There's Blood on the Moon Tonight (30 page)

She smiled warmly at Rusty and something unspoken passed to him.
Gratitude
. The simple plain truth of that put a lump in his throat. He wondered at this thing called loneliness and how he’d taken for granted the companionship he’d always known in his own life. Her soft brown eyes were moist, and for a paralyzing moment, Rusty thought she might start to cry. To his relief she distracted herself by checking her watch.

“Gracious me! Look at the time! You boys wash up! Rusty, I’m sorry I don’t have anything better than Sloppy Joes. But that’s what we have on Fridays. I declare, my family would pitch a fit if I dared to change their precious dinner schedule.”

“That’s fine with me, Mrs. Tolson. I love Sloppy Joes. Would you mind if I call my mom, first?”

“Go right ahead,” she said, gesturing at the phone on the wall, “and please say hello for me, dear.”

              “Yes, ma’am.”

Tubby was waiting for Rusty in the hallway when he finished his call. “Thanks for bailing me out in there. What’d your folks say?”

“Mom told me not to make an ass out of myself. Where’s your room?”

Tubby led the way. “No, I mean about tonight.”

“You mean the meeting later on?”

Tubby looked around as if they were discussing something indelicate.

“My folks are always cool with that. Same pretty much goes with Josie’s mom, and Bud’s pop. We do it all the time, Tubs. You think it’s gonna be a problem with your folks? I was hoping you’d come over to my house afterwards. Maybe spend the night.”

Tubby opened the door to his room and they dumped their backpacks on the floor rug. He and Rusty settled down on the foot of his bed. “My dad won’t mind, but mom’s a different story. She’s a bit overprotective.” He slid his totaled lunchbox underneath his bed. The broken glass in the thermos rattled. He wondered why he wasn’t more distressed over the loss of his lucky lunchbox. It had always been one of his most prized possessions. He supposed having friends put stuff like that in perspective.

“Just leave her to me,” Rusty said, sniffing importantly. “I know how to smooze the ladies.”

He got up and checked out the room, startled at the similarity to his own bedroom. Come to think of it, it was pretty similar to his friends’ rooms as well! No doubt about it. Tubby was a natural bor
n
Cree
p
. One whole wall was devoted to the familiar 8x10 cut outs from back issues of
Famous Monsters.
As promised, a one sheet from John Carpenter’s
Carrie
graced the wall over Tubby’s bed: Sissy Spacek, drenched in pig’s blood, framed in a halo of fire.
Her wide-open eyes filled with cold fury. And on Tubby’s dresser the same set of Aurora models Bud collected.

             
“Hey, you didn’t tell me you collected these, too! Dude! All you’re missing is Mr. Hyde! Just like Bud!”

“Yeah, I know.” Tubby glanced over at his bookbag in the corner of the room. He quickly changed the subject. “So how are you going to get my mom to let me out tonight? You don’t know her, Rusty. She’s—”

“C’mon, boys!” Emma Tolson yodeled down the hallway. “Get it while it’s hot!”

The Tolsons’ ate all their meals in the kitchen, just like Rusty’s family. Another reason he felt comfortable and at peace here. Despite his mother’s admonition, Rusty put away three Sloppy Joes, two buttery ears of corn, and fistful after fistful of Emma’s hand-sliced, deep-fried potato chips. He looked up from the carnage on his plate to see the whole family gawking at him. Tubby actually looked offended. As in, “
Gee whiz!
Why isn’t
he
fat?”

“Sorry,” he said, running his finger among the meaty droppings on his plate, bringing it up to his mouth and sucking it clean. “Sometimes my appetite knows no bounds…much less manners. These homemade potato chips are awesome, Mrs. Tolson.”

Emma blushed. “I declare, Rusty Huggins. Just where do you put it all?”

“Dad says my stomach is a bottomless pit.” Rusty shrugged and grinned. “I think he might be right.”

Everyone laughed and Emma slid the rest of the chips from her plate onto his. Rusty protested, while holding out his plate for more, causing another uproar of laughter. As if Rusty was the second coming of Flip Wilson. Tubby wasn’t the only one enjoying the company of someone new at their dinner table.

