Read by Zach Harrison (fourth story in podcast, here)
There’s a small town buried in the Californian desert where boredom can be fatal. Maybe ten thousand people total live there, battling the constant enemies of hundred degree heat, dust that clogs and chokes everything in sight, and a landscape that runs from rust coloured to burnt umber with nothing much in between. The locals refer to it as ‘shit-town’ and I can’t say they’re wrong. There’s not much you can do about the heat or dust, but the local kids do have a unique cure for the boredom.
During the week it’s quiet because there’s nothing much to do but get in each other’s business in a half-hearted sort of way and work on your car. But as Friday night approaches the teenagers start to get jittery and ornery like a junkie itching for a fix, and arguments spark over nothing at all. No one talks about it, but what they’re all feeling is that loose, liquid sensation you get the in the pit of your stomach when you get too close to the edge of a canyon, and dare yourself to peek.
Cassie Deane shows up around eleven driving that fire-apple red Camaro she’s re-built so many times her prints are on every bolt. She mooches around, shooting the shit and testing the tension in the air, making sure to ratchet it up if it’s too low and ease it down a notch if it’s getting overheated. No one mentions Yates Field, even though it’s what they’re all thinking because this is Cassie’s show and without her it can’t happen. Say the wrong thing and she’s gone.
Those nights are bad. That’s when the kids drink themselves blind out of pure frustration and everyone starts looking for someone to blame. That’s how Caleb Jacobson got stabbed and nearly bled out in the parking lot. But tonight everyone’s cool, even the new guys, and when midnight rolls round everyone holds their breath, waiting for the word.
And then it comes. ‘Gonna cruise on out to Yates Field,’ Cassie announces, ‘who’s down?’
Some bitch out; they pair up and light out to go find a quiet spot where two bodies can get personal in safety. But there’s always a few with that itch that sex won’t scratch, who climb into their cars, spark the engines and follow Cassie’s Camaro up River Ridge Way, past the burned out buildings on Yates road, and out into the charred fields beyond.
You’ve got to time it just right so you hit a certain field at a particular time, and the only person who can do it for sure is Cassie. It took her months to figure out exactly when and exactly where you’ve got to be to get ‘em running, but it’s not just that; there’s something else she does when she’s found the spot. Some kind of ritual, but she don’t share that information with nobody.
Tonight we hit that big top field just as the moon clears a thick bank of clouds and lights up the corn. It sways listening, or maybe watching, as Cassie walks out into the burnt-out clearing at the centre of the field, waving at us to stay out till she’s done. She kneels and I see her take a box from her pocket and open it, and takes from it that wriggles. Then she does something to it, but I can’t see exactly what and then it’s over. She stands, faces all us ‘possibles’ lined up at the edge of the field, and walks back, a big shit-eating grin on her face. The first person she comes to is my girl, Kayla.
‘First date?’ Cassie asks.
‘It was this or a movie,’ Kayla says, playing it off cool.
‘What kind of movies you like?’
‘Scary ones,’ Kayla replies, ‘the scarier the better.’ Cassie’s eyes glitter.
She turns to me and says, ‘new blood. They’ll like that if they catch you, but if they don’t …’ she trails off and I follow her eyes as the roam over Kayla’s curves, ‘be a hell of a first date.’ I try to hide my nerves by sparking a joint. It doesn’t work.
‘You gonna bitch out again?’ Cassie challenges me as I cough out smoke.
‘Try me,’ I reply hoping Kayla doesn’t catch the tremor in my voice. Cassie smiles then turns to the next ‘possible’ as I hand Kayla the joint. She takes a hit and listens to Cassie mess with the guy, but I don’t bother to pay attention ‘cause I know the decisions already been made.
I’m racing tonight, no matter what.
Ten minutes later I slide in behind the wheel and don’t look at Kayla next to me because if I do she’ll see how scared I am. I ease the car into the field and let it jog across the ruts and past Cassie who’s walking back to the edge to watch
And then I hit the middle of the field and rev the engine.
Nothing.
So, I rev it again harder and spin my wheels, making the rear end fishtail, tearing up the field as I do to provoke the inhabitants. Kayla’s looking around hoping to spot something. ‘Don’t waste your time,’ I tell her. ‘You can’t see ‘em head on, only in the mirrors.’
She stares at me, then fixes her gaze on the big rear-view I had mounted special. It’s so big it’s practically wide-screen and she stares into it, hoping to see something.
‘This is bullshit, right?’ she asks, but before I can reply something rustles in the corn way off on the right and I don’t wait. I just drop the shifter into first and bury the big pedal.
The car’s pointed at the far edge of the field, away from Cassie and the others, and it leaps forward with a roar as petrol explodes deep in its gut, kicking us forward. My heart’s pounding because I can hear ‘em hissing and screaming in the corn, as they run for us. Kayla’s screaming at me that she can’t see anything, but I know they’re almost on us, I can feel the heat rising.
