CHAPTER FOUR
Lynda starts wailing. I mean actually wailing, the way toddlers do when they're scared. Since she's not a toddler, I'm reminded of the way Lucy cried on the old I Love Lucy show. It would be funny if her tears weren't motivated by such a terrible situation.
"Shut up!" I hiss. "He'll hear us."
Taylor hugs her. "Shh. Stop. It's going to be okay," he says. But she keeps it up.
I take several deep breaths, at the same time pounding a fist into my palm so that my siblings will think I'm getting psyched for battle instead of fighting nausea. "Great. Just great," I mutter, once again suffering compassion failure.
Jobie's compassion leaves a lot to be deisred too. "Don't tell me," he says drily. "Your dad?"
"Yeah. My dad," I admit.
Dad shouts my siblings names again. The nut shouts "Tommy!" And as I listen to the two of them I come to a terrible realization. My older brother Marky is dead. He must be, otherwise Dad wouldn't be here. "Thanks for the save Marky," I think to myself. The nausea gets worse. I dig a thumbnail into my palm to try to take my mind off of it, to keep from puking.
"Lynda! Tommy! Get your asses out here!"
Strange how he only shouts for my brother and sister. He must know I'm in here. The only reason Taylor and Lynda would come here would be to find me. And I'm the one he always hated.
Madison stares at the locked door, her arms folded defensively across her chest. "Well it looks like you're right about what's happening, maybe even about why it's happening. In which case . . ."
"What?"
She considers a moment, then shakes her head. "No. Mom has a bad heart too. If she does want to kill me and I go home and she gets all excited . . . "
Gus returns from the backyard looking even more tense than before. He immediately grabs his baseball bat.
"Was someone back there?" I ask.
"No. The coast is clear, but it won't be for long. We better get moving."
"Taylor! Lynda!"
"Oh Jesus." Gus turns to me. "Is that your -- ?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that's him."
"You didn't answer him, did you?"
"No, but he might have heard my sister's hysterics."
Taylor gives me an angry look. Lynda continues to sob, but not as loudly as before. Her big panic attack is pretty much over.
"I wonder if . . . " Taylor starts.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No -- what? What were you gonna say?"
Taylor shakes his head. "Mom's probably still home, taking care of her head."
Mom. God, what if she shows up? "Oh yeah. Yeah, of course she is."
One of the crazed men outside kicks the door again, only this time the kick is followed by a female voice.
"Jennifer! Jennifer!"
There's an overweight Hispanic girl named Jennifer Sanchez who hangs out at the center every now and then. Is this her mom?
"Okay listen up!" Gus says sternly. "Here's the plan. The van's unlocked and the engine's running. You kids get in. I'll unlock the gate and open it. If those crazies come around and attack me, just lock yourselves in until I beat them down. Got it?"
"Got it," Jobie says.
"Got it," I echo.
"What if you can't beat them down?" Lynda asks timidly.
"Don't worry about that. Nobody's gonna stop me from helping my family. Let's go."
Jobie and Madison grab their coats off the coatrack by the boy's bathroom. I leave my backpack behind. We all head into the storage room and gather by the back door. Even though Madison is the oldest, Jobie is the one who steps up behind Gus.
"Ready?" Gus asks.
We all nod.
Gus pushes open the door. "Go!"
We all run to the beat up, graffiti-tagged van. Jobie, since he was brave enough to take point, claims the front passenger seat. The rest of us pile into the rear seats -- Madison and I in the middle, Taylor and Lynda all the way in the back. Gus, meanwhile, unlocks the lock on the gate and pulls off the chain. He tosses both chain and lock aside, then takes his bat from under his arm and pushes the gate open.
"Hurry!" Lynda cries.
"Shut up!" I shout.
Gus runs back to the van and slips behind the wheel just as Dad's voice echoes down the street.
"Taylor! Lynda! You little brats! You're not going anywhere!"
Dad's voice is followed by the woman's.
