7With the heat of Hell stretching up through the ground and beating down on her back, Cathy was starting to realize just how little she was enjoying this "vacation." She'd found a greasy towel in the trunk when they went for the spare tire, and she had set it on the hood of the car so that the metal wouldn't burn her when she sat down. But she had no relief from the sun. The desert glared down at her and offered no respite.
Mike strolled down the road, hunched over sloppily, carrying something long in his hands. Cathy heard him spitting on the empty road and turned to watch him. His body shimmered and wavered as the heat distorted his image. She slid to the ground and walked by the car, toward Mike.
Her son was sitting in the backseat, and when he saw her begin to move he hopped up onto his knees, flipped up the visor on his baseball cap, and tried to put his hands on the window to look out. The glass was overheated though, and he pulled his hands away with a wince. His fingerprints were red. He knelt down, grabbed the crank, and rolled down the window.
"Ma, where ya goin?"
Cathy crouched to look at her son and smiled. "Aw, don't worry Scott. I'm not leaving you, I'm just going to check up on your Dad."
"Daddy?"
Cathy smiled unenthusiastically, but Scott bought it. She pointed to Mike, trundling toward them, and he smiled. "Wait here a second, babe."
She started down the road, but Scott stopped her. "I wanna go."
"Scott, I'll be right back."
"I'm gonna go with!"
"No, Scott, stay in the car, where it's safe."
"No!" He reached for the doorknob and pushed open the door violently. "I'm going see Daddy!" The car door swung open, smacked Cathy in the knee, and made her topple backward. She stumbled on the pavement before slipping into the crusty dirt by the side of the road. Dust spiraled up in the air, and she hissed.
"Scott, you brat!" She stood quickly, grabbed his shirt, and slapped him swiftly across the face. The smack resounded in the desert, and Scott stared at her with hurt eyes and a trembling lip. He was on the verge of crying. "Get in the car," she said.
He burst into tears, but complied. As he shut the door, Cathy noticed a red splotch on his cheek. Her fingers had left distinct marks.
Cathy turned a cold shoulder to his wails and started along the road, meeting Mike further down. She looked at his scruffy beard, his crooked teeth, and sighed. "Did you find out what it was?"
"Ayuh." He snorted loudly and lifted his hands to show a long strip of mesh.
"What the Hell is that, Mike? Your dinner?"
"Highway carpet."
"Thanks. That helps."
"The strip's embedded with short nails, all over the place, and it blows out your tires. Police use 'em, parking garages use 'em... It stops the car before the chase can start."
"So what's it doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"
"Kids probably thought it would be funny. Maybe it fell off a police car. Either way, it doesn't matter now, because we're short three tires."
"They all blew out?"
"Ayuh. And I don't even know if the spare's got enough air to pass for a replacement."
"And you don't know how to fix them. Great. So what now?"
"Let's get a map."
Mike let one end of the highway carpet fall to the ground, and as the two walked back to the car it trailed behind them, scratching and hissing as the nails scraped along the blacktop. Cathy wiped the sweat from her brow and looked back down at the strip, snaking behind them. "Why are you keeping that?"
"If we show the police, we might get reimbursed for our tires."
"Really?"
"It's worth a shot."
"But you don't know."
"No. But, like I said, it's worth a shot. I mean, after all-"
"You're an idiot."
"Daddy!"
Mike was thankful for the interruption, and then saw the car door burst open. Scott ran goofily toward him, stumbling and catching himself. Mike dropped the spikes to kneel down and grab him, but Cathy interrupted.
"What the Hell are you doing out of the car?" she shouted. Scott stopped in his tracks, and the smile fell from Mike's face immediately. "Get back in there, it's dangerous outside." She watched him sigh and go back to the car with an unmistakable amount of joy.
"You didn't have to do that," Mike said.
"I told him early not to get out of the car. Now it's a matter of principle."
"Well I want to see him."
"So get in the car."
"It's hot in the car."
"It's hot out here, too, dumbass."
