The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 6: Mayfly (Part 8 of 11)

There were so many different ways to run. Once, it had just been a thought drowning, body affirming activity to fill the empty hours of her life. Two hours ago, it was terror and flight. Now, it was playful and joyous.

Amy dashed across the lawn at half speed focused less on the trees in front of her than the tremors generated by the feet behind her. Two of those feet belonged to Moore and she made sure not to outpace them.

The game had no rules, as far as she could tell. Its start was arbitrary, with first one girl, then another, tearing off in a sprint. The boys, slow to catch on, trailed. Were they just trying to keep up? Or were they trying to catch their prey? Amy had no idea. But from the giggles and shrieks of pleasure from Lucy and Beth, the goal seemed to be about getting the boys to follow and keeping them out of reach.

If she was serious about winning this game, she would have raced as fast as her legs were capable. But part of her knew in this game there was victory to be had in defeat.

Also, where would she be if she hadn't let her friends catch her when she tried to run earlier?

When she had spotted Kevin, time lost its taut rhythm, winding down to a crawl as he reeled backward. His companions clutched at empty air trying to support their friend who was staggering away from them. "It's still out there," Kevin shouted into the dead quiet store, repeating it more than once. Amy lost track of what was actually being said and what was being echoed by the harsh space. Kevin, still retreating, bumped into a pyramid display of jam. A jar fell over crashing against the tiles and an explosion of viscous, red jelly covered the floor. Then things moved very fast.

People were rushing to Kevin. People were rushing from Kevin. Everyone was talking. Everyone was yelling. And Amy moved through them all like she was crossing a busy dance floor, until she reached the door and the icy night air hit her lungs.

The vista of escape opened up before her. Paths and routes fanned out in all directions. Her mind calculated vectors and probabilities for each. Amy zeroed in on the space between a fenced in ATV dealership and a condemned looking garage, where a narrow gap of dirt led to the barren hills beyond. Her pace accelerated from a slow, confused lurch to a full bolt.

And she would have been gone—vanished—through the town, and into the wilderness, shedding her skin as she went. She would have, except for a voice that called out after her.

"Wait."

It was that one word that stopped her in mid-stride. The rest of what Moore said didn't matter. That first word held her there just as though a hand had reached out and grabbed her.

"That Walsh kid has issues. He's on all kinds of meds. Who knows what he thought he was seeing in there?"

"Yeah," Lucy said, suddenly outside crowding in on Amy and Moore's moment. "He's a total spaz."

"Don't say that."

"Well, it's true."

"He watched someone shoot his parents."

Campbell stepped out the door and responded to Moore's sympathies. "Well, that don't make him Batman."

"It's not even like they died," Beth added.

Somewhere, as two became three, then five, then eight, the incident in the 7-Eleven was forgotten about. No one tried to talk Amy out of running away because, they were all going to the park. And of course, Amy was coming with them.

She was one of them now.

Teenagers, like wolves, needed a pack and it mattered little what her feeling were toward Lucy or Beth, or that jerk Campbell, it was better—it was easier—to be part of them. And sticking around did have the advantage of being with Moore.