“Well? Open up! Come on! I’m hungry!” came the voice from outside.
The little kids were still bouncing with excitement, but I saw the others stiffen.
Listening real attentively. Something about his tone.
“We can’t open the gate,” Jake yelled. “It’s stuck.”
“You can! You can open it if you try! Come on!”
“We’re locked in,” Jake tried to explain.
“Who’s in there?” the voice shouted.
“We’re kids from Lewis Palmer!” Jake continued. “We took shelter here from the hail and—”
“Open the gate, little kiddos!” the voice shouted.
“We can’t open it, dude!” Jake yelled. “It’s some kind of a security gate. But we want to get a message to our parents—”
“Get them a message?” The voice started to laugh. “Sure. That’s a great idea. I’ll get them a message. Open the gate, so we can make a message!”
There was something very, very off in this voice. I exchanged a glance with Alex. He knew it, too.
“Like I told you, we can’t!” Jake yelled again.
“Open it, you little twits! Come on, I’m hungry! Just open it. Open it.”
“We can’t—”
“OPEN THE F GATE! OPEN IT!!! OPEN, OPEN, OPEN!”
And the man outside started rattling the gate again.
I could see the fear wash over the little kids. Their faces, one moment ago bright with hope, went cold and pale.
Caroline and Henry, standing behind me, each clutched on to one of my legs at the exact same moment. I pried them off and crouched down, hugging them to me.
When the man outside shook the gate, our wall of plastic and blankets bobbed with the air pressure.
“Our wall,” I said to Niko. “Is it going to let the air in?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he answered.
“Go away,” Jake shouted, his voice gruff.
“LET ME IN!” the man shouted. “BY THE HAIR OF MY F CHIN, LET ME IN OR I’LL HUFF AND I’LL BLOW YOUR EFFIN’ GREENWAY DOWN!”
He was shaking the gate now.
Astrid stepped in front of the little kids.
“Come on, guys,” she said. “Who likes puppet shows? I’m going to do a puppet show for you guys.”
No one moved.
Obviously their failure to move had nothing to do with their feelings about puppet shows. They were rooted to the spot in utter horror and shock.
“OPEN THE DOOR, YOU LITTLE SONS A BITCHES!”
“Go away!” Jake yelled. “Go away and leave us alone!”
“Guys!” Astrid yelled. “Free candy! Come on. Whatever toys you want! Let’s party! Come on.”
She was working so hard.
“OPEN THE GATE OR I WILL KILL YOU. I WILL TEAR YOUR LITTLE KIDDO HEADS OFF AND I WILL MAKE A SOUP OUT OF YOUR LITTLE SMART-ASS KIDDO BRAINS AND—”
I started to sing.
Yes, sing.
I let go of Henry and Caroline and started marching, like I was the leader of a parade.
Alex joined in. Astrid, too. All three of us marching like idiots.
I led the three of us, making up the words somewhat and we walked in front of the gate, getting between the eyes of the little kids and the plywood, just trying to break the terror spell of the monster outside.
Who now started to yell, “YOU SINGING ‘YANKEE DOODLE’? ‘YANKEE DOODLE DANDY’? I’LL F KILL YOU!”
Niko joined in and that guy, I am here to tell you, is entirely tone deaf.
But the little kids kind of snapped to. We caught their attention.
And the kids started marching and I led the parade, the saddest parade in the history of the world, away from the front of the store, away from the monster outside, and right to the stupid cookie and cracker aisle. We ate fudge-covered graham crackers for a good long while.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BLOOD TYPES
The kids fell asleep, after a while. It was maybe three in the afternoon—hard to tell inside because the lighting was the same all day long. I don’t know what time it was, but Astrid had told them it was time for a nap and the kids dropped into their sleeping bags like the walking dead.
The twins slept together, and Max and Ulysses moved their bags next to each other. Chloe and Batiste were sort of the odd men out. Batiste tried to snuggle up to Chloe, but she wouldn’t have it.
“Quit it, Batiste,” she said. “You smell.”
She pushed him away.
“It’s a sin to push,” Batiste mumbled.
“Yeah, well. It’s also a sin to try to hug someone who doesn’t want to be hugged!”
“No, it’s not!” Batiste protested.
“Yes, it is!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Come on, you guys,” I said, trying to be sane.
“Hugging is not a sin!” Batiste yelled.
“It is too, if the girl getting hugged doesn’t want it!” Chloe countered.
“Hey!” Astrid hollered. “Shut up!”
Then Chloe hit Batiste in the stomach, which I admit was not entirely displeasing to me, because that Batiste was an aggravating kid.
Then Batiste said it was a sin to punch someone in the stomach.
He cried for a while, and gradually his cries gave way to the shallow rhythm of sleep breath.
It was a relief to have them asleep. Astrid and I sort of looked at each other and smiled. The moment had a weird feeling of middle-aged family life, with the two of us cast just where I’d like us to be, in about twenty years, but, of course, with about five too many kids.
“You’re good with kids,” she said to me.
“Not really,” I said. “You’re good with them.”
Good conversation, right? I was really connecting with her.
