Joe Lansdale - The Complete Drive-In

Grace, who was in a seat near the front, rose up and looked around. Her naked breasts took my mind off of the fish cave folk for a pleasant moment. She didn’t look self-conscious at all. “What do you want?” she said loudly to the glass.

Bjoe put a hand to his ear.

Grace repeated herself.

Bjoe stuck the tip of a finger against the glass. It was pointing in her direction.

“Why?” Grace said.

Bjoe just smiled.

Grace shook her head. More of the fish cave fol k cl imbed onto the hood and pressed against the glass, thick as a grape cluster. All of us were out of our seats now.

Cory said, “Maybe they just want to talk?”

“They don’t look as friendly as before,” Steve said.

“They’ve had time to think about us,” Cory said. “Probably been comparing long pig recipes.”

“Ain’t no different than the rest of us,” James said. “I’ve eaten dead bodies. I’ve cannibalized.”

“Yes,” Reba said, “but those bodies were dead. We aren’t.”

“Yet,” Homer said.

“Is the door locked?” I said in a soft manner.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It is.”

We watched them for awhile, then sat in our seats and watched them watch us, their faces and hands pressed against the window glass.

“I feel like one of those lobsters in a tank,” Steve said, “you know, the ones where you pick your own.”

“And I’m the prime lobster,” Grace said, without one hint of modesty.

“I think we’re going to need to start the bus up,” I said, “drive deeper into the darkness. This bit of shadow doesn’t worry them like I hoped it would.”

“I believe you are right, Brother Jack,” Steve said.

“I say we wait,” Cory said. “They’re just weird. We’re weird. They haven’t done anything else.”

“One of them has a large bone,” Reba said, “and he’s trying to work at the edges of my window.”

We looked on her side, and sure enough, one of the guys had a big old bone, sharp on one end from having been broken, and he was sticking it in the edge of the window, trying to work the glass loose. He wasn’t looking at what he was doing. He grinned at us. He had very yellow teeth.

They began to beat on the windows, all around, with their fists.

“Yep,” I said, “No question in my mind. They want to eat us.”

“Well, fuck them,” Grace said, turned her ass toward the front glass, and pulled down her little fur shorties and gave them a moonshot.

They beat on the glass harder.

“I think you’re just encouraging them,” I said.

Steve climbed into the driver’s seat, hit the key. The engine sprang to life. Steve jerked it in gear and punched it. The bus seemed to leap. The folk on the hood went flying backward, and there was a sound like someone stepping on crackers in cellophane. The bus bumped twice.

I looked out the back window. A couple of the fish cave folk lay in a bloody wad on the grating, and Bjoe was up and limping after us, shaking his fists. The others were coming at a run, passing him.

We were going pretty goddamn fast for a large bus in a small space with a short length to run. Also there was another problem. A large pile of cars in front of us, and no time to stop, and really, no purpose in stopping.

And there was the little problem of the Scuts, whatever they were, waiting in the dark.

The bus slammed into the pile of automobiles and the darkness that surrounded them.

The bus hit the pile of cars, hit them hard, knocked our asses about, tossed me over a seat and into another. When I clambered to my feet and looked out, the bus was no longer moving, but it had moved the cars a mite. The darkness had fallen over the front of the bus and covered it like a drop cloth.

Glancing out the back windows, into the light, I saw the fish cave folk were closing from the rear. I could already envision myself being ripped open, my guts pulled out for an appetizer.

Steve jerked the bus in reverse, backed it with a full-throttle wobble, hit a couple of the fish cave folk and drove them down beneath the bus, smashing them like walnuts. Then he gunned the bus forward again, but at an angle. This time he hit one of the cars and really moved it, pushed it back deeper into shadow. He put his foot down hard on the gas, and there was a sound like metal grinding, and smoke rose up from the tires. For a long time the bus just held its spot. Held long enough the fish cave folk reached us and leaped against the back of the bus, up on the bumper and beat at the glass and metal wall there.

The cars began to move, began to slip backward. The bus began to creep forward, taking us and the bus and the pursuing fish cave folk into the darkness.

Steve drove on, the cars parting like the Red Sea, rolling up on either side of us, tumbling along the grate floor. After a few moments, we were deeper into the darkness and the fish cave folk began to fall back.

“They don’t like it here,” Reba said.

“Neither do I,” Steve said. “I just saw something that didn’t look like anything, but like all kinds of things, rush by the hood.”

We were still moving, but we had slowed down. We looked out the windows and saw nothing.

“You still see it?” I asked.

“Nope,” Steve said. “It went by fast.”

“Maybe it was just a shadow,” Grace said. “I didn’t see anything.”

“You weren’t looking straight ahead,” Steve said. “And no, it wasn’t a shadow. Unless they can pull themselves apart from the darkness and… well, I don’t know what it did. Run? Flew? Tumbled? I couldn’t tell you. It was there, then it moved, then it wasn’t there anymore. It was like it fitted itself into the darkness again. It was

… I don’t know, darker than the dark.”

“Stop the bus,” I said.

“You sure?” Steve said.

“They aren’t coming anymore,” I said.

Steve geared the bus down, brought it to a halt. Looking back, it was as if we were down in a dark hole staring up at the sun. Against the light the fish cave folk moved. They grabbed up their dead, and pulled them to the side, set upon the bodies with knives. Fights broke out.

Bjoe appeared from the midst of the fleshy wad, slashing at anything in his way with a bone knife. A throat was cut. A man fell at his feet. The crowd parted around him, scuttled back. At his feet the man whom he had cut thrashed and squirted blood from his throat.

Bjoe looked toward the bus, knife in hand, hair disheveled, dick and balls hanging like some kind of withered fruit. I guessed he could see our shape. He didn’t come toward us though. He just looked at us for a long time, then turned and said something to those around him.

After a moment the fish cave folk moved toward Bjoe, slowly, respectfully. They set about cutting, mostly tearing, at the bus-crushed bodies. Bjoe leaned over and stabbed the quivering man he had wounded a couple of times, ripped him open from gut to gill.

Intestines hissed up steam, and blood gushed. Fish cave folk dropped to their knees and dipped their faces into the bloody body. Some ran off with meaty pieces, like dogs.

Bjoe, realizing his prized long pigs were being taken from him, settled down over the man he had killed, bared his teeth. I couldn’t hear him from there, but I could sure see those teeth. Could even imagine him growling like some protective wild animal.

“I think it’s a good thing we didn’t stay back there,” I said.

“Yeah,” Reba said. “Bjoe has done run all out of nice.”

“He was so friendly the other night,” Cory said.

“Hell,” Grace said. “You wouldn’t know. You were drunk. You ought to be glad we didn’t leave your intoxicated ass lying up there. We thought about it.”