Pecan, Texas

Pecan, Texas





         “We’re lost.”



         Famous last words.



         I knew the road trip was a bad idea.

         

         Steve made a low growl from the driver’s seat. I could see the vein on his temple bulge out and his jaw set hard. He knew better than to argue with the lovely but extremely stubborn Miranda. She tossed her streaked brown and bleached tresses behind her shoulder and raised one perfectly waxed eyebrow.



         “Admit it. You got us lost.”



         Alright, now he was angry. Temple throbbing, Steve kept his hazel eyes on the dirt road ahead of us, his knuckles turning white against the wheel



         “Miranda, it’s not Steve’s fault. I was the one trying to read the map.”



         Ah, sweet, gently Bethany. Beth. Red headed and freckled, not a mean bone in her body. Her gaze fell on Steven, and her desire was palpable. I wonder if Steve ever noticed. She unconsciously rubbed her skinny fingers against the hem of her blue skirt. In my mind, she and Steve would one day run off together, start a 2.5 child family in a white picket fenced house somewhere out in the Midwest. That is as soon as Steve and Beth realize that Miranda is a complete bitch.



         “Don’t try to get him off the hook this time, Beth. He was supposed to know how to get to Austin. That was his responsibility.”



         She said the word responsibility as if it was an insult and a quest all at once. The word had the gravity of Frodo going to Mordor, or Odysseus back to Ithaca. Brilliant use of tone. 



         Did I mention she’s a bitch?

         

         “I. Know. Where. We. Are...” Steve says, teeth grinding. If this relationship continued, I could see serious dental expenses in the future.



         Steve had a poor defense to start out with, so I couldn’t see this argument going better for him than the other million arguments he and Miranda have in a day. Even I, with my serious lack of internal compass, could tell we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. I chanced a sideways glance at Miranda, and noticed her nostrils are flared in that extremely unattractive way that she has. What on Earth does Steve see in her?



         Then I looked down and noticed that her supple, near perfect chest was heaving under her tight, low cut pink tank top from the effort of calling forth her storm of angry verbose.



         I see what Steve sees in her.



         Miranda started in on her passionate tirade, about how this was supposed to be a fun trip so we could all spend time together before we leave for college and how she and Beth had so much wanted to see the campus at St. Edwards where they were both concideringattendinganddamnitsteveyouneverlistentomeandidon’tunderstandwhyiamevenwithyouandideservebetterthanyouyouhavenoambition…



         The four of us met in an English class in our freshman year of High School. Miranda walked in, scanned the room and bee lined right for Steve. I would have pegged her for a tall-dark-handsome type, but she preferred dirty blonde, haphazardly dressed Steve. I think she may have seen him as her own personal project, someone she could wash and dress and mold into an acceptable mate. She giggled and flirted with Steve, which made him feel special. She copied my homework for a year.

         

Beth slunk into the classroom so quickly that I might not have noticed, were it not for her curly, blood red hair. She was the classic shy girl, and the desk farthest from attention happened to be right behind mine. I turned to greet her, and Beth’s face turned to a shade of red near as bright as her hair. She was eager to please, kind, and I think secretly loved that someone was talking to her. I copied her homework for a year.



         The four of us spent four years as a well oiled homework manufacturing machine, with Beth and Miranda forming a tentative friendship, based on a mutual fondness of Steve. Steve continued to bask in the Miranda’s glory, while Beth and I watched with equal parts amazement and disgust. I rarely discussed my loathing for Miranda with Steve because I felt he would figure it out on his own eventually.  I don’t know how much longer Beth and I can put up with her for.

         

I turned up the volume on my own thoughts to drown out Miranda’s shrill constant nagging. I can see Steve aching to be angry back, but he runs his fingers through his shaggy hair and wearily accepts defeat as he does whenever Miranda argues. Beth, on the other hand, was going back and forth between drilling holes into Miranda’s skull with her piercing blue eyes and staring longingly at Steve. Probably wishing with all her heart that they would just pull the car over, shove her out and let the desert animals do what they will with her body.



         Wait, that’s what I was wishing with all my heart.



