Page 15 of The Midnight Hour
I glance at Daniel, but he’s focused on the car, which has now come to a stop in the middle of the meadow, a mere hundred yards or so away. The driver cuts the engine, and in the ensuing stillness I hear the trill of a cardinal, like a warning. We all wait, guns ready, hearts beating.
The driver opens the door of the car.
SEVEN
My finger is still twitching on the trigger when a tall, dark-haired man gets out of the car, stretches hugely with a jaw-cracking yawn, and then looks around him with apparent interest. I almost start to laugh. He’s wearing khakis and a polo shirt, and he looks like he came for a day out in the countryside. I can’t see a weapon.
What on earth?
I glance again at Daniel, and this time he shrugs back, a look of something almost like humor on his face. Neither of us was expecting someone like this. This guy is not a threat…but I don’t lower my rifle. There’s no point in being stupid.
The passenger door opens, and a woman emerges, glancing around more warily. She’s slender and blond, her hair pulled back into a low, sleek ponytail. She’s wearing expensive-looking workout gear—matching yoga pants and a zip-up hoodie in form-fitting teal Lycra. This is getting weirder and weirder.
“Come on, Ben,” the woman calls, sounding tired, and the back door on the driver’s side is flung open, hard enough to almost make it bounce back. I’m pretty sure a teenager is going to emerge, and I’m right. A lanky boy, maybe fifteen,comes out, shoulders hunched, shaggy blond hair sliding into his face. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans, which are half-sliding off his butt, revealing several inches of plaid boxer shorts.
“Where are we?” he asks in a disinterested tone, and a soft laugh escapes me like a hiccup. I’m incredulous, amused,angry. Who the hell are these people, and why are they here? More to the point, where have theybeenfor the last seven months, that they can look so normal and sound so bored?
“Kawartha Highlands Provincial Park,” the man says. His tone is jocular, jollying, a man used to being in authority. “Pretty nice place, don’t you think?”
The boy shrugs, tossing his hair out of his face so I can see his dissatisfied expression, mouth downturned into something between a pout and a smirk. The woman fiddles with her rings, her hair. She seems nervous, but not in the way that we’ve been nervous, alert to every danger. These three people seem like they don’t know what to do in the wilderness. How did they even get here?
I glance at Daniel, who is looking surprised but thoughtful, and then at Sam and Kyle, who both seem entirely dumbfounded, their rifles lowered as they stare at these people as if they’re exotic creatures in a zoo, which theyare. How can anyone be like this anymore? They don’t even look hungry; they’re all thin, but in a pre-apocalyptic way, when intermittent fasting was a choice and not because you didn’t have any food.
“Daniel,” I whisper, and he glances across at me, his expression sharpening. “What should we do?”
He shrugs in reply, which is no answer at all. We could wait for these people to leave, but they’re acting as if they’ve stopped for good and they’re only a hundred yards away from us. As soon as any one of us moves, they’ll hear us. Better to take the initiative, I think, and Daniel must think it too, because he steps away from the car, out into the open meadow.
“Hey there,” he says in a friendly voice. He’s still holding his rifle, but it’s pointed downward.
All three of the strangers turn, looking totally shocked, and then in unison, as if they’d rehearsed it, they throw their hands up in the air.
“Please, don’t shoot,” the man says, managing to sound commanding even when he’s basically begging for his life. “We don’t have anything.”
The woman’s face has drained of color, the boy’s boredom turned to terror.
“I’m not going to shoot,” Daniel tells them mildly. “But who are you, and what are you doing here?”
Slowly the man lowers his hands. “Will you put the gun down?” he asks.
“No,” Daniel replies, keeping his tone pleasant. “But like I said, I won’t shoot. Not unless you do.”
“I’m not armed.”
“Are there weapons in your car?”
He hesitates, and the seconds spin out before the woman blurts, “There are a couple of guns in the trunk, but we’ve never used them.”
“Okay,” Daniel says after a moment. He’s clearly trying to get the measure of this family and failing. “Let’s keep them in the trunk, then.”
No one speaks and it feels like a standoff, albeit one without any of the tension of that moment on the road I’m trying to forget. This feels more like confusion, like these people don’t know what todo.
“What are your names?” Daniel asks.
“I’m William Stratton, and this is my wife, Nicole,” the man says. “And our son, Ben.” They all stare at Daniel warily, clearly still worried he’s going to shoot.
“Where did you come from?” Daniel asks.
A second’s pause. “Cold Spring, about a hundred miles north of New York City.”