And, in the rear-view, I see ‘em.
The Burning Boys. They explode from the corn spitting fire, screaming and hissing. Long arms and fingers reaching, as their twisted, burning legs pump, trying to catch up to us. We woke them and now they’re coming, dozens of them, all burning, all hungry, all dead.
The race is on.
‘I don’t see nothing!’ she yells at me, staring out the back window.
‘Check the rear-view!’ I yell back, ‘you can’t see ‘em by looking straight on!’ and that’s all she gets because I’m focused on keeping the wheel straight as it bucks in my hand. I pour on all the speed I can because they’re catching up and the rising heat’s, making my heart pound so hard I feel sharp stabbing in my left arm. Kayla’s screaming, because she’s got her eyes locked on that big rear-view and can see them Burning Boys catching up. She can hear them hiss and scream, and she knows now that everything I told her is true and that if I mess up, and they catch us, we’ll burn too.
The speedo’s touching fifty and I’m starting to panic, because them boys can really move. They’re right on our ass and fixing to catch us, and if they do they’ll school us on the dangers of waking the restless dead.
‘Be cool,’ I tell myself, even though it’s got to be touching a hundred degrees in here. ‘Be cool,’ I say again and try to ignore Kayla bellowing in my ear, because we’re hitting sixty in the middle of a field at midnight, surrounded by wild corn so high I can’t see a damned thing beyond the two round ovals of my headlights. What I know is the ground’s treacherous with potholes, tree stumps and rocks, and I’m praying I didn’t drink or smoke too much to handle this shit. Randy Delacroix flashes into my mind, that big-mouthed asshole who tried to run with the Boys last summer and flipped that sweet pick-up of his into the corn, and burned.
Kayla’s yelling at me to go faster because she can see ‘em gaining, and I risk a look in the rear-view. I wish to God I hadn’t because they’re almost on us and I swear the one right at the front is Randy.
‘It’s cool,’ I tell myself. This is how it goes. It doesn’t matter how fast you drive or how well you know the ground, the Burning Boys always gain. This is their place, but I know I judged it right. I know we’ll make it to the edge before they catch us.
And then I hear the sharp sound of thin fingers scratching at the paintwork on my left, and feel a blast of heat on the side of my face so intense it makes me wince. I snap a look into the right rear-view and see Burning Boys all along the side of the car. They’re drooling fire as they claw at the paintwork, their burning fingers scoring deep ruts in the metal. There’s no way to beat ‘em. They’re all around us and, ‘Oh sweet Jesus!’ I scream, ‘they’re edging in front!’
Randy’s burning head leers at me, but he’s not alone. Jester-Boy, Marcus Weaver and Cassie’s little brother Jonah are all there, screaming as they burn, running with the rest of the boys, and I finally give into panic because I know now that in a heartbeat they’ll be in front of us and we’ll be joining ‘em.
I fucked up.
Then the front end lifts and we’re flying.
I holler at Kayla that we made it as the low earth bank that marks the border of Yates Field, the one the Burning Boys can’t get beyond, picks us up and throws us out of the corn. My teeth clack down hard enough that I taste blood as the wheels slam onto the cracked tarmac of River Ridge road.
But we’re still going sixty and the edge of the road is on us before I can think straight. I stamp on the brakes and wrestle the wheel hard left, praying I can get the car under control before I flip it. It’s close, but tonight’s our lucky night and the brakes bite down, smoke squealing from the tyres, and we lay about ten feet of rich black rubber on that cracked road before we finally judder to a halt.
We made it.
I look in the rear-view and at Yates Field just in time to see the dancing flames of the Burning Boys disappear back into the corn. ‘They’re gone,’ I tell Kayla who’s in shock in the passenger seat, ‘we made it.’
I look out the window and see the stars overhead are sharper and more perfect than ever. I take a deep drag of air and it tastes sweeter and more wholesome than I can ever remember. Then Kayla’s on me, her hands tearing at my Levis and I realise I’m sporting a regular rail-spike. She frees me as I tear at her clothes, ripping her pants off, clawing at her like she’s clawing at me, and then I’m inside her for the first time and it’s goooood.
And I know, even as we fuck, that we’ll both be back next Friday, because this is living.
(c) Jon Hayes, 2019
Jon Hayes studied at the National Film & Television School, was nominated for a Royal Television Society award then become a screenwriter and won the BBC WritersRoom. He’s obsessed with story-telling, loves to write horror and comedy, and often gets up on stage and makes people laugh. He also loves cats.
Zach Harrison trained at St Mary’s University and since graduating has been working on both stage and screen. Stage roles include Katurian (The Pillowman) Erpingham (The Erpingham Camp) & Demetrius (A Midsummer Night’s Dream). Film credits include Harry the Cunning Linguist in Shakespeare’s Diaries, Jack in I Kissed a Boy and Alex in Z Positive.
Comments