//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 - Family Matters // Story: Pandemic // by ASGeek2012 //------------------------------// Harold rubbed a temple with his free hand, but it did little to quell his growing headache. He managed to suppress a sigh at yet another dressing down via his cell phone. As he turned from the wall of his home office, he realized only then he had been pacing. He gritted his teeth and fell into his chair. "And furthermore, Mr. Tanner," said the female voice on the phone that had all the nuanced cadence of a rusty hinge. "I hope I don't need to point out the other reason besides safety why I don't care for these secret excursions of theirs." Harold had little brainpower left for anything more complex than two plus two. "Perhaps it's best you point it out anyway to avoid misunderstanding, Mrs. Carlyle," he said in a tired voice. Margaret (don't dare call her Maggie) Carlyle, mother of James, clicked her tongue. "Really, it should be obvious considering their age and ... development." "So you seriously think my daughter would allow him to feel her up?" Margaret gasped. "I resent the implication that my son is some witless, sex-crazed boy!" "Well, then, you just answered your own question, and you have nothing to worry about," said Harold. "Unless you're implying that Jenny is some sort of budding harlot trying to lure him off the path of chastity." "I never said that," said Margaret in a stiff voice. "Though she is a bit flamboyant." "There's a huge difference between flamboyant and flirtatious, Mrs. Carlyle." "The fact remains that she is still taking him to places they ought not to be!" Harold let out a resigned sigh. "I'll talk to her. Good day." He hung up the phone before the woman could say another word. He tossed the cell phone to the desk and uttered a curse. He frowned as his eyes followed where the phone had landed. He snatched up an envelope, addressed by his own hand to a George Tanner outside of Grand Junction. His eyes narrowed on the "Return to Sender, Refused" postal stamp. Against his better judgment, he let his gaze drift to the framed picture above his computer monitor. A gangling teenage version of himself grinned goofily at the camera as an older man stood in dusty overalls beside him, practically beaming. Behind them, a brand new barn they had built stood awaiting the finishing coat of paint. "Dad?" came a distant voice. Harold turned his gaze away from a lost past and bolted out of his chair. "On my way, Bob." Harold had to pause every time he said the boy's name. He had been so used to calling him "Bobby" until the kid decided on his sixteenth birthday a few months prior that he was too old for that name. Harold bounded up the stairs and was soon standing in the doorway of the room of a boy with dark, rust-red hair. He was sitting up in bed, his hand-held video game console lying on the blanket beside him, next to an empty plate where a large sandwich had been reduced to crumbs. Harold gestured towards both and smiled. "You must be feeling better, champ." Bob smiled wanly. "Yeah, I guess. Still feel kinda bad, and it seems chilly in here. Can you turn up the heat a bit?" Harold kept his smile going with some effort. Even after as many years as Bob had been with them, his tone still sounded excessively formal even to the one he finally managed to start calling Dad. "I'd love to, but we have to watch costs. I can get you an extra blanket." Bob shook his head. "It's fine," he said in a soft voice. "Maybe some water?" "You got it." Harold headed back downstairs and into the kitchen. Just as he held the glass under the faucet, the doorbell rang. He muttered "now what?" before filling the glass and heading out of the kitchen. He detoured towards the front door, yanking it open without bothering to look through the peephole. Harold stared for a few moments as if in hopes that this would somehow make the visitor go away. When this failed, he finally blurted, "What are you doing here?" A slim woman with straight, red-brown hair smirked. "Well, that's better than the usual greeting I get from you these days." "No, seriously, Eileen, what are you doing here?" Eileen McDermott tossed her head and brushed flyaway strands of hair from her pale green eyes. "Can I at least come in?" "That depends," Harold said. "Let's try this again: what are you doing here?" Eileen rolled her eyes in a gesture reminiscent of Jenny. "Maybe I happened to hear about the flu outbreak and wanted to see if my son was okay." "He's still