         I stared out the window and dully noted the surroundings. A few miles back, it was dirt, scattered trees, bushes, rocks. I saw a dead bunny. The desert, seeming to side with Miranda-the-Bitch, had gradually turned into hills and mounds of treacherous reds and oranges, a frighteningly bare, near dead terrain.  Every hundred feet, there were Joshua trees, all stretching uncomfortably upward, like starving hunchbacks, reaching up towards the bells in the sky.



         The car hit either animal, vegetable, or mineral in the road and for an instant, Miranda paused to consider whether or not to include the nature made speed bump in her monologue. For a blissful moment, there was only the wind and the tires rumbling around us.



         Moment over.



         “Steve pull over,” Miranda says sternly, “I have to pee.”



         Steve jerked the car to the right.



         “Beth, come with me in case there are snakes or whatever,” Miranda demanded. Beth quietly nodded.



         Miranda and Beth loaded out of the car, Miranda still muttering about Steve. As they trudged off, I watched Steve watching them. He had something new in his eyes. Passion maybe and fear.  I wanted to ask him what was up, but I knew he would tell me in his own time. Outside of his relationship with Miranda, Steve was never one for being pushed into something. He threw his arm over the back of his seat and looked at me.



         “I’ve been thinking of asking Beth out,” He said finally, after what seemed like days. My jaw dropped. Could it be? Was he finally making a good dating decision?



         “I know what you’re gonna say,” he says quickly, before I have time to formulate a sentence, “It’s a stupid thought. I mean, Beth is Miranda’s friend and she probably doesn’t see me that way anyway…”



         Are you blind?



         “But I think she might learn to if only she could see me like that. And as for Miranda…well… you know. She’s Miranda. She’ll be fine.”



         Before I could jump for joy and tell Steve that he had just reached his own modern enlightenment, I hear Miranda’s bitching floating across the wind into the car. Steve turned around and looked straight forward.

         

         “Don’t say anything, alright?” Steve said as he stared straight forward, “I don’t want to tell Miranda while we’re all stuck out here together.”



         “…lizard? Try kimono dragon!! This is so stupid!” Miranda ripped open the back door. She had earlier refused to sit in the front because the arm in Steve’s car was permanently stuck down, and it bothered her. Beth gleefully traded her seats. 



         “Steve, really, we need to turn around. If you’d just give up this macho bullshit now, we could make it back to the highway before the tank runs dry.  We are in the middle of nowhere, and we have to be in Austin before dark otherwise it will be impossible to find our way around.”



         Miranda had switched tactics. Maybe Beth had talked her down when they were out in the bushes, but I doubt it. Miranda may have been a twinge evil, but she was not entirely stupid. She knew that ranting would only get her so far. Steve’s iron capability to listen to Miranda’s screaming had turned out to come in handy for the rest of us.



         “Please honey…” Miranda bats her eyes so hard, I worry for a minute that the opposing wind from the open window might create a storm system.



         I hear Beth sigh so quietly that had I not been looking at her when it happened, I might have thought it was the wind rustling through the car. She thinks that she has been defeated again by Miranda’s ludicrous charms. She will, as always, gently resolve to take her rightful place at the right hand of the queen, meanwhile hoping to someday pick up the crown when Miranda fumbles it one too many times.

         

         I looked at the back of Beth’s head and willed her to not give up, giving Steve some sign, and letting him know how she feels. I curse them both in my head for being so foolish.



However much it pained me, I had to admit that Miranda was right. The ground had turned a devilish red, the kind of color that dirt gets after centuries of blood and no rain wash. The rocks were wind sharpened, and big enough to be hills. Even the wretched Joshua trees were gone, replaced only by lifeless stones and prickly dead tumbleweeds. The dirt road beneath us had gone from quaint county road to winding off roading. 



         “Maybe she’s right, Steve. Let’s just turn around and go back to the highway. It is getting pretty late and…”



         Beth’s voice floats away in the rumble of the desert like a ghost. She knew better than to interject in the first place and to say more would be foolish of her at this juncture.



         “What do you think?”



         Wait, is someone talking to me?



         I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Steve’s puppy dog eyes, begging for someone to throw him a bone. He wanted me to stand up, puff out my chest, and remind these ladies that the man is in charge, and that he will decide when to turn around.

