Blood Run (38 page)

~ ~ ~

Promise and the three Guards bedded down together in a small classroom. The windows had been completely boarded over, so they kept the Coleman on, but with the flame down to its lowest point. It guttered and shook, sending shadows stuttering across the ceiling and walls.

Promise turned in her sleep, reaching out as, in her dream, she reached for the handset on a dull black payphone. She was at the beach at Lake Ontario, where she and her family had gone almost every nice weekend in the summer–back in the old days, the days before the plague. The gulls screeched and dangled in the air, and the waves shushed and shushed again, and the beach was dotted with blankets, towels, aluminum chairs with summer-colored webbing, coolers, sand toys, umbrellas, brown bottles of suntan oil…she could smell salt water and the coconut from the tanning oil, the smell of the hot wood of the boardwalk, and something else…an unpleasant undertone that came and went, sour like gone over milk or rotting meat.

But there were no people. She turned in a circle: beach, boardwalk, snack stand, parking lot, beach…she was the only one. She looked again at the payphone, and unease shivered through her. She had to call her parents to come get her. She lifted the receiver. The heavy, somehow soft, black handset burned into her hand, and she hissed, nearly dropping it. Instead, she gripped it with the tips of her fingers and raised her other hand to dial the operator. She’d have to make a collect call. A hollow, tinny voice came from the mouthpiece before she could dial the ‘0’. She lifted the receiver to her ear. Inside it, seeming to come from a great distance, a voice was in the middle of saying “…wish to speak to an operator, please dial zero, if you know your party’s number, please deposit twenty-five cents and then dial–”

“Hello? Operator? I need to make a collect call to…” Promise trailed off when she realized the voice hadn’t stopped.

“…direct, if your party does not answer, your twenty-five cents will be returned, if you wish to go back to your old life, please hold for the manager, if you wish to–”

Promise pulled the handset away from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. Go back to her old life? Was that possible? Could she get back to what she now recognized–too late–as the good times of school and parents and chores and friends and Chance and…the voice droned on, and she hurriedly put the receiver back to her ear.

“…your destiny, please hold the line.”

The line clicked three times, and a hot burst of panic tried to force her heart up into her throat. “Wait! Please, I wanted to…hello? Are you there? Operator?” The line was blank, but a faint whistle told her she had not been disconnected. “Hello? Is someone there? I want to go back to my old life…I want my…I want my mom and dad, and I want…I want to go back…hello? Hello?”

In her sleep, Promise shook her head, and tears bled slowly from under her tightly shut eyelids. She whimpered, and across the room Evans stirred. “Promise?” he whispered, but she dreamed on.

“Operator? I’d like to speak to the manager. I want…” Promise said, her voice hitching. She took a breath and gripped the receiver tighter. It wasn’t as hot anymore. “I want to talk to the manager. Operator? Can you–”

“This is the manager,” a man’s voice cut in. It was as smooth and clear as if he were standing right next to her. She felt as though she
almost
recognized it. “To whom am I speaking?”

“It’s m-me…it’s Promise,” she said and hesitated; confusion and a growing anxiety tumbled her words back down her throat. The gulls screeched madly, getting louder for a second. She ran a hand across her forehead, trying to gather her thoughts. “I want to…to go b-back, to before…before everything w-went wrong. I want my life back. My old life.” Relief washed through her. It
was
what she wanted, and now she couldn’t wait. She couldn’t wait to see her old house, her dad, her mom. Couldn’t wait to have the good times back: sledding with Chance, riding bikes, playing Monopoly, going to the Wereburg Town Common, to the beach–

“I’m sorry, my dear, but that won’t be possible for you,” the man said, and his voice was smug, self-satisfied. Condescending.

“What? Why?” Promise asked, the panic flaring alight. It seemed the sun dimmed behind her, and a cool, clammy breeze rushed across her back. She shivered.

“Well, my goodness, just look around you,” the voice said, and a chuckle ran through it, full and rich with incredulity at her stupidity. “You’ve done too much
harm
, my dear.”

