28
There was a lake not far from Bloomville, South Carolina, due northwest from the Texaco station, passing over Interstate 95, and then through the towns of Summerton and Rimini. It was a huge lake, Lake Marion according to the signs, lined with tall trees and cabins, punctuated with boat ramps that lead down to the water’s edge.
Tony instructed Kate to follow the road along the lake’s side. She’d know what she needed when she saw it. Minutes later she spied a cleared utility line and furrowed drive that traveled beneath the overhead wires. “There,” said Tony, and the teacher turned the car onto the line. She rolled the window down and let fly, one at a time, the pages of the Clarendon Courier, the ten-page rag masquerading as a newspaper. There had been not one mention of the events in Southampton County, Virginia. Not one tiny article, not even a blurb. There was weather, and sports (the local high school football team had won their final game, 22-6,) and a half-page photo spread of the “Miss Clarendon Holiday Pageant” winners (little girls in frilly gowns and crowns and tiaras,) and a local sheriff’s report of speeding tickets and driving without licenses and bad checks.
The Virginia armed robbery was clearly not big enough news. The Virginia murder of a gasoline man was clearly not important to South Carolinians.
About a half-mile bouncing along the rocky stretch they came to a chain stung across a dirt road. There were thick pines and cedars on both sides. A sign hammered to the wooden post read, “Camp Lakeview. Closed. Trespassers will be prosecuted. God Bless.”
“Here,” said Tony. “This looks right.”
The teacher stopped the car in front of the chain. The teacher had said nothing since the Texaco; back to being a quiet little *. Oh, but she wouldn’t be quiet for much longer. What Tony had in mind involved some good old-fashioned screaming.
An empty camp would be just the place.
“Break the chain,” said Tony.
At last the teacher spoke. “How?”
“With the car, idiot. How do you even stand up straight without somebody telling you?”
The teacher shook her head but didn’t argue. Tony wished she would argue. She felt like slapping the woman’s face. That was okay, she’d save it all up. It was going to be a good, fun time.
The teacher backed the car up as far as she could go across the utility line to the heavy woods on the other side. She floored the gas pedal and the car lurched forward. It struck the chain with the front grille, bucking momentarily, and then could go no farther.
“Again,” said Tony.
The teacher backed the car and drove forward again, slamming into the chain with a satisfying sound of headlights smashing and metal fighting back. The hood popped open. Baby doll, in the back with her tangle of scarf yard, yelped.
Tony said, “Fun, huh? Again.”
Once more the teacher backed the car and floor it forward blindly. The chain stopped them short. The teacher floored the accelerator and the car inched forward. Dirt sprayed out behind as the wheels cut the ground.
“Shit,” said Tony. “Stop for a second.”
The teacher let up on the gas and put the car in park. Tony rolled down her window and stuck her head out. The chain was holding firm, but one of the wooden posts to which it was attached had snapped and was bowing over, splinters sticking out like a porcupine’s tail.
“Everybody out,” said Tony. The teacher climbed out but the kid stayed inside, her hands over her ears. Tony pulled open the kid’s door, and yanked her out by the collar. She whimpered but did not struggle, then stood by the car with her arms wrapped around herself.
“We can kick it over,” said Tony. “C’mon.”
Tony and the teacher took turns striking the post with the bottom of their shoes, though the teacher’s prissy-pot pumps missed more often than they connected. Tony remembered stomping the girl outside the barn after the Hot Heads had caught her fucking her boyfriend. With a grunt, Tony landed a square blow just above the crack and the post toppled, taking its end of the chain with it to the ground.
Tony sniffed and wiped her nose. The snot was nearly frozen. She was going to need a coat soon. She wondered if it ever got cold in Texas. She forced the hood back down until it latched. “Okay. Let’s get in there.”
The rutted camp road took its scenic time reaching the lake. The place appeared to be some sort of churchy, Jesus get-away, with a designated “Mess Hall,” “Chapel,” an outdoor amphitheater made of rough-hewn logs, and wooden crosses planted in various spots along the drive. There were no cabins for campers, but large, rectangular platforms covered in pine needles and dead leaves.
“What are those?” Tony asked aloud.
“That’s where the tents go,” said the teacher.
“How do you know?”
“I used to be in Girl Scouts.”