recovering," said Harold, standing at the door like a guard. "He was the last one of the family to get it. He'll be all right." Eileen frowned. "Seriously, Harold, this is ridiculous. Let me the hell in." Harold narrowed his eyes and did not budge. Eileen uttered a windy sigh. "Fine. I'm not here for money. Satisfied?" Harold hesitated, but finally stepped back from the door. Eileen gave him a tight smile before stepping inside. She rubbed her arms. "Thanks. It's still ridiculously cold for late March, if you ask me." She glanced around. "Is my sis here?" "Sarah is still on her way back from a dig." Eileen brightened. "Well, then, this should be a pleasant visit." "Whatever you really want--" "I told you, it's to see my son." "--it will have to wait until I give this water to him." Harold lifted the glass only as a gesture to show what he was doing. The words had barely left his mouth when Eileen snatched the glass from him, splashing a decent portion of it over Harold and the carpet. "What the hell?!" Harold exclaimed. "I'll bring it to him," Eileen said as she ran past him, her long hair flying. "I'm here to see him anyway." "I didn't say you could--!" Harold started. "I didn't ask you," Eileen said loftily as she raced up the stairs. Harold clenched his hands into fists. When he was a kid growing up on the farm, his father had kept a huge sack filled with straw tucked away in the back of the barn. Whenever his old man was so angry he could chew nails, he went out and punched that sack until his anger had waned. Harold so wished he had that sack right then. Despite her initial insistence, Eileen hesitated just outside her son's room. She never knew what to expect, and it had been months since she had tried to visit. She took a deep breath, put on as sunny a smile as she could muster, and stepped into the room. Bob had gone back to his video game, and his eyes were glued to the screen. "Thanks for the water, Dad," he said without looking up. Eileen stepped forward and set the glass down. "Hello, Bobby." Bob's head jerked up, his eyes wide. He was about to speak when his moment of distraction caused him to lose a life in his game. He frowned and thumped the pause button. "Sorry if I messed up your game," said Eileen as she sat on the edge of his bed. "You feeling all right?" "I feel like crap still," said Bob. "Thought I wouldn't get it, but I started getting sick just as everyone else got better. Really weird." "How so?" "Everyone should've been past being contagious by then. That's how influenza usually works. There's an initial period of symptoms and contagion. The contagion is usually gone by the time the symptoms start to clear up." He paused. "Maybe you shouldn't be here. I'll just give it to you." Eileen smirked and tousled his hair. "I'll take that chance. You haven't changed. Still my little Bobby, science nut." Bob scratched his head. "Could you call me 'Bob', please?" Some of Eileen's smile faded. "I've been calling you Bobby since you were little." "Yeah, and I'm not little anymore. I don't let Da ... uh ... Uncle Harold call me that anymore, either." "It's all right if you want to call him 'Dad'," Eileen said in a neutral voice. "He's been a hell of a lot more of a father to you than your biological father ever was." An uneasy silence fell, and Bob gave his mother a troubled look. "Are you here to take me back again?" Eileen's breath caught. For the first time in a long while, that question had been asked with an actual hint of hope. Bob had not even reached two when his father skipped out on them, and Eileen nearly had a nervous breakdown at the prospect of raising him alone. That was when Sarah and Harold stepped in. "If I were, would you really be willing to come?" Eileen asked. Bob didn't reply, and instead stared down at his video game. Eileen's gaze flicked to it as well. "Harold buy that for you?" Bob nodded. "Birthday present." Eileen tried not to cringe. She had sent him only a card, as it was about what she could afford. "Bet he gets you all sorts of nice things, huh?" she said softly. Bob shrugged. "I guess." Eileen gave him a forlorn look, wishing she had more time to delve deeper into whatever was bothering her son. She managed a small smile as she stood up. "Hey, um, I'd love to stay longer, but my ride back to Denver is going to show up soon. Will you let me Skype with you?" Bob looked up. "It won't cut into your Skype time with Jenny?" "Not really, no." "Because I don't want to be a bother." Eileen rolled her eyes. "You're never a