"Jennifer! You bitch!"
And then the nut's.
"Tommy!"
Gus shifts the van into drive. He pulls out of the yard a few feet past the gate, checks for deranged pedestrian and bicyclist traffic, then makes the right turn onto Hayes Street. "Put your seatbelts on!" he orders. But I don't. Instead I slip to the back of the van, push Taylor and Lynda aside, and look out the rear window. Sure enough, there's Dad running down the street, still dressed in his suit, tie and trench coat lawyer clothes, his face contorted with rage. "Tommy's" fat, balding, leather-jacketed dad and "Jennifer's" skinny, Hispanic, raincoat-clad mom run several yards behind him, struggling to keep up despite their own madness. One thing about Dad: despite his heavy workload at the law office, he always finds time to go to the gym and work out. With his strength and stamina, even Gus might not be able to stop him if he catches up with us.
"Jesus," I whisper.
Gus floors the gas pedal. The van shoots forward and I fall back against the rear seat.
"Smiley sit down and put your seatbelt on!"
This time I obey. I move back to my original seat and strap myself in. The van swerves sharply as Gus steers around a car accident in the intersection. We almost get broadsided by a speeding limo, but the driver manages to slam on the brakes just in time. I look out the right side window and see several other crazed parents running in different directions in search of their children. A deli at the end of the block is burning.
"Good God!" Madison says, staring out the left side window at the mayhem. Up in the front passenger seat Jobie also surveys the scene, but he seems a lot calmer than the rest of us. Is it an act? Is he playing it cool, the way he always does? Or is he really not as affected by all this as the rest of us are? Has the fact that his parents pose no immediate threat to him given him an unwarranted sense of confidence? If so, he's not as smart as I thought. Madison's parents are also non-threats, and yet she has the sense to realize that she's still screwed, since the world is obviously going to hell tonight.
Behind me, in the rear seat, Taylor and Lynda sit with their heads down and their eyes closed, shutting out the horror. Hearing our now psycho dad shout their names, knowing that he still wants to kill them, has really done a number on their heads. It's a wonder they're not holding their hands over their ears too, even though we've left Dad far behind and can no longer hear him.
"You kids are gonna be all right," Gus assures us. "We'll be at my ex's place before you know it. Once I get everything straight with my family we'll -- "
The other van crashes into us with a bang that sounds like a cannon firing. Our van is spun sharply to the right from the impact, and, for a split second, tilted on its right side wheels. Lynda screams. The van falls back on all four wheels, bouncing on its shocks, and is finally still.
For a moment I’m too stunned to do anything. I don’t feel any pain but I still wonder if I’m hurt. I turn my head from side to side, bend my arms, raise and lower both legs. No injuries. “Holy shit,” I finally say. “Is everyone okay? Taylor? Lynda? You okay?”
“Fine,” Taylor answers, sounding pissed. “Just fine”.
“Lynda?”
No response from Lynda. Taylor looks her over. “She’s okay.”
“No I’m not. My neck. My neck hurts.”
“Good God”, Madison says again.
“Gus, you all right?” Jobie asks.
No answer.
“Gus?”
Still no answer. Jobie a
nd I unbuckle our seatbelts. Jobie checks on Gus while I check on Lynda.
Madison unbuckles her seatbelt too and leans forward. “Is he okay Jobie?”
“No. No he’s not. He’s unconscious.”
“But he was wearing his seatbelt.”
“So? He’s still unconscious.”
“Ow!” Lynda groans, pressing the sides of her neck with her hands.
“It’s probably just whiplash,” I tell her. “You’ll be okay.” I check out the other van. It has crashed into a small two door sedan parked on the corner of the intersection. The driver’s door is open. A tall man in a hoodie and jacket, who I assume to be the driver, is running down the middle of the side street the sedan is parked on. He’s obviously a parent – a parent who’s not going to let a little thing like a car accident keep him from killing his kid.