“I never…I never did anyone harm. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Promise said, and the fear flamed into anger. “Listen, that’s…that’s
bullshit
, mister. I never did anything wrong! My whole life I didn’t! I’ve taken care of my brother, and I love my family and–”

“Oh, please,” the voice said, and now it was thick with disgust. “You thought you were too
good
for that life. You thought it was
boring
…
beneath
you…don’t dissemble now, my dear. You wished yourself out of that life
all along
. It wasn’t your
destiny
…was it, my
dear
?”

Promise felt hot tears gathering at the back of her throat. “I don’t care what you say. I still want it back…I…I
demand
that you give it back to me!”

“Certainly.” The voice had turned brisk, impersonal. “Just clean up your mess, and then we can get you back to your old life.”

“My…my mess? What mess? What are you talking about?” Promise asked. Now despair was beginning to wash over her, pushed by the endless whoosh, whoosh of the waves. “I didn’t make any mess.”

“Just look around you…my dear,” the voice said.

He sounded disinterested, Promise thought, as though he was doing something else–something much more important–as he spoke to her. Perhaps opening the mail…did the Devil receive mail?

She closed her eyes and dropped her head wearily. She turned, still gripping the receiver and keeping her eyes closed. She had a sudden presentiment that something was about to go very wrong, and she didn’t want to face it.

She opened her eyes.

Everything was back to normal.

The beach was filled with people: children running, parents young and old corralling their offspring, teenagers huddled together giggling, the elderly sat under umbrellas and big-brimmed beach hats, and the sound of transistor radios seemed to rise from every blanket. Happiness swelled through Promise as she gasped. Then her eyes searched frantically for…there they were. Her family. Her dad was putting lotion on her mom’s back as her mom snuggled Chance to her, cradling him like a baby, pulling his face into her neck. They were all laughing. Promise began to laugh, too. Here they were. Here they all were again, and everything was going to be–

Her dad sat back abruptly, staring at his hands in shocked disbelief. They were covered in blood. He looked at Promise’s mom just as she fell backward, uncurling from around Chance. She landed with her back in her husband’s lap. Her eyes stared into the sun, unseeing. She was dead. Her throat had been torn out.

Promise’s dad’s eyes went from his wife’s throat to Chance, who stood at the edge of the blanket. His mouth and chest were red with gore. He smiled, and his teeth were filled with bits of meat…his mom’s throat…and Promise’s dad screamed.

Chance turned his head and caught Promise’s eyes from across the beach. He waved. She felt a scream building in her chest, ready to freight-train up her throat and out. In her hand, the voice from the receiver said, “…not your destiny, my dear, so sorry. It’s just not your destiny…not your destiny…not your–”

Promise woke with a gasp and struggled against the confines of her sleeping bag. Her eyes were bright with panic and tears. Evans restrained her.

“Promise?” he said, whispering. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You just had a bad dream.”

Her eyes met his, and there was no recognition in them, only horror. Her mouth hung open as if to scream.

“Wake up, Promise. It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re in Greenville, and you’re safe. We’re all here.”

“Mom…? My mom was…and my dad saw…” Promise said, her voice unsteady.

“It was just a dream,” Evans said and unzipped her sleeping bag. She sat up slowly, sluggishly, as if she’d been drugged. But her eyes began to clear.

“Everything okay?” Miller mumbled from her sleeping bag, one eye open.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” Evans said. “Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep, Miller.”

Miller rolled over with a grunt and burrowed deeper into her sleeping bag.

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?” Evans said, but Promise shook her head and closed her eyes.

“No…I just want to forget it. It’s already starting to fade,” she said. She ran a hand across her face and then looked in surprise at the tears on her palm. “I was crying?”

“Yeah. You were making some noise, and I asked if you were okay, and you didn’t answer. That’s when I knew you were dreaming, and I came over. You talked a little bit and then got agitated and woke up.”

Her eyes lit with exhausted alarm. “I was talking? What did I say?”

He stared at her for a long time. “Nothing I could understand,” he said finally, and her shoulders dropped in obvious relief. “Promise, what’s going on? What are you hiding?”

Exhausted, burdened with guilt and a deepening depression at the loss of Peter and the horses, Promise was too overwhelmed to keep her secret any longer.

She told him about Chance.

