The Revenants Page 8

  Did she imagine the whole thing? The burning sensation encircling her ankle said she did not.

  Well, she sure wasn’t going to stay down here and find out.

  Becca climbed. As fast as she could, and as slow as she had to, she climbed. Before long the palms of her hands were flat on the backside of the bus.

  She didn’t dare look back down inside for fear of what may be gazing back up at her. Or worse, climbing toward them.

  “Nice job down there.”

  It was Wally. The firefighter’s complete attention was on lowering Peyton safely to the ground in her harness. Becca thought about telling Wally about what happened inside the bus. Now wasn’t the time. The firefighter had enough on his mind trying to get Peyton down safely to the ground and Denise to a hospital; and after all that, call the cops. The last thing Wally needed right now was a crazy lady on his hands, too.

  When Peyton’s sneakered feet touched the ground Wally asked her, “Anyone else alive down there?”

  Sitting on the back of the bus, four stories in the air, she gazed up at him, “Nope. No one else. Can we get the hell out of here now?” Becca decided right then and there the moment they got down they were leaving this place and never coming back. And once I get to Sioux Falls, I’m booking the first flight for New Hampshire, Land Rover and client in New York be damned.

  Peyton waved up to them. And like a good rescue victim she was already climbing out of her harness.

  Wally waved back down to her and then started hauling up the rope. Without looking at her he announced, “Okay, you’re next.”

  Becca leaned over, grabbed the door, and even though it meant risking toppling over the school bus tower she closed the hatch and turned the handle.

  “What are you…” Wally began, but she cut him off.

  “Please don’t ask me why, but whatever you do… do not open that hatch.”

  Chapter 11

  The Gas Station

  The big bright moon was gone, hidden by a dark blanket of clouds. And the wind was growing steadily worse.

  Wally was in the back of the ambulance and had resumed his post at Denise’s bedside. The teenage girl they had rescued from the towering bus obelisk, Peyton, was curled up like a small child in the passenger seat beneath a paramedic’s jacket. Becca figured the coat must’ve belonged to that young Hispanic E.M.T. The image of Santos’s smiling face was replaced with the ax hurtling into the man’s back like a cannonball.

  Becca forced the sickening images from her mind, but she couldn’t force the shaking from her hands. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, and that seemed to help, a little. She felt her sanity slipping with each passing mile. The haunted motel, rabid animals, and towering bus; each instance was like waypoints on a map, and with each intermediate point, she felt herself slip one step closer to madness. She shivered uncontrollably but it soon passed. She stretched a quivering hand toward the thermostat, but then thought better of it. More heat would only make her drowsier than she already was. And dozing off at the wheel was the last thing they needed. Besides, deep down, she knew her shaking wasn’t from the cold. As she withdrew her hand from the controls it occurred to her how her situation could actually be worse. What if she wasn’t going mad?

  She tried focusing on something else and studied the gas gauge again. Yep, still on E. Not above it, dead smack on it, as in find a gas station in the next few minutes or your butt is walking to the next town. Of course, this being South Dakota, walking to the next town in the winter was a death sentence--if hypothermia didn’t kill you then the local wildlife probably would.

  They’d been running on fumes for at least the last five minutes. She hadn’t said anything to Wally; there was no need to worry him. Lord knows the man had enough on his mind trying to keep Denise alive. Maybe this was why he wasn’t freaking out, asking himself, or her, W.T.H.? He had something to do, keep his mind ocupado. Not her. Keep the ambulance going straight down an unwinding road was pretty much her sole purpose right now. That, and being alone with her thoughts. Then she saw them. The lights, in the distance.

  They were saved. And just in time, too, because the engine was starting to gurgle, burp and wheeze like her poppa used to do the year before he died. Becca muttered a quick prayer. ‘C’mon, old girl, just a few miles more.’

  The lights in-the-distance soon became the lights not-so-far away. But wait a minute, where are we? Becca shivered when she realized. Oh God, no. Please God, no.