bother, Bobby. I mean, Bob." Bob slowly nodded. "Okay, sure, then." Eileen smiled. "Great. It was nice seeing you again." She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Get better, okay?" Bob gave her a faint smile. "I will." Eileen waved and headed out. Sarah uttered a weary sigh as she pulled her car into the garage. Her hopes of being home by noon had been dashed by a bad accident on I-70 that had traffic snarled all the way from the Eisenhower Tunnel. She would still be stuck there if she hadn't finally taken an alternate route. After killing the engine, she snapped on the overhead light and pulled her ponytail into view. Had that red streak spread wider, or was it just her imagination? She flung her hair back behind her and got out of the car. She thumped the button to close the garage door and barreled inside. Harold met her at the other end of the hallway. "Hey, honey." "Hey." Sarah gave him a peck on the lips before heading past him and towards the downstairs bathroom. "You take care of those chemicals like I asked?" Harold followed. "No, I've had other things on my mind." Sarah clicked her tongue as she stepped in front of the sink. "I asked you to do just one thing, Harry--" "Look, don't get on my case, please. I've had enough crap to deal with today." Sarah gripped the sides of the sink and let out a quick sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm a little on edge myself." "Something happen at the dig?" "You could say that." She glanced at the cabinet partially behind her husband. "Get me the little scissors, please." "Scissors? For what?" Harold asked even as he dutifully complied. Sarah frowned. "For this." She pulled her ponytail around. Harold stared. "What the hell?" "My reaction exactly," said Sarah as she took the scissors from him. "Sarah, no way in hell fumes from those solvents did this." "Nevertheless, I'm not taking any chances." Sarah tugged the cherry red strands straight and started trimming them off. "Normally I'd just wash it, but if there is any chemical on it, I want it as far away from me as possible." Harold realized arguing with her was pointless. "Look, I have something I need to tell you." "Just a second," said Sarah in a distracted voice. She set the scissors down and examined her hair. "Do you see any more red?" "Nope, none," Harold said after only a cursory glance. "Okay, then what do you have to tell me?" Harold started to turn around. "We better head out into the living room first." Sarah's mouth dropped open. "Whoa, Harry, stop!" "Huh?" Harold started to turn towards her. "What now?" Even before the words were out of his mouth, Sarah had grabbed his arms and forced him to turn his back to her. Despite outweighing her almost two-to-one, he knew better than to resist when his wife was that forceful. Sarah narrowed her eyes. She tugged down the collar of Harold's shirt. "Sarah, what are you doing?" Harold asked. Sarah stared. "Harry, the very tips of your hair on your neck have turned blue!" "What? Oh, come on." "I'm looking at it right now." Harry turned around. "It must be a trick of the light or something." "Oh, like my streak of red was. Uh-huh. That's it. I want those chemicals out of the house right now." "You don't mean -- hey, wait!" Sarah had rushed past him and towards the basement door under the stairs. Harold dashed ahead of her and stood in her path. "Harry, this is not the time to be obstinate!" "Then stop being ridiculous," Harold declared. "Those chemicals in no way caused this." "How do you know that? How can ... wait ..." Sarah turned her head and listened as faint voices came from Bob's room. "Who's he talking to?" "That's what I was trying to tell you," said Harold. "It's Eileen." Sarah gaped at him. "My sister is here? And you let her in??" she hissed. Harold rubbed the back of his neck. "She wanted to see Bob." Sarah covered her eyes with her hand. "We've talked about this." "What was I supposed to do, huh? Legally, she's still his mother and can take him out of here any time." "You know as well as I do she'll never get her act together enough for that," Sarah snapped. "The fact that she's here and not in Denver taking care of our mother shows that. I've lost count of how many times she's tried to take Bob back only to send him right back to us. The last thing Bob needs is false hope that--" She cut herself off when she heard someone coming down the stairs. "Hey, don't stop bad-mouthing me on my account," Eileen said with a smirk. Sarah intercepted her at the bottom of the