No Way Out - And Other Scary Short Stories Read online

  "You think?" Misty said with an edge to her voice.

  We'd been walking around for over an hour and hadn't seen anyone. "How'd I know everyone would..."

  "Vanish." She finished my sentence. "They're all gone, Nathan. They can't all be out looking for us, not every single person in the whole entire town." She shook her head.

  "Calm down. Let's think this out." I listened for familiar sounds, people, cars…even the trees were silent.

  "Think what out? Nobody's here. I can't even get a single bar." Misty stood on the side of the road, brandishing her phone like a weapon.

  "Updating your online status is the least of our problems," I shot back.

  "This isn't a joke, Nate. We're in deep here. Deep, deep, deep!" She paused—probably winded from carrying on so much—then pointed across the street. "Look, someone's there."

  From across the road, Mayor Frank waddled towards us. "Just our luck, only person in town and it has to be him?"

  "Geez, a little early to be wasted," I said. Besides mayor, he was also the town drunk.

  "Mayor Frank, over here," Misty yelled.

  "Now you've done it. He's headed this way." I wiped my palms on my jeans; something wasn't right.

  "Nate, shut up. We could use a little help."

  He almost fell over three times while crossing the street. His clothes looked like they'd spent more time in the gutter than on his back. His eyes, swollen and cloudy—he looked sick. I'd never seen eyes like that.

  The mayor didn't say a word, just reached out his two pasty arms. I thought he might shake our hands. He was one of those phony politicians. Instead, he grabbed Misty and went in for a big, open-mouth kiss.

  I'm not sure what came over me. I'd never hit anyone—except Misty's older brothers—and then only in a desperate act of self-defense. But I wasn't about to let this creep kiss her.

  I cocked my arm back and with everything I had, socked the mayor in the face.

  He folded, flat to the floor.

  Grabbing my hand, I winced in pain. Misty screamed, her long hair whipping around as she jumped back.

  My mind raced. Oh, no. I just punched the mayor. I took a step toward him. "Mr. Mayor, I'm sorry. I thought you—"

  I looked down at my hand as I spoke, thinking maybe I busted a knuckle. It throbbed so bad I didn't notice the mayor roll over and grab my foot until it was too late; he sank his teeth into my lower leg.

  "Ouch," I yelled as I tried to wiggle free. He wouldn't let go. What was I supposed to do? Ever been bitten by your little sister? Try a three-hundred pound drunk politician.

  I just started kicking. After the third kick, my hiking boot flew off, still dangling from his mouth.

  "Nate, you kicked the mayor in the face!" Misty's hands covered her mouth, but did little to mask her expression of horror.

  We took off running, our backpacks clanking behind us.

  "Those are Gore-tex boots, they're over two hundred bucks," I said, running lopsided down the street. If my dad found out, he'd kill me.

  I looked at Misty. Her wide, hazel eyes scanned the deserted roads, flashing with alarm. Standing tall, California Firs blocked our view more than a couple blocks. I couldn't help but feel responsible for this mess. I should have tried to talk her out of running away.

  Maybe Misty's dad was right; I was a bad influence.

  Chapter 2 – Snookum's Last Stand

  A few minutes after punching a public servant in the face, we finally stopped running in front of Misty's house with its familiar faded cedar siding. It was old and rustic, but solid. It'd probably last forever.

  I wiggled my fingers, making sure they still worked. It never hurt when a guy punched someone in one of those old karate movies Misty and I used to watch.

  "Nate, what the heck happened?" Misty was breathing hard. She might have been in better shape than me. Athletic, but definitely not in a big-boned, husky sorta way.

  "I don't know." I took a few deep breaths before continuing, "I've heard the mayor is grabby, but that was ridiculous. He could be your gramps. And did you see his fogged-over eyes?"

  "His eyes? You shoulda smelled his breath—like a rotting cheeseburger." Misty squirmed from head to toe.

  "Wait until I tell your brothers. Or your dad—"

  "Nathan Patrick Lewis. You are not to tell a soul." Misty kicked up some dirt as she stood nose-to-nose with me. I'd been praying all year for a growth spurt. If it didn't come soon, she'd be taller than me. "Do you understand?" she said as if she could intimidate me.

