Strays (16 page)

“What you looking at?” Big Buddy muttered.  “I’m right over here, girl, come on.”

With a crash, the thing in the closet made its final push and tumbled out onto the floor of the room.  It writhed and thrashed on the faded shag carpet crushed down from years of foot traffic.  In the light from that single bulb, Sarah saw that it was not a monster at all but a long-legged boy with fly-away hair.  He did not stay down long but pushed himself up on his hands as if doing push-ups.  His legs thrashed, but the soles of his sneakers found purchase, and he sprang to his feet, wobbling a bit like a sapling in the wind.  At once, he spun about, turning his back to Sarah and facing Big Buddy.

“Come get some then!” he barked.  Despite his thin and utterly breakable body, there was might in that voice, something awful that suggested a reserve of power hidden even from himself.  “By God, you can come and get some!”

A dry chuckle began to wriggle its way from Big Buddy’s chest, pouring out of his mouth as if he were vomiting a bucket of dung beetles.  With one swift move, he cocked his arm back and drove it palm-first into the boy’s chest.  The boy staggered backward, falling over the corner of the bed and landing hard on the mashed carpet. 

“I’ll give you a fight,” the boy groaned.  “I’ll give you such a fight because I’ve got nothing left to lose …”

*   *   *   *

The bus lurched to shift gears, and Sarah awoke.  She was sweating, and the sweat made her skin cold, and she gripped the seat in front of her and tucked her head, sucking deep breaths to steady herself.

“
Humph!
”

She looked down at the floor in front of the empty seat next to her.  Thank God the bus wasn’t to capacity this time of night; she was able to find two seats near the back.  There on the floor sat the gray plastic cat carrier Tom had purchased at the 24-hour K-Mart for $20, and peering out from the metal grating in front was Tom, or at least Tom as he was at this moment.  She had left the reading light on, and in its dim illumination she could see the cat’s ginger fur bristle on his head.

“I'm okay,” she said.  “Just the dream again.”

“
Humph!
”

“Yeah, okay.  Give me a minute?”

She leaned out in the aisle and looked up to the front of the bus.  All the reading lights were off save one towards the front, and everything was very still.  No one seemed restless or looking to come back Sarah’s way to use the bathroom.  Beyond the rows of seats, she could see the open highway rolling before them in the glow of the bus’s headlamps.

Not much farther,
she thought. 
Tom said we’d be there when the sun came up.

“
Humph!
”

“Okay, okay.  It’s all clear.  Give me a minute.”

She stood carefully, reached up on the netted shelf above her head, and pulled down Tom’s pack, which they both now shared.  She allowed another quick glance to the front of the bus and then felt around for one of the thin fleece blankets that the bus line supplied.  When she fell back into her seat, she glanced down at Tom the cat, who was watching her and waiting.  It had been his idea that he travel in this form.  He had been able to beg and borrow a little cash, but even then it was not a lot, and the cost of a bus ticket for a single girl with a cat was much less than a ticket for two people.  It made sense, but this part of the plan made her a little uncomfortable.

She reached down to the cat cage and twisted the tiny bolt, opening the door of the cage.  She pulled it open, allowing the cat to escape, but he waited patiently, shaking his caramel head and yawning.

Sarah reached into the pack, pulled out Tom’s jeans, a pair of his underwear, and a long-sleeve pullover.  She sat these carefully on the seat beside her.

“There,” she said.  “There are your clothes.”

She then unfolded the blanket.  With great care, she draped the blanket over the cat carrier, over Tom’s wide orange face, letting the upper edge fall on the seat next to her.  She looked forward again, checking the inactivity of the other bus passengers, and then leaned down to the blanket.

“Okay, Tom,” she whispered.  “You can come out.” 

She saw a bump in the blanket, pressing up as the cat poked his head out of his cage, and then it began … the noise in her ear, tiny buzz like a gnat, then growing to the low hum of power lines, the tingle on her skin like a thousand bolts of lightening, each the size of pin point.  The current poured into her out of nothingness, through her and across her, and in the seat next to her the fleece blanket sparked and popped with static electricity, a miniature fireworks show.  Sarah stared, fascinated as the flickering blanket rose, the bump underneath growing more tumescent, the sparks seeming to wriggle into the fibers of the fleece like glowing ants.  She had seen this display once before, in the woods just behind the bus stop back on the strip, only that time the sparks were going the other way, buzzing through the trees like fireflies.

