Black Friday (7 page)

His momentum broke the shattered panel but didn’t carry Robby far. The glass had broken into tiny pieces, like a glittering puzzle, but the pieces still held together in big pliable patches. Robby scrambled his legs and flailed his arms at the frame to pull himself through.
 

Lyle let loose a guttural roar that ended in a raspy cough.
 

When Robby felt the hands on his legs, he twisted his body over and cried out, kicking at the hands. There were so many of them—so many hands touching him. Still struggling to get through the window, he looked back to see the eyeless dead trying to follow him. Robby pushed free and flopped through. His hands were lacerated from the pebbles of shattered glass on the concrete. The moving corpses groped their way through the shattered window after him.
 

With one last look over his shoulder, Robby saw Lyle pressing through the crowd of dead to get to the door.
 

Robby ran for the stolen Volvo.

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Another blue streak of lightning lit up the highway as Robby ran parallel to the road. He dodged a couple of slow-moving, eyeless dead, who lumbered from parts unknown to go meet the traveling light. They didn’t seem particularly dangerous—not compared to Lyle—but Robby’s flesh still crawled where they had groped his kicking legs. Panic washed over Robby and he reached down with both hands, trying to remember what he’d done with the Volvo’s keys. He found the lump in his front pocket and winced as he shoved his hand into his pocket as he ran.

He threw open the windowless door of the Volvo and piled in behind the wheel. When he turned the key he spotted Lyle emerging from a group of exploded-eye dead at the front of the building. Robby put the Volvo in gear and stomped at the gas pedal. The car skidded and danced before gaining traction. Robby spun the wheel left and right, overcorrecting as he tried to straighten out. Lyle jogged, leading with his gun, to the parking lot’s exit, cutting off Robby’s escape.
 

Robby swerved and clipped the bumper of two parked cars. He steered the Volvo away from the curb and then cut the wheel back, bouncing up onto the grass of the dog-walking area. His tires chewed through the turf and Robby lost speed to another skid.

Lyle fired a shot and yelled something that was lost in the engine’s whine.

Robby aimed for the hedges and let up on the gas. The Volvo responded—it straightened out as soon as a the tires caught traction on the turf.

Lyle picked up his pace, now running to intercept.

As Robby moved closer to the fence the Volvo bounced on the uneven ground, jostling Robby and threatening his control of the gas pedal. Robby reached for the seatbelt and clicked himself in as the car launched over a berm. When he landed, Robby slammed into the belt and nearly lost his grip on the wheel. He heard Lyle squeeze off another shot and upholstery fluff erupted from the door panel.
 

He wanted to hit the hedge as far to the right as possible, over where the drop to the lower parking lot wasn’t as tall. The hill on that side fell away fast, down into the woods.

Lyle was closing. Robby accelerated gently, fearing a skid that would take the rear end of the Volvo through the fence and into the woods.

The driver’s-side rear window exploded as Lyle fired again.

The hedges approached. Robby ducked and mashed down the gas pedal.
 

The hood of the Volvo burst through the scraggly hedge with the sound of screeching metal. Robby heard the engine wind up as the front wheels launched over the retaining wall, leading the car into empty space. The drop here was just over two feet, and Robby prayed he had enough speed to clear it without hanging the rear end up on the wall.
 

He didn’t.

The branches pulled at the undercarriage, sapping his momentum and the trunk of the Volvo crashed down on the edge of the wall. The front tires bounced once, and then landed on the parking lot already spinning full-speed. Rubber smoked from the tires as they spun. Robby didn’t let up. He gunned the engine as metal tore from the rear of the vehicle. Inch-by-inch it pulled away from wall and the rear tires bounced down on the sidewalk as Lyle ran down the ramp and joined Robby in the lower parking lot. The rear window of the Volvo shattered from the impact and rained broken pieces of glass over the back seat.

Robby steered for the aisle, and the Volvo sprang back into motion. Lyle grew smaller in Robby’s mirrors.
 

He left the parking lot and turned onto the access road, the one he’d walked earlier that night, as he coaxed the Volvo up to about forty. It didn’t want to move any faster than that. A sick grinding sound drifted up from the rear and vibrated Robby’s seat whenever he tried to go faster. Robby looked for a switch to turn on the headlamps. He found a dial, but it didn’t seem to do anything except light up the dashboard and cast an eerie yellow glow on the trees and road. Moonlight would have to be enough. The dash lights told him one thing, though—the gas gauge was dropping fast. He’d still had more than a half a tank when he’d arrived at the rest stop, but now the needle was quickly approaching the quarter mark.

Robby flipped down the visor and activated the lights on either side of mirror. He saw his father’s eyes, and heard his father’s voice in his head immediately—
“You trapped yourself in that building. You can’t do things like that if you want to survive.”

“I know,” Robby said. “I wasn’t thinking, and I didn’t know what I was running from at first. It could have been a wild animal.”

“Next time, you plan for anything.”

Robby nodded. He thought about Lyle, and the man’s knowledge of the rest stop. He thought about how Lyle had keys to the front door.

The road straightened out and Robby accelerated, not dissuaded by the grinding sound. He steered with one hand and with the other he dug his fingers under visor’s mirror, and worked his nails between the plastic mirror and the plush visor. Smoke began to waft up from the rear of the car, and Robby pulled on the mirror. He pulled it free and then had to yank even harder to tear it from the wires that supplied power to the lights. He shoved the mirror down the front of his jacket.

