Vacation полностью

“Evening,” the man said. She saw him look at the windshield, a spidery net of thin cracks.

She nodded.

“Kinda late to be out. With your kids and all.”

“Yes.”

“Any problem?”

She tried to think: How would Jack handle this? What would he say?

“We’re coming from Paterville.”

The man nodded. Another look at the kids in the back. Then she saw him glance at the gun in her lap.

“And?”

“There was break-in. Their fence. It failed.”

The old man looked back at his companions.

“Can Heads got into the camp?”

She nodded.

“Lots of them. We— I … didn’t feel safe. So, I got them out.”

A pause. The man thinking this over.

“All by yourself?”

No. No questions like that.

“Yes. It wasn’t—” she tilted her head as if she was explaining something so strange, so unbelievable—“safe. It wasn’t safe there.”

“Where you headin’, ma’am?”

She looked at him. The eyes that looked back, though sunken in that lined and weathered face, so human. Can he see what we’ve been through? Is it that obvious?

“New York City. Home.”

The word caught in her throat, her hands still locked on either side of the wheel.

The man nodded.

What must I look like? she thought. The kids …

“Okay. You have a couple more towns you’ll have to stop at before you get to the highway. Guess you know that. I’ll call ahead.”

She raised her head.

“And let them know you’re coming.”

“Thanks.” She looked at him again. Then:

“Listen. Has there been anyone else? From the camp. Anyone else been through here?”

The question so pitiful. The thought so crazy.

The old man took his time shaking his head no.

Then the man turned to the backseat again and smiled.

“You kids take care of your mom, eh?”

The man pulled away from the car, and signaled to the others. They lifted the fence, opening the road. The sky had begun to lighten just a bit.

Before she pulled away, she turned back to Kate first, then to Simon.

“You guys get some sleep. Okay?”

Her two children nodded.

She pulled away from the Scooter’s Mill checkpoint.

We’re going home.

That’s what she told herself.

Over and over and over.

I’m taking my family home.

Acknowledgments

This novel would not exist but for the talent and vision of Brendan Deneen and Vince Mitchell. They took my original short story and—with my blessing—created a powerful screenplay based on that story. This novel is certainly indebted to the creativity, ideas, and writing talent they put into that screenplay. Thanks too to the original publisher of the story, Richard Chizmar, publisher of Cemetery Dance Magazine, and the subsequent anthology that contained the tale. It was inside that anthology that Brendan and Vince first discovered “Vacation,” and then would just never let me forget about it. And as far as Brendan editing this book, every writer should be so lucky. Lastly, it was my wife, Ann, who told me about these guys who called one day and loved this story of mine. I think that somehow she always believed that there was more to come from the tale, and thus—so did I. When she believes, you’d be a fool not to …