Destruction: The December People, Book One (10 page)

few days later, the three Vandergraff siblings plus Samantha wore jackets to school for the first time in the season. When the cool air blasted Emmy on her way out, she giggled, the only happy sound she’d made since “the others” had arrived. She stood in the driveway with her arms out and her face to the sky as if she expected snowflakes to land on her tongue, which in Houston was only slightly more likely than a plague of locusts. She took a deep breath.

“Winter,” she said. “The trees are going to get all gray and spindly. And of course, there are the Pumpkin Lattes.”

Samantha shivered in her open-toed sandals. She could have borrowed some of Emmy’s shoes easily enough, but for some reason she didn’t. She wore gold sandals with ribbons wrapped around her ankles, like a Greek Goddess who would deem it summer as long as she liked.

While Patrick stared at Samantha’s feet, he got hit in the chest with Jude’s keys. They fell to the ground with a jingle.

“Good catch,” Jude said.

“Why are you throwing shit at me?” Patrick asked. Had Jude caught him looking at her?
Who cares?
Jude could kiss his ass.

“Why don’t you drive?” Jude asked.

He waited for the punch line. Jude didn’t let other people touch his truck. Jude did
not
let other people drive his truck. He didn’t like it when Dad borrowed it to go to Home Depot. And Dad had bought the truck and been driving since before Jude was born.

“Why?” Patrick asked.

“You have your learner license, don’t you?” Jude asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then learn.”

Everyone responded differently to a family crisis, and Jude must have gone with good old-fashioned crazy. But as long as the crazy benefitted Patrick, he could live with it.

Patrick picked up the keys and climbed into the driver’s seat before Jude could change his mind. Jude got in the passenger’s seat, and the girls climbed into the half-cab.

“Buckle up,” Jude said. “The seat belts in back don’t work right. If you crash, Emmy and Samantha will probably go careening out the windshield headfirst. No pressure.”

“Shut up,” Emmy said. “I know the seat belts are fine.”

“We’ll see,” Jude said.

Patrick had driven before, but not with an audience of two overbearing siblings and one painfully hot girl, plus a truck with displays and knobs he had never seen before.
How do you turn on the wipers? No clue. The headlights? No idea.
If it started to rain, he would probably turn on the emergency blinkers, honk the horn, and crash into a tree.

“Anytime,” Jude said. “You’re not turning the key to launch a nuke.”

Patrick started the truck and proceeded to back out. The truck felt colossal, and it took him forever to pull out of the garage because he stopped every time he made it within six feet of any possible obstruction.

“I do have a Spanish test fifth period,” Samantha said. “If we could at least get to school by then, that’d be great.”

Patrick laughed, but his cheeks burned.
Was she flirting or making fun of him?
He could never tell the difference.

Learning to drive in Houston resembled learning to surf in a tsunami. As they approached the Expressway, Jude shouted instructions.

“When you get on the ramp, your instinct will tell you to slow down, but you have to speed up. Don’t listen to your instinct. Your instinct will be fear. Do the opposite of whatever your instinct tells you.”

“Always great advice,” Patrick said.

“The cars will be coming from all directions,” Jude continued. “You can try to see them with your eyes, but your eyes will always miss something. Humans are unpredictable, so your eyes won’t be enough to anticipate the other drivers. You have to
feel
where the other cars are.”

“Yes, Obi-Wan.”

“Quit fucking with him,” Emmy said.

“Please use your eyes to see the cars,” Samantha added.

Patrick didn’t appreciate Emmy screaming, “You’re going to crash” when he pulled on to the highway. Or when Jude yelled, “Exit now! That’s the middle school” three lanes over from the rapidly approaching exit. But they survived.

Patrick pulled around the side of the massive red brick middle school.

“When do you think they’ll have to start school?” Emmy asked quietly.

“Soon, I guess,” Patrick said. “They can’t just not go.”

“They haven’t so far,” Jude said.

“Do you think they’ll be smart enough for classes?” Emmy asked. “Do they know science and math and stuff? Can they read?”

“They’re so weird,” Jude said.

“They’re going to be ripped to shreds,” Patrick said. He didn’t think Jude and Emmy would understand this. They didn’t get bullied much… they appeared more on the other side of the equation. Patrick saw high school as a minefield of potential humiliation and random acts of violence. And, although he may not be the most normal guy ever, Patrick certainly fit in better than Xavier and Evangeline would. Patrick couldn’t do much to help, but perhaps if he stood next to Xavier, it would cause the bullies to have to split focus.

“Yeah, they are,” Emmy said.

“So, are you just going to let that happen, or what?” Patrick asked. He meant the question for both Jude and Emmy, who each had considerable power at their respective schools. If Jude watched out for Xavier, and Emmy watched out for Evangeline, they wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

“What do you mean?” Emmy asked.

“Whether you like it or not, everyone will know they’re your brother and sister. Are you just going to let people mess with them?”

Emmy made a sort of grumbling noise in the back seat that Patrick couldn’t sort into words.

