking another look at Katie, she rises with the help of the coffee table and couch. Her knees almost refuse to straighten, but she manages to push herself upright. With her legs sore and stiff, she walks to the bathroom to grab more towels.

Looking in the mirror, Trish barely recognizes herself. Scratches and dried blood mix with dirt on her face. Her torn dress is dirty with splotches of dark red. She pulls a couple of twigs from her disheveled hair. Staring at her reflection, her mind replays the events of the evening.

Her memories are snapshots of the night: The screaming gang running through the exit, silhouettes of people fighting and being dragged from their cars, shrieks filling the drive-in, movie-goers illuminated by the movie and running between vehicles, Katie down with the man on top of her, the sight of gravel by her head with the same man clawing at her, the lights of the police cars, the officer trying to help but turning them around. One picture stays glued; driving out of the drive-in and seeing the man who helped her lying on the ground, his unmoving body next to the front wheel of the car.

The visions are so outside of her realm of reality that part of her mind refuses to accept that it actually happened. The shock of it and the panic she felt driving Katie to the hospital are still clear. If she wasn’t staring at the aftermath, and her friend wasn’t lying near death on the couch, she wouldn’t believe her own memory.

Soaking one of the towels, she wipes the grime from her face noting the reddening of the skin around several of the scratches. She pulls up her dress and cleans the injuries on her torso, wincing as she scrubs the dried blood away.

Finishing, she leans forward with her hands resting on the counter. Although she is looking into the mirror, she isn’t really seeing herself. She feels at a loss about what to do next. Should she go for help or drive Katie to the hospital? She knows she won’t be able to get her friend into the truck if Katie can’t walk. And then there are her parents. The fact that she’s been out all night without a call or text from them worries her to no end. It doesn’t help that Katie’s parents haven’t returned either.

Picking up her phone from the counter, she sees that there still aren’t any messages or calls. She dials her parents and the call goes through right away. It rings until she gets their voice mail. Trying each of their phones results in the same, her mother’s and father’s voices telling her that they’ll return the call as soon as they are able. Scared as to what that might mean, she dials her boyfriend and then each of her friends in turn. Nothing but voice mails.

With shaking hands and her heart beating rapidly, she wets one of the towels, gathers the others, and heads back to the living room. In the same position, Katie is moaning softly, her eyes closed. Thinking her friend might be running a fever, Trish folds and drapes the wet towel over Katie’s forehead. Looking at her ill friend and thinking of her own parents, she’s not sure what she should do.

I can’t leave Katie alone, can I?

Katie moans and shifts her head slightly on the couch pillow under her. The dark red bandage is still clinging to her neck. Although Trish wants to see how bad the wound is, she doesn’t want to peel the bandage away and start the bleeding again. She knows Katie has lost a lot of it and she’s not sure what would happen if she lost more.

“Katie,” Trish calls softly, gently shaking Katie’s shoulder. “Katie.”

Her friend only moans and tosses her head to the other side.

“Katie, please wake up. We have to get you to the hospital.”

There’s no response other than the soft moans. Not knowing what else to do, she grabs a blanket from the spare bedroom and drapes it across her friend. Heading quickly outside, Trish finds Katie’s phone in the truck and brings it inside, setting it on the coffee table. She then scribbles a quick note to call should Katie awake and places it under the phone.

“Katie. I have to go for help and see about my parents. I’ll be back.”

With a quick backward glance, she closes the front door behind her. She isn’t sure what the correct thing to do is and feels bad about leaving her friend in such straits. However, kneeling by her side isn’t going to do any good and she needs to get some help. And, equally important is seeing about her parents. Starting the truck, she hopes the entrances into town aren’t blocked as before.

