Tales From the Gas Station 2 Read online

  We went classroom to classroom calling out her name. But there was nothing. No fresh footprints. No cages. No signs of life other than the obvious rat infestation and enough spider webs to suspend an aircraft carrier.

  The cafeteria was covered in old graffiti of swastikas and phrases like “Reagan is a Jew!!!” and “Fuck the police” and “Please help me! It’s inside my brain and I can’t stop it! Oh GOD! It’s killing me!!!” (I assumed those were song lyrics, but I never bothered checking.)

  The place smelled like sawdust and cow farts. I kept my shirt pulled up over my nose, but Jerry didn’t seem to notice. After searching the room from one end to the other, he found a supply closet and transformed a broom handle, cotton rag, and some cleaning chemicals into a makeshift torch. It took him almost no time to build, and when he was done, he used the flame to light a cigarette. Clearly, he’d done this before.

  We continued our search by torchlight, up and down halls covered in disintegrated ceiling tiles and mounds of rodent droppings. Through the principal’s office where the carpet had transformed into a field of mushrooms and mold spores that crunched beneath our shoes. Past the library where a possum and her babies screamed at us before skittering through a hole in the wall. We were almost done. There was just one last place to check.

  The gymnasium was separated from the rest of the structure by a short covered walkway. When we reached it, I was annoyed to find the first locked door we’d encountered. I was about to suggest we circle around until we found another door or window, but Jerry was impatient. He handed me the torch, then removed his jacket, wrapped it around his fist, and punched out the small, thin section of glass above the door so he could reach in and open it from the inside.

  With that out of the way, he casually shook the broken glass from his jacket, put it back on, snatched the torch, and headed inside. I followed, hoping that he would soon be satisfied and that our journey was near its end. But as soon as I passed the threshold of the gym, I knew things weren’t going to be so simple.

  It was warm in here. There was no reason for it to be warm in here. And it was clean. Someone had swept recently, or at least shoved the dirt into the corners. And the smell was tolerable. Better than the gas station on a bad day, but worse than the gas station on a good day.

  Jerry walked into the center of what was once a basketball court and called out her name. “Vanessa?” Then, for the first time since we broke in, Jerry stopped moving. I immediately saw why.

  In the center of the court, there was a metal cage. It was cube-shaped, about six feet tall and six feet wide and bolted to the floor. Jerry rushed over to it and slammed into the bars. By the time I reached him, he had already circled the enclosure twice, looking for a weak spot or access point before settling on his knees by the door piece. In the flickering light from the torch, I stared at the body and tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

  The only thing inside the cage was a dead man lying flat on his back in a pool of blood. He had thin round glasses and an expensive-looking black suit that was almost definitely ruined. It took a few seconds before I remembered how I knew him. This was the body of John Normal, my “attorney.” (Well, most of his body anyway; there were a couple of pieces notably missing.)

  I took out my phone to dial O’Brien, but of course this was another cellular dead zone. We needed to get out of here if we wanted help. I tried to get Jerry’s attention. “What are you doing?”

  “I think I could open this lock if I had my kit. Do you have any bobby pins on you?”

  “Why? He’s already dead.”

  Jerry looked at the man on the floor, then asked, “Where are his hands?”

  “How the heck should I know? You’re the one who’s been listening to the radio.”

  Jerry turned around and yelled Vanessa’s name into the darkness once again, but it was met with only echoes and silence.

  “Where is she?” he asked in a huff. “She’s supposed to be here!”

  I didn’t know how to answer. I was too busy wrapping my head around Normal’s death. He said that they were being killed by the Collector, and it seemed as if he was righter than he knew. Someone had neatly removed both hands at the wrists. Judging from all the blood, this was likely how he met his untimely demise. I couldn’t feel too broken up over the death of a man who’d made implicit threats against my friends, but it would have been nice to get a few more details out of him first.

  Right then, something happened that I didn’t think was possible. The power turned on. The heating unit groaned to life like a leviathan waking from its slumber. Dirty air expelled from the vents overhead under the sound of a loud CLACK CLACK CLACK as each section of lighting cut on, illuminating our surroundings one piece at a time.

  The gym was in better condition than I originally thought. Not a broken window, piece of trash, or rodent nest in sight. The bleacher seats were lined up on either wall. This could pass for the gym room of an active school on any given weekend, if not for the cage. Or the dead body in the cage. Or the enormous circle of blood painted around the cage. Or the hundreds of mysterious symbols meticulously drawn along the walls.

  The arcane lettering spread around the gym in an uninterrupted loop near the ceiling, much higher than any human could reach unassisted. They could have been painted on or… No time to waste admiring the decor. Someone’s here!

  I looked to Jerry to see if he had any ideas. He had already removed his jacket and balled it up. In one swift movement, he used it to smother out the torch. Somewhere on the other end from where we had broken and entered, a door was scraping open. We darted straight for the crack between two sections of bleachers and hugged the shadows underneath. If we were lucky, they might not have heard or seen us.

  We watched from our hiding place as something came walking into the building. At first, it appeared to be a man, but all the finer details hinted at something else.

