He approached the door, thinking about how quickly he could run in, check the bathrooms, make sure the heat was on (in such a large stop, the heat was a priority both for keeping the place warm enough so that nothing froze, but not too hot to break the state’s budget considering how large the building was), and head back to his truck.
Walter stopped.
In front of him were footprints leading to the front door. Walter looked around. The footprints seemed to have come out of the woods by the stop and walked right up to the door.
He reached for his sidearm. Even if he were able to get a trooper there to help, it would take too long. Besides, whoever was inside probably already saw Walter’s truck appear, or at least could hear it. Snowstorms were very quiet, after all, especially when there was no wind to be heard.
One of the homeless wanderers of the forests of upstate New York had seen the stop in the distance and had probably decided that they didn’t want to die that night out in the cold. Walter had a few pangs of sympathy in his heart for these people, but his sympathy was short-lived. People who mess up don’t want your pity.
He had learned that when Annabelle and Jack had gone down the other side of the hill when he wasn’t looking.
He cocked his gun and took the safety off. Thank God no one ever tried to ban guns. Walter was an old guy, and the person, or perhaps persons inside, could probably overpower him if need be. Probably some drug addict without any teeth and black-stained veins.
The door itself looked intact, though Walter couldn’t see anything inside. Evidently whoever was in there had been able to find a way inside, but they hadn’t found any way to turn on the lights. If he waited and went back to his truck, there would be the possibility that whoever was inside wouldn’t be here when the cops arrived, whenever that might be, and besides, the person inside could very well have already left or died.
Walter reached for the door handle.
The metal bolt that locked the door at night seemed to have been sawed off, or rather burnt off, since the end of the bolt was melted slightly.
Walter didn’t know any homeless person who walked around with a blow torch and cutter in their packs or shopping carts, but he supposed it wouldn’t be out of the question. Everyone has their own skills, even if that sometimes meant they ended up on the street.
He pushed the door forward and the darkness inside enveloped him.
The snow outside continued to fall in silence, uninterrupted.
Chapter Two
On the night of the Infestation, I wasn’t thinking clearly. Nigel will complain that I never think clearly. I wish that Matt and his friends had never come home from the fair that night. I wish a lot of things lately.
-Robbie’s Journal
Lights shined around Jolie at the Washington County Fair in the summer, four months before Walter entered Rest Stop 17.
The fair was in full bloom, all occupying the old fairgrounds right outside of Greendale in Washington County, New York. There were pig races, whacky rooms, freak shows, magic tricks, and all different kinds of food trucks with all kinds of greasy food. There was the fireman’s section, where all the youngsters could walk around Greendale’s ten fire trucks. You could even get a picture with one if you were so inclined. The smells of cow manure and rotting grass mixed with spilled spoiled grease floated through the air, along with the scent of fried dough and kettle corn. It was night now, so all of the bugs had largely gone away.
There were log splitting competitions, monster truck rallies, and the occasional demolition derby. Tonight the main stage was occupied by the tractor pull. Jolie planned on going to watch it as soon as she was done, proving her boyfriend wrong.
Jolie picked up the pellet gun and pointed it at the spot where the targets would be.
The tractor pull started in the distance.
With a bang, the wooden cutout of ducks raced around her vision. Jolie pointed at each of them.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
“New highest score,” the attendant said, looking at all the hit ducks. “Pick your prize, miss.”
Jolie looked all the stuffed animals over. Even though the attendant was on a small incline, she still stood higher than him. She stood higher than most people in Greendale, but that was fine. She had grown used to it long ago. She reached up and picked a giant lizard, red with blue spikes coming out of its back. It was about the size of a dog, and Jolie wondered how distraught the attendant might be that his biggest stuffed animal would now be gone from view, and he’d have less leverage to bring in more customers.
“There’s no way that that’s fitting in the car.”
Her boyfriend, Matt, sat behind her, looking up at her and her new lizard.
“Maybe he can sit in your lap,” she said. “With all the space you’re taking up, I think it would be rightly fair.”
He was bundled up in a thick and heavy flannel, but he was still shaking slightly. Lack of muscle mass made the boy quick to freeze on a night like this, even if it was only barely in the fifties. He brought his hands down and wheeled over to her. He looked at the lizard.
“What is its name?”
“Clarke,” Jolie said.
In the distance, another tractor was preparing for the tractor pull, the whole Washington County State Fair grew loud with the sound of engines and people screaming.
“You should try it,” Jolie