         



         I shrugged my shoulders so slightly, I think that for a second, Steve was just hoping another ditch was the problem for the miscommunicated lack of giving a shit.



         There was a sudden turn in the road, and Steve almost looses control. He would have had his eyes on the road but he was too busy staring incredulously at me in the mirror. Miranda started to begin the fight anew when she saw the cheerily freshly painted road sign.



PECAN TEXAS

Home of the country’s best Pecan Pie!

Only 4 miles



         No one said anything for a few seconds. Steve looked pleased with himself for leading us directly to somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Beth looked confused, but with a slight hint of pride in Steve, and a twitch of triumph over Queen Miranda, who coincidently, just looked pissed. And as for me, my look said:



         I hate pecan pie.

         

         “Well…”



         This was Steve’s entire suggestion.

         

         “I think we should stop there,” Beth said, in an uncharacteristically brave moment, “We are all tired of driving.”

         

         . “Absolutely not,” Miranda said, in a voice that suggested if she hadn’t been sitting, she’d be stamping her foot down. She was slipping back into her she-hulk mode.



         Steve moaned out, “Miranda, we need to stop somewhere for gas soon anyway. I agree with Beth.”



Steve glanced at Beth and smiled. They locked eyes for a second, and I swear I saw lightening pass between them. Admittedly or not, Steve had to know how Beth felt

         

I’m not sure if Miranda saw the exchange that I did. Regardless, it managed to stun her into a brief silence. Steve didn’t tell her no.



         After 3 miles of surprisingly passionate debate from 3 of the passengers, and 1 loathsome rock-epic worthy screeching, we decided to head to Pecan, Texas, home of the country’s best shitty pie.



         The sun was low in the cloudless spring sky. I looked at the car’s clock and saw it was nearing 3 o’clock. Miranda was slightly hyperventilating once the control of the day was out of her hands. She was talking to, I can only assume, herself, about how if we stayed there for only half an hour, and then got back on the road, we could make it to Austin hopefully by 6, but who knows because Steve has driven themintothemiddleofnowhereanddamnitsteveyouneverlistentomeandidon’tunderstandwhyiamevenwithyouandideservebetterthanyouyouhavenoambition…



         The few minutes it took to finish off the trek to Nutsville, were chalk full of virtually the same thing the rest of the trip was full of. Absolutely nothing worth mentioning.



         We turned sharply a few times, into a valley in the desert. The air felt cooler there, for reasons I can only hope were psychological. And I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I faintly smelt pies baking in the distance. The moment I laid eyes on Pecan, I knew that I was completely fucked.



         The dirt road magically smoothed beneath our tires, and the car’s trembling frame settled down to a fine hum. Steve slowed the car to a snail’s pace, so we could take in the sights.  There was a line of buildings, colored in sweet shades of yellows, blues, and lavenders, in a style that I can safely call “circa 1950s”.  Each house was just like the other, built almost completely square, surrounded by tiny white fences, with a moat of green lawn. The kind of place I pictured Steve and Beth settling down someday. 2.5 children and golden retriever houses. White trim around the window, various shades of delightful curtains on the inside.



There was a tiny gas station, a general store, church and a community hall, in addition to all the houses. These too were old fashioned in design, but well kept. It appeared as though everything in town was lined neatly along this main road, which stretched no more than a mile. I could see 3 cars, sitting in all 3 of the driveways in town. They were the same, uniform black Ford, vintage, and in great condition. The trees were lush and green, despite the surrounding death plains. The smell of freshly cut grass and sugar were wafting in the wind. Birds twittered softly in the background, and everything had a picturesque feel to it. It was creepy.



         “Let’s just get gas and get out of here,” Miranda said, without her usual gusto. She must have been feeling the spine tingles like the rest of us. So apparently she did have some human bones in her body.



         I saw Beth’s eyes dart to Steve. I think I noticed her scoot a little closer to him. The air in the car felt stale, even though the open windows teased us with the scent of Pecan. There was a heaviness to us all, not fear, but caution.  Miranda leaned nearer to me in the backseat. Normally, I would have been more than a bit repulsed, but it felt somehow better knowing that she too sensed something off.