stairs. "Fine. You've seen Bob, now go." Eileen grinned. "Nice to see you, too, sis." She stepped off the stairs. "Yeah, I'm going, no worries. My ride is about to show up." "Why did you come out here?" Sarah demanded. "It can't be just to see Bob for all of five minutes." "I was going around with a guy who wanted to get in some last minute skiing at Breckenridge," said Eileen. "His treat. So I took him up on it." "And he's the one giving you the ride?" Harold asked. "Nah, he turned out to be a jerk, so I dumped him." "At the ski resort?" Sarah cried. "With no means to get back to Denver?!" "Hey, I managed, I got a ride." "And here I thought that just maybe you had gained a modicum of responsibility when you started taking care of Mom. Guess I was wrong." Eileen frowned. "Look, she's in a fucking assisted living place. She doesn't need me around every single day." "You know she gets lonely." "Hey, I don't see you jumping in your car and visiting her. And frankly, the older she gets, the worse that Irish brogue of hers gets. I can barely understand her anymore." A car horn sounded outside. "That's my ride. See you later, sis," Eileen said before racing for the door. Sarah watched her sister go and huffed. "What the hell else can go wrong today?" "Jenny," Harold deadpanned. Sarah lowered her head into her hands. "What now?" she said in a despairing voice. "You know the old mill that they demolished last week? They were inside when the crews arrived." Sarah spun around. "They?" "Her and James Carlyle, the boy she's been hanging around with lately." "It's bad enough she takes these risks, she has to drag others into it. What are you going to--?" "I'm not going to do anything," Harold said firmly. "I give up. I can't get through to her. Maybe you can." Sarah turned away. "She barely wants to talk to me anymore." Harold stepped up to his wife and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "Then stop talking at her and talk with her." "I don't talk at her, Harry, I--" "Yes, you do. You're so intent on trying to steer her interests to something more 'practical' that I think it drives her to do more outrageous stuff." Sarah turned towards him and flung an arm towards the front door. "The person responsible for Jenny's outrageous behavior just walked out that door." "Oh, come on, Sarah." "No, I'm serious! They Skype with each other, what, two or three times a week now?" "We have no idea what they're talking about," Harold declared. "We don't listen in on them." Sarah folded her arms. "Maybe we should." "You don't mean that." Sarah lowered her gaze. "No, I don't. I just feel everything has been going wrong lately." She looked up. "Listen, I need some down time or I'm just going to start screaming at people. I'm going upstairs for a long soak." Harold smiled. "I think that's a great idea." Sarah drew her husband into a tight hug. "I hate it when we fight. Family shouldn't be this way." Harold hugged her back, his mind's eye turning to the returned letter. "Yeah. It shouldn't." James could easily listen to Jenny for hours. By the end of the school day, Jenny had already modified her original concept. Realizing that parts of it were a bit clichéd, she had embellished and expanded it, adding more layers of intrigue and depth. James had never met anyone with such a soaring imagination. He walked with her as she went on in detail about her concept until they stopped at a park bench. James sat, but Jenny continued to stand in order to act out scenes for him, at least until she said, "And for this next part, we need a change of scenery." "Huh?" James said even as Jenny grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. "No, we can't!" "Yes we can!" Jenny said excitedly. She pointed past the edge of the park. "It's just that way, not too far." James pulled his arm from her grip. "Didn't you hear a word I said this morning?" "Oh, come on, you didn't think I'd take you seriously, did you?" "I don't believe this," James murmured. "Look, this isn't dangerous," said Jenny. "It's just a distant corner of a vast plot of land. There's a building there, but where it's on private land, it's not about to be demolished." "Jenny, the key phrase here is 'private land'. What if the owner finds us?" Jenny waved a hand. "A hiking trail runs right by the place. We claim we wandered in by accident. No harm, no foul. Given that there's nothing of value on the property, we'd hardly be accused of stealing anything." James sighed. "And if I don't go, you're going to do it anyway, right?" "Yep. Now, you can let the poor peasant girl suffer an unknown fate, or you could be her knight and protect the damsel from--" James threw up his hands. "Okay, okay!" He grinned faintly. "You know the only reason I'm doing this is because I'm dying to hear the rest of the story." Jenny smirked and took his hand. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Now, come on." Doctor Kevin Conner leaned back in his chair, stretching and yawning before rubbing his blue-gray eyes as if to get them to focus better on the laptop screen. After a bit of useless and uncomfortable squinting, he gave up and fished out his reading glasses. He had only one more patient summary to write up, though he could have likely just cut and paste it from the previous one given how similar it was. He had just slid his chair forward and began typing when a soft knock sounded at the door. "Come in, Heather," he said without looking up. His assistant and nurse Heather Garron opened the door, a manila folder in her hand, which she tapped against her hip. "Please don't kill the messenger," she said as she brushed an auburn curl out of her soft brown eyes. Kevin looked up and sighed when he saw the folder. "I thought we were going to close a little early today since we had those cancellations." Heather stepped inside. "I know you're really beat. You've been going non-stop since this flu tore through the town." Kevin stroked his beard. "Would've been nice if it stopped there, but now we're drowning in the usual post-flu complaints, most of which I can't do much about." "Tell me about it. I only just got over mine. I am so jealous you never got it. You must have a supernatural immune system." Kevin chuckled. "Oh, don't let Fred Turner hear you say that." "Old man Turner?" Heather rolled her eyes. "No, he'd think you were one of those aliens the government is covering up." "Maybe he's right." Kevin stood and raised his hands to either side of his head, extending his forefingers and waggling them. "I just hide my alien antennae really well." Heather snorted and slapped the folder to his chest. "Anyway, I promise, she's your last patient. She begged me to let you see her." Kevin opened the folder and raised an eyebrow. "Laura Tanner? Well, something must be up. The Tanners are pretty selective about when they see me. When the flu hit, only Harold came to see me when his cough was so bad it was making his ribs hurt." Heather stepped forward and lowered her voice. "Get this: she's got bright orange hair." Kevin's gaze rose. "Are we talking the same girl who's about as rebellious as a nun?" "She claims it's not dyed, and that's what she's here to see you for," said Heather. Kevin snapped the folder shut. "You take her vitals?" "Yes. Everything's spot-on. She's in examination room two." Kevin nodded and headed past her. He stepped down the hallway and opened the door. His more than twenty years experience as a general practitioner across two large cities before arriving in Lazy Pines enabled him to react with equanimity, though when Heather had said bright orange, he had not expected it to be day-glow bright. Or, for that matter, virtually exploding in thick curls where plain, straight hair had been before. Kevin gave her a warm smile and closed the door behind him before approaching the distraught teen sitting on the end of the examination table. "Heather tells me you seem to be having an issue with your hair?" "Well, isn't is obvious?" Laura said in a slightly quavering voice. "Look at it! I didn't do this to myself." Kevin tilted his head as he looked. "When did this happen?" Laura repeated what she had told Tina. "I'm not lying about this, Doctor Conner. I really have no clue how it happened. Hair is not supposed to be this color!" "Well, that's true, in normal circumstances," said Kevin. "There are cases where hair can turn interesting colors from exposure to chemicals or bleaches." Laura grabbed two fistfuls of curls. "But all of it? And this evenly?" Kevin stepped closer. "Please, tilt your head this way." Laura complied, and Kevin gently parted the curls. "You've had no scalp pain, no burning sensations?" "No, nothing," said Laura. "Did it do this all at once?" "It came in over three days. First the color, and then this morning--" She waved a hand at her head. "--this stupid curly mess." "I don't see any irritation or burns," murmured Kevin. He reached into his pocket for a small flashlight. "The color is clear to the roots." "So do you believe me that this isn't dye?" Laura asked hopefully. "My