The Night Parade (10 page)

H
e pulled off the road and bumped along the uneven shoulder until he spun the wheel and cut across a swath of grass. A large billboard advertising new homes stood in the weeds and faced the highway; some joker had spray-painted
END-OF-TIMES PLAGUE SALE—ALL HOUSES ARE FREE
! across the billboard in bloody red letters. David pulled the Olds directly behind the billboard, hoping that he'd angled it in a way that would make it invisible to any passing traffic, and shut it down.

In the passenger seat, Ellie continued to sob. He stared at her profile for a while, watching the tears stream down her cheeks, unsure what he could possibly do to comfort her. Her face was a mottled red. He reached over and removed the ball cap from her head. With her freshly cut hair, she still looked like someone else beneath the hat, and David couldn't help but marvel at how much someone's haircut defined their entire look.

When he reached out to caress her face, she slapped his hand away. Her eyes blazed on him.

“What'd you do?” she shrieked at him. “What'd you do? What'd you do?”

“Baby,” he said, and reached out for her again.

This time she grabbed his wrist. Her eyes flared . . . and David felt a sudden tingling sensation radiate up his arm and flood through his body. A moment later, something like a surge of electricity rocketed through his body, so powerful he jerked in his seat and yanked his wrist from his daughter's grasp.

“You're a
liar
!” She gritted her teeth and threw her head back against the headrest. A solitary sob ratcheted up her throat before she turned and stared at him again, her face blotchy and red but radiant, her eyes both angry and imploring. “Is she dead? Is it true?”

“Ellie . . .”

“Tell me!” She slammed one small, pink hand against the console.

“Yes,” he said. “Mom's dead.”

A high-pitched keening sounded from her. But then she quickly regained control of herself. “On the news . . . they said . . .” She fought back another sob. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn't do anything, baby.”

“It was on the news! The news wouldn't lie!
You're
the liar! What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything to her. I would never hurt your mother in a million years, Ellie. It was the doctors. They said she would be okay, and that they would take care of her, but they were wrong—Ellie,
they
were the liars—and now she's gone. They killed her.” And now he was crying freely, too. His grief was suddenly so great he was unable to keep it together, even for the sake of his daughter.

Ellie just stared at him, her whole body shaking as her eyes welled up with fresh tears. “Those doctors wouldn't kill Mom. They said she was special. They said her blood . . . what she had inside her . . . that she might even be able to cure what's happening . . .”

“They broke her, Ellie. There were tests and they worked her too hard. Your mother got weak. That's why I stopped taking you to see her. She got so
weak
, Ellie, and I didn't want you to see her like that. And those doctors, they never stopped, they never let up. They wanted your mom to be the cure for this thing so badly that they used her up until there was nothing left.”

“But the police are looking for you,” she said. “It has nothing to do with back home, does it? There is no quarantine back home, is there?”

“No,” he said.

“If you didn't do anything, then why are the police looking for you?”

He cradled the back of her head, rubbed his thumb through her hair.

“They're not looking for me, baby,” he said. “They're looking for you. That special thing about your mom, that one-ina-trillion resistance she had against the disease that made her immune . . . you've got it, too. It's in you, too. You're immune, Ellie.” He pulled her close to him so that their foreheads touched. “But I'm not going to let them take you. I'm not going to let them find you.”

Trembling, she pushed him away from her.

“Wait,” he said.

“I'm gonna be sick.” She shoved open the passenger door and staggered out into the grass. She braced herself against the back of the billboard with one hand and bent at the waist.

“Honey.” He slid across the seats and got out the passenger side. He reached her, rubbed her back, bent down to her level. She didn't get sick; she just stared absently at the ground, at the incongruous bursts of wildflowers that surrounded them, spitting occasionally into the weeds. Gnats orbited around their heads.

After a time, she straightened herself. She wiped the tears from her eyes as her chest hitched one last time. Then she looked up at him, wincing in the blaze of the sun that was at his back.