“What’s your father say about the storm?” Mr. Tolson asked Rusty, as he munched on an ear of corn. Rusty was relieved that neither of Tubby’s parents had mentioned the fire thus far. Probably because they were both too busy to look out a window very often. Chances were, neither had his own folks.

“What storm? You mean that tropical depression off the Florida Keys?”

“It’s not a depression anymore,” Mr. Tolson informed him, with the self-satisfied-air people always seem to get when passing on news about bad weather. “It’s a tropical storm now, just a few miles-an-hour from becoming a hurricane. Heading north they say, away from the Keys. Jack, they’re calling it. Rather pedestrian for a force of nature, don’t you think, Rusty?”

Rusty smiled. He liked the way Mr. Tolson spoke to him. As if he wasn’t a kid. “My dad didn’t think it would affect us, Mr. T. Its trajectory seemed bound for the Keys. Besides, it’s kinda late in the season for a major storm. What’s its trajectory now?”

“Your father wasn’t alone in that assumption. Nobody was more surprised by the storm’s sharp northern turn than the National Weather Service! And no, because this storm is so unpredictable, they’re just giving out several different scenarios. Most of which don’t include us at all,” Frank said, noticing the worried look on Emma’s face. “Your father a weather watcher like most of the fishermen around here?”

“My dad is obsessed with the weather. The only reason he let my mom and I talk him into getting a satellite dish was so he could get the doggone Weather Channel! Mom says he missed his true calling. He should’ve been a meteorologist or one of those TV weathermen.”

“See, Dad,” said Tubby, seeing a ray of hope for the three-channel limbo they now found themselves in. “We need to get a satellite dish, too! That way you could stay up to date with all the bad weather!”

“That’s what my Weather Band radio is for, Ralph. Besides,” he said, winking at Rusty, “who needs the Weather Channel when Ham Huggins is down the street?”

             
Rusty pushed back his chair and carried his dishes to the sink, hoping to make up for his bad table manners. “Thank you for the wonderful meal, Mrs. Tolson.”

Tubby laughed. “Gee, Rusty, it was just Sloppy—”

Emma snapped at her son. “Hush up, Ralphie! You could learn a thing or two from this nice young man.” The ice in her eyes melted the second she turned them on their guest again. “I hope you left some room for pie and ice cream, Rusty. The vanilla’s store bought, but the apple pie is homemade. My own recipe, in fact.”

“I was wondering what that heavenly aroma was!” said Rusty, laying it on a bit thick in Tubby’s opinion. Not used to compliments, Emma blushed again. “Oh! And would it would be all right if Ralph spent the evening at my home?” Rusty continued without pause: “Later on we’ll be meeting some friends at the wax museum, up the street…that is, if it’s okay with you and Mr. T?”

After dinner Tubby and Rusty migrated to the rocking chairs on the front porch. They watched the first of the cars pull into the lot for the 9:00 p.m. show, and as his skinny friend polished off his second piece of pie a-la-mode, Tubby wondered aloud at Rusty’s power of persuasion. “She said yes! Just like that! Jeepers, she didn’t even stop to mull it over!”

Rusty belched hugely. “You sound disappointed.” He licked the crumbs from the plate, set it down on the porch rail, and let fly another impressive burp.

“Are you k-
kidding
me?” Tubby stammered. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for her to cut the apron strings. I’ve begged, pleaded, and threatened! Then you come along and say, ‘Can Ralph spend the night?’ and she goes, ‘Sure. Why not.’ Tubby shook his head and sighed. “Women…I will
never
understand them.”

Rusty looked incredulous. “You mean to tell me you’ve never spent a night away from home before?”

“Not even summer camp, Rusty.”

“That’s weak. Well, as my daddy likes to say: ‘every journey begins with a single step, my son.’”

“That’s profound, Rusty. What does it mean?”

“Hell if I know. Old people do go on, don’t they?” Rusty stood up from his rocking chair. “Now how ‘bout showing me that projector like you promised?”