"It's nothing compared to inside, though. Keep him in there much longer, and you're likely to give him a heat stroke."
"If he'd listened to me, I'd have let him out."
"Cathy, he's five! He probably forgot that he was supposed to stay inside in the minute it took you to come get me."
"Well, then, who's fault is it?"
"I'm letting him out."
"No you aren't."
"Cathy, don't push me."
"Or what, Michael? You'll hit me? You're weak. You're defenseless. You're useless. You can't do a damn thing." The two stared at each other until the tension became as unbearable as the heat, and then Mike walked to the door and let Scott climb out.
"What happened, Daddy?"
"Oh, nothing, your mommy and I just needed to talk."
"No, silly! To the car!" Mike laughed at himself, and Scott giggled.
"We went across something the police use, called 'highway tape.' Now the tires don't work."
"What are we going to do, Daddy?"
Mike rose to his feet, and Scott clung to his pants. "I dunno, kiddo. We need to get tires, but I didn't see a gas station at all recently. Do you know where our map is?"
"Yeah, Daddy, I'll get it."
Scott climbed back into the car and Mike turned to look at Cathy. "I'll see where the nearest gas station is, and I'll just have to walk there."
"We'll go with you."
"No, somebody needs to watch the car."
"Why? It's not like it's going anywhere."
"But the stuff in it might if somebody comes by here and thinks it looks pretty."
"Michael, nobody is coming by here."
"Look, just watch the damn car, alright? If somebody comes by here, I want you to stop them, see if they'll give you a lift, and you'll have to pass me if you go the way we were headed."
"I'm not staying."
"Cathy, don't push me."
With that final, settling line, Mike leaned into the car to look at Scott. He was searching the seats frantically looking for the map, and the glove compartment looked as if it had been ransacked. Everything was a mess now - Cathy would be pissed. He wiped his forehead and spoke. "Any luck?"
"I can't find it!" Scott screamed it. He was freaking out. He was on the verge of tears. He didn't want to pay the consequences. "It's not anywhere!"
"Okay, okay! Calm down!"
"NO, DADDY!"
"Scott!" The kid paused for a moment, and looked up at his dad in silence. "You aren't in trouble. This isn't a problem. Here, come here." Scott crawled over the papers scattered around the backseat to his father, who embraced him. Mike didn't let go of Scott, but still managed to scan over the car. The map was a bright red and blue, obscenely tacky, and thick. Very hard to miss. Unless it was lost. "Did you check under the seats?"
"Yes."
"Alright. Let's go."
Mike pulled Scott out of the back, set him on the road, and then leaned back into the car. He sifted through the papers, but the map was missing. He wasn't surprised. With a sigh he pushed the glove compartment shut and eased out of the car.
"Alright, guys, I'm gonna head for a gas station. I'll try to be back by night."
"Daddy, take food."
"Where is it?"
"Trunk."
Mike slammed the door shut and headed for the trunk. Hot air seemed to radiate from the car, and it almost looked as if the metal had begun to melt. Mike wiped his eyes clear, then brushed the sweat from his face onto his shirt, and reached for his keys. They jingled as he pulled them out of his pocket and slid them into the keyhole on the back of the car. He pushed the trunk open.
Cathy slammed it shut. "No. You don't."
"Cathy, what the Hell...?" Mike looked at his son and blushed, covered his mouth swiftly. "The heat's getting to Daddy, Scott, it's making him a little crazy. I just said a bad word, but I never ever want to hear you say it. Understand?" Scott nodded sheepishly, and Mike turned back to his wife. "What are you doing?"
"Michael, you're not going anywhere. Not without us, you aren't."
"It's too dangerous for the three of us. Stay here, where it's safe."
"No. We stick together."
"Daddy, don't leave me alone with..." Scott's words trailed off, but he capped it with a loud: "Don't go!"
Mike wiped his nose and spit. The saliva sizzled on the blacktop. "Look, guys, I know you don't like the idea of us splitting up. But someone has to go to a gas station and someone has to watch the car. Scott, it's too dangerous for you to walk with me. So you two have to stay here. You've got food, you've got shelter, you've even got the radio, so just let me be, alright?" He popped the trunk.