         We pulled into the gas station and I admired the handiwork of whatever sick architect genius designed this place. Despite the obvious retro style, everything looked fresh and new. Even the gas pumps were rounded and fitted with dials instead of green digital readouts.  I saw Steve inspecting one as if it were a pinned butterfly.



         “Just get gas and let’s go,” Miranda said, her lilt was halfway between angry and confused. Something was wrong. She could feel it. So could I.



         “Where is everyone?” Beth asks, barely masking her panic. I took a brief hard look around. Nothing. No one had come outside to greet the strangers, no elderly friendly store clerk to offer us help operating the antiquated gas pump. Nothing.



         “Let’s just go,” Miranda’s eyes were wide, and her cheeks pale.



         “We need gas,” Steve was trying to remain the calm, level headed one, “We’ll just have to figure out how to work this stupid old pump and then we can go.”



         “Let’s just go now,” Miranda begged



         “ It’s either get gas, or run out in the middle of nowhere,” Steve snapped, “ We don’t have a choice so just be patient.”



         I began to tentatively walk toward the station.  My feet kicked up dust, and I had a vague worry about how the trees and grass were so green but the ground so dry. I was nearly to the door when Beth squeaked besides me.



         “I don’t like this,” she said in a voice barely loud enough to be called a whisper, “Something about this whole place feels wrong. Like the whole town is a big doll house.”



         But where are the dolls? 



         I pushed on the door handle, half expecting to be instantly torn apart by some maniac’s vile security system. Or electrocution. Or an ambush. I have seen a few too many horror movies.  I pushed past my fear and pressed against the door. It moved forward with a shudder and opened with a soundtrack worthy screech. 



         The inside was so small, Beth and I had a difficult time both squeezing in. The counter and windows were meticulously clean and the register was a neat, push button model, the likes of which I had only seen in movies. A tiny bell sat out on the counter, next to a neatly hand-written note saying “Please ring bell for service.” The entire inside had an aura of not quite old enough for a museum, but old enough to be nauseatingly outdated.



         My hand hovered for an instant above the bell before I committed. I had seen movies like this. This could be a “Hills Have Eyes” situation. I could feel Beth’s gaze burning pinholes into the back of my palm. I don’t know whether she was willing me to do it, or willing me to let things be.



DING



         The sound was sharp enough to make dogs everywhere clutch their ears and cry. I heard Miranda start up outside about what had been scared out of her. Beth and I simply stood, rapt, waiting for service.



         After 30 seconds from hell, I heard Beth breathe again beside me.



         “Did you hear that?” she said. She looked past me towards Steve and Miranda.



         I tensed. I heard nothing, but that doesn’t mean that there weren’t werewolves under the counter, or behind a gas tank, waiting to strike. I could barely hear Miranda’s muffled voice screaming at Steve.

         

“Steve just broke up with Miranda,” Beth said, her blue eyes lighting up, “I heard it! He said, ‘I’m done listening to you. We’re finished.’”



         Great timing, dude.



         “Do you think I have a chance?” Beth turned to look at me, her freckles seemed to get absorbed in her blushing cheeks. She smiled a little, “I mean, I don’t know how I could compare to Miranda, I mean, she’s so pretty, but maybe.”



I slid outside into the sickeningly fresh air. I figured we’d just have to make this work, get the hell out of Dodge and muse about the situation later. We’d have to put up with Miranda’s rage at least until we get to civilization.  Then maybe I’d just catch a bus. Or maybe Miranda would take a long walk off a short roof.  I figured we could stop and think about it anywhere but here.



         “C’mon,” Miranda muttered under her breath. She watched Steve like a hawk, looking for him to give her an excuse to yell at him again. I didn’t expect her to break down and cry, but I assumed she’d have some sort of response to the break-up besides anger. After all, they’d been together for 4 miserable years.



         “I think maybe it needs to be turned on from inside, or maybe there’s a key,” Steve said listlessly, “I have no fucking clue. There’s not an on/off switch.”