friend Tina is into hair stuff. She says there's no way someone could dye hair this perfectly." "May I clip a curl of your hair?" "Go ahead," said Laura. Kevin fetched a small pair of scissors and carefully snipped a curl free. He held it up to the light, then brought it over to the sink. He ran the water on its hardest setting and held the curl in the stream. "I've tried that," Laura said with a sigh. "You don't want to know how much shampoo I used." "Hmm," Kevin murmured as he shut off the water and trailed the hair against the stainless steel. He would expect to see at least a little color bleed. Instead, the hair remained a completely even shade of color. "I'll be very honest with you, Laura. Right now, my only diagnosis is that you have a chronic case of curly orange hair." Laura let out a sigh of relief. "All I wanted was you to believe me that it wasn't dyed, because I don't want to take the chance that my parents will give me a hard time when I show them this." Kevin gave her a disapproving look. "You haven't told your parents yet?" Laura wrung her hands. "Look, I don't ... I don't want to look bad in front of them. I want them to think I'm responsible." "Please, Laura, promise me you'll tell them tonight." "Only if I can tell them they can call you to confirm." Kevin nodded. "They most certainly can." Laura smiled faintly. "Thank you. So you really have no idea how I can fix this?" "At the moment, I'm not sure what this is," said Kevin. "There are conditions where the biochemicals associated with hair color can break down, but that process generally takes years. The only thing I can suggest is shaving it off and hope it grows back its normal color." Laura's smile faded. "That's what I was afraid you'd say." Kevin pulled out a pair of latex gloves from a dispenser. "Let me take another sample of your hair, and I'll send it off for testing. We'll go with the theory for now that this is some sort of very odd chemical reaction. If you don't want to shave your hair, I can recommend a brand of shampoo that's good for treating this sort of thing." Laura nodded. "Thank you, Doctor Conner, I really appreciate this." Kevin dutifully took a clipping and put into a specimen container before disposing of the gloves. "I'll let you know as soon as the results come in." Laura hopped off the end of the examination table. "Thank you again," she said before heading out. Kevin lifted the glass specimen tube into the air and held it to the light. "But if it's not dye, what is it?" If James had not been following Jenny closely, he could have truthfully claimed to have become lost. Even on the hiking trail, it had so many forks and twists that he had little idea what direction he was going let alone where he was. "Here, it's this way!" Jenny said as she suddenly darted to the side and disappeared between two thick tree trunks. "Jenny, wait up!" For almost a full minute, James could only hear his companion and not see her as he slogged through wet snow drifts. By the time he finally spotted her, his heart was racing, and not just from the exertion. "Please, I can't keep up!" Jenny rolled her eyes. "I thought you were in better shape than that." "Very funny." James looked behind him. "Crap, I can't even see the trail anymore." Jenny waved a hand. "I know where it is, don't worry." She gestured around them. "And not seeing the trail is kinda the point. It really looks like we're deep in an enchanted forest!" "More like lost in one," James murmured. "Oh, stop it." Jenny glanced around. "My Dad would love a place like this." "You've said. Still don't know why you don't ask him more often to--" "Now, come on, the place I told you about is close by." Jenny plunged ahead, ignoring how the snow often came up to her knees. James hurried to catch up, uttering a curse when a low branch tried to snatch his hat from his head. "Here we are!" James nearly crashed into her, and he blinked as he looked past her to a chain link fence that had seen better days. Several posts listed to one side, and the fence itself was splotched with rust. On the other side, dead weeds and grass littered a large field. "That's really weird." Jenny stepped past him, walking along the fence and looking down. "What's weird?" "Where's all the snow?" James asked. "Probably the sun melted it." "Jenny, we had two feet of snow just before the flu hit. I doubt it would be gone by now." "You know what?" Jenny said without looking up. "You worry too much." James shook his head, his gaze still sweeping over the field. His