Mary was mid-stride—she had probably been pacing—when he interrupted. She limped to him quickly as he saw the new inhabitant of the shop. It was Peg Polhemus. The last time he’d seen her, she had jumped from his truck and run off at an inhuman pace.
“What’s she doing here?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
Mary glanced at the woman, who was staring off at nothing.
“She wandered in. She has barely said two sentences since.” Mary leaned even closer to her husband. “And she has these strange dots.” Mary gestured at her own chest to illustrate. “They scared the bejesus out of the Hazards.”
Vernon looked over Mary’s shoulder and stared at Peg until he understood what Mary was talking about. The lights were hard to see from his angle, but he saw them.
“We can’t go home, and I don’t want to be near that woman if we can help it,” Vernon said.
“Why can’t we go home?” Mary asked. She grabbed his shirt and noticed the blood there. “What happened?”
“Bad robots,” he said.
Mary looked away with a concerned brow.
“Is there somewhere safe in this building? A storeroom or a cellar?” Vernon asked.
Mary glanced at Louise. “Safe from what?”
“Good question,” Vernon said. “Boys!” he called. George popped up from the floor. Ricky looked in their direction. Ricky got up when George pulled at his hand. The four of them collected over near the door.
“We’re going to hoof it out of town,” Vernon said.
George looked up at him with wide eyes. Mary nodded.
“We’ll go south on 270 until we get to Christy’s, and then we’ll cut through the cemetery and take the back way down to the train tracks. From there, we’ll go to Prescott’s and then straight out.”
“Why not stay on 270?” Mary asked.
“It’s not as straight a shot,” Vernon said. “We’re going to move as fast as we can, but in case we have to break up into groups, that’s the route. Mary, stay with George no matter what and go as fast as you can on that ankle. Ricky and I will try to keep up.”
“Dad?” Ricky asked.
“You’re with me,” Vernon said.
“There’s something I have to show you,” he said.
“Can it wait?” Vernon said.
Ricky shook his head slowly. He looked like he was about to cry.
“Mom,” he said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I told you they were inside me.” His borrowed shorts were loose on his skinny frame. Ricky pulled them down enough to expose the top of his right thigh. Mary took in a sharp breath when she saw. At the top of Ricky’s right thigh, he had a triangle of little yellow lights.
Vernon looked over at Peg. She was smiling in their direction.
“We’ll deal with that when we get out of town, Ricky,” Vernon said. “Nothing we can do about it now.”
“They’ve been helping me,” Ricky said. “At least I thought they were helping me. Actually, I thought it was all just me. I guess I was fooling myself.”
“Ricky, mind your father. We’re going to get out of here and then we’ll think of what to do about your leg,” Mary said.
“No, Mom,” Ricky said. “They’re not going to let us leave. They need us here. We have to help them set everything up—that’s why they haven’t…”
“Stop,” Mary said. “Mind your father. We’ll get out of here and then we’ll figure it out.”
Vernon studied his oldest son and then looked back to his wife. “You’re right, Mary. We’ve got our plan.”
He looked at Louise, John, and Peg. John might be useful, but he looked pretty shaken. Louise was well beyond her prime. Vernon doubted that she could make it beyond the edge of her own lawn at anything more than a fast walk. He would deal with Peg if he had to, but his plan was to ignore her.
Vernon didn’t dismiss what his son was saying, but it didn’t affect his plan. Regardless, he needed Mary to maintain her confidence that everything would be okay. That would lead to the best odds for her and George. Vernon would deal with Ricky’s problem only if he had to.
“I’ve got to swing by the truck on the way out. Mary—you and George go. Don’t slow down until you get to Prescott’s. We’ll catch up when we can.”
She nodded.
“Louise,” Vernon called, “I suggest that you and John hole up in your office. Lock the door and don’t come out until the police call you out.”
Behind her counter, Louise seemed to shrink back. Peg was still smiling in Ricky’s direction. Vernon wanted to put a stop to her smiling, but settled for ushering his family through the door.
“Go, Mary,” he said. His wife took their son’s hand and the two of them moved fast for the road. She was doing admirably well, despite her limp. They wouldn’t last long at that pace, but at least they might get out of sight quickly.