Cathy shut it again.
"Michael! You are not leaving us! We came on this trip to save our marriage and you've managed to screw even that up, and I won't have you leaving us to die in some desert while you're at it!"
"Cathy..."
He opened the trunk.
"Don't push me."
He hauled out a large icebox then, and set it on the pavement. It wasn't cold anymore, but at least it wasn't burning. He slid off the top, reached in, and grabbed several sandwiches and a few bottles of water. "This'll last me until I can get some help." He reached into the box, pulled out a large paper bag, and set it on the ground.
"Daddy..."
Mike looked at his son curiously as he put the lid back on the icebox. Scott looked fearfully toward his mother, but Mike ignored the glance. He put the box back in the trunk, shut it, and tossed Scott the keys. Cathy frowned disapprovingly, but he pretended not to notice. "You know what to do, big guy. You're in charge." He winked at Scott, and then turned to his wife. "I'll be back soon. I promise."
She grunted and turned away. He started down the road, food in hand, without another word. Cathy noticed that he'd left the paper bag and turned to call out to him, but then decided better of it. He needed to learn some lessons on his own. "Scott, put the bag in the back," she commanded.
He looked at her with a nearly indescribable expression.
"Now." She lifted a fist to emphasize her point, and he scurried over to grab the bag and push it into the back. It shifted in the wind and he had to grab at it a second time before he could take it away. Cathy walked to the front of the car and sat back down on her greasy towel, watching Mike trod down the road. He was already chewing on one of the sandwiches. She doubted he'd last the evening; he'd be back in no time.
"Scott, what's taking so long?" she hissed. She turned around and saw Scott stepping out of the car and coming over to her nervously. He was shaking visibly, and Cathy was reminded of all the times he'd been racked with guilt over something he didn't even do, and how scared it had made him to be around her at those times. She smiled maliciously at his trembling fingers, and then waved him over. "Come here!"
He headed toward her but still kept his distance, skirting the outside of the car. He stopped on the opposite side of the hood, standing just far enough away to not be burnt by the hot metal of the car. "What is it, mommy?"
She slid over, opening a space on her greasy towel. She was still smiling at him. "Come here." A bit more force in her voice.
Scott came over slowly, and Cathy was careful not to make a move. She let him ease up onto the towel and twist around to sit and look out into the barren desert before them. Scott didn't say a thing, and Cathy enjoyed the silence. She wanted it to continue for the entire night, but then Scott spoke up. "Where are we?"
"I'm not sure, your Daddy knows. I slept most of the trip, remember?"
"No idea?"
"Well, I think it's safe to say we're still in Arizona."
"You sure?"
"Yes, Scott. I'm sure."
"But you don't know where, exactly?"
"No!"
"Does Daddy know where he's going?"
"Daddy doesn't know a thing, kid."
"Is he lost?"
"I don't know, Scott. Does it look like I'm out with him?" Cathy looked out into the distance, squinting in the sun, but the road was empty. Mike had walked for enough away that he'd become to small to be noticeable. Cathy wondered how long the silence had been, and then a peculiar idea hit her. She decided to have fun with Scott's fears. "Why do you ask, baby doll?" she asked with a sickening display of devotion.
"Cause I found the map."
Cathy was silent.
"Where is it?" she finally asked.
"Glove compartment."
"I thought we checked there."
Scott shook his head, and Cathy furrowed her brow. Without a word she slid off the hood of the car and walked around to the passenger seat, opened the door, and leaned into the car. The heat threatened to suffocate her. She reached for the glove compartment, grabbed the knob, and...
Scratch.
Ssscccratch.
She paused. It was above her, a slow scraping noise on the car. It was coming from inside, on the ceiling above her. Her pulse quickened and her breath became rapid as she slowly turned up to see what was above her.
She screamed.
