Dreamland(59)

Now wasn’t the time to rush, even if the bus was right out front. She left the room, walking slowly. She gingerly descended the steps, thankful that she hadn’t bothered to shut the front door on her way in. Careful not to stumble, she backtracked to the creek, to the hole that she’d already dug.

She put one gun in, then the other, then dumped the ammunition from the pillowcase. Using her hands to speed things up, she refilled the hole. Once that was done, she patted it down, then stomped on it, but there was only so much she could do. It would be obvious to anyone who came this way that something had been buried, but she realized she didn’t care.

She was going to get the hell out of here before anyone found out.





Back inside, Beverly scrubbed her hands at the sink until her skin felt raw, but the soil had left a brownish tint on her palms, like wood stain. Eyeing the chaos on the main floor, she figured she’d have to clean it all before they escaped, not because she cared about the owner but because the man in the truck could come back, and an orderly house might make it appear that they were still living there, which would buy them some time….

And for now? She’d have to thaw and cook the hamburger and chicken and rice, and she’d have to soak the beans and cook them, too, but without a cooler she doubted the food would last more than a day on the road. After that, it would be sandwiches and apples and carrot slices for God knew how long. She had to pack clothes, too, before sneaking away at night. No one would see them, but that also meant there might be no one to give them a ride, and the realization of all she had to do made something collapse inside, fear giving way to another flood of tears.

How was it possible for something like this to happen? To leave one dangerous situation only to end up in another equally dangerous situation? If she lived a hundred lifetimes—a thousand—the odds were almost inconceivable.

She couldn’t understand it and recognized that she didn’t have the energy to try. Instead, swiping at her tears, she took a deep breath and left the house, descending the porch steps and heading toward the road. She took a seat on the stump, adrenaline fading fast. How long had it been since she slept more than a few hours at a stretch? Too long, that much was certain, and now she was paying the price. With every exhale, like a deflating balloon, the frantic energy of moments earlier was replaced by a blanket of almost overwhelming exhaustion. In the silence, her limbs seemed to be falling asleep, and though she tried to concentrate on the weed and the guns and the secrets in the barn and the man in the truck, she felt strangely disconnected from those things, as though she were watching herself from a distance. From somewhere deep inside, she understood that she had to leave, but the urgency had become a receding tide. It was flowing out and away from her, growing ever-more distant while the rest of world blurred at the edges. She could feel herself beginning to sway as she tried to stay balanced, her body already rebelling. She needed to rest, to sleep. More than anything, she wanted to close her eyes and drift away, if only for a few minutes. What would be the harm? Even if the man in the truck suddenly reappeared, she didn’t have the energy to hide….

“No,” she said aloud. Knowing she needed to focus, she forced herself to stand. She tried to summon the fear she’d just experienced, but it remained dull and listless, a phantom more than reality.

“Stay awake,” she told herself, shaking her head.

She began to pace then, back and forth, like a tiger in a cage at the zoo. Within minutes she heard the bus, a low growl in the distance. The image started as a shimmery liquid mirage, gradually solidifying as it drew near. The brakes squeaked, and then the bus slowed and came to a halt. There was a soft hiss when the doors swung open.

Through the windows, she saw Tommie seated near the rear of the bus and watched as he rose and made his way forward with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Her love for him provided a single moment of clarity, like the sun’s rays passing through a cloud. All at once, she felt like herself again, and just before her son jumped down to the road, he turned and waved to someone behind him. Despite her exhaustion, Beverly broke into a wide smile.

He finally made a friend, she thought. When he was close, she reached for his backpack, and they started toward the house. He was home and he was safe and he’d made a friend, but with every step, the clarity faded. She wanted to ask how school was, wanted to ask who he’d been talking to just then, but the words wouldn’t seem to come. She reminded herself that they should leave before the man in the truck returned, reminded herself that they had to escape before it was too late, but the fear associated with it had fogged over again like breath on a mirror. She fought to keep her eyes open. Tommie kicked at a small rock on the path, sending it skittering.

“Are you going to come to the school tomorrow?”

The sound of his voice startled her, and it was difficult to process what he’d asked. Finally: “Why would I come to the school?”

“It’s field day, remember? Amelia said it’s really fun and some of the moms bring cupcakes and cookies. You could come, too.”

She couldn’t place the name and wondered where she’d heard it.

“We’ll see,” she said, hearing the words emerge as a mumble. When she opened the door, Tommie came to a stop, taking in the utter disarray. She should have warned him, but it felt like too much effort.

“It’s nothing.”