We both stood amongst the chaos. Mike held his neck and blood dribbled through his fingers down the back of his hand.
“We best move them before we bring the kids through here,” I said feeling sick.
“I need to find something for this.” He said. I found the first aid kit in the kitchen, opened up some cotton mesh and bandaging. I wrapped it up pretty tight, all the way round his neck. His sheen, slick finish was starting to wear, his hair was rough, face still bloody and now his neck was wrapped up.
We dragged the bodies into the bathroom. Every thriller I had ever seen reeled in my mind, hands breaking damp soil, dead eyes reopening. The bodies were piling up in the bathroom. We ran the mop over the blood.
“How close is your car?” I asked.
“It’s close. It’s a Range Rover. I will go first and pull it up outside.” As he spoke there was a new look in his eyes. I would like to think it was guilt for shooting the boy, but it may have been fear, his stony veneer was cracking.
I went out back. A sound escaped when I pulled the door open, like a gasp from the room, and not the people. All eyes found mine; even the children were sitting, all watching me with nervous wide eyes. Janey didn't come to my arms at first, she sat and now even she looked weary and old, with silent tears from tired eyes. I picked her up and wrapped her in my arms. My mind was slowing at last as reluctantly she put her kindling-arms around my neck. We were anywhere else, not here, in Hawaii, carefree.
“We are going to move, the fog is seeping in through the window. Mike's going to pull up the Range Rover and it can probably fit you all if you want to come.”
The young couple found each other’s eyes. I could see it, the doubt; they were always going to stay. Nobody asked about Joe or the truckers, they already knew. Claire was watching me and I did my best to avoid her gaze avoid the guilt that came with her tempting eyes but she found me, ousted me. I broke it as soon as I could, which wasn’t soon at all.
A box was stocked with supplies. Knives, a pad and pen. An air horn, anything I could find of use in the staff room and restaurant. I made a trip to the bacon and filled my gut again. Then lead everyone, except the young couple out to the door. Mike stood waiting.
“Ready?”
“As I ever will be.” And with that, Mike opened the door, his white shirt floated in the dark mist and he disappeared. We stood around all shaking like branches on a willow standing up to a gale. Then a blaring horn made it through the fog to us and I realised the two faintly floating orbs were headlamps feebly defying the muting effect of the fog.
With the box under one arm and Janey in the other I ran, leading the others. There were a few bodies to step over outside. The caverns of my nose burnt. Janey’s lips were clamped closed; she had listened when I told everyone to hold their breath.
Bodies scrambled into the Range Rover, closing the door swiftly behind them. The cook and Sarah were in first, then the kids were hurled in the back on their laps and somehow I ended up front, With Claire’s open blouse hanging over me, she settled against my chest with her jaw on my shoulder.
Mike eased it into reverse and moved back slowly. Then forward. The engine purred, voicing its content with the soft way Mike pressed it on. All eyes were searching, heads pressed to the glass as though the fog was inside. We may have been ten feet away from the dinner or one hundred; there was no way to tell. In a moment of recognition, I found mikes eyes, his wife straddled me, and we saw each other both aware it was futile. We weren’t going anywhere.
“Stop!” The cook called in a shrill voice. It was too late. It was like a slide show, with one slide wrongly placed.
A woman. With dark hair and red eyes. A longing stare of a lost baby, a lost mind. We hit with a thud and just hard enough to put her down, instinctly reacting - I assume - Mike pressed the pedal and the vehicle lifted over her. It might have been Tara. I only got a moment to see, but I had a feeling, it wasn’t far to wander from our home. My wife could have made it here in the ten hours that had passed since I was with her.
I sucked in a breath, blocking the scream. The tears started but I pressed them back before anyone could see, before anyone could ask me what’s wrong, before Janey could learn her mother was gone.
Mike turned the wheel and gave it a little gas leading us with conviction. But how could he? I knew we were creeping nowhere. All we had was balance, we knew the path was flat for now. We may have been by the diner; we may have been miles up the highway. There was no way to tell. Then came another thud and this time when mike pressed the pedal we didn’t move. He pressed it into four-wheel-drive and stood. The engine roared in vain, the wheels had nothing to grip. He bashed the wheel and let out a long loud “Fuck,” the kind of fuck parents reserve for the peak of desperation, a moment without consequence, a lost war. He leaned on the horn for a few seconds.
“Guess I will have to move us.”
“Wait Hon,” Claire said.
“I will hold my breath. I think we are lifted on a curb. Ross, if you hear me call, give it a little gas.” And with that, he left, slamming the door quickly behind him. Walking just outside of the car he was a shadow. The car balanced forward then he called and I reached a foot over giving it a little gas. We flew forward then I put my weight on the brake.
Mike hit the side of the truck with a thud, preceded by a chorus of screams. Two of those ghastly things had him hard up against the rear window. His face contorted, his steely eyes desperately peered inside. His head slammed against the glass, pulled back and with the second throw, it came through.
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