  (well look at that)

  They were back at the motel.

  How did she not know that they were traveling back toward it? How?!

  Welcome home, lass! Welcome home!

  As the ambulance came in for final approach she saw the ramshackle motel buildings waiting for her, hungering for her, arms stretching open wide to embrace her to its bosom, never ever to let her go again. No matter how hard she tried she just couldn’t escape the damned place; or was it the place of the damned?

  (It’s damned)

  Don’t look at it. Just drive right past it and go to the gas station just beyond.

  Becca gripped the wheel tightly in both hands and stared straight ahead, but out of the corner of her eye she imagined three hitchhikers standing out by the roadside. You know, just like those three hitchhiking ghosts at the end of the Haunted Mansion ride in Orlando? Only these three hitchhikers weren’t fun-loving vagabonds, no siree, Bob! These were familiar friends. The first was host Donnie O’Donnell, looking a tad ghoulish these days with his face sunken and white as a bed sheet, even his eyes were rimmed with black circles and red boiling puss, but the fighting Irish smile was still the same, and of the three, he was the only one waving at her. The second hitchhiking ghoul was of course the Karaoke Kewpie Doll, still wearing her blood-soaked Santa hat. When she noticed Becca staring at her she leaned over at the waist and blew her a friendly kiss.

  (Isn’t she sweet?)

  The last hitchhiker hurt Becca’s heart more than anything else. It was Mike. Not the Mike she had first met on the gun range who was so patient with her during hours of training. Nor was it the Mike sitting on the oil drum in the vehicle pool, eating an oversized sandwich and grinning at her with that big dopey grin of his. No. This was the Michael Sloane after the bomb went off, or at least a modified version of him. Eye hanging out of his socket, flesh seared like a piece of charbroiled steak. His one good eye focused on her and filled with sorrow. Not for himself.

  For her.

  Becca, unaware she had been holding her breath, exhaled so sharply she nearly choked to death.

  ‘Knock it off, Becca, you just knock that right off! If you don’t stop it right now you’re not going to do anyone a lick of good. Of course you’re back at the Motel, you big dummy, it makes perfect sense. When you left the motel you were traveling east to Sioux Falls. After the accident you guys loaded up Denise in the ambulance and started traveling west back to Rapid City. You should have known you’d have to pass the motel again to get back to the hospital in Rapid City. There’s nothing supernatural about this, so you knock it off right now. Get some gas and get the hell out of there. You don’t have to go anywhere near that infernal motel with its ghostly singers and midnight knockers.’

  The town, if you could call it that, you really couldn’t because it wasn’t much more than a motel, gas station and a diner across the street, was so small Becca realized that if the lights hadn’t been on at the gas station and motel Becca probably would have driven right past the lot of them before she even realized they were there.

  Wally must’ve felt the truck slow and take a turn because he popped his head through the hatch into the cab. The fireman took one look at the gas gauge and said, “Glad you were paying attention to our fuel. We’d never had made it the rest of the way.”

  The digital gas gauge actually read zero miles when she pulled into the Paradise Gas Station. If the station had been another fifteen feet they would have had to push the ambulance the rest of the way to the pump
s.

  At least the bright lights from the gas station were welcoming, unlike the creepy motel next door. She pulled the ambulance under the center of the oversized canopy, which slightly shielded them from brunt of the budding snowstorm.

  When she put the ambulance in park the first thing she saw was the billboard sign out by the road.

  LAST CHANCE GAS

  GAS NOW OR GAS-CAN LATER!

  NEXT STOP

  224 MILES!!!

  Peyton stirred beneath the coat. Becca admired her ability to sleep after so much trauma. It took the teenager a moment to check her surroundings and realize that she was safe. For a brief moment Becca thought the girl might have a nervous breakdown, but instead, she asked, “Where are we?”

  “We’re low on gas. This was the first place I could find.”

  Peyton seemed to think this over for a second, before deciding things were okay and nodded sleepily back.

