When They Fade (22 page)

“Deal.”

They stand their ground as the Remnants slowly move in.

“What happens if they get you?” Tatum asks.

“I become one of them, I think. That's what happened to Mary.”

Tatum thinks back to the incident at the marsh when she watched Mary disappear. Now she knows the truth, and she's going to do everything she can to make sure this doesn't happen to Molly. But how? There have got to be at least a hundred Remnants closing in the gap. Tatum can only throw herself in front of so many at a time. Yes, she managed to keep the one from influencing her, but it took almost all her mental energy. She's not sure if she can do it again. If more than one of them comes at her at the same time, she knows she's going to be toast. She'll turn against Molly whether she wants to or not.

“Got any great plans?” Tatum asks.

“I'd suggest running,” Molly says. “But I think we're beyond that.”

“Wait,” Tatum says. “You can go back, right? Get out of here. Leave them to me. They can't hurt me the way they can hurt you. Maybe they'll grow bored if you leave and they'll take off. The fighting might stop.”

Molly turns and takes Tatum's hand. “I can't do that. You're in this because of me. If I hadn't taken that stupid premonition so seriously, I wouldn't have put you in any of this danger. Don't you get it? It was a test. Some sort of stupid test and I failed it. I made this happen.”

“You didn't know.”

“I should have known.”

“How?”

“I don't know.”

They both pause. There's not a lot of time left. In less than a minute, they'll both be fighting for their lives.

“I think the afterlife sucks,” Tatum says. “Whether it's God or some flying monster who likes spaghetti.”

“It was getting better,” Molly says. “My world. We found everything we'd forgotten. It truly was improving.”

“You never did tell me your story,” Tatum says.

“If we get out of this, it'll be the first thing I do.”

“I'm done waiting,” Tatum says. She lets go of Molly's hand and picks up a thick stick from the ground. The edges are charred from being in the fire. “Time to fight. I'm not dying today. I have to get out of this hellhole of a town first.”

Tatum charges. She rushes past the fire and straight into the crowd of approaching Remnants. She drives her stick straight into the chest of the closest one, trying to impale it. The stick breaks against the pale skin, but not before the Remnant stumbles and falls. It hits the ground and instantly begins to sink.

One down. Ninety-nine or more to go.

Tatum starts shoving. She doesn't look back at Molly, but she knows the ghostly girl is there when a Remnant falls beside her. It flails against the dirt, almost as if it's making muddy snow angels, before quickly sinking out of sight. Someone grabs the back of Tatum's jacket. It's the guy from English class. They're all influenced by the Remnants, all her classmates, and that makes her feel a little better. At least she knows it's the monsters making them behave homicidally, and not their stupid loyalty to Claudette. Tatum pulls away from him, dodging the punch he aims at her face. But she can't bring herself to hit him back; it seems wrong, considering he's not in control of himself. Instead she backs away, holding the stick above her shoulders to show she means business.

This isn't so hard. Once the Remnants are down, they don't get back up. But more are coming; it's getting harder to keep up. Tatum manages to do a double tripper, by pushing two of them against each other. A hand snakes around her waist, pulling Tatum tight. Trying to break free, she twists until she's down on her knees. Three Remnants fall upon her, and Tatum can feel them trying to invade her mind and body at the same time.

Go get the girl. Make her pay.

It's like a gigantic tug-of-war going on inside her body. All three creatures are fighting to take control first, mentally slapping one another, trying to force the others out. Tatum's head spins, her eyesight growing blurry as she fights for herself.

Then something miraculous happens.

Someone screams.

Tatum freezes. The Remnant holding on to her hair looks up, just in time to get a baseball bat right across its face. It begins to disintegrate into the ground.

Strike!

More shouts echo across the clearing. Tatum manages to shrug off the last Remnant, mostly because it's too busy watching the scene unfold around them. It falls back and sinks, one more gone to wherever these monsters go.

There are people everywhere. No, not quite people. Ghosts. They rush through the bushes, spreading out around the Remnants and confused teens, forcing their way into the melee.

