Now Jackson yanked the wheel, careening onto the hilly dirt road that led to the house. The sharp ruts bounced the van so hard my teeth clattered.
“Easy, J.D.,” Selena protested from the back. “No seat belts back here, remember.”
Jackson had been adamant about sticking me in shotgun for this jaunt, had met my eyes as he’d yanked on my seat belt to test it. At once, Selena had started bitching that the only seat belts were in the front.
Now he said, “I want this remembered, peekôn. You holding the hell on?”
I nodded. “Bagmen ahead.” Already we were driving past stragglers, the crowd of them growing thicker and thicker.
He didn’t try to dodge them. The first we struck gave a guttural wail as it ramped up over the hood and into the air. The second one must not have fed recently; its body exploded into dusty chunks, coating the windshield.
When the house was in sight . . . we still didn’t slow. “Kids, doan try this at home,” Jackson muttered, his expression intent. Did he possess no fear? Instead, he looked as if the house had personally insulted him and he was about to make it pay.
I swallowed. As our targeted exterior wall loomed, I suddenly doubted this plan, wanting nothing more than to call it off.
Too late.
Impact. We crashed into that wall. Through it. Siding and boards battered the hood as Jackson slammed on the brakes.
Halfway inside the house, the van jolted to a stop. My body pitched forward, the seat belt wrenching the air out of my lungs.
As I fought for breath, I cracked open my eyes. One headlight remained intact, casting a muted glow over a living room. Drywall plaster clouded the air, but I could still see the outdated carpet and furniture. And cardboard boxes—they were everywhere, piled high against every wall, stacked throughout.
Retro Cracker Barrel meets Hoarders.
“Evie! You all right?”
As my breath returned, I gave him a thumbs-up signal.
“Selena?”
She gave a determined nod as she readied her bow.
Though the back half of the van plugged the hole we’d just made, sealing the Bagmen out, they’d already started banging on the back windows, moaning with thirst.
We wouldn’t have long.
Jackson collected his own bow, shouldering his pack. “Then let’s move.” Leaving the engine running, we filed out into the house. “Where’s this coo-yôn goan to be, Evie?”
“He has to be in the basement.”
“Where’s that?”
With all the boxes, I couldn’t spy out a door. And with all the noise—the moaning Bagmen pummeled the van, the engine still revved in the confines of the room—I could barely hear his voice in my head.
When I bit my lip, struggling to concentrate, Selena shoved me out of the way. “J.D., I’ll go right. You’re left. I’ll find you two directly.” She clicked on the spy flashlight hanging from her belt, then slipped away.
Jackson too raised a flashlight, bow at the ready. “Let’s go, Evie,” he said, adding, “And, peekôn—”
“Like a shadow,” I finished for him.
He led me forward, following a path through masses of boxes. Some of them were stacked so high they looked like they’d topple over on us.
We passed a boy’s room, decorated with a space theme. Jackson’s light shone over wallpaper depicting the galaxy and intricate mobiles of the planets dangling from the ceiling. Space shuttle posters adorned the walls. High-tech-looking computers and video game consoles were neatly organized.
Jackson gave a harsh laugh. “I’ve never been in a nerdery before.”
Matthew’s voice was growing fainter still, filling me with dread.
Selena returned, slipping up beside us. “There’s a dead woman in a car in the garage. Car’s out of gas. Ignition on. She’s only been croaked a day, tops.”
Suicide? What had happened here?
Jackson was unfazed by the suicide, instead wondering, “Who the hell fixed her car?”
Selena shrugged. “I found the way into the basement. There’s water rushing down there.”
Jackson met my gaze. We both knew my vision was coming true. “Selena, show us!”
With a nod, she took off through the obstacle course of boxes.
Jackson and I followed her to a nondescript door at the top of the basement stairwell. Pitch blackness greeted us. Snagging two glow sticks from his bag, he snapped them, tossing them below. They landed in water.
From their eerie green glow, we could see that the stairs led to a short hallway with two doors. Water was cascading from the top gap of one door, spouting from its old-fashioned keyhole as if from a pitcher. . . .
Selena said, “It’s deep in there.”
Jackson turned to me. “Unless that boy has gills, he’s not goan to be alive.”
“Oh, God!” I didn’t hear Matthew in my head at all. Silence. “Please, you have to get him out of there!”
“You lost your mind?”
“Please, Jack!”
“Damn it, girl.” A harsher oath followed as he shoved his bag into my chest, then tossed Selena his bow. “Want this remembered,” he muttered, pushing past us to descend the steps four at a time.
We followed. “Can you break it down?” I cried.
He sloshed through knee-high water to reach the bowing door, sizing it up. Then he brandished the buck knife he always carried.
“It’s solid oak,” Selena said. “No way you can pierce it.”
“Not goan to.” He swiped water from his face. “You both head back up. Now.”
As Selena and I ascended the steps, he worked the blade into the seam between the doorknob and the frame. His muscles rippled as he wedged it in, until only the hilt was visible.
Then he backed to the wall, bracing himself, and kicked the knife sideways. Once. And again—
The door exploded outward. A flume of water rushed over Jackson; a limp body rode the current, as if the basement had spat it out.
“Jackson!” I screamed.
He broke the surface and seized the pale boy, hauling him back to the steps.
“Is he alive?” I asked, squinting as Matthew’s “tableau” appeared over him—a smiling young man carrying a knapsack and a single white rose. He had his vacant gaze raised to a blinding sun, about to walk off a cliff, a small dog nipping at his heels.
I shook myself and the image faded. I didn’t want to see Matthew’s tableau; I wanted to see him safe!
Jackson felt the boy’s neck, then hovered a hand over his mouth. “Breathing. Just knocked out.”
My legs nearly gave way.
Selena said, “The water’s still rising, J.D.”
Jackson gave a quick nod, heaving the kid over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When he bounded up the stairs, I marveled at his strength.
“Come on, you!” he snapped at me. “We ain’t out of this yet.”