Teeth_ Vampire Tales - Ellen Datlow [13]
Of course, as he’d planned, his parents were appalled. He remembered his mother crying, “You can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery. You can’t go to shul.” He thought her reaction was so hypocritical; after Zaydie died, they only went to synagogue for the High Holy Days. The only bagels in Iowa must be frozen in the supermarket.
Saul had expected the staff at the ranch would mock him for the Hebrew, but Phelps, the head counselor, had admired his tattoo and actually suggested Saul get more ink, so that it would resemble leather bands coiling all the way down to his palm.
Saul looked at the siblings. Dutch had her eyes on the road, but her face had become drawn, the lines of her jaw clenched tight. “His arm,” Marley groaned from the backseat.
“I know,” Dutch muttered. She glanced at Saul, and the look was one of disgust. Instinct made his hand edge toward the door latch, but he realized that she was driving too fast to make rolling out of the car a safe option. It didn’t matter. She pressed a button and the locks came down. He heard them echo awhile.
“Remind me that you’re not ax murderers,” he said weakly. He never wanted trouble.
The last few days had been weird at the ranch; the counselors seemed distracted and kept talking in hushed voices. Some of the older boys were on edge, as if too much testosterone malice had built up in their veins. Saul was sure they planned on a game of Smear the Queer any moment and decided he had to get out of there as soon as possible.
That night, he feigned sleep in his bunk. His ears strained to pick out the whispers among the many snores. He hid his face under the crook of an arm and watched as some of the boys rose from their bunks. Saul tensed. He told himself there’d be no shame in kicking another guy in the balls if he meant to brain you. But the boys didn’t even look in his direction as they opened the door (which should have been locked!) and slipped out of the bunkhouse.
He counted to a thousand. Well, he aimed that high, but somewhere after two hundred, he crept to the door. He held a breath and was rewarded when the handle was unlocked. The grounds were dark, except for the amber glow seeping from the slotted windows of the large storage shed, off-limits to all but the staff.
Saul knew he didn’t have time or the luck to afford being curious.
As he passed through the parking lot, he considered letting air out of the tires, but there were too many cars. He crept down to the end of the driveway and looked over the metal gate. Tugging at the chain that fed the motor reminded him of all the bike chains he’d broken as a little kid. He hunted around until he found a palm-sized rock, and then smashed the chain off. He tossed the rock over his shoulder, muttered a thanks to the counselors for teaching him to climb anything, and scurried over the rain-slick bars. He didn’t stop running until he reached the highway.
“What do you want to do?” she asked. Saul knew she wasn’t talking to him.
“I don’t know. I’m hungry, though. And we were promised food.” The last words came out of Marley as a whine.
Dutch nodded.
Saul leaned against the car door. Now alert, though sweating from the furnacelike heat, he didn’t know where to look. Staring at the road left him feeling helpless, but eyeballing Dutch might antagonize her, like an angry dog. He risked a glance and realized she wasn’t sweating. Not a drop. His own forehead felt slick, feverish. He remembered Phelps mentioning he would never trust anyone who didn’t sweat.
They drove too fast past a road sign for him to read it. “There’s a gas station up ahead,” she said.
“We need to stop.