A scorpion bigger than her fist was hanging from the grip above the door, it's tail coiled around the plastic. A drop of poisoned seemed to ooze from the tip of it's tail, and it snapped its claws angrily at her. She screamed again, and then it's tail let loose and the scorpion fell through the air. It landed on her stomach, uncovered by her small tank top, and lifted it's tail to strike.
She rose quickly, sending the scorpion out into the road. Her head rose into the ceiling, and she shrieked in pain. She instantly collapsed onto the seat with a loud groan. She came up slowly, and looked out the door. The scorpion was coming back for her. She stepped out quickly, holding onto the car door with one hand, and squashed the scorpion into the pavement. The body crunched but squished, sending shivers up her spine, and then...
Something was crawling on her fingers.
She lifter her hand from the door rapidly, and the new scorpion fell to the pavement. She kicked it away and looked toward Scott. He was watching her fearfully. "Stay there!" she commanded. He didn't move.
She heard the scratching again.
Now from the glove compartment.
Cathy knew she had to get the scorpion out of there. As much as she currently hated her family, she knew she must protect them. She reached into the car, grabbed the handle of the compartment, and pulled away quickly.
It fell open, and the brown paper bag fell out onto the seat. It rocked on it's side; the scorpion was in there. She grabbed the bag carefully by the top, effectively closing the bag. She lifted it up slowly, and felt the weight of it. That wasn't just one scorpion, there must have been a dozen, all wriggling and writhing in her hands. She shivered in disgust, and turned to throw the bag into the desert.
The sides ripped. Tails shot out and stingers rammed into her hand, pierced the skin and injected the poison straight into her body. Like rapid-fire, they were all ripping apart the bag and jabbing her with their stingers. Her immediate reaction was to drop it, but as it fell the needles ripped it to shreds. It landed between her feet, and the scorpions poured onto her feet, stinging her ankles and her toes.
Cathy fell to her knees, the heat of the blacktop instantly burning its imprint into her skin. She collapsed onto her side, and the scorpions scurried away, heading off to the sand. "Scott..." she croaked.
He watched her, afraid.
"Scott, come h... Help me..."
Scott slid off the car slowly, but once he was on the ground he seemed unsure of what to do. He walked toward her slowly, more afraid of her fists than her death. He eased closer and closer, and then knelt down as his mother motioned for him to do. "Scott, run... Get your... Get your father."
"No, Mommy."
"Scott! Dammit, I need your... Need your father's help."
"It's dangerous, Mommy."
"Screw it, run!"
And then she saw Mike ease into view and look at her with squinty eyes. He laughed at her then. Cathy's brow furrowed, but she didn't understand. "Hey, babe," he said, taking her hand. "Don't worry, I'm here now."
"Michael?"
"Yeah."
"Scorpions..."
"I know, I know. I've been here the whole time."
"But... Why didn't you..." She groaned in pain. The poison was racing through her system. "Help, Michael, help!"
"I told you, Cathy, I warned you again and again. Do. Not. Push me!" Michael grabbed her by the shoulders and began to drag her along the ground, into the sand and out away from the road. The dust kicked up into the air as he traveled, pulling her farther and farther away from public view. Scott followed, much less nervous now. Her vision began to become hazy. She saw two of him, each with a shovel. "These past few years have been Hell, Cathy, and I know you tried for a bit, you really did, but it's not cutting it. You gave up on me a long time ago, remember? And you starting hitting Scott, then. I'd always believed you'd change, though. Now, I guess you could say I've lost hope." Mike looked down at his wife. She could no longer speak, the poison had almost paralyzed her entire system now. Drool dribbled down her chin, and Mike wiped it away lovingly. He resumed dragging her. "I guess you don't care, do you?" he asked. "Just know this. You'll be dead within the hour, buried under a rock."
Then, off to the side, she saw a large red boulder that she hadn't noticed before. And, beside it, a stack of four unused tires. He dropped her roughly, pushed the tires aside, and then knelt on the ground and began to feel in the dirt. He smiled at something, then ripped up a blue tarp. Dirt went flying, and beneath it he had already dug a hole for her. He pulled out the tarp, tossed it to the side, and went back to pull her in.