“Come on, Ricky,” Vernon said. “Head for the truck.”
His oldest son looked weak, but he managed to keep up with Vernon as they ran across the lawn. The truck was over near the park, where it had rolled into a tree. Vernon had his big hunting knife under the seat. He thought he might need it before his trip was through. His own chest hurt when he thought about those yellow lights under Ricky’s skin. He wondered if the boy remembered getting them. He wondered if the process had been the same. There was no time to ask now. They both needed to focus their breathing on supplying oxygen to their legs, not to conversation.
The stop at the truck was brief. Vernon got the knife and Ricky leaned against the side. He had kept up when running, but didn’t look so hot as he stood there.
“You need to take it slow?” Vernon asked. He slipped his belt through the sheath of the knife and
kneed the door of the truck closed while he buckled his belt again.
Ricky shook his head and swallowed. It was a lie.
“How come,” Ricky asked, taking a breath mid sentence, “we don’t take the truck?”
“Doesn’t start,” Vernon said. He narrowed his eyes. Wasn’t Ricky there for that conversation?
“Let me try,” Ricky said.
Vernon started to shake his head, but then remembered that morning. He remembered how Ricky had magically pushed the truck out of the ditch. Vernon stepped aside and gestured to his son. In the worst case they would only waste a few seconds.
Ricky approached the door slowly, supporting himself against the truck like an old man. He was whispering to himself as he walked. Vernon took a step back. This version of his son was disturbing. Ricky slipped behind the wheel and the truck fired up.
Vernon could barely believe it. He didn’t waste any time. He pushed the door open the rest of the way and said, “Slide over.”
Ricky looked at him. “I have to drive.”
Vernon shrugged and jogged around the tree that the truck was resting against. The truck started to roll backwards even as Vernon got in. He slid the knife to the side as he sat down and noticed the lump against his leg—his keys were in his pocket. His eyes went to the ignition. Ricky had started the car without keys.
Vernon kept his mouth shut as Ricky put the truck in drive. They pulled down the road towards the intersection with 270. Ricky was keeping to the left.
“Take a right,” Vernon said. He shouldn’t have needed to tell Ricky that. They could both see Mary and George moving up the gradual hill that led out of town.
The truck was still headed north. It was still picking up speed as they flew by the stop sign.
“Ricky?”
His son looked at him. The boy’s eyes were vacant. Vernon leaned over and grabbed the steering wheel. Still looking at him, Ricky let go of the steering wheel, but it felt like it was welded into place. Vernon couldn’t move it.
“Ricky!” Vernon shouted. He switched his hands from the steering wheel to his son’s shoulders. He shook the boy, but there was still no recognition there. Vernon gave up. He hated the notion of abandoning his eldest son, but in a spur-of-the-moment decision, Vernon threw himself against the door and pulled the handle. The handle wouldn’t budge, and the door might as well have been bolted in place.
They were still picking up speed. It was lucky there was nobody on the road, because they were streaking right down the center line and moving too fast to stop. Of course, the window wouldn’t lower. Vernon took out his knife and rammed the butt against the glass. It had a point on it that was designed for such things. The window shattered and Vernon began to haul himself out.
At that moment, the tires screamed and the truck rocked into a hard right turn. Vernon was collected back into the cab by the angular forces. He was driven into the frame of the window as the truck ground to a stop.
The engine died and everything suddenly seemed too quiet.
The door latch popped—Vernon was still halfway through the window—and his door swung open. Vernon spilled out to the pavement. He looked up and saw that they had stopped in the parking lot of the bait shop. Vernon pushed himself up to his feet. He stood as Ricky came around to his side of the truck.
“Dad?” Ricky asked.
Vernon looked up and studied his son’s eyes. Ricky looked like he was back, but Vernon wasn’t sure. Vernon didn’t say anything, and didn’t put his knife away. He took a half-step back and waited.
Ricky’s arm went up. He was pointing to the big lake.
“I think she needs help,” Ricky said.
Vernon saw what he was pointing to. The person was slapping at the water, trying to stay afloat. Whomever it was, they did look like they needed help. Vernon took another step back from his son.
