Abandon

Jerrod dropped without a sound.

June released an involuntary whimper.

Emmett said, “Oh my God.”

Abigail thinking, This is not happening. This is not happening. But it was. The shadows had passed Jerrod’s body and were now closing fast on the hotel.

“We need to split up and run,” Abigail said. “Right now.”

SIXTEEN

The ghost town screamed by in a blur of fog. Abigail glanced over her shoulder, saw movement in the mist, though she couldn’t tell if they were still chasing her. She had put a hundred yards between herself and the hotel when she veered off the main street and bent over. Having come from sea level in Manhattan, the thin air of Abandon crippled her lungs. She crawled through a hole in the side of a building, tried to turn on her headlamp, then remembered the bulb had burned out.

It took a moment for the faintest suggestion of shapes to appear—a table, dismembered chairs, tall windows, remnants of a stove. Abigail stood in the dance hall.

At the far end, the ceiling had collapsed and crushed a small stage.

Footsteps approached from outside. With quick, careful strides, Abigail traversed the rotten floorboards. Some creaked under her weight and she couldn’t help but think of the staircase in the hotel, how suddenly it had given way. She stopped where the floor had fallen through, looked back toward the double doors that opened out onto the street. Abigail couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore, only her accelerated breathing. The sound of whispering passed through the broken windows and something ran by on the street.

She dropped down through the hole in the floor, a nail catching on her parka, ripping through the sleeve, her pink fleece jacket, her long johns, all the way to her skin.

With less than three feet of space between the floorboards and the ground, she crawled away from the hole, through puddles of freezing water, until she found a dry spot. Crouched in the darkness, shivering under the floor of the dance hall, she felt a warm trail of blood meandering down her right arm. Her breathing still sounded deafening, but she couldn’t stop herself. The darkness sparked with her own dizziness.

What happened to Lawrence? She wondered what had happened to her father.

The floor creaked above her. Abigail held her breath, her pulse thrumming against the back of her eyes. The floor moved again. She raised her hand to see how near it dipped to the top of her head. Her fingers passed between the boards, touched the tread of a boot.

She froze. For a full minute, no movement, no sound. Her quads were cramping. They’re listening. Did I make a noise? Can they hear my heartbeat? The cut on her right arm stung. Sweat ran down into her eyes, and she shut them tightly against the burn.

This made her think of growing up in the suburbs of Baltimore. She’d been a tomboy, and on Friday nights, in the summer of her tenth year, she would meet the neighborhood boys at a city park to play something they’d invented, called the “Dead Game.” One kid was named the “killer,” and everyone else had one minute to run and hide. The killer would then go hunting, and if he touched you, you were dead and had to lie on the ground until he’d caught everyone. She recalled hiding under a sliding board one night, watching the killer pass by, and the exhilaration, the pretend-fear that had flooded through her.

The boot lifted and she listened to the footsteps trail away.

As she huddled in the darkness, trying to fathom what was happening, she heard June’s voice at the other end of Abandon, shouting her husband’s name. For a moment, she considered hiding there indefinitely, days if she had to. But what if they’ve seen me? What if they know I’m somewhere in town? In daylight, it won’t take them more than a few hours to search every structure. Safer to escape now, in the dark.

Abigail remembered her cell phone, which was sitting in the top compartment of her backpack in the vestibule of her tent. She probably wouldn’t get service in this canyon, but earlier today, when they’d crested the pass, she’d gotten a signal, even called her mother.

Abigail crawled back through the puddles and the dirt to the hole in the floor, rising up slowly, until only her eyes peeked out.

The dance hall appeared empty. June’s screaming had stopped. Even the wind had died away. Abigail scrambled up onto the floor. She felt safer, less exposed on her stomach, so she crawled along on her belly back to the hole in the wall she’d come through.

She peered through the busted clapboard out into the fog. It would be too dangerous to run back to camp through town. She’d have to follow the side street, climb the slope, and stay above Abandon as she worked her way upcanyon. Then she could go straight down the hill into camp, know before she arrived if anyone was there. Her battery was charged. If she had a signal, she’d call 911, but assuming she didn’t, it might be an hour up to the pass.

Abigail took a moment to calm herself, filling her lungs with oxygen in preparation for the run. She tried to ignore it, but the thought forced itself on her: They see me, I’m dead.

Abigail ducked through the hole and stepped outside.

She jogged down the side street. Five more seconds and she’d be out of the ghost town.

Something darted out from behind the dance hall. A hand covered her mouth.

“It’s me, Abby.” Lawrence’s voice. He pulled her down behind the building.

She said, “Jerrod’s dead, and Scott’s hurt bad.”

Wood creaked in a structure across the street.

“Listen,” Lawrence said, “there’s a house up that slope, with a bay window in front. I want you to go there, hide inside, get out of the open.”

“My headlamp’s out.”

“Take my flashlight.”

“What about you?”

“I tweaked my ankle. You’ll move faster without me. Here.” He handed her his day pack. “There’s a gun inside and a box of rounds.”

“I can’t.”

“You can if you want to live. There’s a button on the left side of the Ruger. Press it. Cylinder flips open, you put the shells in. It’s double-action. No safety. Just squeeze back the hammer and fire. Now listen. When I say ‘Run,’ you go and you don’t stop and you don’t look back, no matter what happens. I’ll go a different way, try to meet you in the house. We’ll figure something out.” Footsteps moved toward them up the side street.

“What’s happening here, Lawrence? Who are these—”

“I don’t know, but you have to get going. Now run.”

Abigail scrambled to her feet, shouldered the pack, and took off.