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The boy hadn’t seemed to notice either herself or Gwen. He was occupied with eating something, his mouth scarlet with blood. He held the thing, whatever it was, a bloody gray lump, between both hands, his sharp red teeth biting into it, ripping flesh, tearing feathers.
A bird, Isobel realized with dull horror, almost retching. He was eating a bird—one of the fat pigeons that liked to waddle around in the courtyard looking for morsels, never suspecting that it would one day become a morsel itself.
Isobel swung the door open and climbed in. Shutting it fast, she pressed down the lock.
“Go,” Isobel said, “drive.”
Gwen stuck the key in the ignition and turned. The car complained with a high, grating whine but then rumbled to life. Isobel checked the side-view mirror again, panic stopping her heart when she saw the creature lower the torn, bloody bird and look up.
“Gwen, we need to go. That would be a now.”
Gwen fumbled to shift the car into reverse. “Why? Is it a teacher?”
Isobel shifted her gaze to the side-view mirror, watching the thing as he sneered and lowered himself onto the pavement, slowly, one boot at a time. She twisted in her seat to look out the back window, but froze when she saw only the rows of parked cars. He was gone.
To Isobel’s relief, Gwen pulled fast out of the parking space and, gripping the wheel with both hands, spun them in the direction of the exit.
The bird hit the windshield with a dull splat.
Gwen screamed. Her foot slammed the brakes. They sat for a moment in shock. Then something moved to block out the sunlight on Isobel’s side. There came a quiet tap, tap, tap on her window.
“What was that?” Gwen whispered.
Isobel turned her head to look.
There were two of them now. The first one—the one missing an eye—leaned down to bring his existing eye, black and soulless, close to the glass. It blinked at her, watching her like a shark through a tank. The other one stood close behind, grinning, his face whole but split by a diagonal hairline crack. He had only one arm.
Isobel felt every muscle in her body tense as she stared into that eye, a predator’s eye, she thought. Slowly he raised one fist and stuck his thumb out. He aimed it, like a hitchhiker, in the direction they were pointed.
Isobel pawed at Gwen, who watched the mutilated pigeon slide down the windshield, leaving behind a gooey streak.
“Gwen,” she said. It was a plea.
The creature without the eye grabbed at the door now, looping his fingers through the handle. Had she locked it? Yes, she thought, as he pulled and the latch stuck. Thank God, she had.
Without warning, Gwen’s foot hit the gas pedal and they accelerated. Thrown backward in her seat, Isobel heard the creature hiss as it wrenched its hand away in a movement too quick for her eyes to follow. Gwen’s tires squealed as they sped out of the parking lot and onto the main road, being caught by school authorities having been bumped down to the bottom of their list of concerns.
Out of habit, Isobel reached behind her and yanked down on her seat belt. She clicked it into place, turning again to look over her shoulder through the rear window. Dead leaves swirled in the wind tunnel they made with their escape, the trees lining the streets receding into the distance. As far as she could see, they weren’t being followed. She turned to face forward and caught a glimpse of Gwen’s face, pale and frightened.
“I still get the impression there’s something you’re not telling me,” Gwen said, her eyes pinched as she strained to see past the dead pigeon and its belly, open against the glass to display the stark white of its rib cage. Isobel looked away, suddenly glad she hadn’t had time to eat anything at lunch. She leaned forward in her seat to try and find the switch for the windshield wipers. The bird looked heavy, but hopefully that would work.
“Turn right at the next light,” Isobel said, by accident flipping the windshield wiper fluid release. Sudsy blue liquid squirted across the glass, soaking the pigeon.
“Oh, gross,” Gwen muttered, and batted Isobel’s hand away. She slowed the car and switched on the wipers, her fingers easily finding the right knob. It took four swipes to get the bird to one side, and then a fifth and final one to scoot it off the windshield completely. It hit the roadside with a wet smack. “Should have stayed home today,” said Gwen, taking the turn Isobel had indicated. “Rented a movie. One of those bad romances that make you want to puke. ’Course I already want to puke.”
She glanced from the road to Isobel, then back again, her brow furrowing. The silence that followed gave Isobel time to think. At this point she couldn’t keep Gwen out, but at the same time, she couldn’t justify involving her any further. She thought about Pinfeathers sitting next to Brad in the lunchroom, then pictured him sitting here in her place, next to Gwen, who would just keep driving, never knowing any better. She thought about Gwen driving home. She thought about the Cadillac on the highway, about how it wouldn’t take much more than a gentle tug on the steering wheel to send the car careening into oncoming traffic.