  Wally abruptly popped his head in-between their seats. “You two want to go inside and call for help? I’ll stay out here and keep an eye on Denise, maybe try the radio again.”

  Becca nodded, turned to Peyton and asked, “You coming?”

  “Are you taking your gun?” she asked immediately.

  Becca figured Peyton must’ve seen it on the dash where Wally had returned it. She exchanged a look with Wally. The firefighter was the first to speak. “You take it. I’ll keep the doors locked while you’re gone.”

  Neither of them had told Peyton about the raven attack or Spence going all psycho, and they weren’t about to say anything to the young girl now, but Becca remembered the last time she didn’t take the gun. It was inside the bus-tower where the severed arm grabbed her and rang her leg like a church bell. “Thanks.”

  Seeing this exchange Peyton announced, “Okay, I’m with you then.” She slipped into the paramedic’s jacket she’d been sleeping under and was far too big for her, and cracked open her door. The wind nearly ripped it right out of her hand and she had a difficult time getting out and closing it behind her.

  St. Joseph’s cousin Mary, that is one mother of a storm there, lass. Next stop, Kansas.

  Becca scooped her pistol off the dash and exited in the same manner, and with about as much grace.

  The wind felt as bad as it looked. She jogged around the front of the ambulance and toward the brightly lit station.

  About halfway between the pumps and the little gas station’s store she realized she was still holding the gun in her outstretched hand.

  What am I doing? Do you want to get shot by the clerk? Before going inside, not wanting to scare anyone, she slipped the 1911 back into its holster clipped to her belt.

  She saw the cheerleader staring at her with an expression of shock and amazement. The young girl shook her head for emphasis.

  “Don’t worry, we’re safe now,” Becca explained, but even now she wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t shake the feeling they were being herded back here. In fact, some part of her felt as though things had actually gone from bad to worse. As though everything that happened so far was merely a precursor of the truly horrific events they were about to experience.

  (Unfortunately for Becca and her newfound friends, that’s exactly what it was)

  There was a slight ding as the doors parted and they entered together like Batman and Robin entering the Joker’s lair.

  From inside came the sound of an ironic Christmas tune. “The weather outside is frightful, by the fire is so… delightful. There isn’t any place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

  For no reason she could explain a small shiver wormed its way up her spine.

  Once they were far enough inside the pneumatic doors slid closed behind them, sealing them inside. The sound of the wind outside diminished significantly but they could still hear it gusting against the windowpanes, rattling them slightly.

  The interior of the gas station store was fairly modern, clean, and so bright inside you could almost forget a snowstorm was brewing outside.

  Straight ahead was a small island with two unmanned registers. Every square inch of the counter space was crammed with junk food, gum, and other fun little impulse-buyer offerings designed to prey on your wallet with bright colors and catchy little titles.

  “Helloooooo!” the cheerleader sang out. She purposefully strode to the counter and banged repeatedly on the bell at the counter. DING-DING-DING-DING!

  I didn’t think people used those annoying little bells anymore. Where do you even buy something like that nowadays anyway?

  “Anybody here,” Becca yelled. If it was like most late night gas stations she had experienced in her lifetime, the absent night clerk was either asleep or watching television in the back. Eventually he would come shuffling out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and mutter something halfway between, ‘Hold your horses’ and ‘Can I help you, folks.’

  But when the clerk finally does come out, what are you gonna say to him? I mean, any part of the truth is going to sound like sheer crazy talk. ‘Hi there. A flock of homicidal birds attacked us this evening, and shortly after that a fireman went all serial killer on us. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, and you’re going to want to pass the straitjacket for this one, a four-story tall monolith in the form of a crashed bus is perched in the middle of the highway like some giant hand picked it up and smashed it down there like an empty beer can.’

  Instead of babbling all of that out, Becca settled for also shouting out, “Hello? There’s been an accident. We need help!”

  Still no answer. That is unless you counted the talking slot machine against the wall, with a roaring twenties gangster accent, “Hey buddy, try your luck, everybody’s a winner!” She forgot that one-arm bandits were legal in some places in the state of South Dakota. And it also didn’t occur to her until this exact moment that there might not be anyone here manning the gas station.