Once she was shoved in there tightly, Mike took the shovel and began to pile the dirt back on top of her. "
Oh, by the way," he said. "We're in Mexico."
She was dead before she was even covered.
Mike took the shovel from Scott and smiled. "How do ya feel, son?"
Scott was silent. He didn't seem particularly upset, but he wasn't happy about what he'd done, either. He was completely emotionless, as stoic as could be. Mike walked over to the tires, set them upright, and then slid the shovel between the centers. When he rolled them, they all rolled securely together. "Come on, Scott."
The two walked back to the car in the blistering heat, and Mike retrieved a car jack from the trunk. He put the fresh tires on, left the old ones by the road with his highway carpet, and then got into the car. Scott eased into the passenger seat, and they smiled at one another. Only Scott had to force his.
Mike put the keys in the ignition and thrust. But there was no roar of the engine, no sounds of the car kicking into life. It simply coughed and sputtered briefly. "Shit!"
"What is it, Daddy?" Scott asked.
"Battery's dead." With a sigh he reached down, pulled a lever, and left the car. He threw the greasy towel over one shoulder and opened the hood. The car's metal innards stared back at him. He started looking around at the battery, which appeared fine, the fans, the wires... Everything was perfect.
Scratch.
Ssscccratch.
He froze and looked toward the sound's source. It was the antifreeze container. Curiously, he unscrewed the top and looked in.
A black scorpion, coated in bright green ooze, snapped at him.
Slowly, he put the lid back on.
Scratch.
Ssscccratch.
Scorpions began to crawl over the car, climbing over the battery and the carburetor, scampering up the radiator, sliding over the pistons. There were hundreds of them all coming up to the top, clicking over the engine and crawling along the wires, jabbing at the air with their stingers and swiping at one another with their claws.
And then they all stopped movement, and began to hiss. Their tails eased back in unison, all preparing to strike.
Mike slammed the hood down. Scott was watching him curiously. He couldn't see any of the scorpions. Mike backed away slowly and motioned for Scott to leave the car. Scott eased the door open and came back out. He shut it slowly and silently and tip-toed over to his father. "What's wrong?" he whispered.
"There are scorpions. All over the car."
"Dad, there's nothing there..."
"In the hood, Scott."
"Oh."
Ssscccratch.
"Do you hear them?"
Ssscccratch.
"No, Daddy."
"Listen!"
The scratching grew louder and louder until it was almost unbearable in Mike's ear. But he had nowhere to run, nowhere to retreat. He was in the middle of nowhere. He thought frantically, searching his mind for some solution, any solution, and then he saw her. Cathy. Reflected in the windshield, coming up behind him, reaching for his neck.
He spun.
There was nothing there.
"Daddy, I don't hear anything."
"Get in the car. Quick!"
Mike ran for the door, and after a moment's hesitation Scott followed suit. The two slid into their seats, shut the doors, and Mike tried to start the engine yet again. Nothing happened. He could hear the scorpions moving in his hood frantically, changing position to come after him.
"Are we out of gas?" Scott asked.
Mike checked. He was right! It must have all evaporated! He popped the trunk and ran around, threw it open, and reached to the spot where he kept the gas can. But then he stopped. Thousands of scorpions had been dumped into his trunk, and covered everything. Crawling and hissing, snapping and stinging. He left the trunk open and went back to the car, looking for gloves, a bag, a tarp, anything to let him reach in.
"Daddy, what's wrong?"
"Scorpions. In the trunk."
"What? No, Daddy, there's nothing there! They're all dead!"
"You didn't see them, Scott! Shut up!"
He sorted through the backseat, found the tarp he'd used to hide the hole until he'd needed it, and took it to the trunk. He wrapped his arms in it and looked at the scorpions. They hissed at him and prepared to sting. With a deep breath, he plunged his hands in.