[ Savior ]
“Stay here,” he said to Ricky.
Vernon shoved off and kept an eye on his son until the little boat had floated away from the dock. Then, he turned and paddled. All the boat contained was a little plastic oar, but Vernon made decent time. He just hoped that the woman would stay afloat.
She wasn’t really flailing like a drowning person would. She simply looked exhausted. Her half-hearted strokes were barely keeping her up. She didn’t even turn to see him approach.
Vernon’s arms were starting to burn as he pulled closer. He turned—Ricky was still standing there on the shore, looking.
“Hey there,” Vernon said when he thought he was close enough for her to hear. It was a stupid thing to say, but he didn’t want to surprise her.
She turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide and she gulped down water and then coughed it back up.
Vernon slid the boat alongside her and finally recognized her. It was April Yettin. At one point, back when April was still sane, she had been a teacher at Ricky’s school. Vernon reached down and she took his hand with both of hers. She pulled his arm close to her face and smiled. For a second, he was sure that she would open those teeth and take a big bite of his flesh.
She didn’t.
“You’re not marked,” she said.
“Let’s get you to the stern. Maybe I can haul you up without capsizing,” he said.
He did just that. The boat was pretty stable, even as he lifted her up over the transom. Even soaking wet, she barely weighed anything. Her wet dress clung to her bones. Vernon looked away.
“We’ve got to get you dried off,” he said. “You’ll catch your death.”
She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her focus was on the shore. Ricky stood at the base of the dock where Vernon had borrowed the boat. He started to paddle, pulling the bow around to face Ricky.
“That’s your son,” she said.
Vernon looked back at her in between strokes. She wasn’t quite as out to lunch as everyone said. When Mary and Louise talked about poor April, they always said that she wouldn’t recognize her own face in a mirror. Apparently she could pick out one or two faces.
“That’s right,” Vernon said. “You taught him in fifth grade.”
“He was one of the good ones until Uncle Harold got to him,” she said.
Vernon stopped paddling and turned around. “What did you say?”
They lived in a small town, so most of Ricky’s magic tricks had been learned from watching videos on the internet. But sometimes, a trick was better learned from a fellow magician. April’s uncle, Harold Yettin, had served as Ricky’s mentor more often than not. He was an amateur magician and pretty good at it from what Vernon had seen. But there was something sinister in what April had just said. It riled up the protective side of Vernon.
Her voice lowered to a whisper, like Ricky might hear them from his spot all the way over at the shore. “Uncle Harold taught him things. He taught him things that no kid should know. I saw it through the grate in my floor.”
A chill ran down Vernon’s spine. April had the apartment over Harold’s house, so that part made sense. But they had never let Ricky spend time alone at Harold Yettin’s house. Nothing untoward could have happened, could it?
“What exactly are you saying?” Vernon asked.
April was shivering, like she was feeling the same chill that Vernon felt.
“Ricky used to come by after he worked at the marina,” April said. “I know he was working because Uncle Harold would make him wash his hands for fifteen minutes before he would let him handle the cards. He always had so much grease under his fingernails.”
Vernon shook his head. It’s not like Ricky was working on engines at the marina. She must have been thinking of someone else.
April kept talking. “Uncle Harold told him about different kinds of magic. He told him about the difference between illusions and conjuring. He told him the difference between conjuring and summoning. He taught him incantations.”
“April, your disease is catching up to you,” Vernon said. He turned back to his paddling. The current had carried them closer to shore. He didn’t have much more work to do before he’d be back on dry land. This was the first day in a while that he had spent time
in
one lake and
on
another. When they were kids, they used to take one day in the summer and ride their bikes between all four of the big lakes so they could swim in all of them in the same day. After they got to driving age, he and his friends would try to hit all the lakes,
and
all the major ponds. There were too many. It took all day. Now he could count on one hand the number times he had gone swimming that year. He still liked to fish, but swimming almost seemed like an inconvenience. Vernon knew what he was doing—he was trying to think of anything just to banish April’s words from his head. Ricky was standing there, looking nervous and as sweet as he had ever been. April had to be wrong.