of locusts. Christopher’s mother ran out of the ICU.
Chapter 95
Mrs. Henderson felt something shudder through her. A horrible cold breeze that ran from the inside out. Like a toothache. She knew she was behind schedule. That was unacceptable. The voice told her.
Unacceptable.
Mrs. Henderson quickened her pace. She passed the Collins Construction bulldozers and cranes, lying still like her husband back in the hospital. Big useless hunks of metal like the ones keeping that bastard alive. The doctors had no idea why he hadn’t died, but she did. She knew what all of this meant. She knew what was coming next. For everyone. Especially Christopher.
Mrs. Henderson parked the sheriff’s car and entered the Mission Street Woods.
She had never been there before, but she knew exactly where to go. The voice told her where. Left at the tree. Right at the boulder.
Right down the path, Mrs. Henderson.
Mrs. Henderson looked down at the dirt. She saw footprints of all sizes. All of them heading to one place. The same place Mrs. Henderson was going.
Hurry. You have to hurry.
Mrs. Henderson picked up her tired legs and started running. It was slightly uncomfortable because each step ripped the wound in her side back open. But no pain, no gain, as the kids liked to say. Her pair of hiking boots cut through the snow and mud. She ran through the coal mine tunnel, passing a dozen deer who bounced behind her like puppies. The voice rang louder and louder in her mind.
Hurry now. You don’t have much time.
Mrs. Henderson reached the clearing and stopped.
It was so beautiful. It was more beautiful than her husband standing at the altar. More beautiful than her vows. Or their wedding night. Mrs. Henderson had never seen anything so beautiful in all her life. There was a magnificent old tree and the most beautiful little tree house resting on its branches.
There were hundreds of people around the tree.
As silent as church.
She knew some of the people from school, like Ms. Lasko and Brady Collins and Jenny Hertzog. Some students from the past who went from adorable little boys to bald middle-aged men in the blink of an eye. But there were other people she didn’t know. Random faces she might have seen once at the grocery store or gas station or during her brief time in jail. But she may as well have known them all. That’s how comfortable she felt.
That’s how comfortable they all felt.
She walked through the clearing, and the crowd parted for her like the Red Sea. All faces turned to her. All faces smiled. They were all so happy to see each other. This was a glorious day. There was no more pain. No suffering. In all of her life, Mrs. Henderson had never seen the Christmas spirit this beautiful.
Mrs. Henderson walked up to Ms. Lasko. The two women smiled at each other and nodded their greetings before laughing at their own silly formality. Then, they hugged as if they were long-lost sisters. And really…weren’t they? Weren’t they all? Mrs. Henderson held Ms. Lasko in her arms. Then, they each put a maternal hand on the shoulders of the young ones—Brady Collins and Jenny Hertzog. They all felt so much better. In one moment, they all had the same thought.
Someone finally understands me.
Ms. Lasko knew she didn’t need to feel sober anymore just like Brady Collins knew he didn’t need to sleep in the doghouse just like Jenny Hertzog knew she didn’t need to strip for her stepbrother. And if anyone said otherwise, well, the community could put their foot down, couldn’t they? If some awful people like Christopher’s mother or his friends or the sheriff or Ambrose Olson got in the way, they could be stabbed again and again. The group would rid itself of anyone who didn’t understand. And when the war came, they would win.
Because good guys always win wars.
They all knelt down and put their hands on the tree together. The tree was warm like a baby’s bottom. The serenity they felt was unlike anything they’d ever known. The cold side of the pillow mixed with a hot bath. In one moment, all of their fevers broke. All of their arms stopped itching. They were finally at peace. The calm before the storm.
The peace before the war.
“It’s time,” Mrs. Henderson said.
Mrs. Henderson picked up her weekend bag. She felt the soft leather in her hands. The cold zipper gave way like vertebrae snapping. She opened the bag and pulled out the sharp