“Parker!” Molly gets up off the ground. Her skirt is covered in dirt, and she's got a cut on her cheek. “How is it possible? I made you go.”

“I was wrong,” Parker says. “It's not about the energy needing to recharge. It's about necessity. I hope you don't mind—I brought some friends.”

A lady rushes past them with a white fluffy dog at her heels. She's got a leash in her hands and she's using it as a whip. She smashes the metal clasp right into the face of the closest Remnant, forcing its head to snap back in surprise. A girl dressed in a school uniform rushes in, flying straight into a pack of the creatures, screaming like a banshee in Japanese. Tatum's pretty sure she's using a steady stream of curse words.

These people are ghosts. From the look on Molly's face, she can tell her friend knows them. She's beaming at Parker like he's just done the greatest thing in the world. And from Tatum's perspective, it's true. The Remnants are starting to back off, overwhelmed by the number of ghosts pushing into the clearing. They pull back from the teenagers, leaving bewildered students to pick themselves up off the ground and look around blankly. A girl beside Tatum is alternating between crying with loud, ugly sounds, and mumbling about how her outfit is ruined. She's positive she's going to be grounded when she gets home.

A Chinese man picks up a smoking log and throws it like it's a pillow. A dark-skinned boy in rags grabs hold of a Remnant's arm and shoves the creature face-first into a tree. A group of Remnants manages to get a girl in eighties rocker gear to her knees, but before they can convert her, other ghosts come to her rescue. When she climbs to her feet, she screams in victory and plays some air guitar riffs.

The area in front of the barn has gone into complete overdrive chaos.

“They're falling back!” Molly screams.

And they are. The Remnants are retreating, heading toward the trees, running as if their afterlives depend on it. Tatum trips one that gets too close. It goes down in silent screams.

Tatum spins around, hoping to get another one before they're all gone. There are still plenty fighting. Instead she comes face to face with Levi.

“It's not over,” he hisses.

Stabbing pain rushes through Tatum's body. She staggers back, away from Levi, looking down at her chest. Something silver is sticking through her shirt, right in the middle of her stomach. Suddenly she's falling, and she isn't aware that her legs have stopped working until she hits the ground.

Levi stumbles back, his hands covering his mouth, wiping Tatum's blood all over his lips. “You deserve everything you get,” he says.

Lying on her back, looking up at the sky, Tatum is surprised that she can't see the stars. There are only clouds up there and a bunch of smoke from the fire. She tries to raise her head, but the pain is too severe. Using her hands, she feels along her body until she finds the end of the knife, sticking straight up. Tatum tries to pull it out, but the pain stops her.

Molly is down at her side in seconds.

“Tatum, no,” she says. Molly presses her hands against Tatum's wound, possibly to try and stop the bleeding. It only makes things hurt more, but Tatum can't get her mouth open to tell Molly to stop. Wetness drips down her side, uncomfortably cold; suddenly her teeth are chattering, and she can't control them. The uncontrollable shivering only makes things that much worse.

“Ouch,” Tatum whispers, unable to think of anything else.

Maybe they're drawn to the smell of blood or the fact that she's dying, but suddenly the Remnants stop their fighting and begin pushing their way toward Tatum and Molly. Even the ones that are slowly sinking into the ground start clawing their way back up to the surface.

“Hold on,” Molly says. She gathers Tatum in her arms, surprisingly strong for being so tiny.

Molly drags her through the crowd, dodging Remnants and the fighting ghosts. Hands reach out and grab at her, tearing at Tatum's clothes, reaching for her hair. Molly tries to push them back, but it's nearly impossible without dropping Tatum. Then Parker appears at their side, sweat soaking his hair and fancy shirt.

“Get her somewhere safe,” Parker says.

“Phone,” Tatum mumbles.

“What?”

“Call for help. Phone. Kids.”

“Yes,” Molly says, finally understanding. “One of those kids has to have a cell phone. I've seen them. We can call for help.”

“I'll take care of it.”

Parker disappears.

“Come on, Tatum,” Molly says. “Don't leave me.”

