Three

It started to snow the minute we turned the corner off the main street. The flakes were so big you could follow their twisted path to the ground, catching a glimpse of the lacy pattern before they melted into the pavement. I concentrated on each individual flake, carefully stepping around their fleeting outlines as we made our way out of town.

“You cold?” Luke asked.

I was beyond cold and it hurt to breathe, each breath burning its way through my lungs. “You think maybe we would’ve been better off heading back to the car?” I asked.

“Nope.” Luke took off his baseball hat and put it on my head. “No gas. No heat. Besides, there are some houses up ahead. There’s got to be somebody home.” He tucked the tire iron under his arm and took both of my freezing hands in his, massaging them, and I sighed as that little bit of warmth he offered transferred to me.

Following his eyes, I focused in on the faint lights up
ahead. The orange glow had a distinct pattern—linear and perfectly spaced. “Streetlights,” I said, thoughts of a warm house and a phone guiding my steps. “There has to be somebody home up there.”

“For sure. I can’t imagine everybody left when the sirens went off. That would be too orderly.” Mike paused briefly, the intensity in his voice fading away as he heaved into a nearby bush. “Holy crap, that gas is going to kill me.”

“How much did you swallow?” Luke asked, jumping back when another stream of vomit hit the ground near his feet. “That stuff will tear your insides up.”

I heard the concern in Luke’s voice. The way he watched his brother, his hands hovering over Mike’s shoulders in case he fell, was sweet. Even on their worst days, Luke still looked out for his younger brother. That protective instinct was in his blood.

Mike spit one last time and straightened up, swiping the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his mouth before he said, “Not much. Besides, I think the last of it is now covering your shoes.”

Luke looked down, groaning as he tried to use the snow-covered ground to clean his shoes. All it did was paste blades of dead grass to his already nasty sneakers.

“I’m gonna try my phone one more time.” I dug my phone out of my pocket and pressed the home button with my numb finger. There was still no signal, and the idea of knocking on some random stranger’s door seemed more appealing each freezing minute.

“I don’t understand how there’s no signal in this entire town. I mean, don’t they have cell phones around here?” I asked.

Luke rubbed my shoulder, no doubt a silent apology for our lousy luck. Less than an hour ago, I’d been on my way to what was probably going to be the best night of my life. The best night of our lives. Our two-year anniversary. I glanced at him, amazed he hadn’t given up on me long ago.

The plan had been for us to see his favorite band, then head to the hotel. One room for Mike, and a different room for Luke and me. I’d worked on it for months, even had to lie to both Luke’s parents and the Hoopers to get everything to come together.

Lying to Luke’s mom had been one thing, but lying to Mrs. Hooper was a whole other beast. It was like lying to your grandmother—your sweet old grandmother who made you cookies after school and baked pies at Christmas. Except Mrs. Hooper wasn’t my grandmother. She didn’t owe me anything. And that made it worse. She didn’t have to bake me cookies, take me in, wash my sheets, or go to my parent-teacher conferences, but she did anyway. And I’d gone and lied to her.

Now our seats would be empty and our hotel room … I didn’t even want to think about wasting that. Great way to start the weekend: cold, broke, and feeling extremely guilty.

I wiggled another frozen toe and grumbled under my breath as the wind lashed at my cheeks. We were getting dangerously close to the time opening acts were scheduled to go on stage. It wouldn’t be long before I had to give up and tell Luke about the super-fantastic night we weren’t going to have.

I stopped, and Mike nearly slammed into my back. We’d come to an intersection; a three-way stop. I swiveled my head, quickly glancing down each street. They were nearly identical, each yard perfectly maintained and insanely clean—no stray candy wrappers or cans blowing against the curb. Even the streetlights were lit, not a single one flickering.

Luke tilted his head, squinting his eyes to keep out the snow that was falling heavy on his lashes. “You guys hear anything?”

“No,” I said. The only sound I heard was the wind tearing through the trees. “Wait! The sirens! They’ve stopped.”

“Yup, so I guess this ringing in my ears is all me,” Luke said as he shoved a finger in his ear.

Now that the sirens had stopped, I expected people to start emerging from their houses, their basements, from whatever makeshift storm shelters they’d built in their yards. Mike and Luke were looking around too, each of them mumbling something under their breath.

This place was quiet. Too quiet.

That bank of clouds hovering in the distance was now here, bringing with it a squall that had me shivering. “Doesn’t look like anybody’s around,” I said, taking a step toward the street on the left, searching for the slightest of movements. “Which one do you want to try first?”

“Makes no difference,” Mike said, his head swinging from one house to the next. “They’ve all gotta have phones, right?”

I gestured to a dimly lit house on our right and said, “Sounds good to me. Let’s try that one.”