  The sinking feeling returned. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She had escaped the motel, navigated the trials and tribulations. Now they should be safe. But no one was here to help them, or at the very least, call in reinforcements. When will this nightmare end? When-when-when?

  Voicing her own thoughts aloud, Peyton asked, “Where the hell is everybody?”

  “It’s okay, Peyton. Just calm down.”

  (Break-Break. When are people going to learn that the two worst words you can ever tell someone to do when they are going hysterical is CALM DOWN? Seriously, they teach this in the Police Academy, folks. Never say CALM DOWN. This is especially true when it involves a man to a woman)

  “Calm down?” Peyton asked, (rhetorically), “Calm down?” she repeated. “Look lady, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s nobody here! So don’t tell me to calm down. (See, it’s like I told you. Wait. I think there’s one more. And I do apologize for this one, part of it is in French.) “You calm the fuck down!”

  (Language. Tsk-tsk)

  Becca exhaled, held her palms up in supplication and then, spotting a land line behind the counter she mumbled to herself, “The heck with this.” And not seeing an entrance to ‘Clerk Island’, Becca hopped up to sit on the countertop, swung her legs over to the other side and dropped down behind the counter. She picked up the phone, listened for a dial tone and when she got one, dialed 911. She was rewarded with a curt busy signal.

  Hearing this too the cheerleader wiped her tears on the back of her wrist and offered, “I think you have to dial nine to get out.”

  Of course she was right. Becca held a forefinger down on the disconnect button for a moment, released it, and as soon as she heard a dial tone again, she punched nine. Hearing the line click over to an outside line she promptly dialed 911 again.

  She knew it wouldn’t work. Not after everything they had been through in the last hour. It couldn’t possibly…

  “You have reached 911.”

  (Huh… whaddya know, she got through)

  “Hello, dispatcher? There’s…uh… been an accident.”
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  Her moment of elation was quickly cut short when she heard the automated voice say, “We are receiving an unusually high amount of emergency calls. Please hang on the line and your call will be answered in the order it was received. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

  The cheerleader was staring at her wide-eyed as if to say, ‘Well’?

  Becca covered the mouthpiece and answered softly, “Recording.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, then buried her face in her hands as if washing it. “Why is this happening?”

  After hanging on for another thirty seconds, Becca punched the disconnect button and started to dial Rob’s cell. What was his number again? She hadn’t had to dial it on anything other than speed dial on her cell phone for so long that she’d completely forgotten the number. She thought about checking her cell phone but remembered the battery had died getting here. ‘Take a breath; start with area code, 603, that’s easy enough. Oh yeah, Rob’s number was the year he graduated college.’ Remembering to dial nine for an outside line, she quickly punched in the ten digit code.

  After only one ring Rob’s voicemail picked up. As Becca listened to his normal cheery voicemail greeting she decided to leave a short message, but not exactly tell him everything. “Hi Rob, it’s me. I was in a car accident, but don’t worry, I’m fine. My cell phone is dead and I lost the charger, so don’t try calling me back. I’m at a gas station about halfway between Rapid City and Sioux Falls. The number here is…” she read the number off the phone and closed with, “Okay, I love you, dopey little brother, and I will call you in the morning. Kiss my nephew and nieces for me,” and hung up.

  The fear monger who dwelled inside her brain crawled out from under his rock like Gollum in Lord of the Rings and began creeping back toward the forefront of her mind. The last time they had talked Robbie had mentioned something about a power outage. Maybe that had something to do with him not picking up. Most likely the battery on his cell phone died too, and he had no way of charging it back up until the power came back on. Logical enough. Besides, the kids loved blackouts; breaking out the camping stove, lanterns, and playing board games by candlelight. Becca glanced at her watch and saw it was ten past two. Which meant Rob probably already left for work, and Trish and the kids were probably all in their beds snoozing away.