Chapter 6 #3
In another minute, we’re crossing the tracks and almost immediately the land starts to look different.
The brush on the right side of the road is cut back ten feet from the curb, and lighted signs with vintage seaside scenes announcing St. Carmen’s Main Street appear ahead.
The dim reflective lettering spelling POLICE on Army’s SUV sits off to the right, and he pulls out when he sees us coming.
Speeding ahead, he clears the path for us, but he’s careful not to stay too close to us so as not to look like he’s with us.
But as we cruise through the center of town, I stop breathing for a second, that weird feeling like you’ve wandered onto a stage like a sitting duck and all eyes are on you washing over me.
It’s almost midnight. Most businesses are closed—and it’s off-season—but something still feels off. A little darker, a little emptier, fewer cars…I don’t know.
Even those two kids who like to ride the empty streets on their skateboards—rain or shine—aren’t around. No trucks carrying boats, just coming back from a long day of fishing. No late-night servers or bartenders walking to their cars.
“Something’s not right,” I say in a loud voice.
I told Iron and Trace that earlier, and they know me well enough to know I’m not the type who panics.
I think the party will be in St. Carmen this time.
I swallow.
“Yeahhh,” Trace breathes out. “I’m getting that, too.”
I let off the gas a little. We need to turn around.
“Ah, shit!” Army yells.
I start to brake, but we can’t just pull over here! The main street is the oldest part of town, the road is narrow, and these trucks are tanks.
“What’s wrong?” Macon growls.
“Son of a bitch,” Army snaps. “Stop! Stop driving!”
“What the fuck?” Trace mutters, and I watch him hang a right and follow Army as he swings around the roundabout ahead, pulling over on the other side of the dark street, next to a thick wood.
“Pull over!” Army orders. “Shut down the trucks! Hurry!”
“Army?” Iron barks. “What is it?”
I pull in behind Trace, Macon behind me with Iron, and Santos and Torres quickly slide in at the end of the line.
I shut off my headlights, everyone else following suit.
“Talk to us,” Macon urges.
But the next thing I know, a piercing horn comes through my phone, echoed by others from my brothers’ cells.
I grab my phone, swiping. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Wireless Emergency Alert for St. Carmen,” Army reads to us as we stare at the same words on our screens. “Severe summer storms expected. High winds up to or exceeding eighty miles per hour. Curfew in effect from midnight until six a.m. through…”
And I read the word Army is too stunned to utter as my heart knocks like a bell in my chest. October.
“What the fuck?” Iron shouts. “October?”
“Every day?” Trace asks. “Or just during storms?”
“Is this a fucking joke?” Santos adds from the back.
A curfew. Why would St. Carmen put their citizens on lockdown after midnight? What the hell is this?
“This weather is nothing we haven’t seen a thousand times!” Trace goes on. “A curfew? Really?”
It wasn’t unusual to have a curfew for a hurricane, but we’re not even close yet and probably won’t see storms that serious until August. It’s the middle of June! This has to be a mistake.
“So, what?” I press. “No one can be outside in the middle of the night on this side of the tracks?”
But Army doesn’t answer me, everyone just processing why they’re doing this and what we’re gonna do about it.
Macon hasn’t said a word.
Trace drives home from the bar after 2:00 a.m. Liv’s movie films at all hours.
I work in my classroom at night sometimes.
I like to get late-night takeout at Cymbalina’s.
“What happens if we’re caught out after curfew?” I ask, mainly directing it at Army.
Will we be arrested?
I mean, I like to fuck at night, too, and sometimes I like to do it in St. Carmen.
But I exhale, finally realizing.
We move the liquor at night…
Motherfucker. That’s what he meant. His party would be in St. Carmen tonight. If he knew we were coming through with trucks, he would’ve had us stopped, but he’s definitely on to us and knew tonight was the start of kicking us back to our side of the tracks.
“Shit!” Army whispers. “Shut off your screens! Get down!”
Unclicking my seat belt, I crash down onto the bench seat, holding my cell to my chest to shield the light.
My pulse races, blood heating my entire body while my stomach feels like it’s in free fall.
And there’s something about it that feels good.
I breathe hard, the fire slowly coating everything under my skin descending into my jeans, and I blink. Reaching down, I adjust my cock, gripping the hardening shaft as a smile starts to pull at the corners of my mouth.
I thought he would hassle me when he finally returned. It was always about me, but no.
He’s coming for everyone.
This might actually be fun. His imagination is still impressive.
“What happens now?” Trace gasps as if the cops driving by outside can hear us. “We move the trucks at night. What the hell do we do now?”
All I know is that the stories we tell in our family are always amusing, but only because we made it out alive. If we hadn’t, we wouldn’t tell the stories.
Someday, I’m going to tell this one.