         “Well figure something out or I’m gonna start walking,” I heard the heat rise in Miranda’s voice, “Damnit Steve! It’s not like it’s rocket science or anyth—“



DONG



         My ears hummed and Beth let out a shriek. Miranda inhaled sharply and Steve began to curse. I stood there, in the wake of the deep bell and listened.



         In a very short time, several things occurred. Miranda began.



         “I want to go now!”



         Then Beth



         “Please Steve,”



         Then Steve



         “Get in the car.”



         Then there was the sound of slamming doors and feet, moving towards us.



         I stood stock still, and wide eyed. My feet were lead. A wave of unease washed over me, and I felt the paralysis that had come over all of us. Steve and Miranda stood to my left, so close to the car. Beth stood near me, her hand reached out towards mine. I felt the heat of it but could do nothing to reach back. They came out of the church, just a few adorable houses away from the gas station. Scurrying towards us, mouths gnashing and chattering, was a gaggle of Donna Reeds.



         Perfect hair, in blondes, brunettes and natural red. Perfect smiles and Sunday best dresses. All intermingled with men dressed dashingly in neutral color suits. Children darting between legs, laughing and playing. They could see us, plainly, standing like deer in headlights, waiting to be hit with them.



         They slowed as they approached, moving like a pack of wolves, not surrounding us, but clearly identifying the leader of the pack. She was 30-ish, blonde, and in a blue dress that went down to her mid-calf.  Her teeth were blinding white, and cheeks a rosy glow that came not from Covergirl, but from nature. She smiled sweetly, and soon, we were entranced. I let my posture slip for a minute as I came careening down back to reality. By the time I was back in my right mind, she was within an arms reach of me.



         “Well God has blessed us all today!! Good afternoon!! And welcome to Pecan, Texas, home of the country’s best pecan pie!!”



         We’re going to die here.



         “Well, come, join us.  We’re going to have a picnic lunch behind town hall. There are plenty of delicious pecan pies!!”



         Oh God, I am definitely gonna die here.



         Steve adjusted his stance to a little more relaxed and in command than usual.

         

         “We appreciate the offer folks,” Oh God, did he just use the word folks? “But we really need to get going. We’re supposed to be in Austin tonight and…”



         The Stepford wife interrupted



         “Oh I just Love Austin! Especially this time of year. You’re all so blessed to be traveling there. But Austin is just a skip and a jump away from here. You have plenty of time to relax!! We’d never forgive ourselves for letting you get out of town without trying our pie!!”



         Miranda looked equally disgusted and impressed. Who was this woman to tell her what to do, and how did she get so good at it?



         “Well, I guess we can stay for a bit,” Steve said sheepishly.



         Of course.

         

         What kind of hapless victims would we be if we tried to, you know, escape our own pie filled dooms?



         We were surrounded by people asking us all sorts of things



         “Where did you get your clothes?”



         “Where are you from?”

         

         “What kinda automobile is that?”



         It was impossible to tell how many people there were. 20, 30, 40 maybe. Every man, woman and child looked the same, as though they had all stepped out of a TV sitcom of the olden days. Each and every dress looked hand sewn, and they came in the same light, flowery pattern in every pastel color imaginable. All of the men’s suits were fitted and pressed, and neutral but perfect. Hair all combed wonderfully. Even the occasional scurrying child was impeccable.



         We all casually walked toward the town hall, each of us having our own internal dialogues. I watched Miranda, absolutely loving the attention of the younger gentlemen of the town. Steve and Beth had moved closer together, and I saw Steve lean protectively towards her. Amidst the chaos and weirdness, I felt a jolt of relief to see them together. And me, I had taken place as the alpha of our little pack of strangers. I walked with the leading lady.



         “Well it is just a miracle from the Lord to see some new faces around our wonderful little town! We don’t get very many visitors here,” Sarah said, “I’ve been praying to God to gift us with some guests!”



         Sarah continued to chat about how her great, great, great Grandfather had founded the small town on the way to California in the olden days. Since then, her family has been running Pecan. They grew their own produce, and Ted had a farm not 2 miles west, where they got their meat and milk. Imports were rare, if any, and were usually gifts from the occasional traveler just like ourselves, some of whom had elected to stay after their visit.