  He was tall. Too tall. Bulky and muscular, wide enough that he’d have to turn sideways and duck to fit through a regular doorway. He wore enormous black boots, a gray jumpsuit, and a generic rubber mask of a sad clown like the kind they sell at cheap costume shops. With each step the massive figure took, the floor trembled beneath us, and as he walked into the room, he dragged something behind him. I came to realize that it was a cinder block tied to the long metal chain that he had clenched in his oversized fist. His hands were the size of a gorilla’s, with the reddish blackish color of burnt hotdogs.

  “Hey Jack,” Jerry whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “I just realized something.”

  “What?”

  “Ants can see in the dark.”

  “What?”

  “Because there’s no light underground.”

  “What does that have to do with—”

  “Nothing. But it just occurred to me and I had to tell somebody in case I forgot.”

  The “man” reached the cage in the center of the room, reached out, and pulled it open. (Apparently, it had been unlocked the entire time and neither of us thought to check.) Then, the monster of a man bent over, grabbed Normal by one of his feet, and pulled him out with the same effort it takes to pull a Kleenex from the box. He turned and dragged away both dead man and cinder block in the direction he came. But it wasn’t over yet.

  Another man-thing walked into the room. This one looked almost identical to the first, same size, same clothing, same cinder block on a chain dragging behind him. The only difference was that this man’s clown mask sported a silly smile. This one clutched a mop in his free hand. They passed one another without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. As the first one disappeared from view with the corpse, the second set to work mopping up the bloody mess Normal had left behind.

  Jerry tapped me on the shoulder. When I looked at him, he was pointing down the wall at the other side of the gym. I could see that there was a direct path to the exit. We could make it almost the whole way without leaving the safety of the shadows under the steps.


  It took time and patience and careful maneuvering of the crutch, but we did it. We emerged from under the stairs far away from the man smearing blood around like he had no idea how mops worked. You need a bucket and water, dude! Now came the difficult part. We had to get to the door. It was only about ten feet, but there were no shadows or structures to hide us. If the clown man saw us, at least we’d have a good head start. The only question was, would it be enough for us to get to the car?

  “Alright, you ready to run?” Jerry whispered.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “But I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  Jerry pulled up the back of his shirt, then retrieved the handgun he’d taken from the pizza box. Oh yeah. I forgot all about that.

  “Here,” he said, thrusting it into my hands.

  “I’m not really a gun guy.” Jeez, I should put that on a t-shirt.

  “I know dude. But in case something happens and we get separated.”

  “I don’t want it.” I tried handing it back, but as I went to give it to him, the exact, specific thing I was afraid might happen happened. I dropped the gun.

  As it fell, time slowed to a crawl, giving me ample opportunity to mull over a few thoughts. Specifically, I knew this was going to happen. And, I called it and everything. And, I’m a genius. And, Oh shit, I should try and catch that, shouldn’t I?

  I reacted the way I always do when trying to catch something. I kicked out the closest leg to break the fall and hand to snag it in midair. Two decades worth of muscle memory failed me hard, but that was to be expected. I’d only been without a leg for about a week. My right leg failed to do anything, as it wasn’t there. My right hand was the only thing supporting half my weight. And when I let go of the crutch and started to fall, I instantly tried to correct myself. It was too late, so rather than let the gun hit the ground, I ended up slapping it out of the air like a lunatic before crashing hard onto my bad shoulder.

  From this vantage point, I could clearly see the gun slide along the gym floor like a hockey puck before coming to rest at the gigantic feet of the giant in the clown mask. Jerry and I froze and watched the man bend over to look at the weapon, then straighten up to look directly at us.

  “Well,” Jerry yelled. “Don’t just stand there, dude. Kick it back!”

  The clown dropped his mop.

  I pulled myself up.

  The clown jerked the slack out of the chain.

  I looked at Jerry.

  “Should we…?”

  The clown lifted the cinder block and started rocking it back and forth. In a matter of seconds, he was swinging it in small circles, then larger circles, raising it over his head like a lasso. Then he let go. Block and chain careened through the air in our direction like a cannonball. If Jerry hadn’t shoved me out of the way, it might have taken off my head. Instead, it hit the wall behind me and shattered.

  The next thing I knew, I was running—or at least doing my best version of running—for the door. Jerry held it open until I’d passed, then slammed it shut. I turned to see which way my friend was running, but he wasn’t. He was leaning against the door.

  “Jerry!” I yelled. Through the tiny window, I could see the bulky behemoth clown coming straight for us.

  “One sec,” Jerry yelled. “I’m gonna penny-lock the door.”

  We were running out of time. “Dude! Leave it! That guy just one-hand-hurled a concrete block fifty feet. You’re not going to stop him with a bunch of pennies!”

  He dug the last of the coins from his pocket and stuffed them into the slits of the doorframe. As soon as the man reached the other side, Jerry hopped away and yelled, “Ha!”

  The man hit the door.

  But somehow it didn’t budge. I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong.

  He punched the metal door hard enough that the fist-dent went through to our side, but the door still didn’t open.