At last, the sparks across the fleece began to dissipate, and when the last one skittered into the fabric with a hiss the lump under the blanket was now quite large.  Sarah watched as Tom’s pale freckled hand felt its way onto the seat, examined the folded clothes there, and settled on the long-sleeve pullover.  The hand sucked it back under the blanket like a frog’s tongue.  More shuffling, and then Tom’s head appeared.  He blinked up at Sarah and smiled.

“Hello,” he said.

“You okay?” Sarah asked.

“Fine, always fine.”  He slid himself up onto the seat, keeping the blanket around his waist.  He now wore the pullover, and as they spoke he worked to get the rest of his clothes on under the blanket.  “Any idea where we are?”

“I’ve been asleep.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t have a watch.”

Tom grunted and continued to struggle under the blanket.  At last, he was near complete, and Sarah heard the sound of his zipper being tugged in place.  He grinned at her and pulled off the blanket, now fully clothed but for his shoes.  He nodded his assurance, then looked out into the sky, studying the stars.  “What’s the day?” he muttered.

“Saturday,” she told him.  “First weekend in August.”

“Hmm.”  He cocked his head to the side, trying to look up above the bus although that was impossible.  He cupped his hands about his eyes, peering into the night.  He pressed his nose to the glass.  Finally, he said: “About four hours ‘til sunrise.”

“Then we’ll be there.”

“Yes.”

“Where is there exactly?” she asked.

“A place I know.  You’ll be safe.  We’ll both be safe.”

Sarah was silent.  That settled it for her.  If Tom said she’d be safe, she would be safe.  As a cat, he had already rescued her twice, and as a boy—
man
, really—he had done nothing but look after her.  She barely knew him; it had been less than 24 hours since they met in the woods.  And yet she knew that if Tom promised her safety, it was a set-in-stone guarantee.  “How long can I stay there?”

“For awhile.  But not as long as you’d like.”

“Why not?”

“You have another place to be,” he said.  “There are things you have to do.”

“What kind of things?”

Tom shook his head and looked out the window again.

“Why won’t you tell me?” she asked.

“Because I’m not supposed to.  I’m just supposed to get you there.”  He turned to look at her.  “You should get some more sleep.”

“I have nightmares,” Sarah said.

“Here.”  He settled into his seat and pulled up the blanket so that it fell across Sarah’s lap.  He reached up with his right hand and patted his left shoulder.  Sarah did not hesitate, leaning over to lay her head on his shoulder.  Even through the pullover he wore, she could feel the electric prickle on his skin, and his hair had the pleasant scent of pine needles.  She closed her eyes.

“Tom?” she asked.

“Mmm.”

“How does that happen?”

“What?”

“The way you change.”

He said nothing, but Sarah felt his shoulder lift under her head in a gentle shrug.

“I had this science teacher in school,” she said.  “Mr. Hall.  He was my favorite.”

“Mmm.”

“He used to talk about movies and stuff.  Break down the physics of everything.”

Tom was silent, but she knew he was listening because listening was one of the things that he did.

“He’d have a problem with what you do,” she said.  “With the science of it.”

“You need to try to sleep,” he said.

“I told you, I have nightmares.”

His hand slid out from under the blanket and touched her head.  “You won’t anymore.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because I won’t let you.”

They were silent for awhile.  Sarah did not want to close her eyes.

“So tell me,” Tom said finally.  “About your dreams.”

Sarah took a deep breath, held it a moment, and spoke.  “I was in a bad place,” she said.  “There was a bad thing after me.”

“What kind of bad thing?”

“The worst bad thing in my life.”

Tom grunted his acknowledgement, allowing her to continue.

“He was coming for me,” she said.  “And there was this boy.”

“What kind of boy?”

“I don’t know.  But he was trying to protect me.”

Tom shifted, and she felt the tension in his muscles.  “What did he look like?”

“He was tall, and he was kind of skinny,” Sarah said.  “He didn’t look like he could take care of himself let alone me.” 

“What else?”