         “It’s just so wonderful here, no one ever wants to leave! This poses a bit of a problem, because, as you can tell, we like to keep this a nice, quiet place to live. But we’ve been blessed so far.”



         She mentioned her daughter, Annie, and her husband, Edward. The three of them spent most of their days baking, and praying.

         

         “My husband and I have taken over running the church since Father Warren died, God rest his soul. He was a wonderful man,” Sarah clasped her hands together, “But now he and I do the sermons every day and keep things in line around here.”



         There were several things I noticed after a few minutes of being with Sarah. The first was that chipper people piss me off. Next, I noticed her lack of an accent. No Texas drawl, not even a hint of dropped letters or creative uses of the word ‘yall’. She spoke eloquently and peacefully, almost breathy. Yet she had a strength about her that was terrifyingly powerful.

         

         “What kind of church let’s women become Pastors?” Miranda asked quietly.



         “That’s just the way we do things here,” Sarah said neatly, “You get used to it.”



         We passed by a few of the quaint beautiful homes, and then turned to walk beside the town hall. Town hall wasn’t bigger than most of the houses, but the windows were bigger, and inside I could make out rows of wooden seats and a podium. The whole room had that rustic feel of an old converted school house.



         Sarah was enigmatic and chatty while she led us all to a beautiful picnic set up. There were blankets spread beneath lush trees, and baskets next to each one.  Incredibly Norman Rockwell. Sarah invited Miranda and me to sit with her and Eddie on their checkered blanket. Steve and Beth stood a couple feet away, dangerously close to one another.



         “We have been so blessed by our Savior today! We haven’t had visitors in Pecan for… a long time. The day is beautiful.” Sarah said cheerily.



         “Don’t you get any, ya know, tourists or anything?” Miranda asks, “I mean, since you are the pecan pie capital of the country.”



         Sarah gave her a disquieting look.



         “And share our recipe with just everybody?” she frowned, “It was a gift from the Lord to our town. Why would we want to do that?”



         Sarah quickly turned all smiles again and said,

         

         “Our town was founded on very basic principals outlined in our bible. Part of our duty here on Earth is to uphold the traditions of our most revered forefathers and mothers, God bless their souls. Part of that tradition is our pies. They are made of the body and blood of Christ.”



         “Now speaking of our wonderful pies, why don’t you have a bite?” Sarah looked expectantly at a brunette girl about my age standing near a long, wooden table filled with various types of classic picnic food. I couldn’t see everything from the red and white checkered blanket I was sitting cross legged on, but I could make out some sandwiches, potato salad, and the usual. All packed sweetly in Tupperware.



         The brunette walked straight over to our little pow wow and in her hands she carried a round tin foil dish. I could smell the brown sugar from a few feet away. She sat the pie down in the middle of our blanket, and pulled a long, thick silver cake knife from her white embroidered apron.



         “It’s delicious,” she said, her eyes locking with mine, as she dug into the pie, curving the knife around like an expert.



         “Thank you so very much, Annie,” Sarah said, as she reached inside her own woven tan basket and produced some tiny porcelain plates, inlaid with pink and green flowers. She smiled and held out a plate expectantly, while Annie balanced a perfect triangle of pie on her knife and moved it to the plate.



         

         Annie and Sarah worked like magic, and in a few lightening moments, plates were distributed and we were staring down at perfectly portioned pies in our laps. Sarah pulled some silver forks out of the basket and handed those around as well. I felt a lump rising in my throat and my stomach plummeted.



         Oh God I am definitely gonna die here.



         Just looking at the pie made me ill. The color of it, sort of a sickly brown, and the texture. It looked like the pie was made of mucus. I hate pecan pie. For a brief instant, I debated pulling a meek, “No thanks, I’m not hungry”, but I thought better of it. Frantically I searched around for a way out of eating the pie.



         “ I’m watching my girlish figure, so I’m gonna have to pass,” Miranda smiled near as sweetly as Sarah had before, and you could hear a pin drop.



         Did I mention she’s a bitch?



         I love her.



         “What?” Sarah’s pupils dilated a bit, and her head tilted ever so slightly to the left.