Tatum wants to sleep, but Molly's voice is loud and clear through all that fog. Tatum closes her eyes for a prolonged period, just a small rest before having to deal with everything again. The pain is gone now, replaced by numbness. She's in shock, she assumes, and it's not really so bad. So much better than the stabbing pain tearing apart her stomach. Why does Mom always talk about shock like it's dangerous? She can't remember. It's actually quite refreshing, a nice change.

“Tatum, stay awake. Please.”

She opens her eyes.

They're in the barn.

I place Tatum on the dusty floor, careful not to jolt her body more than need be. Her face is pale, as if all the blood has already drained away, pooling on the floor beneath her. Dust becomes disturbed, rising in a soft cloud up into the air.

My eyes quickly grow accustomed to the darkness. I look around, hoping to spot something I can use as a light. In the corner, hanging on a nail, is an old oil lantern. I rush over and grab it, give it a shake. A small amount of fluid swishes inside the metal container.

I have matches. I reach inside my pocket and pull out the small wooden box I took from Mary. I strike the tip and a flame sparks. Quickly, I light the wick. We used to have lanterns like this so we could stay up late into the night, listening to Walter strumming his guitar, or for when Julian and I would read books after everyone went to sleep.

The flame glows warmly from inside the glass, and I put it down beside Tatum. There's not a lot of oil left, but hopefully I'll figure something out before we get cursed back into the shadows.

I don't know anything about wounds. I do know from Mary, a few of the others, and from my own personal experience that it can take dozens of stab wounds to actually kill someone. One of the bonuses of being a murder victim, I guess. It comes down to where the cut is and the amount of damage it does on the inside. A lot of killers are pros at making sure they don't nick arteries. They want the kill to last. But I'm worried that in Tatum's case, Levi didn't give a damn about prolonging her agony. No, his intentions were just plain old-fashioned death.

Hiding in the barn is the last thing I want to do, but it makes sense. I try and make sure Tatum is comfortable. I wish I had a jacket or something to use as a pillow. I go back to close the sliding doors. They creak and are unhinged, but with enough effort I manage to get them sealed almost all the way. I suppose a Remnant could squeeze its way through if it was determined, but thankfully enough of my friends have surrounded the door for our protection. Through the crack, I can see that they've formed a line, determined to keep the Remnants out.

Parker leads another group; he's got them going strictly after the teens, trying to find a phone to call for help. There's always the possibility that the red-haired girl or Scott has managed to send backup, but who knows how long that will take. Does either of them even know where we are to give directions?

There are still cars parked farther back toward the road. If we could get some keys, we could get out. Of course, I'm not actually sure if any of us can drive.

Too many questions, and time is running out.

I spin around, and my eyes fall upon the bicycle. I swear, my mouth drops to the floor. The bike is leaning against the wall, near an empty stall, as if no time has passed since the last time I saw it.

There's a lot more rust and dust. The tires are flat and I'm sure the chain wouldn't move, even if I greased it several times, but it's still my bike. The streamers hanging off the handlebars have long since lost their color. Walter must have moved it into the barn, along with the few pieces of jewelry I'd planned on delivering, the day he took me here. He wanted to make sure to erase any evidence of me having been in his van. The bag of jewelry is gone, but the bike remains. Maybe the police didn't put two and two together. Maybe they didn't feel the bicycle meant anything.

Either way, apparently the owners of this barn haven't cared either. They've obviously just let it sit for more than forty years. It makes me sad, remembering how much I loved that bike, to see it rotting away in this lonely place. A final piece of treasure to show the world I really did exist.

Off to the right, beneath the loft and hidden away in the shadows, I see a wooden post. It calls to me and I can't help but follow, running my fingers along the dry surface until I find them. There, about three feet above the floor, hidden unless you knew they were there. Tiny fingernail scratches. I place my own hand over them, and yes, it's a perfect match. The blood has long since faded away.

“Molly?”

“I'm here.” I go back and kneel down beside her, trying my best to keep my expression calm. Her shirt is completely soaked through now. Tatum's teeth are no longer chattering; if anything, her face has taken on a peaceful expression and her body is relaxed. I tear off a chunk of my skirt and press it against the wound, hoping to try and stop some of the flow. Tatum winces slightly; her lips are pale and chapped.