  "Don't worry, who'd believe me? I mean, the mayor trying to kiss you."

  "Kiss me? I thought he was going to swallow my face, and what about you kicking his head like a soccer ball? What the heck are we supposed to do now?" Misty's fingers grabbed a clump of her long, wavy chestnut hair and she started chewing. I knew the hair thing meant she was either shy or nervous—or maybe completely freaked, like now.

  "He was really gone. Bet he won't remember." I rubbed my leg where the mayor had tried to take out a chunk. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

  "Hey, look who's still here." Misty pointed to her neighbor's dog. A spoiled, obnoxious poodle, with an equally spoiled and obnoxious name: Snookums. "Mrs. Redberg would have never left Snookums alone."

  "I hate that little rat dog. He always barks at me." He must have heard, 'cause he ran up to the fence yelping at full volume.

  I'd never kick a dog, though I've heard poodles fly pretty far. I kicked the fence instead.

  "Hey, Nate, stop picking on the dog."

  It felt safe in Misty's house, something familiar that never changed. Wall-to-wall thick orange shag carpet, dark wood paneling, even popcorn on the ceiling—with sparkles. The sparkles were pretty cool.

  The lock squealed as Misty bolted it behind me. I grabbed a pair of old sneakers. Worn and caked with dried mud, I didn't bother looking for a nicer pair. Her brothers probably didn't own any.

  “I'm going to go powder my face," she said.

  "Powder it with what?"

  She shook her head and closed the bathroom door with a thud.

  In the family room, I messed with the cable and Internet. A couple minutes later, Misty came in to supervise. Neither of us spoke. I kept rechecking the connections, more than a little desperate to get them working.

  Nothing.

  I was opening my mouth to tell Misty that it was useless when the windows, really the whole house, shook with the crack of thunder.

  "Summer storm?" Misty asked, her voice higher than normal.

  Indian Springs was deep in California's Sierra Mountains. Nothing but rivers and trees surrounded the place. Summer thunderstorms were pretty common.

  "Maybe. Sounded more like an explosion," I said.

  "This can't be good. Let's look out my window."

  I hadn't been allowed upstairs for years. Mr. Wibbles still sat in his designated spot on the head of Misty's bed, but long gone were the plastic horses and pink curtains. Now the room was littered with pictures of her with girlfriends and posters of guys who were apparently so cool it didn't matter how bad their haircuts were.

  From her window upstairs, we had a good view, but no sign of an explosion and not a cloud in the sky.

  I chewed on one of the straps from my backpack as I looked over the vacant streets. The strap tasted like dirt and charcoal, so I spit it out. What was going on? Where were our parents?

  "Think it could be a fast moving storm?" Misty asked.

  I looked again. "No wind. I don't think so."

  We stared helplessly out the window at the tiny town surrounded by rolling waves of trees and green surf as far as we could see. Finally, we headed back downstairs.

  KABOOM!

  Another explosion, but way larger. I felt it in my legs, as if the whole earth threatened to rip apart under my feet.

  "Nathan, what the heck was that?" Misty's summer-bronzed skin went pale.

  We flew back to the window, dodging pictures tha
t had shaken off the walls and lay scattered along the floor.

  Outside nothing changed. Well, almost nothing, that pint-sized dog started barking. Guess I couldn't blame him.

  We kept our eyes glued to the window, searching for any sign of movement; a person, a car, even a raindrop would've been welcome. The only change, a silent haze that settled over the streets.

  The dog's barking stopped, and in its place came a loud wail. My heart leapt. Could it be a fire truck?

  A quick, desperate, piercing yelp and the sound died. "Nate, the dog. That's the neighbor's dog."

  Goose bumps danced along my spine.

  "Go check it out." Misty started pushing me towards the door.

  I tried thinking of an excuse to stay put. "That dog's crazy. He'll probably bite me," was all I came up with.

  "You're such a girl. If he tries to bite you, give him a kick."

  "Oh, now I can pick on him," I said as I headed down the stairs. On the way out, I slammed the door to make Misty think she'd ticked me off.

