“Our guys completely lost confidence after that,” Kevin said. “Played scared. And if you play not to lose, what usually happens?”
“You lose!” they said in unison.
Static crackled through the speakers, rising above the low hum. His father turned up the volume and started punching buttons for preset stations, but they were probably still out of range. Frustrated again, his father worked his way up and down the dial, trying to find anything listenable.
“Let me try,” Kevin said. “You just… drive.”
“The hell you think I’m doing?” his father grumbled. “Been driving all damn day.”
Kevin had the image of his father, distracted by the radio, veering off the road into a ditch and busting an axle. Cue the bug swarms. So, he fiddled with the dial, trying to tune in music or a talk show. Hell, he’d settle for a weather report. Wispy patches of fog hung in the air on both sides of them, with some low over the road ahead, further reducing visibility.
For a moment or two, a man’s voice came through the speakers talking about bond yields and rising mortgage rates. Figures, he thought, a bunch of boring crap. But maybe it would calm his father down. “There—I’ve got someth—” A sharp burst of static swallowed the lone voice in the radio wilderness.
“Dammit!” his father said. “Can’t we just listen to the silence?”
“Sure, Dad,” Kevin began, looking up as his father happened to glance down at the radio, and seeing—
“Dad, look out!”
At the farthest reaches of the headlights stood a gaunt man wearing a white shirt over white trousers standing in the middle of the road. Initially, Kevin thought he was a ghost, as insubstantial as the patches of fog the Bronco passed through. But details formed quickly—wrinkles in the man’s shirt, smudges of dirt on his pant cuffs. Kevin’s father slammed on the brakes, swerving to avoid a direct hit. The Bronco skidded to a stop, with the driver’s side door inches from the placid man, who had made no attempt to avoid the collision. Like a deer in the headlights, Kevin thought. But it was more than shock, as if the man didn’t care what happened to him or didn’t believe the Bronco could hurt him. If Kevin had looked up a split second later…
“Christ,” his father said breathlessly, face pale, hands trembling on the wheel. “He came out of nowhere…”
But he’d been there the whole time the Bronco bore down on him, cloaked in fog and darkness until the headlights revealed him. Not behaving as a normal person would. “Something’s wrong with him, Dad.”
“Lucky he’s still alive,” his father said. “Why is he dressed like that? Like a dishwasher or an orderly?”
“Don’t know,” Kevin said. “Guess you could ask him.”
“Right,” Kevin’s father said, rolling down his window. His hands seemed a bit unsteady but no longer trembled. Looking out the window, he called, “What the hell happened to you, Hoss?”
The man focused on him for a moment. Then, distracted by something only he saw or heard, turned away without a word.
“Oh, shit,” Kevin said. “Dad, look.”
To their left, several men wandered aimlessly in the tall grass, like ghosts risen from a graveyard, dressed alike in white shirts and trousers. A few had the letters “S.G.” stenciled on their sleeves or pant legs. So, not their own initials. They looked confused or lost… or ill.
“Are they hospital patients?” Kevin asked.
“Here—now? What? A field trip at night?” his father said. “There’s no hospital near here. Unless…”
Kevin had a follow-up question but lost his train of thought when he spotted the transport bus, near a thicket of trees, as if it had veered off the road and rolled to a stop down the steep embankment. Under a canopy of tree branches, its emergency lights blinked.
“Look,” Kevin said, pointing. “By the trees.”
His father saw it, nodded. “Didn’t crash,” he said. “Probably broke down. But who’s in charge?”
Kevin shook his head.
“Stay here, Lumpy,” his father said, calling him by the nickname he hoped he’d outgrow before it became permanent. “I’ll check it out.”
Before climbing out of the Bronco, his father took a mag light from the glove box, then reached behind the front seats to grab one of their two hunting rifles from the hanging rack.
“Dad, what’s up with the rifle?”
“Nothing,” his father said quickly. “Better safe than sorry.”
The gaunt man had wandered away from the Bronco, back toward the wild grass and the other hospital patients. Kevin’s father strode past him toward the larger group, calling out, “Hey! You okay? You fellas all right? Need some help out here?”
“There’s no hospital near here. Unless…”
That one word, “unless,” lingered in Kevin’s mind. Whatever his father had chosen to keep from him seemed like something he should worry about. Maybe there were worse things than blood-sucking insects in the boonies. Praying he’d have a signal strong enough to make a call, Kevin took out his cellphone and checked the display. Low battery, but he had a few bars. He dialed 911. One bar flickered off. The line rang, the audio glitching as the digital signal tried to recover. Come on, he thought, willing the connection to—
Slap!
Something struck his window, jarring him.
“Jesus!”
He nearly dropped the phone—just as a calm voice rose from the tiny speaker.
Alarmed by the loud noise to his right, he turned his attention toward the window. One of the wandering apparitions stood on his side of the Bronco, meaty palm pressed to the tempered safety glass. Tearing his gaze away from the large hand, his focus shifted to the round face staring at him, smiling like a madman. He imagined the voice behind that smile saying, “Wanna come out and play?”
Unable to speak, Kevin shook his head.
Still smiling, the large man finally turned and wandered off.
Kevin saw a chain around his waist like a belt and what looked like an opened pair of handcuffs dangling from another chain attached to the belt.
The reassuring voice on the phone speaker gradually registered again, bringing Kevin back to the task at hand. “Yes? Hello? Yes,” he spoke quickly, afraid the emergency operator might decide he was a prank caller and hang up. “There’s been an accident or something… There’s a bus. People running around in the road…” Of course, she wanted to know where he was. “Lemme check.”
Kevin looked out the window. It was too dark behind the Bronco, nothing ahead within range of the headlights. An idea struck him, and he flipped on the high beams, expanding the range of the headlights. Raising the phone to his mouth, he said, “Yeah. Looks like mile 227.”
“Are you on Marla Road?” the operator asked.
“Yes. That back road just past Old Gibbs Bridge.”
“Is anyone injured?”
“My dad went to look. I don’t know. Hold on, I’ll go check…”
A quick scan of the area revealed nobody lurking near the Bronco, so he opened his door and stepped out. Without a flashlight of his own, he couldn’t be sure, but all the patients had vanished. He’d only been distracted on the phone for a few moments, yet the whole area seemed deserted—silent.
He called nervously, “Dad?”
No answer.
Where could—?
Of course, he realized. They must have gotten back on the bus. But what about his father? No sign of him either. Would he—?
“Unless…”
Kevin reached back into the Bronco and grabbed the other hunting rifle from the seat rack and clutched it in his sweaty palms. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. A few minutes ago, his biggest fear was biting insects. Now he wasn’t sure what they had stumbled into…