“We're in the barn,” she says. “I'm sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because I'll bet you never wanted to see this place again.”

“My bicycle is still here. Can you believe that? How weird. I wish someone had thought to take it away. It was meant to be ridden, not entombed.” I'm rambling. I can't help myself. If I stop talking, I'll be able to hear the wheezing in Tatum's chest. Her death rattle.

Tatum tries to move her head toward the corner but gives up. Too much effort. “I'll bet you loved it,” she whispers.

Outside, someone is shoved against the barn wall. The movement rattles the wood, sending dirt and sawdust raining down on us from the rafters.

“I did,” I say.

“I'm sorry we're here,” she says again.

“It's okay. Walter is gone. He can't hurt anyone ever again.”

Tatum puts her hand out toward me, and I take it, squeeze gently. Her fingers are freezing. Her lips are turning blue.

“Tell me your story.”

“We don't have time,” I say. “Help is coming. They'll be here any minute.”

“You're lying.” She coughs weakly, and I can see blood on her teeth.

I shrug, because she's right. Or maybe she isn't. I simply don't know. Everything is out of my control, and there's nothing I can do. The barn doors rattle and I can hear angry shouts. I can't tell who's winning or if the fight is almost over. I realize that I don't really care.

I failed.

“Molly? Please. I need to hear it.”

I sigh. This is a story I don't want to tell. It doesn't have a happy ending. It's filled with pain and struggle. It's not a parting tale to tell a dying girl.

But it is a last request.

I remember seeing a frog by the side of the road the day I was abducted. We'd barely gone any distance when Walter pulled the van over and turned us down the dirt road that led to the barn. I didn't really think too much of it; he'd said he had a few errands to run on the way, and he pretty much knew everyone in the area. That was one of the reasons Walter and Olivia came this far north in the winter: Walter had grown up here, and he knew enough people who were willing to take him in. He was liked by many of the local famers.

“You have to see this place,” Walter said. “I've been in talks with Ron Kroger, the man who owns this land. He goes down south for the winters these days, and the local guy who watches his property had an emergency. Had to get out of town for a bit. But this place. We can't use the house, but the guy said we can use the barn. No animals or anything. It's been empty for a while, gathering dust and whatnot. It's big and we can damn sure make it cozy. I figure if we can get our hands on a woodstove or something, we'll live like kings.”

It did sound good. My tent had recently sprung a leak, and I had been forced to spread plastic all over the ground so I wouldn't wake up with a soaked sleeping bag. Even though we'd already made it through the worst of the winter, the nights were still hard when you were sleeping alone in a small tent with no body heat. Sometimes Julian would join me, but he shared a tent with Sage's two little kids. There simply wasn't enough room for me to crawl in there with them. We'd talked about getting a bigger tent, but in reality, Julian and I wanted to be alone.

Spending time together without other people was hard when you lived in a commune, especially one that shared everything from child rearing to bedding.

The barn stood at the far end of a large field. The area looked like it hadn't been farmed in a while. The soil hadn't been turned or planted for the new season, and lots of weeds and garbage covered the faded tractor tracks. Trees grew up around it, keeping it perfectly hidden from the road. As I got out of the truck, I could see the farmhouse in the distance. A good half mile away from where we stood, it was the only other building in sight.

I took a few steps forward and stopped, my foot in midair. Beneath my sandal was a tiny frog. I bent down and scooped it up into my hands, enjoying the soft rubbery feeling.

“You're gonna get warts touching a frog,” Walter kidded.

“It would be worth it,” I said, looking around. Beside the barn, partly hidden in the bush, was a small pond. I carried the frog over and released it.

“I used to keep tadpoles in a jar when I was a kid,” Walter said from behind me. “Always died on me. My fault. I'd shake the jar or pencil-poke them to see what happened. Never had any patience when it came to living things.”

“I love frogs,” I said. “Any type of animal.” I thought about the animals I wanted with Julian. I'd have to consider a fish tank so I could keep some amphibians. I stepped back from the pond, certain that my little friend would find his family, and joined Walter in front of the barn.