  He took a step back, then slammed into the door with the full weight of his body. The remaining glass rained down, and the wall around the outside of the frame showed signs of cracking. But the door stayed shut. He would sooner break through the wall than separate the door from its frame.

  In a last attempt to escape, the man tried to fit his hand through the thin window, but it caught at the swollen muscles of his forearm. Not far enough to reach us. Not even far enough to reach the pennies.

  While Jerry laughed at the man and pointed and taunted, I noticed something important.

  “Jerry!”

  “What?”

  I pointed at the side of the building, where the other clown was standing, staring at us through the eyes of the sad clown mask.

  He pulled on his chain until his block was dangling. Then, he started to swing it over his head.

  We dashed down the walkway and through the door to the old school. A few steps in, Jerry stopped abruptly, held out an arm, and caught me. Half a second later, the cinder block and chain crashed into the wall in front of us. The clown had lobbed it with unnatural precision through the window and doorway of a classroom, nearly ending both of us in a single shot. We went right back to running, deeper into the school, and around a bend where no light from the gym could reach. By pure luck, we managed to traverse the pitch-black halls until Jerry got his flashlight on. I followed him, trying to ignore the sound of doors slamming and giant clowns crashing through the darkness behind us. Jerry made a left, then a right, then came to a stop as soon as I whisper-yelled, “Wait!”

  He turned back to me and said, “What?”

  I pointed into one of the classrooms, and we ducked inside.

  Those things were still back there. I could hear them running down the hall.

  “Turn off the flashlight,” I said.

  He did, and I held my breath and waited. In no time, the clowns were right outside, bouncing off the walls in an attempt to navigate the dark corridors. They’d slowed as they came closer. And then, once they reached us, they came to a stop right outside the open door of the room where we’d hidden.

  Do they know we’re here somehow? Can they hear my heart beating?

  If not for the sound, I wouldn’t know where they were, but they breathed like Darth Vader with asthma—loud, steady, and obnoxious—and every step crushed something under their feet. One of them scraped noisily along the wall outside as the other lumbered into the classroom with us, dragging his feet with each heavy step.

  I reached out to grab whatever was close by, maybe a rock or book, to throw past the clown, into the hallway. Anything to distract it. I needed to hurry, before our luck ran out. My hand touched a desk, and I slid my fingers along the surface until finally, they connected with something. I wrapped my hand around the thing, picked it up, held it over my head to line up the shot, and then realized that I had just grabbed a fucking rat.

  It squeaked and shrieked and wrapped its long tail around my wrist in confusion and terror. The clown grunted and stepped loudly in my direction.

  Now or never.

  I fastballed the poor rodent in the direction of the doorway. It landed with a SQUEAK before fleeing down the hall. The clown turned and barreled out the room after his companion, who was already halfway down the hall chasing the rat.

  I waited an entire minute before whispering Jerry’s name.

  “Yeah dude?” he whispered back.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  We climbed out of the classroom window and made the rest of the trek to the car in absolute silence. It wasn’t until we reached the hole in the fence that I started to think that maybe we were going to be okay.

  I put on my seatbelt, took a deep breath, and relaxed as Jerry returned the car to the school road. As soon as we were on pavement, I opened my mouth to say, “I can’t believe we made it.” It’s a good thing I didn’t get the words out, though. Otherwise, I would have had to take them back once the giant moving truck came crashing through the front gates of the school right behind us.

  I checked the rear
view mirror and saw nothing but grill. Jerry slammed the gas and redlined my vehicle right over the crater-filled road, smashing the potholes so hard my head hit the roof of the car.

  “What.. the… f—”

  The truck blared on its horn and switched on its high beams, smothering our senses in light and sound while Jerry tested just how fast my shitty little Nissan could really go. (The answer was: pretty fucking fast.)

  Chapter Seventeen

  We hit the edge of the abandoned school road and swung left. The white cargo truck almost clipped us but lost control and kept moving forward, off the road and into a ditch. It didn’t stop, though. It barely slowed down, but forged ahead, angling through the field next to us, crushing overgrowth and small trees like they were made of paper mâché. Our pursuers’ vehicle was outfitted with oversized tires—the kind that seem wildly impractical until the moment you end up in a high-speed off-road chase—and whatever they had under the hood sounded like a tornado. They picked up speed before reconnecting with the main road behind us.

  The truck engine thundered, and the space between our vehicles disappeared. Soon, the difference was only inches, and I prepared for the monster truck to monster truck us.

  Jerry yanked the wheel to the left. The moment we hit the lane of oncoming traffic, he slammed the brakes and sent us into a skid. The truck sped past close enough to chop off the mirror on my side.

  Jerry u-turned and gunned the poor engine. But the cargo truck didn’t take long to turn around and begin homing in on us at ludicrous speed. What the truck lacked in maneuverability, it made up for in acceleration, size, armor, off-road capabilities, and wow-factor. By the time we sped past the turnoff for the old school, we were already in the truck’s spotlights. This was like a cow trying to outrun a dragon. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before they caught up and crushed us.

  Up ahead, a wide acreage of farmland came into view.