Eyes locked on the bus in front of him, its emergency lights winking at him, he crossed the road onto the shoulder, feeling the gravel shift and crunch underfoot. His next step took him into the tall grass and the unrelenting darkness beyond the illuminating cones of the Bronco’s headlights. Here the ground was uneven, littered with rocks—treacherous, if he had to run. Slow and steady and—
—an arm flailed out of the grass, the hand clutching his ankle.
Kevin gasped, stumbled—almost fell.
Eyes straining, he made out a dark uniform, a man with a hard face and a crewcut that made Kevin think: military. The man’s face was drawn, streaked with blood. He was dying. Kevin was certain of that. It seemed like he’d used the last of his strength to stop Kevin with his outflung arm.
“Help.”
Crouching, Kevin examined the man, who was covered in blood. Nametag on the chest pocket identified him as Kuneman. “The police are on their way,” he assured the man. Give him hope, maybe he can hold on. “What happened? Where’s my dad?”
Kuneman opened his mouth, muttered something unintelligible, then turned his head and spit up a clot of blood.
Is he bleeding internally? How bad is it? What’s happened? He’d tried to tell Kevin something, but his voice had been faint, too muddled for him to hear. “Can’t understand—” Kevin began.
Kuneman gurgled, more blood gushing out of his mouth.
Rising, Kevin said, “Wait there. I’ll get my dad.”
Kevin knew nothing about first aid, couldn’t help the man and couldn’t bear to stand there doing nothing while he bled to death. His father would know what to do. They’d figure something out until the police and an ambulance arrived.
“No,” Kuneman said, the sound coming out like a desperate cough. His hand flailed around, trying to clutch Kevin’s ankle again, but he’d stepped away too far for the dying man to reach him. “Run.”
Kevin thought he’d say more, but his head fell back, eyes rolling up as he passed out. For a moment, Kevin thought of checking for a pulse, to verify if Kuneman was dead or simply unconscious, but the idea freaked him out. Either way, there wasn’t anything he could do for the man. He looked around, straining to see in the darkness. This far from the Bronco, only the pulsing emergency lights of the bus helped reveal his surroundings.
He wiped each damp palm on his pants, then clutched the rifle high, aiming it now, but not seeing a target. Heart racing, he took one meticulous step after another, closing the distance between him and the bus, wondering if any second another hand would reach out and grab him.
Closer to the bus, he could finally see the lettering on the side, which read, ILLINOIS DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS. A prison bus…
“Dad?” he called, hoping his father would step off the bus and assure him the situation was under control, and tell him to go back to the Bronco and wait for the authorities. But he heard no reassurances. His old fear, the child’s fear of the dark, felt as real as ever at that moment, the monster under the bed, the Boogeyman lurking in the closet. As the open door of the bus loomed ahead, the years melted away. “Daddy?”
Raising the sights of the rifle close to his right eye, he stepped onto the dark bus and up the stairs, his weight eliciting a creak of metal.
Before he reached the top of the steps, he saw the bus driver, slumped over the large steering wheel. If the driver had had a heart attack, that would explain the bus veering off the road, rumbling to a stop by the trees. But something looked off, the driver’s neck…
He peered into the back of the bus, past the dead driver and a front section divided from the rear by a metal partition, which hung open. But nobody else was on the—
Then he noticed a man in a guard’s uniform sprawled on the floor, partially hidden by one of the seats, his exposed neck wet with blood.
“Oh, shit!” Kevin whispered, trembling. “Dad…?”
Sweeping the rifle barrel left to right and back again, he took a cautious step forward, then another, seeing noth—
A blur of motion as someone rose from under a seat.
“Don’t shoot.”
BLAM!
Inside the dark bus, the roar of the rifle was deafening.
The accented voice had spoken a split second too late. Fearing a disturbed patient—or prisoner—had been about to attack him in that sudden movement, Kevin’s index finger had convulsed on the trigger.
The shot hit the gray-haired man in the left shoulder, twisting his body.
Kevin suddenly realized the man wore a business suit—not patient scrubs or an inmate uniform. Then the man collapsed.
“Aw, ffff—”
He’d shot the guy in charge!
Panicked, Kevin ran, thundering down the bus steps, racing through the high grass, heedless of any grasping hands that might try to stop him, making a beeline for the Bronco. He stumbled once, felt his ankle rolling, recovered, crossed the shoulder of the road and ran to the driver’s side door. Fortunately, his father had left his keys in the ignition. Fumbling the door open, he tossed his rifle onto the vacant passenger seat and settled into the driver’s seat.
Kevin couldn’t recall where he’d left his phone. On the dash, he thought, but it wasn’t there. And he couldn’t remember if he’d closed the passenger door before checking the bus. Doesn’t matter, he told himself. Worry about it later.
He turned the key in the ignition. Though he didn’t have his license and was too young for a driver’s permit, he’d had a little experience behind the wheel when his father indulged his curiosity by letting him drive around an empty shopping center parking lot. Besides, the road was deserted. No other cars to hit. Take it slow and steady.
About to shift the car into drive, he adjusted the rearview mirror and glanced at the road behind him. The red glow of his taillights on the back window blotted out—
—as a dark shape rose from behind him.
His breath caught in alarm.
He glimpsed an emotionless face half cloaked in shadow—a dead left eye—a white tunic and—
Strong hands clamped around his throat, bearing down mercilessly until darkness bloomed around the edges of his vision, closing in…
11
“Sorry I scared you, dear,” Laurie said as she held Allyson close. “Your grandmother hasn’t gone senile. I was distracted for a moment. That’s all. Won’t happen again. Promise.”
As she disengaged from the hug, she dabbed at a welling tear with the knuckle of her index finger. Allyson’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as well. But Laurie worried the source of Allyson’s tears went beyond witnessing her nearly step into the path of an oncoming car. Oh, that had frightened her, no doubt, but that had simply been the exclamation point to the evening, after Laurie’s unforgivable behavior inside the restaurant. No matter how much she tried to change, she continued to alienate her daughter and disappoint her granddaughter.
“Good,” Allyson said, flashing a tentative smile. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Goes double for me, kiddo,” Laurie said, fighting back fresh tears. She wondered if an absentee grandmother might be the best thing for the young woman’s emotional health. “And I’m sorry about ruining your special night.”
“You didn’t ruin it,” Allyson said. “It was fine…”
Until I showed up, Laurie thought. Probably a good thing I arrived late to the party.
Laurie looked up, saw that Karen had crossed the street and stood at a distance, allowing her time with her granddaughter. At a break in traffic, Ray and Cameron crossed over, the latter carrying Allyson’s trophy, cellphone and coat. Both veered toward Laurie and Allyson, bypassing Karen.