  Outside, I grabbed the big wood-splitting axe. Looking at the worn shaft, silvered with age, I wondered if I needed it. My hands wouldn't let go—I took that as my answer.

  Hopping the old chain-link fence to the neighbor's yard left rusty freckles on my sweaty palms. I expected the runt to come tearing around the corner any second. Except when I got around back, what I saw frightened me way more than any dog.

 

  Chapter 3 – A Bridge to Nowhere

  On the back stucco wall, above the dog's water bowl, a huge stain of smeared blood and fur was all that remained of Snookums. It reminded me of my plate after I ate waffles with blueberry syrup, which until right then, was my favorite.

  I'd turned to look away when Misty joined me. "Oh my gosh, what's that?"

  "I'm guessing that's what's left of Snookums," I said, swallowing a lump in my throat.

  "How the heck can you say something like that?" Misty's jaw clenched and her face turned a shade of red.

  "Sorry. I, um, didn't think about what I was saying. I was sorta speechless."

  "Then you should keep your mouth shut, Nate."

  "You're right, Miss. It just came out. I'm really sorry." I rubbed my hands against my forehead. The day wasn't going so good. Even worse than that time at lunch when I sat on my sloppy joe.

  She paused and took a deep breath. "Let's cut each other some slack. Least until we figure out what's going on."

  "Yeah, agreed."

  She turned away. "What happened to poor Snookums?"

  "Don't know." Privately, I took back every nasty thing I'd ever said about the mutt. "Coyote maybe? Let's not hang around to find out." I eyed the sparse forest behind the yard. Years of logging had cleared every decent tree on this side of town, leaving a few sad saplings and lots of ugly stumps.

  "Maybe we should get back inside," she said, glancing over to her house.

  "Nothing we can do here. Let's head over to Greenburg. See if we can't find out what's going on."

  "What if we run into the mayor?" She grabbed my arm.

  "Let's just get going." I started walking.

  *

  "Could have been a chemical leak from one of the big factories, maybe a forest fire?" Misty said, guessing what could have caused everyone to evacuate. Whenever she got nervous, her mouth wouldn't shut.

  "My money's on mass alien abduction."

  She gave me a cool stare—she wasn't amused. I kept quiet and just let her blabber on about how this couldn’t possibly be happening, until we'd walked almost all the way to the bridge.

  "Your brother's shoes are killing my feet."

  "Oh, Nate." I heard it in her voice; she hated complaining. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but Misty was one tough girl.

  "Seriously, I think they're blood blisters."

  "Not your feet, the bridge. Nate, look at the bridge."

  I glanced up, not prepared for what I saw. "Whoa—the bridge, it's gone. I mean it's been destroyed."

  All that remained were piles of rubble and the steel frame—twisted into a giant crumpled spider web. A huge crater sat where the overpass should have been. Someone really wanted this bridge gone.

  Misty stepped forward and looked down at the huge pit. "Who would blow up the bridge? What do we do now, swim across?"

  "There's no way I'd take on Bear River. Not this time of year."

  "Our families could be over there. Let's find a raft or a boat," Misty said.

  "Remember those outta towners who plopped in, one after another, trying to save each other?" Bear River swells all up with crazy currents and hardcore eddies every year. "That river's gulped down entire families. Let's just wave someone down and they'll get help." I stood on a pile of rubble, looking across.

  "No one's there," Misty whispered.

  We didn't say another word. We just stared across the bridge.

  We stood there awhile longer. Still, no one showed: not at the bridge, not in the town, no cars driving by, nothing.

  Finally, after standing there silent, just staring for what seemed hours, I lost it.

  "I knew we should've come here before going to your house. I knew it!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, hands raised like one of those cheesy TV preachers. "You know what the other explosion was, don't you? It had to be the other dam bridge. They've blown both bridges—we're trapped. Just you, me and that stupid little dog—no, wait—he's dead, how could I forget we saw his—"

  Tears flowed. I'd only seen Misty cry one other time. Even when we were kids and she fell off her bike, she'd just shake it off.

  She stood there, face in her hands, tender tears trickling down her cheeks. I thought, this might have been the worst thing I'd ever done.

  There was only one thing I could think to do. I gave her a hug. In all the years I'd known Misty, I'd never hugged her. Sure, I'd tackled her a few times, but that's just not the same.

