A New World: Untold Stories (14 page)

In the distance, the three state patrol cars take the first exit into town and several other vehicles enter the highway from the opposite onramp. Even in her excited state of mind, she realizes that she’s the only car heading into town; other than the state troopers. As she passes the exit, she sees that one of the police cars has pulled across the exit blocking it.

A few minutes later, she passes the second exit into town noting that it, too, is blocked by a police car with flashing lights. If her friend wasn’t lying in the seat in need of medical attention, she’d pull over and tell the policeman or woman about the attack happening at the drive-in. As it is, she climbs the hill to the exit leading to the hospital, leaving the blue lights flashing in the darkness behind.

As with the other exits, a patrol is parked across the ramp. It’s obvious that something big is happening, but she doesn’t associate it with what happened at the drive-in. Slowing, she pulls onto the exit and stops next to an officer holding his hand out. Trish rolls down the window.

“Ma’am, this ramp is closed. You’ll have to turn around and head back,” the officer states.

“But my friend is hurt. She needs to get to the hospital,” Trish pleads.

“I’m sorry. I think the hospital is closed anyway. You’ll have to turn around.”

“She’s really hurt. Surely the hospital is still open for emergencies.”

“I don’t think it is. Even if it is, your friend will more than likely have a long wait,” the officer says.

“I don’t care about that. She needs to be seen,” Trish says, feeling scared for her friend. “She was hurt at the drive-in when a bunch of people started attacking for no reason.”

Katie moans next to her. The officer leans into the window, his face silhouetted in shadow from the flashing lights and streetlights ahead.

“Is that your blood or your friend’s?” the officer asks, nodding toward the blood splotches on her torn dress.

“I…I don’t know,” Trish answers, looking down at the stains on her dress.

“Were you hurt, ma’am?”

“I was attacked, yes.”

“You say this happened at the drive-in?”

“Yeah. A bunch of people came in the exit and just started attacking the others in their cars. They pulled them out and started beating on them,” Trish replies.

“Okay, hang on,” the officer states and proceeds to report the event, talking into a microphone at his shoulder.

He walks around the truck and opens the passenger door. In the dim light from the overhead interior light, Trish sees blood on Katie’s face and her neck covered in red. Blood seeps from several deep scratches and gouges; a large one on her neck is still bleeding and has soaked into the cloth seat.

The policeman withdraws to his vehicle and opens the trunk, returning with a first aid kit which he opens on the seat next to Katie. Withdrawing several bandages, he folds and presses them against the deeper gouge.

“You’ll need to keep pressure on this,” he says. “Keep pressing tight, but not enough to block the arteries.”

“Okay…okay. But she needs a hospital,” Trish responds, her hand replacing the officers. Trish feels the heat emanating through the gauze which quickly becomes saturated.

“I can’t, ma’am. It’s too dangerous and I couldn’t in all good consciousness let you into town. You’ll need to keep replacing the bandage and you may want to use a small towel when you get her home, which I suggest you do right away,” the officer says.

Trish can hear the concern in his voice and that he really would like to help.

What’s going on?

“What about my parents? I live in town and they’re sick. I need to get to them,” Trish pleads once again.

“We’re telling everyone to stay indoors. If that’s where they are, and they should be if they’re ill, they’ll be okay. Does your friend live in town?”

“No, she lives out Lynch road,” Trish answers.

“Then I suggest you take her there. This will more than likely settle down by morning. If your friend hasn’t improved by then, bring her back. Stop the bleeding, clean her up, put some antiseptic on the wounds, and let her rest. That’s the best I can offer.”

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry, I can’t answer that. Now, your friend needs your help and I need you to clear out of here. There’s no traffic so back down the ramp and turn around,” the officer says, closing the door.

Fear grips Trish and she feels the burning from her own wounds. The officer heads back to his car.

“What about your first aid kit?” Trish yells out of her open window.

“Keep it. I wish you and your friend the best,” he states, turning his shadowed gaze toward town.

Trish hears what sounds like faint screaming drifting on the night air from the direction of the Walmart and Fred Meyer, reminding her of those she heard at the movie. Dread sets in thinking that this is more widespread than just the drive-in.

Removing her hand from the soaked bandage, she puts the truck in reverse and backs down the ramp. Turning around, she makes her way back toward the movie theater while holding pressure against Katie’s neck as best she can.

Some of the vehicles that pulled to the side of the highway have left, but others remain. People have gathered in groups and Trish has a fleeting thought of pulling over to see if any of them can help. However, the drive-in is just up the road and she doesn’t want to be anywhere close to it. She sees that the light from the movie is still playing. In her mind, that means the situation may not be under control. After all, wouldn’t they stop the movie if they could?

As she passes the cars, she thinks of telling them about the attacks, but Katie’s moaning and the feel of sticky blood on her hand takes priority. She passes two more police cars that streak by in the other lanes. Reaching the turnoff, she drives up the country road, her headlights illuminating trees on both sides.

Her shock has mostly worn off. She now feels cold and thoroughly scared. Katie hasn’t wakened enough to sit up or help herself. After a few minutes of negotiating the winding road, she pulls into Katie’s driveway. The headlights shine on the front of the darkened house, which surprises Trish. Katie’s parents are night owls, meaning that there were usually lights on most anytime Trish came over. She knows Katie’s parents are sick, like her own, so maybe they just turned in early. The truck lights shining on the open front door give her pause. With what the evening has held and what she’s been through, anything out of the ordinary makes her extremely nervous. Parking the truck so the lights shine on the house, she exits.

“Hello,” she shouts. “Mister and Misses
Trendle
? It’s Trish.”