Her whole body is trembling with fear as she backs out of the drive and points the truck toward town. Reaching the freeway, she looks over to the drive-in. Chills crawl up and down her spine as memories of the night flood in. Like the evening before, the highway is clear of any moving traffic. To the sides of the road, she sees that the cars that had pulled over the night before are still parked, several of them with their emergency flashers blinking. Driving slowly past, she sees several dark objects scattered in the adjacent fields. Within some of the cars, she sees what appears to be silhouettes of bodies slumped against the seats, the sight of which increases her anxiety. Thoughts race through her mind.

Where are the ambulances? Surely they would have taken the bodies away
.
What happened? Did prisoners escape from the prison and storm the town?

For some reason, this last thought sticks in her mind and makes the most sense.

Of course.
Why didn’t I think of that before? Prisoners broke out and that was who attacked at the drive-in…and apparently the whole town. No wonder they didn’t let anyone in.

Although she feels that she has an answer as to what happened, it only increases her worry.

If there were that many that escaped, enough to endanger the whole town, then what about my parents? And why isn’t anyone answering their phones? Come to think about it, did I notice the gang of people wearing prison clothes?

The fact that there are still bodies in the cars behind her and no cars on the road gives her an eerie feeling. Even if there was a prison break of that magnitude, there would be police from other towns answering calls for help and more than likely, there would be helicopters flying overhead. She knows her answer to what happened has holes in it and that worries her even more. Passing the first two exits, the police cars are gone which relieves her anxiety a small amount.

At least I’ll be able to get into town
, she thinks, dialing her parents’ phones and getting their voice mails again. She tries 911, but only gets a recording after a few rings.

The third exit is clear and she pulls onto the ramp. Coming to a stop at the top, she looks over the northern part of town. Nothing is moving, unless you want to count the blinking traffic lights. The parking lots of both the Walmart and Fred Meyer are mostly empty which is a shock in itself. Even with a lot of people sick, the lots should be full. The events of the night and not seeing a soul in sight gives her a very surreal feeling, almost to the point of making her dizzy.

She drives slowly through the upper section of town, looking to the left and right in the hopes of finding someone…anyone. The sight is so unreal that she nearly forgets why she was driving in the first place.

She pulls in front of her house without really knowing how she arrived. Her parents’ car and truck are parked in the driveway. Shutting off the truck, she sits for a moment with the morning sun shining through the windshield. The neighborhood is still without anyone moving. With school out, there should be kids playing in the road or running through the yards. The metal hinges of the door creak as she opens it and steps out into the bright day. A slight breeze ruffles her dress, pulling at the rips. Worried about the possibility of escaped prisoners and that they may very well be inside the house, but more worried about her parents, she cautiously walks up the drive to the front door.

Looking down at herself, she is anxious about showing up looking like she does but, with what may have happened in town, her parents will be overjoyed at seeing her, just as she’ll be happy to see them safe. She rounds the corner of her porch and comes up short. The front door is open just like at Katie’s house.

“Mom…Dad?” she calls, hesitant to venture any closer.

Her caution stems from a couple of things. One, the open door may mean someone else is inside as her parents would never leave it that way. Two, even if there isn’t anyone inside, she’s afraid of what she may find. She isn’t sure she can take any more shock and feels sick to her stomach. The lack of any nourishment doesn’t help. Forcing herself to walk to the door, she calls into the house. No one responds to her shouts. With a sense of dread and uncertainty, she steps inside.

With her rapidly beating heart pounding in her ears, she crosses the door’s threshold. The living room directly ahead is cast in gloomy shadows. Dust motes dance in a thin beam of light shining through a gap in the curtains. The house is eerily quiet with an underlying tension. Trish’s dread increases with the sight of lamps turned over and magazines from the coffee table strewn about the room. Several cushions lie at an angle between the floor and couch. The scene reminds her of walking into Katie’s house.

“Mom…Dad? Are you here? It’s me…Trish,” she calls again.

The front door next to her creaks as a gust of wind blows through, pushing it farther open. The dust motes stir with more energy, but her call goes unanswered. Glued to a spot just inside and unwilling to proceed farther inside, she looks around for more clues, but the room refuses to give up the story of what happened. She searches for signs of blood and finds none.