                          *******

It was dark when Bud and Josie crawled out of the rabbit hole, the smell of smoke still thick in the air. Bud’s right arm tingled where Josie had fallen asleep on it. It had been well worth the discomfort, though. He’d let her sleep until eight thirty, all the while drinking in her strawberry scented tresses. Like summer vacation, the time had flown. They stood silent and still outside the Bunker for a moment more, listening for any voices filtering out of the forest.

              Satisfied that the authorities had since moved on, Josie and Bud began their trek home.

             
Bud patted the pocket of his army coat, the heavy bulge of the loaded .38 giving him some measure of comfort. Rusty wasn’t the only one who’d had the disquieting notion that there might be other rabid animals on the loose. While he and Josie had been stuck down in the Bunker, he’d given more thought to what had happened that day. It struck him as odd that none of them had ever seen the large gray bitch before. Moon Island was too sparsely populated for an animal that size to stay unnoticed.

             
Unless, of course, it came from the Army Base.

             
Josie grabbed his other hand. “Thinking about that Vermicious Kanit?”

Self-conscious of Josie’s small cool hand in the midst of his huge meaty paw, Bud’s palm began to sweat. He resisted the nervous urge to light up another cigarette. He’d been self-conscious of the tobacco on his breath while kissing Josie. He wondered if his mouth tasted like an ashtray—like the old commercial said. Maybe it was time to quit. Unlike most kids who take up the habit out of peer pressure or to simply look cool, Bud smoked because it helped to soothe his nerves and settle his ever-restless hands. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, that gray nightmare.
More specifically, where the hell she came from.”

             
“It must have something to do with the Research Center, don’t you think?”

             
“Yeah, I think so too. And if there’s one—”

             
“There might be others!” Josie exclaimed, looking around at the surrounding trees with something new to worry about now. She hadn’t considered the idea, either.

             
“Oh, I’m sure there aren’t,” Bud said, trying to allay her fears. “At least not any on the loose.” Despite the distance they’d already traveled, he wondered if he should go back for a flashlight. He felt like an idiot, forgetting it in the storeroom. “Let’s just keep our eyes open, and after tonight maybe steer clear of the woods for awhile.”

Bud could barely see Josie nod in the dark. He didn’t bother telling her his plan of discussing this with his dad later on. Like most kids his age, Josie didn’t trust adults with news that could get you into trouble. But Bill Brown wasn’t like most adults! And Bud was anxious to hear his old man’s opinions on the matter.

              He wasn’t crazy, though. He wasn’t going to tell Bill about the fire he’d set. His old man would
never
be cool with that bullshit.

             
                        *******

Meanwhile, back at the Moonlite Drive-In, Rusty and Tubby were clomping down the wooden stairs outside the projectionist booth. Tubby hadn’t been kidding about his old man. Mr. Tolson had nearly chewed Rusty’s ear off when asked how the old Century projector worked. Not that Rusty had minded. In fact, he’d thrilled to the demonstration. They had stuck around until the first show started at 9:30, but left when the projector broke down again, and Mr. Tolson had himself a minor meltdown.

              “Your old man sounds like that Dr. Smith character on
Lost In Space.
When he gets pissed off like that.”

             
Out in the lot, a handful of cars beeped their horns at the still darkened screen.

             
Tubby imitated his father:
“Why you pondiferous pile of pusillanimous projector parts! I’ll melt your substandard sprockets down for spare change!”

             
“Hey, that’s pretty good, Tubby! You should give Bud lessons on that shit. He couldn’t impersonate a dog barking.” Rusty remembered Mr. Tolson’s offer before he’d gone off his nut. “Say, you think your old man was serious about that job offer up there?”

             
“Sure he was,” Tubby said, hitching up his bookbag. He’d taken his schoolbooks out and replaced them with some overnight items. It contained the most grown up pair of PJ’s he owned (horsies), his toothbrush, and a change of duds for tomorrow. His mother had embarrassed him by checking out the underwear he’d put in the bag. And right in front of Rusty, too! Tubby had said nothing for fear she might use it as an excuse to change her mind. The bookbag also contained some of his purchases from Moon Man’s. Tubby glanced over at Rusty. He’d been annoyed with his dad for putting his friend on the spot like that. “Are you saying you’re interested in the job? I gotta tell you, Rusty…my dad…he’s really cheap.”