“Christ!” Malcolm laid on the horn, but nobody moved.
“They came out into the road,” Jennie said.
The faces of the people in the street held no suspicion, only worry.
“I’ll make it quick,” Malcolm said, rolling down his window.
“Just drive,” Jennie hissed.
“Through them?” Violet asked, glaring at the back seat.
Malcolm tried to ignore them, tipping his head out the window. “What are you doing, folks? Can you get out of the road?”
The elderly couple came around to the driver’s side, but the rest of them stayed blocking the minibus. They’d dressed hurriedly, and the old man wore a thin sweater but hadn’t bothered with a jacket. He hugged himself against the November night. The rain had stopped, but Malcolm thought the air smelled like snow.
“What’s happened?” the old man asked. When he frowned, his face had so many crinkles his skin looked shattered. “We all heard an ungodly loud noise quite a while ago, and then the police and firemen went out.”
“I’m telling you, George, it has to be the train,” his wife said. Her arms were crossed. Behind her glasses, her gaze was cutting. Judging.
“We saw the police and fire trucks, too,” Malcolm said. “But I don’t know about the train. Would you mind getting out of the road?”
Something had changed in the old woman’s face. She adjusted her glasses and stepped closer, almost near enough for Malcolm to smell her breath.
“Who are you, son? Because I recognize that little van, but I don’t recognize you.”
Her husband stiffened. “You’ve seen this before, honey?”
“So have you. Belongs to Frank McClure’s girl, Ginny.”
Violet whispered his name.
Malcolm took a deep breath. “Tell your people to step aside.”
“I think you oughta turn off the engine there and sit tight until we can sort this out,” the old man said.
Malcolm felt the weight of the shotgun barrel as it slid over his left shoulder and jutted out the driver’s-side window.
“Get out of the way or I’ll spray this old bitch’s brains all over the pavement,” Jennie called loudly.
“Jennie, no!” Violet shouted.
The old woman blinked. The people in the road scurried out of their path.
Violet cranked her window down. “Everyone, please, get back inside! Lock your doors! There’s…” What could she say that wouldn’t sound insane? “There was something radioactive on the train! It’s in the air, and it’s spreading. People are dying!”
Malcolm hit the gas, and the minibus pulled away, leaving them to return to the middle of the street and stand in the red taillights, watching the Volkswagen leave them behind. Violet poked her head out the window, watching and hoping they would believe her, but none of them seemed in any hurry to go home.
“You tried,” Malcolm said quietly.
It wasn’t enough. Violet felt sick to her stomach.
A minute or two passed in silence as the town vanished behind them. There were a few streetlamps still burning along the road ahead, but soon, they’d passed beyond the limits of those lights, and only the occasional house dotted the sides of the road. Homes in which people still slept, unaware of the danger coming, but perhaps safe because of it.
“You’re letting those people die just to slow the monsters down,” Violet said at last.
“If we try to help them,” Malcolm said, “we’re dead.”
“We should have done more. We still could.”