There’s no reply and the only sound is that of the idling truck. The dried blood on her dress sticks to her skin and pulls on her wounds as she cautiously walks to the front door. She knows she should be holding the bandage on Katie’s wounds, but she can’t get her friend inside by herself. With no one coming to the door, or any lights flickering on to show that her arrival has been noticed, she needs to check and see if Katie’s parents are inside.

The house and surrounding property are enclosed in shadow with only the headlight beams breaking the darkness. To her, the open door seems ominous and reminds of the too many horror shows she’s seen. If this were a movie, she’d be mentioning how stupid the characters were for venturing forth into the darkened house. However, she steps up onto the porch and peeks in the door.

The only light is that from the truck streaming in through partially open curtains. The beams of bright light seem glaringly white in the darkness of the house, bleaching the colors out of everything they shine on. In the light, she sees that items have been knocked askew with one table lamp having fallen to the floor.

“Mister and Misses
Trendle
?” Trish calls out tentatively.

There’s no reply. Trish reaches to the panel by the side of the door and flicks the switches upward. Light floods the house, illuminating the living room, entryway, and porch. The house isn’t as much of a mess as she had thought with only the headlights shining in. However, for anything to be out of place in Katie’s house is something. Trish withdraws from the doorway and trots back to the truck. Opening the passenger door, she shakes Katie in an attempt to waken her.

“Katie…Katie! You’re home. You have to wake up. I can’t carry you,” Trish says loudly.

Katie only moans in response.

“Come on Katie…please.”

Trish watches as Katie lolls her head to the side and opens one eye. It may be a trick of the dim lighting, but her friend’s open eye looks glassy.

“Katie. You’re home. You have to help me get you inside.”

“I feel awful. My head hurts so bad. Are we home?”

“Yes. We need to get you inside.”

“Are my parents here?”

“No. At least I don’t think so, but their car is here,” Trish says, reaching her arms out.

“Where would they have gone?” Katie asks, weakly raising her own arms.

“I don’t know. Maybe they heard about what was happening in town and went there. Although, I don’t know how they would have,” Trish answers.

Grabbing hold of Katie’s arms, she pulls hard to lift her into a sitting position. Katie swoons and falls forward with her head resting on Trish’s shoulder. The first aid kit falls to the floor. Trish helps her friend out and, with the scratches burning and whole body aching, she guides Katie into the house and lays her on the couch.

“No, not here. Mom and dad will be furious if I get blood on the couch,” Katie mumbles, resting her head back onto the sofa pillows.

“It’ll be fine, Katie. You just rest. I’m going to get the first aid kit,” Trish soothes.

The bandage is still on her friend’s neck, held in place by the soaked blood.

“Here, hold this tight,” Trish says, guiding Katie’s hand.

Returning with the kit, Trish quickly rummages through the bathrooms, finding antiseptic and more bandages. She also grabs rags and several hand towels before walking back to the living room.

Kneeling beside her friend, Trish peels the bandage from Katie’s neck. The wound is still bleeding, so it peels off without much effort. Blood pools and runs down her neck. Trish can’t see how bad it is from the amount of blood leaking out. It runs down onto the pillow under her head.

“It’ll be okay, Katie. It’ll be okay,” Trish says, wiping some of the blood away with the bandage.

Pressing a new bandage in place, Trish guides Katie’s hand to it again and tells her to keep pressure on it. Katie keeps drifting in and out with Trish waking her each time.

“Katie, you have to stay awake.”

With Katie holding the bandage tightly, it quickly spots with blood and begins soaking through. Trish soaks one of the rags with the antiseptic and begins cleaning Katie’s face. Wiping away streaks of dried and drying blood, Trish sees the extent of the scratches along her face; some shallow and others deeper. One particular scratch is ragged and part of the skin is hanging to the side in shreds.

Trish gently wipes away the oozing blood and places a bandage on it, covering as much of the scratches as she can. Katie moans and relaxes farther into the couch, her hand falling from the bandage on her neck.

“Katie…Katie,” Trish says, pulling on Katie’s limp hand.

Katie doesn’t wake. Trish grabs another of the couch pillows and sets it beside Katie. Taking one of the hand towels, she wedges it between the soaked bandage and the pillow. Dousing another rag, she begins wiping the thick blood drying on her friend’s neck. She feels sick to her stomach wiping away so much of it, but she pushes the thought of what she’s doing away. This is her best friend and she focuses on doing what she can for her.

Part of the dread she feels is that she won’t be able to do enough. Katie sliding back into unconsciousness sends a wave of panic through her. She hastily begins mopping more of the blood away, using the towels to wipe the wet mess. She manages to clean most of it away from the superficial scratches, which are oozing blood and plasma. Pulling the towel and bandage off the major gouge, blood immediately fills the void.

Using the towel, she pats the blood away as best as she can, but she feels like she’s fighting a losing battle. As soon as she cleans some, more takes its place. Remembering the officer’s instructions, she gives up trying to see the extent of the wound and places a clean bandage, one of the few remaining, on the injury. She wads the towel and holds it tight against Katie’s neck.

Running her fingers through her friend’s hair, she murmurs that it’s all going to be okay. Occasionally, she glances through the drapes in the hopes that Katie’s parents will return. Surely, they’d know more than she does. Looking at her friend’s face, Trish is alarmed at how pale she is. Katie’s eyes have a sunken and darkened look about them.

As she strokes Katie’s hair, she worries about her parents. The officer said they would be alright if they stayed inside. They were both pretty sick and so wouldn’t have a reason to leave the house. That is, unless they heard a commotion in town and worried for Trish. Being ill wouldn’t stop them from leaving in search of her.

Funny how I didn’t think of my phone until now. I practically live on it
.