“He had dark hair, I think.  It was longer, and it hung in his face.”

“Hmm.”

“He was there, and he tried to save me.  But he couldn’t.”

“That sounds like him,” Tom said.

“Who?”

“I can protect you, Sarah.  I don’t know why they can’t see that.”

“Who can’t?”

“Never mind.”

“Wait,” she said, sitting up.  “Tom, what are you talking about?”

Tom looked at her, and his eyes were wide but very sad.  At last he looked away.

“Never mind,” he said.  ‘This boy.  You’ll see him soon enough.”

“How do you know?”

“If you’re dreaming about him, it means it’s time,” Tom said.  “He’s probably leaving right now to meet us.”

Blacktop and Bottles

Somewhere on I-70, the Impala grinding it out at just under 80 mph, Kyle learned more about Molly than he wanted to know. 

They had taken a day prior to get ready, or rather Kyle had, packing clothes, emptying the $2200 from his passbook account, and acting the model son around his parents so they wouldn’t know what was up. 

That next morning, Kyle had gotten up early as usual, somewhere around 4:30 or so.  Two time zones away, Sarah Smallhouse was on the last leg of her journey, waking from a nightmare on a southbound bus, but for Kyle the day began like any other but for one small difference: when he left the house just before 5:00, Molly was there by the curb, leaning against the hood of his car, smiling at him.  Kyle smiled back.  He had a full tank of gas, a pocket full of money, and the most beautiful girl he had ever seen waiting for him to take her on a very long ride.  It was the most exquisite moment of his life.

“Where are we going?” he asked, and Molly simply said:

“Drive toward Denver.”

He took 135 north, and the sun was already up and in full bloom on the starboard side of the Impala by the time he hit Salina, Kansas.  Once he had turned west on I-70, Molly stretched her arms above her head and back, pressing them against the roof of the car and arching her back to lift her hips off the seat.  She groaned in a pleasant way that reminded Kyle of the morning they kissed and he touched her breast.

“I need a nap,” she said.  “All right if I crawl in the back seat?”

“That’s fine,” Kyle said, but it was anything but fine.  He had gone weeks without seeing her, weeks of withdrawal from her scent and her touch, weeks far worse than any hangover he could muster.  All he wanted was to have her close, to just be able to look over every so often and see her.  But he also wanted her to be happy, and he feared that if he was less than agreeable, she might leave him again.  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

Molly leaned over and kissed his cheek, then waited a moment and kissed his ear, breathing into it gently.  Kyle felt the skin on his neck quiver, but then she was gone, crawling over the backs of the Impala’s front bench seats, her lovely black-jean-clad backside thrusting in the air as she did so.  She was intoxicating, and Kyle had to shake his head to keep his eyes on the road.

Once she was in the back seat, he heard her shuffling a bit.  He tried to watch her from the rearview mirror, but she had disappeared below his site line.  A strange chill came over him, a tingling on his skin that was nevertheless warm.  It reminded Kyle of mornings walking the route, drinking from his thermos, and that wonderful heat that spread through his body as the drink got smoother.

But even this passed too.

When he saw the exit for Hays, he slowed for gasoline, and the tingling came again, this time seeming to fill the entire car, as if he had driven through a strange electrical field like you saw on old episodes of
Star Trek
.  When he took the off-ramp at the 183 exit, he heard Molly stirring, and by the time he pulled into the Kwik Shop just south of I-70, she was sitting up.  In the rearview mirror, Kyle could see her adjusting her clothes like a teenager being caught in a make-out session, and for a moment he wondered if she had been naked as she slept.

“Where are we?” she said.

“Just stopping for gas.”

He filled the tank in silence, and she sat in the back seat, blinking and rubbing her eyes.  When he got back in the car, she leaned forward, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.  “Okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Mind if I sleep a little more?”

“Sure,” he lied.  “Where are we going?”

“Just drive toward Denver.  I’ll let you know when we get there.”

He started the car and pulled back out onto I-70.  The road rumbled below the Impala, and Molly lay back down, disappearing from view but making those weird shuffling sounds again.  That strange electricity hovered over Kyle’s body again, this time almost cold, like those strange chills his mother got in the middle of the dog days of summer.