         “I don’t want any pie,” Miranda said, again, in her foot stamping voice. I had a feeling this was simply a delayed reaction to the stress from Steve and Beth. She had to have been able to notice them, standing a few feet there palms flat against one another’s and fingers intertwined, and though their hands were meant to be together.



         “But you must try some,” Sarah stated, unwilling to give in, even for Miranda,

“This pie was a gift from…”



         “No.”

         

         There was a stare down for what seemed like days, I swear millennia passed while Miranda stubbornly locked eyes with Sarah, whose cool and polite demeanor was dripping away like a wax covered skeleton.



         I heard a man’s voice whisper behind me.



         “Blasphemy.”



         It felt like the crowd’s eyes were on us, and I sensed them leaning in. I reached to grab at Miranda’s arm and drag her up with me.



         “We appreciate the offer,” Steve was babbling now, “but we really just need to get going,”



I stood up quickly, and turned around to look at Beth and Steve. I saw Steve pull Beth in close, tugging her to his hip. I heard a few people gasp, and begin to murmur the word ‘heathens’.  I saw how wide Beth’s eyes looked, compared to the narrow stare of the rest of the township. I started to tell them to run, when I heard the sound.



         At first I thought someone was cutting into another pie, or carving into fruit. It sounded wet, but with substance, more solid than liquid, but still a squish. I heard a collective gasp, and saw Beth open her mouth to scream. But when she did, no sound came out. At the same time I felt my own blood rush into my ears, I saw the bubbles of it on Beth’s lips. Steve stood there, his arms around Beth, holding her up, while she gurgled blood. His eyes filled with tears and he tried to speak to her.



         Self-preservation kicked in. I saw a part in the crowd next to me. People were moving to gather around Beth and Steve, like children crowding to fight over the good ball on the playground. I ran. And I didn’t look back.



         I was sure they were at my heels, sure they had seen me and were in rapid pursuit. So I didn’t stop until my hands were pressed flat against the driver’s side window of the car. I pulled the handle and got inside. My hands felt to the ignition. I felt the circle of metal, the indention, the cold of it.



         No keys.



         I flipped the driver’s side overhead flap down, knowing deep inside that the keys were in Steve’s pocket. But I had seen it in the movies so many times, that I had hope.



         No keys.

         

         No way out.



         It was then that I looked around. The car, which had felt temporarily safe, now felt like fishbowl, as if everyone could see me sitting there, helpless. My eyes scanned the buildings. No movement, no pursuing horde. I imagined they were busy with Beth and Steve. I gagged on all the images from every bad zombie movie I had ever seen. Cannibalism, torture. Tomorrow morning, Steve and Beth would be soylent green.



The pies were made of people.



I reigned in my thoughts. I could hide. But they would find me. I couldn’t hot wire a car.  I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t run. They knew this, that’s why they hadn’t chased me. They know I have nowhere to go. 



I need Steve’s keys.



“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!!”



Miranda?



“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?!?”



Definitely Miranda.



         She screamed obscenities that she only used during her least lady like moments. I ducked down in the seat, which offered me little cover, but made me feel more secure.



The mob was moving together like a school of piranha. They were countering Miranda’s cursing with their own cries of “blasphemy’, “heathen’, ‘punishment’ and ‘sacrifice.’ They moved as one around town hall and toward the church doors. They pushed inward and in a swift motion, they were inside, and the street was mine again. There were no signs of Steve or Beth.



         

         I got out of the car and ran as fast as I could towards the picnic. My eyes darted back to the church every few seconds. The stained glass windows prevented anyone from seeing out, I was certain. But for every gust of wind, I had to check.



         The picnic area was nearly as serene as it had been when we first arrived there. Blankets still flat and neat on the green grass, baskets still open food on the wooden tables. But there, near the edge, were Beth and Steve.



         They were neatly laid on their back, on top of what used to be a pale yellow blanket. The middle was soaked with so much blood that it had turned a deep brown. Only a few inches of edge showed the delicate ornate workmanship that had gone into the blanket. It might have been hand quilted. Their hands were still clutched, frozen, in that one moment of togetherness.



         My stomach heaved. I had never been this close to anything this disturbing before.  I forced myself to take baby steps closer and closer, hoping that the shock would simply wear off and I could do my business and leave.