“Unbuckle,” I order Taylor and Lynda. “In case you have to run.”
“I can’t run,” Lynda whines. “My neck.”
“You’ll run if you have to.”
“We can’t just leave Gus here,” Jobie insists.
I move up to the front of the van, lean between the two front seats, and look Gus over. There’s no blood on him. His face isn’t swollen. His breathing sounds normal. He’s just out cold. Unless . . . Lynda has a neck injury. Could he have one too? Could it be serious?
“I don’t want to leave him here, but . . . “ I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence, but there’s no need for me to. Jobie knows I’ll bolt with my sibs if I have to.
Madison takes out her cell phone and tries Nine-One-One. Outside a short man in a tweed coat checks out the damage to the small two door sedan and curses loudly. Twice he glares at the van’s empty driver’s seat, as if to will the driver to reappear so that he can beat the crap out of him. At the same time, across the street, a brawny middle-aged man in a parka walks arm-in-arm with a little old lady in a fur coat. The man grips a large hammer and glances around defiantly, ready to take on any maniac stupid enough to attack him and his elderly companion, who I’m sure is his mother. If she is his mother, then I’m right about the madness having an age limit. But is the limit really adolescence? How far past childhood does a person have to be to not provoke his parents’ murderous rage?
Old lady and brawny son reach the corner. Son looks both ways and they cross the street. They walk right past our wrecked van without giving us so much as a glance.
“Nine-One-One is still out,” Madison growls, putting her cell phone away.
An ambulance with its siren blasting speeds up to the intersection, drives around us, and keeps right on going.
“What the hell?” Jobie fumes, incredulous.
“Ruby,” Gus mumbles suddenly, his eyes still closed.
I lean down and shout right into his ear. “Gus! Gus, wake up!” Stupidly, I grab his shoulder and start shaking it.
“Don’t shake him!” Jobie snaps. “What the hell’s wrong with you? He could have a serious injury.”
“We either wake him up or leave him here.”
“Ruby,” Gus mumbles again. This time he opens his eyes.
“Gus, we got into an accident,” Jobie tells him. “Are you okay?”
“Accident?” Grimacing, he raises his head.
“Oh my God!” Lynda cries.
I turn away from Gus to see my younger sister kneeling on the back seat, staring out the rear window. I fear the worst.
“What is it?”
Lynda answers without turning her head. “Dad’s coming.”
“No. He can’t be.”
Taylor turns to look too.
“He is,” Lynda insists. “He’s all the way at the other end of the block, but he’s coming. Fast.”
I have to see for myself. I edge my way to the back of the van again and, despite her sore neck, elbow Lynda aside. Sure enough, there’s Dad running down the mercifully long block. He obviously hasn’t stopped chasing us since we left the youth center. The fact that we escaped in a motor vehicle didn’t deter him at all. He just kept right on running. With that kind of rage motivating him, if he catches us he’s going to tear us apart.
I grab Lynda by the arm and pull her towards the van’s sliding side door. “Let’s go! Taylor move!”
“Where we gonna go?” Taylor asks.
“Anywhere but here!”
“What about Gus?” Jobie asks.
“You and Madison stay with him. Or come with us. Whatever. But we’re out of here.” I pull open the sliding door and jump out. Lynda jumps out behind me, then Taylor.
“Ow! My neck!” Lynda cries.
I keep an eye on Dad. He’s closing in fast.
“Go!” I hear Gus shout. “Run!”
Once again I take my siblings by the hand and run for my life. There’s no question of which direction to take. Running down Hayes Street in full view of Dad would be insane. Instead we bolt down the side street, past the other wrecked van and the wrecked sedan, past the still cursing short man, past an alley.
“Wait – the alley!” Taylor cries, and tries to stop running.
I practically rip his arm off. “No! No alley! If he finds us in there we’ll be trapped!”
“The park!” Lynda shouts, pointing towards the next intersection. “It’s right there!”
.