“Perfect, right?” Walter asked. “No one back until June. That would give us a little more than a month. Plenty of time to relax before hitting the road again.”

I nodded. Julian and I still hadn't told Walter and Olivia that we wouldn't be heading off with them this summer. Julian had been putting money aside to rent a little apartment in Seattle. I planned on getting a job. We didn't know how to tell them yet. I knew Olivia would be very disappointed, but hopefully thrilled too.

“It's lovely,” I said.

Walter went over and pushed open the sliding doors. They opened easily; obviously they'd been oiled recently. He stepped inside, motioning at me to follow.

I wish I could say I had an epiphany or my own vision that might have saved me that day, a weird feeling that raised the hairs on my neck or the sudden realization that Walter had ulterior motives, but I'm sad to say that I didn't. Even knowing that Walter occasionally had roving eyes that followed me when they shouldn't wasn't enough to make me think,
Oh hey, this guy's a killer. Find your bike and run.
I figured that if Walter made a pass at me, I'd brush him off, experience the awkwardness, and that would be it.

How blind I was. A foolish, foolish girl.

I followed him.

Inside, the air was cool, but not drafty. A bit of dust covered the floor, proving that it hadn't been used in a while, but nothing that Olivia, Sage, and I couldn't fix with a good wash bucket and a few rags. The wood boards creaked beneath my feet, but the foundation was solid. Strong posts held everything up, and a ladder in the corner led toward the rafters.

“We could hang blankets in the loft,” Walter said as he shook the rungs to make sure they were nice and strong. “And make separate bedrooms. Could always pitch our tents round back for when we want some adult time.” He gave me a leering grin, his eyes pausing a bit too long on my chest. I wrapped my sweater tighter around my body, thinking that we might be having that brush-off talk sooner than later.

“It's a good idea,” I said, too cheerfully.

“What's that?” Walter leaned against the ladder. “Adult time?”

“Using blankets for walls.”

“I like the sex part better.” Walter grinned at my shocked face. “Oh, come on, darling. I know you're getting it on with my boy every night. I'm sure you ain't no prude. We picked you up at Woodstock, for fuck's sake.”

“This isn't an appropriate conversation.”

“You're a pretty little thing,” he continued, ignoring how uncomfortable I'd obviously become. “We share everything here. Everything. And it's about time you considered paying for your share of what I've given you.”

“I think we should leave.”

I turned to move toward the door, but Walter went over and planted himself between freedom and me. There was a long pause while he waited, as if he expected me to say something else. I didn't know what he wanted, so I made my way over toward the other side of the barn, keeping an eye on the door. I acted like the conversation hadn't fazed me at all and I wanted to check out the rest of the place. There were no other exits in the building. No side doors and no windows, except for the one up in the loft, where they used to store the hay. If I had to, I was pretty sure I could get there before Walter caught me. I was a lot younger and hopefully much faster. I was certain I could easily climb the ladder and get to the window. But how on earth would I get down without breaking a leg?

“I'm not a complicated man,” Walter said. “I see something I want, I go get it. And I have desires. Different things, stuff I can't share with Olivia but I very much wish to experience with you.”

“I want to go home,” I said. I no longer cared about going into town to sell the jewelry. I couldn't understand how this had turned so dangerous.

“No,” Walter said. “I don't think so.”

I ran for the ladder.

Walter caught me before I even got my foot on the first rung. Grabbing my shoulders, he yanked me back, hard, and pulled me down to the floor. I kicked him and screamed as loudly as I could. I swung around, nails clawing at his face, leaving a long red welt down the side of his cheek before he managed to pin my arm beneath his sweaty body.

“No one's gonna hear you,” Walter said. Bits of white hair had escaped his elastic band. Strands stuck up in all directions, making him look even crazier than I believed he already was. He panted heavily, his eyes wild and shining. He flipped me over on my stomach like I was a rag doll. I kicked and flung my arms uselessly, trying to swim away from him in a sea of dust.

“Please,” I begged. “Let me go.”