2
Venture Beneath the Skies

 

Road trip. Into the woods. Bronson gets a key. A dog wakes Bronson up for a walk.

 

Bronson lugged a cooler down the front steps of the house. It only had some sandwiches, sodas, and ice but Bronson wasn’t that strong so it took some effort. He put the cooler down behind the car as his parents came out of the front door. Duncan came back to unlock the trunk.

“What’s this dent back here?”

“Dent?” Mom said. “What dent? It was fine yesterday.”

Duncan pulled a tuft of fur from the foam trunk liner.

“There’s our culprit. The stupid cat from last night. It looks like it’ll be an easy fix anyway.”

“You never know,” Mom said, “it could have been the Hough’s cat from down the street. I hear she’s in a…romantic mood.”

Bronson lifted the cooler up and set it in the back. He let out a grunt.

“D’you ever think about lifting, buddy? Maybe that Tillman kid would back off if you bulked up a little.”

“I think he’s fine just the way he is,” Mom said. “He doesn’t need to be some tough guy.”

“I forgot my comics,” Bronson said. “Can I run back inside real quick?”

“If you hurry,” Duncan said.

Bronson ran up to his room. He flipped through the uneven stack of comics on his desk. Action Club, Batteryman, Bayou Wraith, and a lot of Spider-Man. He decided on some reprints of Amazing Spider-Man 30-33: The Master Planner Saga. An old villain comes back under a new name and stays in the shadows until he enacts his master plan. It was his favorite comic book story for the moment, although that title was always up for grabs.

He rolled the issues up and bolted back down the stairs. His parents were already in the car. He opened the door, jumped in, then slammed it shut.

“Let’s move this thing.”

“Hey now,” Duncan said, “she may not be a hot rod but I think she’ll do just fine for today’s venture beneath the skies.”

The engine turned over. A shot of electricity traveled up through the spark plug then licked out at the blue wire. The shot traveled down the wire through the engine block until it reached the timer, which clicked on. The display flashed. 29:59… 29:58… 29:57… The car turned at the end of the block.

Bronson unfastened his seat belt and lay on the floor of the backseat. He kicked his legs in the air. Mom did a crossword in the passenger’s seat. She looked out the window at the countryside when her eyes needed some rest. Duncan tapped the steering wheel in time to the song on the radio. The car struggled up a steep hill. They crested the hill and started down the other side.

00:04… 00:03… 00:02…

The timer’s display shut off. Electricity jumped through the green and red wires. The clay around the brake line exploded with a small pop.

Duncan noticed the sound. We’d better check that out, he thought. He pushed his foot down on the brake pedal. The brakes clicked, then the pedal sunk to the floor. The car picked up speed down the hill. Bronson saw the landscape moving by faster outside the window.

Duncan tried pulling the emergency brake. No luck. He looked down at the bottom of the hill and realized the car was heading for the woods. He figured steering toward the trees was his best chance to stop the car without flipping it. He looked in the rearview mirror. Bronson’s legs hung over the top of the seat.

“Bronson,” he yelled, “up in your seat this instant.”

“Just a second, Dad, almost done.”

“I said now! Marsha, get him in his seat and buckle him in…I can’t stop this thing.”

Mom reached back and grabbed for the scruff of Bronson’s neck, but she couldn’t quite reach him. She unlatched her seatbelt and leaned over the back of her seat. Duncan grabbed at her blouse and tried to pull her back down in her seat. As he touched her his eyes rolled back into his head. A bright orange flash—

His wife’s head flying through the windshield. Blood raining up through black smoke. Pebbles of glass tangling in a web of black hair. The back of her head breaking the windshield. Bronson’s body twisting in the air. In the driver’s seat he saw…something so horrific he couldn’t admit the truth of it to himself. Another flash—

He was back in the car, which surged toward the tree line. He knew he couldn’t avoid what was coming…the things from his vision. He turned to his wife, let go of the wheel, and held her cheeks in his hands.

“I love you,” he said.

“You…? Will he be okay?” she asked.

“Yes, he’ll be—”

The sound of ripping metal. Screaming. Darkness.

Bronson was pretty sure it was night, but he was having trouble being completely sure of anything. All he knew was that he was sore and there was a strong wind blowing through…his head? The trees? The car. He remembered being in the car with his parents. He was reading. That’s right. Reading some old comics. He remembered his dad yelling. Something about not stopping something? The car. Dad couldn’t stop the car.