         Tears stung my eyes. Partially because of the realization that Steve and Beth were really gone, but mostly because of the nauseating scent of blood, fresh grass and pie. So I gathered my courage bent down, and poked Steve, right in his side. I waited for him to giggle, to get up and complain of being ticklish. I poked again, harder this time. I imagined him swatting at me with his bloody hands and bent fingers and telling me to quit it.



He’s really dead.



Oh God, my friends are dead.



         I vomited on Steve. All of a sudden, the fear, and the gore, and the sadness, and the smell of that damn sickly sweet pie just rolled over me like a tidal wave.  I wanted to cry, but common sense got a hold of me. 



         I reached my hand out towards Steve’s pockets, covered in blood and bile. I choked my gag reflex and shoved my hand into his right pocket. I fished around for a second.



         Nothing.



         In that moment, I felt nearly destroyed. My only hope of escape, of survival, of not ending up lying on my back on a bloody picnic blanket seemed to vanish.



         Wait. He has another pocket. I reached hungrily towards his left hip, desperate now and not thinking about the filth around me. I felt the tips of my finger poke towards something metallic and cold.



                   I pulled the keys out, got up off my knees and began to run back to the car. Freedom awaited me. I would drive until the gas tank gave out, and then I would run to Austin.



         I was there. I could see the car just a few feet ahead of me, when a glint in the corner of my eye caught my attention.



         “Stop.”



         Annie stood, just a few feet away from me. I had been so busy looking for the keys that I hadn’t noticed her creeping around the gas pump. She was too close now for me to be able to dodge past her. I felt the shine on my cheeks. In her hand, she held a knife. I could still see the flecks of pie on it.



         “Mother says this is my mission from God. I have to take your life, because you are a demon, or I am not worthy of the life He has so graciously given me,” Annie advanced slowly, carefully positioning herself between me and the car, “I will not disappoint our Lord.”



         I waited for Annie to lunge. Maybe when her footing was unsure, I could rush her. She was small, but with the cake knife in her hands, she looked anything but fragile. 



         “Please don’t make this any harder on yourself,” she said softly, almost as enigmatic as her mother, “If you are deserving, you have nothing to fear.” Annie didn’t look afraid, or even perturbed at the idea of killing me. She looked righteous and justified.



         She leaned and I seized my moment. I rushed with all my strength and shoved Annies shoulder. I heard the knife smack the dry road with a dull thud. I reached for it, and felt my hands grip the smooth, silver handle. The knife was heavier than I had imagined, made of real silver.



Annie had been caught off guard. She barely had time to look up at me, as I raised my arms above me head, and drove the knife down. I closed my eyes before I hit her.



         I heard a noise similar to the one Beth had made, and I felt a warm liquid on my hands. I felt Annie struggle for a few seconds before she stopped wiggling. Still I kept my eyes tightly shut. I’m not exactly sure where I hit her, but the way I was aiming, I imagine it to be her shoulder or neck.



         I stand, wobbling on my legs, and moved backwards with my eyes shut. I bumped into the car behind me and my eyes flew open. I see Annie, covered in red, the knife still stuck near her collarbone. I choke back a scream, and grope for the door handle. 



         I was halfway crawled into the car when I heard,



         “Please someone help me!!”



         Miranda. She’s still alive.



         Fuck.



         I thought about what to do. I could try to sneak into the church, the pillar of this demonic town, and try to get her out. I could try to reason with them to let us go. Tell them that because Annie couldn’t do her job, obviously I am deserving of life.  Or I could keep running, like a coward. Hope that I find help and convince them in time to save Miranda. Before they do to her what they did to Steve and Beth. Before they find out whether or not she’s worthy.



As I turned the keys in the ignition, I felt a faint moment of guilt. Maybe I could have risked my life for Miranda. I have no idea what they did to her, or how long she lived, or if she’s still there now, rotting in some hellish 50s home, high from the aerosol spray in her hair and drunk on God’s will. I don’t know. And I don’t care.



I had half a tank of gas. The car roared, and I drove off into the sunset, away from the smell of death and pecan pie.