“Hang on a sec,” Luke said, putting up his hand to stop us. “Let’s try there first.”

I followed his gaze, my body cringing at the thought of having to snake my way through the dozens of crosses littering the ground. “Ah … that’s a cemetery, Luke.”

“I know,” he said, pausing long enough to point out a structure in the distance. “And that’s a utility shed. Ten bucks says they have a can of gas in there for mowers and diggers and stuff.”

“Diggers and stuff?” Mike smirked. “Wow, how very technical of you.”

I stifled a grin as Luke’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Shut up, Mike. I never said I was a construction expert. But hey, since I’m the one with a free ride to college and you’re the one failing English, perhaps the construction industry is something you should seriously consider.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m stu—”

Luke cut him off with a rumble of laughter. “I’m not saying anything, Mike. But before we go door-to-door like the Latter-day Saints, maybe we should at least check the shed.”

I laughed along with Luke. How did we go from concern over ingesting too much gas to who was smarter in less than five minutes? I took a step forward, determined to force my feet through the gate of the cemetery. I didn’t want to go. I would’ve rather gone the zealot route and knocked on doors. But we lacked the prerequisite religious tracts and black suit coats, so I doubted anybody would take us for much more than a bunch of grungy kids.

I gave the wrought-iron gate a tug, the bottom dragging along the ground as I pulled it open. We weren’t far from the shed, maybe a half-dozen crosses or so. One huge breath and a mad dash, and I’d be there.

“These are weird markers,” Luke said, sidestepping around an old wooden cross. “No names, not even a date. Who uses wooden markers anyway? I mean, won’t they rot?”

Yeah, like the bodies below them, I thought to myself.

Mike crouched down and brushed his hand across the nearest one, dislodging a chunk of the wood. He wiped
the dirty slush across the leg of his jeans, then stood up. “Yup, they rot.”

With the slush cleared, the cross was easier to see. It was nothing more than two cut pieces of wood laced together with some sort of twine.

“What kind of graveyard do you think this is?” I asked, thinking of the cemetery where the Hoopers’ infant son was buried some forty years ago. The Hoopers went there twice a year, on the day their son was born and the day he died, I presumed. I never asked, just went with them and sat in the car, watching and wondering.

I tried not to dwell on it, to think too hard about how ass-backward things seemed. Why God gave kids to monsters like my dad while leaving the Hoopers childless. I guess life messed with you that way sometimes.

The graveyard where the Hoopers’ child was buried had granite headstones with intricate carvings, names, and dates, and benches and permanent flower holders. Here they had nothing but some rotted wood held together by moldy string.

“Maybe it’s a military cemetery,” Mike offered up. “There are dozens of these markers and they’re identical, so what else could it be?”

I surveyed the crosses. Half of them were crumbling and everything smelled like wet dirt. “It doesn’t matter,” I said.
I was freezing, and this place was creeping me out. “Let’s go and check the shed.”

I made it just three steps before Luke slowed to a crawl beside me. “Check that out,” he said, motioning to something clear across the yard.

“What is it?” I asked. Trying to make out the faint glow was useless. I put my hand in Luke’s and pulled him along with me as I inched closer.

The tiny orange flame danced behind the branches of a willow tree, the tree’s slender limbs whipping toward us as the wind gave them life. Beneath it was the dim flicker.

“Is that a candle?” Mike asked.

“I think so,” I said, wondering how it was staying lit in this weather. I moved toward the light, my feet sinking deeply into what looked like a freshly dug grave.

“Watch it!” Luke yelled. He grabbed my elbow and yanked me back. “That’s bad luck. Really bad. Walk around the graves.”

I laughed nervously and pulled my shoe out of the muck that was attempting to swallow it. Luke didn’t buy into traditional superstitions like black cats, broken mirrors, and ladders, but the few things he did believe, he stuck to
hard-core. Given the fact that my feet were sunk ankle-deep in a freakishly primitive graveyard where they probably didn’t even use coffins, I figured it couldn’t hurt to follow his lead and be overly cautious.

“Can we forget the candle and stick to the shed?” I asked as I pried my other foot free.

Luke tucked his hand deeper into mine and we edged away from the grave, refocusing on the shed. His fingers were cold, frozen into slender ice cubes, but comforting nonetheless. He winked at me out of the corner of my eye and I couldn’t help but grin. If I had to be stuck out here in this hell, I was lucky to be here with him.

The shed was old, its sides worn from the weather and its roof sinking in the middle. I groaned as we stepped up to the door. My mood was already black, and the padlock staring back at me was making it worse.

“Locked,” Luke said as he turned to face me, a hint of resignation in his voice. His eyes flickered with frustration, and I shrugged.

I was fully prepared to turn around and forget about the shed and its promise of gas when the first crack of metal rang through the night air. It was deafening and I screamed, my entire body convulsing in fear.