“But he’s not
in
Wereburg, right?” Miller said. “You have him at the outskirts…in your old development?” She looked frazzled and sleep-muddled, and she scrubbed her face with her hands as if it would help assimilate the information she’d just been given.

Promise nodded, her head lowered. Evans’ arm tightened around her shoulders. He’d slept with his arm around her for the remainder of the night, but Promise hadn’t really fallen back to sleep. She was too nervous to sleep because Evans had insisted that Miller and Lu be told what she’d revealed to him. Before they went to the school cafeteria, he’d told them about Chance–the real reason Promise had gone to the base in search of a cure.

“You trapped him in…Christ…the laundry room? And you did this at night?” Miller asked, and Promise nodded again. Miller shook her head. “You could all have been killed or changed. What were you thinking?”

“He’s all I have left,” Promise said and raised her head to meet Miller’s eyes. “And I never…I never appreciated it–any of it!–when I had it. I always wanted…I always
thought
I wanted…something…something…” She trailed off, her head dropping again. Big, silent tears coursed down her cheeks and dropped onto her hands curled loosely in her lap.

Evans squeezed her shoulders again, and his face was deep with despair. To say that he was worried about Promise was an enormous understatement. Her depression and shame, left unchecked, would paralyze her.

“Ev, Lu…go get something to eat. Promise and I will be there in a minute,” Miller said.

“I’ll stay with Promise. She needs–” Evans started, but Miller cut him off.

“Go,” Miller said. “I want to talk to her.”

Evans stood with reluctance, and Lu slapped him on the back. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starved,” he said and then followed Evans’ gaze to where Promise sat, unmoving. “She’ll be okay.”

They left, and Miller considered the slumped-over girl before her. She often forgot that Promise was only eighteen. The world now stripped away innocence, but it in no way compensated by delivering the maturity level required to deal with that stripped innocence.

“You always wondered what else was out there? What more there was to life?” Miller asked, and her voice was not gentle, but it was not unkind, either.

Across from her, Promise nodded silently. More tears dropped onto her hands.

“Promise, a lot of people feel that way, especially young adults,” Miller said. “Not everyone is content.”

“My parents were,” Promise said, and it was nearly a whisper.

“Yeah,” Miller said with a mild chuckle, and Promise looked up. Miller’s smile was warm. “Sometimes I think two content people almost guarantee a discontented kid.”

Promise shook her head in confusion. “But why? Why would that be?”

“I guess just because I think you need some conflict in your life, especially when you get past a certain age. It tests you. It lets you get a handle on your own strengths and weaknesses. Your parents never really fought, did they?” Miller asked.

“No, not really. Only one time, when my dad was having some job trouble. There was tension in our house. But other than that, nothing major. They’d known each other forever, you know? They were just, like, perfect together.”

“They were happy,” Miller said, and it both was and wasn’t a question.

Promise nodded. “Yeah. They were almost
always
happy. Not jumping for joy, but you know…content. Like I said.”

Miller tilted her head back and rubbed her neck. “I hate sleeping on the floor. It really jacks up my spine,” she said and then returned her gaze to Promise. “There are people–like you, like me–who need more than contentment. We need to do something…maybe
prove
something, even if it’s just to ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Miller said. “And I’ll tell you something else, and you might not believe me…but if I could somehow put you back in your old life, even with what you know now…eventually, you’d feel the same way. You’d be discontented.”

Promise was shaking her head even before Miller finished. “No way,” she said, her eyes large. What Miller was saying was too close to the nightmare she’d had. “No way would I ever…
ever
wish it away…I’d appreciate every minute of it! Every
second
!” Her face was set and defiant. Miller liked that a lot better than the slumped, hopeless, teary girl from ten minutes earlier.

She smiled at Promise from her thirty plus years of experience. “I know you feel that way, Promise, but trust me on this one thing: you
are
who you
are
. And believe this, too: there’s a reason for it. For good or ill, the world changes, and it’s the malcontents, the searchers, who find the new paths.” Miller stood and extended her hand to Promise. “It’s why you’re doing all this for your brother, because you’re not content with the way things are. Now that’s worth something, isn’t it?”