CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR NOW

Finally, I get to the street.

It probably took an hour, which means it’s about 2:00 AM.

I’ve never run a marathon, but I can see how the runners feel, endorphins spent, crossing the finish line. I want to cry with relief.

Standing under the dim streetlight, I can finally fulfill my promise to myself. I unzip the side pocket and rip out the chocolate bar.

I can’t stop at two squares. A monster takes over.

I am stuffing half the bar in my mouth, chewing without breathing, barely even swallowing, when I think of Chris, looking at me with unveiled disgust when I grabbed a candy bar at a Halloween party. You sure you need that? he asked, pinching my hip, a bulge of fat, pretending to be playful. I remember how the chocolate stuck to my tongue then, cloying and sickly sweet. A circle of friends saw what he did and looked away.

I once told Jay that story, after he saw me fretting, pinching a roll of fat on my stomach. If I ever see that guy, he said in a low voice, with muted fury, I’m going to kill him.

I wrap up the rest of the chocolate bar and shove it into my backpack before I can be tempted again. Flipping out my compass, I can see it better now in the faint streetlight.

I have a decision to make.

I’m not just following a driveway east anymore. I have to choose a direction. Should I turn to the right or the left, north or south? South should be toward home since we’re in the Catskills. But we went for miles without seeing signs of life. Going that way might be a miscalculation. Maybe there are more stores or houses to the north. I glance down one direction and then the other, as if that might steer me. Neither appears promising, both sides an equally bleak landscape of dark forest, monotonous snow, and endless pavement.

Then a memory strikes an off-handed comment that Melody made on the way in. Oh, a farm. How rustic. Could that be the Thompson Farm? Or if not, at least someone could be living there who could help. Though I only caught a glimpse. It might not even be active anymore. Either way, it’s worth a try.

So that means going back in the direction we came from. But for the life of me, I can’t remember which way that was. Again, it should be south, coming from home, but there was a detour. Did we take the road south for a bit before going north again? Is that where the farm was?

I look both left and right again, but nothing sparks my memory.

Then I remember the map and grab it out of the backpack, the paper waving gently in my mittened hands and snowflakes landing on the paper in little starbursts. I wipe off the scads of sticking flakes but can still barely see the map in the streetlight. When I take the flashlight out, I almost drop it while trying to push the worn-down rubber button on and hold the map. Finally, I manage it all, holding the trembling light over the map, which the wind keeps trying to close.

After a while, I locate the teeny line which might represent this street. The map flaps in my hand, the flashlight flickering. North appears to have more hilly regions, two of the circles embedded deep in there. The other red circle is far flung out in another elevated region in the south. I search every square inch of the map but don’t see any sign of a farm, which of course isn’t surprising.

With a sigh, I fold up the map and put it away with my flashlight. My best bet would still be heading south, back toward home.

Turning to the right, I’m heartened to have a plan. A pseudo-plan. Turn right, walk south. I reach for my phone to check the time, before remembering I don’t have it. Still, I don’t need to know the exact time to know that precious hours are falling off the night.

And Lainey and Melody are out there somewhere.

South, south, south.

The word repeats in my head as I plow forward.

The walking goes easier on the street at least, less strenuous than the slog through foot-deep snow on the ground. As I walk, the snow squeaks under me, my heel slipping at times. After righting myself, I slow down a pace. I have to be more careful. Things are bad, but they could be worse. If I turn an ankle and get stuck out here, that would be worse. If I hit my head and lose consciousness on the street, that would be worse.

Snow keeps filling the sky, which remains dark still, though I know it’s well past midnight. We’re far out here, away from the gray skies of the city that literally never sleeps, the light pollution reflected in the clouds. Piling snow weighs down my hat and flickers in my eyelashes. It seems impossible, the fact of even more snow, like the sky should be empty by now. But it’s not. Still, I’m from Vermont, where snow is a fact of life. We could be in a blizzard with three feet of snow and whiteout conditions. A travel ban, with no one on the road to help me. All of these would also be worse.

But I won’t let myself think of the worst worst thing.

If I can’t find my friends. If they’re already dead.

I shun the thought, banish it. I need every ounce of mental and physical energy in me right now. I can’t afford such soul-sucking thoughts. So I keep walking, mumbling the word with every step. “South. South. South.”

I imagine myself back home, thinking of Jay, maybe ordering pizza for Greg. Maybe they are watching television, or playing video games, Babushka sprawled out on the couch next to them. I don’t know what Greg likes on his pizza—another thing I’ll have to find out.

When I hint at my uneasiness to Jay about all the things I don’t know about his son, or even parenting at all, he gently scoffs. It’s just a little thing, he’ll say, trying to bolster me. You’ll be great. But all these little things accumulate into a mountain, threatening to overwhelm me.

South. South. South.

Then I stop.

I see something.

Straining my eyes through the snow, I see the barest glimmer of light coming down the road. I squint through the dotted air, afraid my eyes could be tricking me, and quicken my steps, careful not to fall. After a little bit, though, no doubt remains. A beam of light shines through.

Desperate, I start waving my arms around and yelling, even though the car would be too far off to see me. But I can’t help myself.

“Hey,” I scream, as loudly as I can.

The soft rumble of the car sounds in the distance, and the light shines brighter through the snow. Now I start waving around like mad. “Over here,” I scream, so loud my voice hurts. “Over here!”

The rumbling grows closer, louder, the headlights shining bright halogen-white through the snow. I inch just little closer to the street. Getting hit by the car, that would be worse. I wave as high and fast as I can, wind-milling my arms, stretching my shoulders. Please see me. Please see me.

“Hey!” I bellow out again. “Hey! Hey!”

The car engine growls, the headlights blinding bright, and the vibration of the wheels rumble under my feet. I lean into the street, screaming and waving my hands. It happens fast, like a dream. The car emerges through the snow, showing itself for a window of just seconds, like the prow of a ship though steep fog.

Then it’s gone.

The mammoth car roars and flashes by me. Snow thuds off the wheels in pellets, stinging my face like an insult. As fast as the car flew by, it disappears, slipping into the distance. I run after it, screaming. For minutes, I keep it up, running, crying, and screaming. But finally, slowly, I give up. I’m just yelling into wind. The car is long gone.

I slow down even more now, staggering. Either the driver didn’t see me or didn’t want to see me. Yelling after them won’t change that; it merely wastes energy stores I don’t have.

The street appears calm again, only a ghost of the car remaining. Like it never happened, like it was all in my imagination, the empty street seems to mock me.

Suddenly, I’m enraged.

I yell out in frustration, clenching my fists. I scream out a string of swear words, jumping up and down in fury. Then my heel slips.

This time, I don’t catch myself. My hip hits the ground, my elbow cracking on the pavement, then my head, and pain hurtles through me. My cheek swells as blood drips in my mouth from biting my tongue. I try lifting my head, but the pain concentrates whooshing into my skull. Overwhelmed, I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath.

A word repeats in my head, but I don’t remember what it means.

South, south, south.

Maybe I should just rest, conserve my energy. Rest.

Just for a second.