eyes fell on a long wooden structure, heavily weathered but still standing, and beyond it a maze of wooden fences and railings. He recognized it at once: it was an area cattle were herded into before loading them on transports. He reasoned this must have been a ranch at some time in the past. "Here it is!" Jenny said. She smiled and pointed. James stepped up to her. A post had completely come loose from the ground, and the fence had twisted enough over a low spot to create a gap. "You don't seriously expect us to--" James began, but Jenny had already dived to the ground and was crawling through. "This is such a bad idea," James muttered as he followed. "Just how in hell can we claim we just wandered in?" Jenny stood up on the other side. She clasped her hands together and bounced on the balls of her feet. "Oh, this is perfect!" She started towards the structure. "This can be the little house and fields of the peasant girl." James followed, and his heart raced. Something felt off, like an unnatural sound in the distance only barely audible, or flickers of light persisting at the edge of his vision only to vanish when he tried to look at them. The air felt as if it were faintly electrified. "This place is creeping me out, we ought to leave," James said in a quavering voice. "Can't you feel it, too?" Jenny looked around. Save for the low whistle of the wind through gaps in the planks of the structure, the silence was near absolute. "You're ... y-you're imagining things. Come on, help me act out just one crucial scene and we can leave. Oo, look!" She pointed. "That makes a perfect fortress for the evil warlock!" "Huh? The what?" James looked where she pointed. In the distance was a low structure that appeared as if someone had taken long concrete slabs and laid them together to form a nearly perfectly rectangular building. "Oh, fuck." "Have to admit, though, looks more like a bunker than a -- hey!" James grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the fence. "That's because it is a bunker! Shit, this is old man Turner's property!" "Let go of me!" Jenny cried as she tried to drag him back with little success. "Damn, how the hell did you get so strong all of a sudden? And who the hell is Turner?" "He's a survivalist nutcase, always raving on about government conspiracies and shit like that," said James. "He's the last person we--" "Trespassers!" a voice bellowed behind them. "Infiltrators! Get out! Stay away from it!" "Oh, shit," Jenny said in a tiny voice, and suddenly James didn't have to drag her anymore. James steeled himself, fully expecting to hear gunfire and feel his flesh and organs torn apart, or, worse, hear Jenny scream in pain from her own wounds. He didn't dare take the time to look behind him, but simply bolted for the fence. His cap flew off and landed in the weeds. The raving abruptly fell silent for a few moments. Then the man's voice rose again to a shout with a tone more of desperation than anger, "Wait! Come back! We can figure it out together! I didn't know it's happening to you, too!" "What the hell is he talking about?" Jenny cried. "Who cares?! Just go!" James yelled. Jenny yelped when James pushed her through the gap first. His heart pounded so hard his temples throbbed. He tried to place himself between Turner and Jenny like a shield, biting his lip to prevent him from yelling at Jenny to hurry. When she was finally through, James plunged after her. As James crawled through, Jenny turned and looked past the fence. A man stood hunched over in the thick of the weeds, his face haggard, a rifle clutched to his chest but not pointed at them. Jenny suddenly giggled. James grabbed her hand and ran from the fence. Jenny frowned and yanked her hand away. "I can walk perfectly well, thank you." "Don't walk, run!" James cried, though the snow drifts made this an impossibility. "We got out, we're safe now." Jenny grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. "And I'm the one who knows the way back, remember? You're going the wrong way." "I can't believe I let you talk me into that!" James cried. "Stop it. We came out okay." James made an exasperated noise as he face-palmed. "Are you serious?! He could've shot us!" Jenny paused. "Well, he did have a gun." She smirked. "But it was kinda hard to take him seriously." James just gaped at her. "You didn't see him?" James shook his head. Jenny giggled. "He had a big mess of bright peach hair and was wearing funny animal ears on his head. He looked even more ridiculous than my big sister."