“Oh, fuck me,” Jude said. “I guess I’ll have to be his bodyguard too. Patrick, you’re going to have to dial down the freak if I’m going to be able to manage both of you. I’m only one man.”

Jude didn’t offer to let Patrick drive the next morning, and Patrick didn’t complain. His brother’s temporary psychosis must have passed. The air had become colder today—but still not uncomfortably cold—that refreshing first cold after the way-too-long Texas summer, a chill that meant football and time off for holidays. Just right.

Samantha dressed more warmly today but made up for it by parting her lips and exhaling slowly so she could see the steam rising from her mouth. No one else in the family had dressed up for Halloween. Patrick couldn’t figure out Samantha’s costume, but she wore glittery green eye shadow and had a sprinkling of yellow glitter on her cheeks and in her hair, which she had swept off her neck in an elaborate twist held with a green butterfly clip. She looked like Tinker Bell. The glitter from her hair sprinkled all over her—her jacket, her neck, and her chest. He wondered how far down the glitter went.

Mom had let them trick-or-treat as kids, but other than that they never got into Halloween. No decorations. No costumes. Mom usually bought one small package of the cheapest candy, gave huge handfuls to the first few kids who came by, then turned off all the lights and locked the door.

She would say, “Who do they think they are, coming to our house at dinnertime and demanding candy and making threats?” And not in a joking way. Trick-or-treaters genuinely pissed Mom off.

“Hey, Emmy,” Jude asked. “Are you okay?”

Until then, Patrick hadn’t noticed Emmy’s unusual quietness, but Jude did, and he had the emotional IQ of a troll.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said.

Jude smiled at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “I have something that will cheer you up.”

He had a devilish grin on his face that made Patrick want to jump out of the car at the next light. Something insane always followed that look, such as
let’s put fireworks on Patrick’s skateboard and roll it down the stairs
, or
let’s see if Patrick can fly
. And Emmy always enthusiastically agreed with whatever idea Jude had.

“I’m going to give Patrick an advanced driving lesson.”

Yep. Patrick would jump out at the next light. He did not want to find out what that meant.

“What I said about
feeling
the cars on the highway,” Jude said. “It wasn’t a joke. I can.”

“What do you mean?” Emmy asked.

“Emmy, when I pull on to the interstate, cover my eyes.”

Patrick heard his heartbeat in his ears. He and Samantha argued this point with various statements of reason, such as, “No, we might die,” and “No, we’ll definitely die”. Patrick didn’t know if Samantha knew them well enough to know they might not be joking.

“Jude,” Patrick said. “You better be joking. I swear I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

“I could tell Mom. She’ll take away your car.”

“Patrick, don’t be such a momma’s boy,” Emmy said.

“I’m not a momma’s boy. I just want to live to be sixteen.”

“Is he seriously going to do this?” Samantha leaned toward Patrick from where she sat in the half-cab behind him. She smelled of spearmint gum and glitter spray.

“Probably,” Patrick said. “Don’t worry. I’ll do something. I’ll grab the wheel.”

“Don’t, Patrick,” Jude said. “You’ll mess me up. You wouldn’t want to put us in any danger, would you?”

“Do you really know how to do that?” Samantha asked. The question worried Patrick.
No one
knew how to do that.

“Do you trust me?”

“No,” Patrick and Samantha said, but it didn’t matter. He meant the question for Emmy.

“Do you think I would do something that would put you in danger?” Jude asked Emmy, watching her in the rearview mirror.

“No. You wouldn’t,” Emmy said.

Jude smiled. “Then let’s do it.”

Morning commuters clogged the interstate, making it extremely dangerous with
both
eyes open. Cars darted from lane to lane unpredictably as their drivers became impatient. Unexpected pockets of traffic caused brake lights to go on and off in chaotic patterns.
Please be joking. Please be joking.

They weren’t.

Emmy placed one small hand over each of Jude’s eyes. Patrick considered his options. He had to do something. He didn’t want himself and his siblings to die in the stupidest way possible. That should have been his only real concern, but he also thought about Samantha. He wanted to show her he had some power over Jude, that he could do
something
to stop a terrible thing from happening. But what?

Patrick put his hand on the wheel, between Jude’s. The brake pedal concerned him more, but without climbing on top of Jude, he couldn’t reach it. If it he had to, he would jump on his brother’s lap and take over. He unbuckled his seat belt.

“Patrick,” Jude said. “Buckle your damn seatbelt. Are you suicidal or something?”

Well, he did have good hearing, anyway.

“Are
you
?”

“Don’t yell at me. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Only about twenty seconds had passed, but it felt like twenty years. Either way, Jude had stayed within the lane lines. A freaking miracle.

“Okay. We’re all really impressed. Emmy, take your hands off,” Patrick said. “There’s a car braking in front of you! Open your fucking eyes.”

Jude applied the brakes lightly and didn’t hit the car.

“Patrick, get your hand off the wheel,” Jude said. “You’re in my way.”