He grabbed her, held her tight against him. He inhaled the scent of her hair, her clothes, her skin. He felt the gentle undulation of her ribs as he rubbed his hands along her sides. Faintly, he was aware of insects chirping in the trees, of the heat from the sun baking the nape of his neck, of the occasional shush of a vehicle trolling down the highway on the other side of the billboard.

He squeezed her more tightly.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

“What do we do now?”

“I don't know,” he said, letting her go. “For now, let's get back in the car.”

Wordlessly, she crawled back into the car, her shadow rippling across the overgrown grass behind the billboard.

That news broadcast had punched him in the gut, and he knew he would have to shift things into a higher gear from here on out.
I can't believe they've started looking for us so soon,
he thought as he pulled back out onto the highway. They were the only car straight out to either horizon.
They reported that we're driving the Bronco. That's something, at least. It may take them a while to realize we're in a different car. Hell, they may never figure that out.

So all hope wasn't lost.

“Put your hat back on,” he instructed her.

She did so without uttering a word. Then she turned and stared out the window. This time, she cried in silence.

D
avid drove for about an hour, piloted by the foolish compulsion that the more distance he created between themselves and the diner, the safer they were. The highway was eerily empty, and they were joined by only a few cars every once in a while. David did his best to avoid running alongside them, leaving a wide berth of glistening pavement between them, but occasionally a car would sidle up beside the Olds and trot there for a minute or two. When this happened, David couldn't help but glance at the vehicle's occupants, terrified that they might look at him and recognize him. But these people—these strangers—possessed the expressionless faces of alien life forms, and rarely did someone even return his glance through the barrier of windows that separated them.

When a police cruiser appeared in the rearview mirror, David felt a tightening in his chest. He wondered if the waitress had been paying too close attention in the diner after all. He decided to take the next exit and see if the cruiser followed him before he started to panic. When the ramp appeared on the right-hand shoulder, David turned on his blinker and took it. Holding his breath, he kept his eyes trained on the cruiser in the rearview mirror. Ellie's crying had eventually lulled her to sleep, but the car's quick movements jolted her awake. Startled, she looked at him, then turned around in her seat to peer through the rear windshield.

“Don't do that,” he said sharply. “Turn around.”

Without a word, she turned around.

The cruiser followed them down the exit ramp.

Still, he wouldn't panic. Suddenly, the bulge of the Glock against the small of his back was all he could feel. Yet he wondered if he'd actually be able to use it on another person.

I won't let them take her from me,
he thought, slowing down as he approached the first in a series of traffic lights. The light was red, and so he stopped, the only car at the intersection. Up ahead was a grid of urban streets, a few people bustling up and down the sidewalks. There were a few other cars at the next intersection, too.

The cop pulled up alongside them in the right-hand lane.

He was grateful that Ellie didn't turn to look at the cop. He did, however—a casual glance just to see if the cop was staring back at him.

The cop was.

The guy had a meaty face with ruddy cheeks and dark hair buzzed to bristles atop his head.

David averted his gaze, staring once again at the traffic lights that lined the boulevard ahead of them. He reminded himself that the cops were still searching for the Bronco—according to the news report, anyway—and that they were safe in the Olds.
For now,
he thought.
How long until someone goes to the Langstroms' house and finds the Bronco in their garage? How long before they realize I swapped cars and there's an APB out on Burt's Oldsmobile? How long before authorities enter his house and find—

A car horn blared. David blinked his eyes, then peered over at the police car. But the police car was already cruising through the intersection. David glanced over his shoulder and saw the chrome grille of a large pickup truck filling the Oldsmobile's rear windshield. The pickup's horn sounded a second time.

Ellie said, “Daddy?”

David took his foot off the brake and eased through the intersection. Behind him, the truck cut over to the next lane, sped up, and swerved in front of them. The driver's window rolled down, and then there was a meaty forearm with its middle finger extended.

David slowed the car, letting the pickup truck and the police car collect some distance. He managed to blend in with traffic as they passed through the next several intersections, thankful that the lights held green and there was no more stopping.