Bronson sat up. He bumped his head on something pointy. He reached up to touch the object. The texture seemed familiar. Skin, but cold. He yanked his hand back as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A shoe… a slip-on… his mother’s shoe.

“Mom? Mom, wake up.”

The front windshield was shattered. His mom’s upper half was stuck through it. Her blood clung to the pieces of glass, which when combined with the soft moonlight gave them a crimson shimmer.

“She’s… gone,” said Duncan. His head leaned against the headrest. A soft whine came out whenever he inhaled.

“No, no. She’s fine. We need to call an—”

“Son, she’s gone. She’s been still for hours. I tried—” His body spasmed and he fell against the window. “There’s something I need to give you. My wallet. Back right pocket. Hurry.”

“No, no, I can go get help.” Bronson said. “I can help you, Dad.”

“Now, Bronson.”

He leaned over the seat. His dad was pinned to it by the steering column. A dark stain seeped through his shirt.

Bronson reached into Duncan’s back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and saw his school picture staring back at him from a thin plastic sleeve. He remembered the day a few months before when they took it.

“There… there is a key behind your picture,” Duncan said. “Take it out.”

Bronson did as he was told.

“Now take my hand. Quickly.”

Bronson took his father’s hand and squeezed it. He felt a warmth coming from it as it started to glow. An orange aura glittered in the air around their hands and he felt energy crackle through his bones. The aura expanded until he couldn’t see anything but orange, then he saw a room. Their attic. Him, in the corner pulling a sheet off some boxes. His dad’s magic trunk. Another flash—

The orange light faded and he was back in the car. Blood trickled down Duncan’s lips.

“That… what you saw… that is your legacy. Use it. You’ll need it soon. There are… people… I—” Duncan’s head fell forward. His grip relaxed. Bronson dropped his dad’s hand and fell back onto the back seat. He clutched the key tight against his chest.

He decided to play a game with himself. He’d close his eyes for ten seconds and see if he’d wake up. He closed them and opened them and he was still in the car. He tried again and nothing changed. He closed them again and decided to keep them closed as long as he could and maybe… just maybe… it might all fix itself.

Bronson opened his eyes and looked up at the roof of the car. The sun was out. He wasn’t in his bed. When he inhaled the hot air burned in his lungs.

Something brushed against his leg. He jumped back against the door of the car. A small dog stared at him expectantly from the other side of the seat. It gave Bronson a sniff then climbed up between his legs.

Bronson didn’t want to think about how the dog got into the car. It seemed friendly enough. He pulled on the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. He kicked it as hard as he could. Nothing. He kicked it again. The door creaked open a few inches. He pushed it open the rest of the way and climbed out of the car. Nothing but trees.

Bronson picked a direction and started walking. When he took a step the dog barked at him. It ran ahead of him then turned around and barked at him again.

Maybe the dog was trying to lead him somewhere? He held out his hand so the dog could sniff him. The dog nudged his shoes with his nose. It ran along a path, looking back every few seconds to make sure Bronson was still following.

They walked along for awhile. Bronson ignored the knot in his knee as he kept pace with the little mutt. They came to a fresh pathway that went up a hill. The dog started up the hill. Bronson followed.

He struggled to keep his footing as the pain in his leg got worse. His foot slipped on a stone. A tear of white pain ripped through his knee. He faltered, and his knee smashed into the stone. He fell face first into a pile of soggy leaves.

The dog nudged Bronson with his cold slimy nose.

Bronson dug his hands into the dewy leaves and pushed himself up onto all fours. He crawled after the dog, afraid to put weight on his knee.

When they reached the top of the hill Bronson got back on his feet and looked around. He saw some gray through the trees a few dozen yards away.

“C’mon, boy. I think we made it.”

As they emerged from the trees Bronson saw the hill where everything went wrong the day before. A chunk of the pavement was missing at the bottom of the hill. The car’s bumper laid half on the road and half in the grass.

Bronson stumbled to the edge of the road. The dog sat down beside him. It pawed at his bad leg. Bronson leaned down and scratched the dog behind his ear.

“Thanks, boy,” he said.

The sound of an engine came from the east. Bronson looked in the direction of the sound. A red pickup came around the corner. He jumped up and waved his arms.

The car drove a little past them, pulled over, and turned on its hazard lights. Bronson ran over to the car, then realized the dog wasn’t with him. He looked back. The dog stood near the trees. He whistled.

“Come on, boy,” he said.

The dog didn’t budge. They locked eyes. A strong wind blew through the trees and rattled their branches. The dog’s eyes sparkled, and he wandered off into the woods.

 

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