He could hear the stingers smacking into the tarp, but it was too thick to be pierced. They can had been moved. With a grimace he began to sort through the trunk, and then the scorpions started to climb up the tarp to his arms and shoulders. With a scream he plowed through the arachnids, delving for the can. They scorpions crawled closer and closer. Then he felt it. He thrust his arms up, pulled the can out, and let it topple to the ground. Scorpions went flying. One came over the top of the tarp, tail primed to strike, and he pushed the tarp away. Just as the tail came down, the tarp fell into the mass of beasts. They overcame it immediately, and within moments the tarp could not be seen. Mike slammed the trunk shut, grabbed the can, and went to refill the gas.
He opened the gas hatch and a scorpion fell out. It hit the ground on it's back, and Mike crushed it instantly. He slid the can in, emptied it, and tossed it into the back. The scorpions were all hissing at him, scratching at the back of the car. He slid into the seat and reached for they keys, ready to speed away.
The ignition was empty.
"Scott, where-?"
His son was glaring at him angrily, they keys held firmly in his hand. "Give me the keys!"
Scott shook his head. "No. No rush."
"Scott, there are scorpions everywhere! Listen!"
"I did! I heard you scream, but I saw nothing. I watched you scared to reach into an empty trunk. I heard everything, Dad, and there's nothing here!"
"Scott, dammit, there is! Give me the keys!"
"No! Not until you see!"
And then he slapped him. Scott's face spun around, bright red, and he was silent. The only sounds were the hissing of the scorpions. Scott turned slowly to his father, his eyes full of tears, and then he opened the door and went out onto the road, keys in hand.
Mike, trembling, opened his own door and walked out to meet him. He got down on his knees, took Scott's shoulders, and knelt down before him. "Scott, my God, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. Are you okay?"
Scott looked away.
"How can I make it up to you?"
Scott turned back angrily, and thrust the keys into his chest.
"Open the trunk."
Mike took the keys in his hand and looked at them. Then back at Scott. With a sigh he rose, went to the back of the car, and put the keys in. The scratching sound was nearly deafening. He unlocked the trunk. The scorpions fought to be released. With a gulp, he opened it.
The colony was still there, waiting to attack.
"See, Dad?" Scott said. "Nothing."
"Scott, they're all over the place!"
"No, they aren't! Close your eyes!" Mike watched the scorpions. "Close your eyes!" He did. Scott counted to ten. "Open." When Mike looked back into the trunk, it was empty. There were no sounds, no stingers, no claws, no scorpions. There was nothing. Mike reached in, as if to test it for himself, and then turned to his son.
"What did you do with them?"
"Nothing! They weren't there!"
Mike blinked and they came back. But they were all identical, and they were all the scorpions he'd bought with Scott at a roadside attraction, while Cathy slept. There was no variation whatsoever. They were all his own.
He was unnerved by this, but not necessarily scared. Blink once more, they're gone, again and they're back. With a sigh he shut the trunk and got back behind the wheel. He revved the engine, buckled his seat belt, and turned on the radio. He looked over at Scott. His hand print was still clear on the boy's face, and now his cheeks were blotchy with tears. Scott wiped his nose and tried to hide it. Mike said nothing.
A scorpion rested between them.
"Is it fake?" Mike asked.
Scott looked between them, all around the seat. "Is what fake?"
"There's a scorpion between us."
Scott shook his head. "Guide my hand."
Mike took Scott's hand and led it until it was a foot above the scorpion. "You're right above it," he said.
Scott's brow furrowed. "It's fake."
"Okay."
Mike put the car in reverse and looked backwards, his hand on the back of Scott's seat. He did a three-point turn and then began to head back home, back to the border, where they could forget about this.
Then he felt the stinging in his arm, and the scorpion crawling over his leg.
He looked at Scott. The hand print was still visible. "What was that you always said to Mom? Oh, right. Don't push me."
Another jab, and he saw the tail in his thigh, poison flooding in. His mouth felt dry.
The car swerved off the road and fell deeper into the middle of nowhere.