“It wasn't just a bad dream, was it?” Ellie said quietly. “About Mom.”

“No, hon.”

There were still a few businesses open along this road, though many others looked dark and deserted. Placards containing biblical quotes had been erected in some of the darkened windows. When they drove past a grove of condominiums, David could see yellow police tape over many of the doors and windows. Trash cans lay strewn about on the sidewalk. The few pedestrians who meandered up and down these blocks looked like extras in a George Romero film.

Because he felt too conspicuous—and too uneasy—driving down what appeared to be the main street of this run-down urban area, David took a turn onto a tree-studded secondary road that was mostly deserted. A few houses stood a distance from the road, mostly shaded behind pin oaks and corralled behind fences made of pine logs. There were large red
X
's painted on each of the front doors of the houses, something that chilled David on sight. He had heard about such places on the news and had even seen pictures in newspapers back when neighborhoods were first being evacuated, but until now he hadn't witnessed it in person. It was like coming face-to-face with a mythological creature.

“Did I hurt you?” Ellie said, looking at him. She glanced at his wrist.

“It's okay now,” he said. The jolt of electricity he'd felt shoot up his arm and radiate through the marrow in his bones had faded just as he'd pulled his wrist free of Ellie's grasp. “What was that, Ellie? What did you do?”

“I don't really know,” she said. “It's never happened like that before.”

“What's never happened like that before? What are we talking about?”

“The touching thing,” she said.

“Like what you did to me last night,” he said. “In the car.”

She nodded.

He had all but convinced himself that he had imagined the whole thing—how he had been driving like an erratic mess when they first lit out in the Oldsmobile, his body a jumble of live wires, Kathy's death like a lead weight in the center of his chest. That small hand had touched the nape of his neck, her palm as cold as ice, and in that instant he had been flooded by an overwhelming serenity that quickly staunched his grief and panic and let him regain focus and composure. It was like being injected with some kind of narcotic, something ten times more potent than morphine—yet it had been a morphine that calmed only his nerves while leaving him at a level of alertness that made the world around him clear and comprehensible again. She had kept her hand on his neck for a while, until she had fallen asleep and the hand had dropped away. As her hand left him, the fear and anxiety and grief returned to him, but in a more manageable dosage. By the time they had reached the motel last night, he had all but convinced himself it had been his imagination.

This had been different, though—not the lulling serenity of Ellie's cool touch, but the fiery
zap
of a Taser. It had resonated through his molars and burst like fireworks behind his eyes. Thank God it had only lasted for a second or two.

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“I don't know. It just sort of started.”

“When?”

“A while ago,” she said. “I don't really remember. I used to do it just to sort of calm you and Mom down when you were upset.”

“Me and your mom,” he said. “You've done that to us before?”

She nodded again. “You didn't used to notice. But last night you did.” She seemed to consider this. “I think it's getting stronger.”

“But how do you
do
it?”

“I don't know. I just think about it. I think about taking your sadness away. Your worries and the things that make you scared.”

He was staring at her, unsure if he was hearing this conversation correctly. Or perhaps he just wasn't comprehending what she was telling him. His mind seemed cluttered and confused at the moment, making it difficult to concentrate.

“I never did it the other way before,” Ellie went on. “The bad way, I mean. I guess I was just scared and angry earlier. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“You didn't hurt me.” He considered this. “Did it hurt you?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“And you can do it whenever you want?”

“I'm not sure.”

He held out his right arm. “Do it again,” he said.

She just stared at him, not moving.

“Go on,” he said. “Just a little shock, okay? I'll be ready for it this time.”

Hesitantly, she reached out and closed her small, cold fingers around his wrist. Her gaze hung on him, unblinking. She remained that way for several seconds.

“Nothing's happening,” he said.

“I don't know how to shock you,” she said. “It's never happened before, like I said. That was the first time.”

“Then do the other thing,” he said. “The thing you did last night.”