The car began to shake and a rear tire blew. His speed dropped. Robby aimed for the left shoulder of the road and let the Volvo drift to a stop while he leaned over into the back seat where he’d left the car’s emergency roadside kit. He pulled two red flares from the kit and grabbed one of the sweatshirts from the passenger’s seat. Robby left the engine running and the lights on as he ran across the grass to the edge of the woods. In the dim yellow glow of the car’s running lights, Robby left the sweatshirt at the edge of the woods and then retraced his footsteps back to the Volvo.

He crossed behind the car and saw what he expected—the Volvo had left a trail of leaking gas down the road.

Robby used the running lights of the Volvo to puzzle out how to light the flare. With the sputtering red flare in his hand, Robby ran away from the Volvo, back down the road towards the rest stop. He touched the flare the wet line of gas. It wouldn’t catch fire. The vapor burned off the dark spot on the pavement, but it didn’t act like a fuse to torch the Volvo as Robby had hoped. In desperation, Robby tossed the flare at the car. It bounced off the crinkled trunk lid and rolled through the shattered rear window of the Volvo.

Robby didn’t stick around to find out what would happen to the flare. He sprinted farther away from the Volvo, still in the direction of the rest stop. He focused all his senses forward, waiting for a sign that Lyle was giving chase. He saw lights flickering through the woods around the bend in the road, but he kept running. When he eventually cut through the frosty grass, he wanted his tracks to be as far from the Volvo as possible.

Just before Lyle’s headlights rounded the curve, Robby cut to his left, jumped as far as possible across the grass and then sprinted to the woods. On the other side of the underbrush, he collapsed to the ground and peered back towards the road.
 

Lyle came around the corner fast and locked his tires into a full skid when the Volvo erupted in flames.

Robby watched through the scraggly branches of a juniper shrub.

Lyle stopped his car—an unremarkable sedan—several car-lengths from the Volvo and stepped out onto the pavement. Flames rolled from the rear window of the Volvo and had just started to emerge from the driver’s window as Lyle rounded the vehicle. Lyle held his hand up to shield his face from the flames and then something caught his attention in the grass. Perhaps he saw Robby’s footprints, or perhaps he caught a glimpse of the red sweatshirt over near the edge of the woods. That’s the direction he headed.
 

Lyle took the bait. He went towards the sweatshirt that Robby had left on the other side of the road.
 

When Lyle had made his way to the edge of the woods on the far side of the Volvo, Robby pushed up to a low crouch. He backed slowly into the woods until he couldn’t see the fire of the burning Volvo. Robby oriented himself with the moon and chose a direction that he thought would take him away from the rest stop and keep him roughly parallel to the access road. He walked for an hour, sometimes stumbling to find his way in the dim light, and always struggling to make as little noise as possible.
 

When Robby stopped, he curled up next to an old stone wall which wound through the woods. He found a spot near a frost heave where the pine needles were dry and soft and pulled his knees up inside his jacket. Robby cinched his hood tight and hugged his gloved hands around his legs. In that position, he finally fell asleep.

CHAPTER 8: JUDY

J
UDY
GAVE
UP
ON
watching. She hugged her legs to her chest in the dusty chair and sobbed silently into her legs. She kept seeing the same scene when she closed her eyes. She saw the nun, on her knees, supplicating herself before God. Sister Glen was there, and then Sister Glen was gone. No matter how hard she tried, Judy couldn’t convince herself that the nun had gone to a better place. She couldn’t believe that God had called the woman home.

The nun’s face had shown pure terror before she disappeared into the sky.

Judy shook her head to try to clear the image. It was no use. It came back every time she squeezed her eyes shut.

Judy’s hand went to her heart and she caught her breath. Was her mother safe? The boys could take care of themselves, but her mother was first to admit that she was no good in a crisis. Her mother always tried to appear strong, but her sharp edges were just a mask she used to hide behind. If the same things were happening down there in Connecticut, her mother might be frantic.

She got to her feet and breathed the old dust kicked up in the storage space. She had to find a way to get to her mother.

Judy ran down the stairs and didn’t slow until she poked her head through the door to the nave, where the pews faced the altar. She slipped through and let it bump closed behind her. Judy moved to the thick curtains and waited in the shadows. She stared at the ceiling. Something would be lurking up there, waiting for movement.

Judy counted to three and then went.

She slipped down the wall, eyes straight ahead. Panic wanted to drive her feet faster, but she kept them in check. When she reached the back wall, she slipped through the door. In the familiar hall, Judy sprinted for Sister Glen’s office.
 

Judy kept her back to the interior wall. She stayed away from the windows.

The nun had a footrest under the desk. Judy put her hand on it as she crouched down between the big chair and the thick wooden desk. She snaked one hand over the edge until she found the phone.

It was dead. Of course. Judy put it back in its cradle.

The space under the desk was tight and secure. She could fit herself in there and wait. Nothing would find her under there. Judy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then stood up. She checked the phone one more time.

It was dead. Of course.

She walked for the door.

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The car wasn’t going to come to her, no matter how many times she looked out the narrow window at it. The door was still open. The keys were still in it. Her car sat there exactly where she had left it. The question was, would it run? Would it start up when she turned the key?

Judy pictured her mom hiding under a desk down in Connecticut. She clenched her teeth and put her hands on the door to the outside.
 

In a low hunch, she crossed the street and practically dove into her car. She pulled the door shut and put the key in. The dash lights came on.
 

Judy wasted no time. She triggered the ignition and stomped on the gas pedal. The car cranked and sputtered, but came to life. Judy put it in gear and drove.