Luke pried my hands from my ears, his mouth turning up in a grin. “You honestly thought he’d give up that easily?” he asked, gesturing toward Mike. “The guy that drank gasoline? C’mon, Dee.”

The dim moonlight glinted off of the object clenched in Mike’s hand. I looked closer, recognizing the tire iron we’d brought with us from the car. Up until then, I’d forgotten we had it.

“Another couple good hits and I think this will break,” Mike said as he swung at the padlock again. The sound echoed like a million pieces of broken glass, the contact sending sparks of metal flying.

“Uh, Mike? Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked as I swung my head around, scanning the area for people. The last thing I wanted was to get busted for some kind of sick vandalism. Not to mention that Luke was heading for college in the fall. Desecration of a grave wasn’t exactly an appealing thing for schools to see on his record.

Plus, I only had six months until I was legally free and could no longer be considered a ward of the state. Add a crime like vandalizing the dead to my already sketchy past, and I was sure social services would find a way to hang onto me a bit longer.

“Best idea I’ve had all day,” Mike replied. “Especially since it was your boyfriend who made the let’s-get-off-the-highway-and-take-the-creepy-backwoods-road call.” He chuckled as Luke flipped him off.

Actually, it’d been my call. I didn’t want to be late for the concert, so Luke had done what he always did … he tried to fix the problem and make me happy by finding an alternate route.

Mike stepped back, widened his stance, and swung the tire iron again. The lock broke, the vibration of the metals colliding traveling through the ground.

“Yes!” Mike shouted, dropping the tire iron. He tossed the broken lock aside, a muted thunk coming from somewhere in a nearby shrub.

Luke stepped in first, sputtering and brushing cobwebs from his face. “I can’t see a damn thing,” he said, his arms outstretched in the darkness.

“Here.” Mike tossed him the flashlight we’d taken with us from the car. “Use this.”

A small beam of light illuminated the dark room. “Gas can, gas can … there’s gotta be something useful in here,” Luke muttered to himself.

I flipped open my cell phone and used the light from my home screen to navigate the edges of the room. Hooks lined the walls, most of them supporting yard tools. Hedge trimmers, weed whacker, leaf blower. Pickaxe. “Pickaxe? What would somebody need a pickaxe for?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe they use it in the winter when people die and the ground is frozen,” Luke offered.

I turned to glare at him, not even remotely thankful for his insight. Mike ignored us and continued rifling through some large plastic bins lining the wall, cursing as a large cardboard box toppled over onto his feet.

Papers spilled out and Luke bent down, casting the beam of light across the mess. Dozens of names handwritten in pencil lined the sheets. Next to each name was a date. I reached down and picked up the first sheet I touched. It was a newer one, dated November 5th … two days ago.

“James McDonald, age six. Margaret Elizabeth Cunningham, age fifty-four. Sadie Calbert, age twenty-two,” Luke read aloud. He inhaled sharply and began stuffing the papers back into the box. “These are … I think these are death records.”

“I can beat that,” Mike chimed in. “Check this out.”

Luke turned his light in Mike’s direction, slowly scanning it upward until a sign came into view: Purity Springs. Population 152. He moved the sign aside; another one, nearly identical, was behind it. “ ‘Purity Springs. Population 151,’ ” Luke read before shuffling yet another sign aside.

“And looky here,” Mike said. “This one looks pretty new, not a scratch on it. Says ‘Population 149.’ That’s messed up.”

Luke shook his head, grumbling something incoherent under his breath. I stepped aside, forcing myself to focus on the search for gas as opposed to the archaic death records scattered across the floor.

My mind flashed back to the grave we’d passed on the way here. It was new, and I couldn’t help but think there was a sign hanging on the side of the road somewhere that read Purity Springs. Population 148.

“Finally,” Luke called out from somewhere behind me. I couldn’t see his body, but I could hear the sound of his knuckles rapping against the thick plastic of what I prayed was a gas can.

I used the light from my phone to scan the shed and found Luke in the back corner. He shook the can, its contents barely sloshing around.

“Crap,” he ground out.

“What?” I asked. “It’s gas, right?”

”Oh yeah, it’s gas.” Luke sighed as he unscrewed the cap and took a whiff to be sure. “But from the weight, my guess is it’s almost empty. Doubt we’d have enough to get that leaf blower over there started, never mind a car.”

Mike took the canister from Luke’s hands and gave it one hard shake. “You’re right, it’s empty,” he said, then dropped the canister to his feet. “Town with no people. Gas station with no phone. Now a maintenance shed with no gas. What kind of messed-up place is this?”

The kind that scares the crap out of me, I thought to myself as I sank to my knees and prayed they were both wrong, that there was enough gas not only to start the car, but to get us far away from Purity Springs.