  She felt a lot softer than I remembered. Maybe she was getting out of shape now that she wasn't playing dodgeball.

  It felt weird, like, well, like hugging your best friend. I wanted to tell her it would be all right. That we'd see our parents again, but I was never a good liar.

  She started wiping her cheeks. I quickly let go and took a couple steps back. "Um, maybe we should try hollering. See if we can get someone's attention? There still might be someone over there."

  "If there was, they would have certainly heard your yelling."

  "Yeah, about that—I'm really sorry. This is totally not your fault. I'm really, really sorry." I always messed things up. No wonder Misty hadn't been hanging around me. Sometimes, I don't even like to hang around me.

  "Sorry, seems to be a theme with you today. But I'm cutting you some slack, remember?" A small smile slipped out and made me feel a little less like the world's biggest jerk. "So now what?"

  The sun beat down on us, as if it’d been glued in place. The air felt stale and lifeless. "No use going to Greenburg if no one's over there. Let's go to Cedar Creek, see if the other bridge is really blown."

  Sure enough, the Cedar Creek dry dam was completely gone. Crossing the creek would have been easy, but there's nothing except asphalt and trees between here and Chico. Which is, I don't know, at least a week's walk.

  "We could take bikes," Misty suggested.

  "No. It's all mountain roads, we wouldn't last an hour."

  Drained, dog-tired, and defeated, we headed to Misty's house to regroup. It'd been one fantastically horrible day.

  "I can't believe you tried to blame me for the bridge blowing up," she said.

  "I didn't say it was your fault; I was just blaming you. There's a big difference."

  Misty shook her head. My legs ached and my conscience stung. I didn't have it in me to argue—especially since I was wrong.

  We both dragged our feet across the asphalt. The rough sound reminded me of a street sweeper.

  "We've gotta get a car. I can't walk around this town anymo
re." I was still wearing my backpack. Misty had left hers at home.

  "Everyone takes their keys when they evacuate," she said as we passed a house with a TV lounging comfortably in the middle of the lawn.

  "Who said they evacuated? Maybe they had all the water extracted from their bodies and they turned to salt. Maybe there was a huge sale at the mall up in—hey, do you see that?"

  She had. "Hey mister! Over here, please help!" With her long, perfect hair, Misty could have passed for a cheerleader as she waved her arms up and down.

  The glare of the low sun made it hard to see the man caught in the shadows. He was old, shuffling his feet with a slight limp. He turned and slowly started towards us. The only thing I could see was that it wasn't the mayor; this guy was too tall and wasn't shaped like a blimp.

  We started jogging towards him. "Oh, thank you. We really need some hel—"

  When I turned back to look at Misty, I realized something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  Chapter 4 – Zombie Snot

  Misty stopped first. I took a couple more steps before turning to face her. "Come on."

  I'd seen that look in her eyes twice today. Instantly, knots welled up in my stomach. "Miss, what's up?"

  "Aaahh!" Her voice shook.

  "What the—" I spun back around, thinking I knew what to expect. It had to be the guy who killed the dog. Even the mayor wouldn't freak Misty out like that.

  The fur dangling from his bloody lips told me I was right, except it wasn't a guy. Whatever he or it was, one thing was sure, it was way past its expiration date.

  I stepped into the shadow of a tall building so I could see the thing. Skinless, every inch covered in a sticky grayish-brown slime, like charcoal mixed with molasses. And the smell—burnt hair and rotten mayonnaise—even worse than the dumpster behind Harry's Indian and Sushi Hut.

  I stood looking at it, completely freaked out. Then it dawned on me that it might be a good idea to get the heck out of there.

  The words rattled as they came out, "Le-le-let's-go."

  Misty's outstretched hand still pointed at the ghoul staggering towards us; I grabbed her hand and turned. Thankfully our legs worked. We ran eight or nine blocks and didn't stop until we got to her front porch.

  "What was that?" Misty asked.

  "I don't know." I tried to catch my breath. "I mean, I know, but I'm afraid to say."

  Misty seemed winded, but calm, considering what we'd just seen. My knees wouldn't stop shaking.