“Huh,” said Tony. “Big shit.”
The next curve in the road brought Lake Marion into view. It was stark blue through the trees, still and slick like a slice of sky cut and pasted between two layers of earth. Several Canada geese floated of the smooth surface, bobbing their heads up and down as if showing this was their space, bug out, folks.
The slope to the lake was gentle, sandy, littered with moss and mud and spotted with a small grouping of picnic tables. “Park there,” said Tony, pointing to the slope. “Turn off the car.”
The teacher eased to the top of the slope and cut the engine. She stared ahead, her face grim.
“This is a fine place,” said Tony. “Ain’t nobody around. Don’t you think it’s fine?”
The teacher didn’t nod. The kid in the back sneezed.
“Well!” said Tony. “I think we’ll stay here for a while. Get our heads back on straight. Here.” She handed the teacher the red plaid scarf. “Tie your feet together, real tight. I’m going out for firewood so we can play Girl Scouts. You can show me how to build a fire, okay? But I don’t want you taking off again or doing anything else stupid.”
The teacher wrapped her ankles together with the scarf. Then, as before, she told the kid to tie the teacher’s hands behind her back while she pointed the gun at the teacher’s temple. Tony doubled-checked and tightened them a bit more. She could smell the fear and helplessness burning off the woman. She licked her lips to taste it on her tongue.
The teacher secured and seething in the front, Tony bound the kid in the back. Ankles. Hands. She wondered why the kid never tried to fight. If this had been Tony, she would have gone down biting and kicking. The kid kept her eyes closed at Tony tied her up, then she curled up on the seat.
Tony sat down on one of the picnic table benches, brushing away a plop of bird poop first with the back of her hand. For church kids, these sure were skilled vandals. There were names and initials carved everywhere in the wood. Hearts, crosses, even an occasional profanity. Well, church kid profanity. “Hell’s bells!” said one. “Go to the devil!” said another.
How far to Texas? She knew it was south of Virginia, and west. They were going in the right direction, but how much farther? Besides some new clothes, she would get a map as soon as she could. She would look up Lamesa. That’s where Burton Petinske lived.
She knew because he’d sent her a birthday card when she’d turned twelve. It was a few weeks late, but it came all the same. The card was a toothy German shepherd sitting on top of a crushed birthday cake, and inside it said, “I would have sent you birthday greetings on time, but when Old Killer decides to wait, we all wait!” Inside the card was a photo of Burton sitting on a fence with horses and cattle in the background. His note said, “How do you like your old dad now?”
Tony had liked it plenty. Her dad was a rancher, with lots of land and animals. Thank God he wasn’t in a cowboy hat like Little Joe, but he looked fine up there on the fence, his eyes staring straight at the camera, his arms muscular beneath the short sleeves of his tee. He’d looked just like an actor Tony had seen in a late-night movie not long before. The movie was Desire Under the Elms. The actor was Tony Perkins, not the Good Morning America weather guy but the guy she’d seen in Psycho over at Buddy’s house once. He was cool, calm, brave, and handsome. He didn’t let anything get in the way of what had to be done, not even a fucking baby. He did what he had to do without thinking twice.
That’s when Tony decided she was Tony and not Angela. She told everybody once about her new name, and never answered to her * name again. She hadn’t told anyone why she’d changed, though her Ma, Darlene, and her fifth grade teacher were the only ones who asked.
With her new name she was stronger. She began to bind up her breasts with an Ace bandage, and to dress like Tony would. Like her father would. Plain. Rugged. Nothing but blacks, browns, and blues. She’d cut her shoulder-length hair to above her ears. She started skipping school more than ever before.
She was destined for something great, she could feel it in her blood.
Tony’s head was itching. She dug her stubby nails into the scalp and raked until it felt better. She wondered if Darlene and her old nitty head had gone back to school today. She wondered if Mam was curious as to where her oldest daughter had gone to.
Over in the car, the teacher was looking at her through the window glass. Maybe wondering when Tony was going for the firewood. No, probably wondering how long she would have to travel with Tony. How much longer she would be tormented.
“I bet you are wondering,” said Tony. “Hell, I’ll set you straight on that right now.” She hopped from the picnic table, trotted to the car, and pulled the front door open.