She opened her fingers and slid the palm of her hand halfway up his arm. Other than his daughter's soft touch, there was nothing unusual about—

He felt it filter through his system like warm medicine, coursing through his veins and arteries, networking through his body until the hairs along his arms stood at attention and his skin tightened into gooseflesh. In that moment, all the clutter and confusion in his head cleared. It was like a fog lifting and exposing a grand, lighted city against a dark horizon. He felt anesthetized.

“Holy shit,” he said, and uttered a laugh. “Holy shit, Ellie.”

Ellie smiled, though somewhat timidly. She removed her hand from his arm, and David felt the serenity quickly drain from him. That thick fog blew back into his brain and obscured the lighted city.

Grinning to himself like an idiot and shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “Jesus Christ, El. I don't understand.”

“I don't understand it, either,” she said. Then she turned in her seat and faced forward.

“And you're sure it's not . . . it's not doing anything to you? It doesn't hurt you to do it?”

“No.”

“How did you learn . . . I mean, how'd you figure out . . .” He couldn't even formulate the proper questions.

“I don't know,” she said.

His smile fell away from his face. He could tell she was troubled by either this conversation or of her ability in general. He rubbed the back of her head. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you scared of it?” he asked. “What you can do?”

“I haven't been,” she said. “Until I hurt you.”

He put both hands back on the steering wheel. “You didn't hurt me, El. I'm fine. You didn't hurt me.”

She said nothing.

They drove for several minutes in silence. David's head reeled. He had so many questions, but it was obvious that Ellie had no answers for him: She was just as perplexed by the whole thing as he was.

“What are those big white things?” Ellie asked, sitting forward in her seat.

At first, David didn't know what she was talking about. But when they cleared a bend in the road and the trees opened up, he saw several large white tents set up on a grassy slope of lawn before a large schoolhouse constructed of white stone. Emergency vehicles were parked in the paved roundabout at one side of the school, and there was a single police car blocking the entrance. Sawhorses had been erected in front of the paved driveway.

“I don't know, hon,” he said, slowing down. As they drove by, he could see people filtering back and forth between the tents, all of them wearing crisp white biohazard suits and faceplates.

“It's a school,” Ellie said.

“Yes.”

“Why are those people dressed like that?”

“The people inside that school must be sick.”

“Kids?”

“I don't know.”

She read the name she saw in large blue letters over the front doors of the building. “Morristown Elementary School. It's for little kids, Dad.”

“Maybe they turned it into a hospital,” David suggested, unable to pull his eyes from the community of tents that had been erected on the front lawn of the school. The people in the biohazard suits looked about as hospitable and familiar as alien invaders.

Beyond the school, there were a few more houses on either side of the road with red
X
's on their doors, as well. He was so busy scrutinizing these homes for some sign of life that he failed to see the roadblock up ahead until he was just a few yards from it.

“Shit,” he uttered, and hit the brakes. The Olds growled to a stop, skidding on the gravelly pavement in front of a series of yellow sawhorses adorned with blinking orange emergency lights. On the other side of the roadblock stood another emergency vehicle, this one parked horizontally across the street as if to prevent passage to anyone who had inadvertently—or perhaps purposefully—gone through the roadblock. There were more tents set up here, as well, only these were of the camouflaged military variety. These troubled David more than the white tents back at the school.

A man in a hazmat suit hoisting an assault rifle approached the vehicle, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. There were insignias on his sleeves and a name sewn above the breast, though David couldn't make it out because it was partially obscured by the rifle's strap. The suit's plastic faceplate obscured the man's features.

“Shit,” David muttered again. Then he glanced at Ellie. She was watching the man in the hazmat suit approach the car with something like awe in her eyes. “Stick that box under your seat,” David instructed.

She didn't move.

“Do it now,” he barked.

Ellie bent forward and stashed the shoe box containing the bird's nest beneath her seat. When she straightened back up, the figure in the hazmat suit was right outside David's window, motioning for him to roll it down.