The Traveling Vampire Show

“Famous last words,” Rusty said.

“Dwight!”

I just stood there and let it happen. It was her own fault. We’d told her to leave. And told her and told her. So I just stood there. It made me feel a little sick, just standing there and watching, but she had it coming. On top of everything else, she’d called Slim a dirty whore.

When Rusty was done, Bitsy lay sprawled on her back, wheezing and sobbing.

He stood over her. Gasping for air, he said, “Want more?”

She didn’t answer. Probably couldn’t. He turned around and staggered toward me. “Let’s go, man.”

Side by side, we headed for Janks Field. I looked back a couple of times. The first time, Bitsy was still flat on the ground. The next time, she was propped up on her elbows, watching us.

“Don’t go ’n leave meeeeee,” she whined.

Stopping, I called, “Go back to the car.”

“I wanta come with!”

“No.”

“But Dwiiiiight!”

I kept going, and hurried to catch up with Rusty.

“Dwiiiiight, don’t leave me! Pleeeeese.”

I called over my shoulder, “Shut up!” and sounded a lot like Rusty.

“Bitch,” Rusty muttered.

I slugged him in the arm.

“OW!” He cringed away, clutching where I’d punched him. “What’d ya do that for?”

“Just felt like it,” I said.

“Jeez.”

“Bastard.”

“Got rid of her, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t have to beat her up.”

“Got the job done.”

“You’re gonna be in so much trouble. You and me both.”

“Yeah, well, screw it. She asked for it and I gave it to her.”

“There’s no way she’s gonna keep her mouth shut after that.”

“Let her tell. It’s what she’s good at. But you know what? Nobody’s gonna nail us for it tonight. By the time she blabs, we’ll already’ve seen the Vampire Show ... without her.”

As we came to Janks Field, I noticed that it didn’t seem as bright as before. I ducked behind a tree and peered around the trunk. In the few minutes we’d been away, so many cars and pickups had shown up that the field was almost packed. Soon, there would be no more space. The dirt road would end up jammed, maybe all the way out to Route 3. Just like the night of Fargus Durge’s boxing spectacular.

“Come on,” Rusty said and stepped out of the woods.

“Wait.”

He didn’t wait.

Nobody seemed to be nearby, so I went out after him and we rushed in among the parked vehicles. They were crowded close together. Staying low to avoid being spotted, we couldn’t see where we were going. I simply followed Rusty. He led us through a dark, narrow labyrinth, gravel and bits of broken glass crunching under our shoes.

When we came upon a pickup truck, I wondered if it might be Lee’s. It seemed to be a dark color, maybe red. But as I crept past the open passenger window of its cab, out came a reek of stale cigarettes.

Lee didn’t smoke. The cab of her pickup always smelled as good as she did.

At the rear of the truck, a VW van blocked our way. We cut to the left and climbed over some bumpers before coming to another straightaway.

Crouched low between a couple of cars, Rusty looked back at me. “We’re home free now,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Bitsy’ll never find us now. If she even tries.”

“You think she’d try?”

“Wouldn’t put nothin’ past her, the dumb twat.” He chuckled quietly, then moved on.

Every so often, we came upon pickup trucks. None seemed to be Lee’s, though. Which didn’t mean her truck wasn’t there. So far, we hadn’t even stumbled upon the red pickup that we knew had arrived. We saw nothing much except what was beside us and straight in front of us.