The Demon Conspiracy (2 page)

All at once everything outside vanished
again. Mr. Bishop quickly switched to the bright headlights, but it
was like bouncing a spotlight off a mirror right back into their
eyes.

“That didn’t work,” he said, dimming the
lights. He returned to a lower speed. “I’m sure there’s an
intersection around here some place. Wish I could see.”

He’d barely spoken the words when a bright,
yellow glow appeared in front of them. Mr. Bishop hit the brakes.
They skidded to a complete stop just as the light changed to red.
Travis never stirred, but Kelly woke up immediately.

“Good call, dad.” Jon
gripped his seat with white knuckles. That was
close
. Scanning the area he could
just make out dim lights and ghostly outlines of a few old
buildings around the intersection. It looked like a small town.
There were maybe a half dozen houses, a gas station, and some kind
of store. People lived there, but the smoke made the whole place
seem deserted.

“Are we there yet?” asked Kelly
groggily.

“We’re at Boyd’s Crossroads,” said their
dad, looking right and left.

“I don’t remember this,”
said Mrs. Bishop. “Do you
really
know where we are?”

“Never been lost in my life. The smoke makes
it look different, that’s all.” Mr. Bishop pointed ahead. “See?
There’s the sign for I-95. It’s four miles to the interstate.”

“Does that mean there won’t be anymore
smoke?” asked Jon.

“It’ll be four lanes and a safer drive
either way.”

“What time is it?” said Kelly.

“Why?” asked their dad jokingly. “Do you
have an important meeting tonight?”

“Oh, Daddy, I was just wondering.” She
rolled her eyes and giggled.

Mr. Bishop checked his watch. “Ten after
ten.”

It wasn’t unusual for Mr. Bishop to tell
them what time it was, since he wore a watch and they didn’t. Even
Travis asked about it, now and then, as he rapidly learned to talk.
But this was the one time of day that Jon would never forget as
long as he lived.

The light turned green. Mr. Bishop eased the
minivan forward. Smoke covered them like a shroud as they passed
through the intersection. Jon wondered how his dad could even tell
where the road was. Suddenly, a bright flash tore aside the
darkness. Jon saw it coming. Headlights! A truck!

At that moment he recalled
the time.
Ten after ten
. It would be the last thing his father ever said. Then
everything went black.

***

Jon understood now.
They
had
been in
a wreck. His stomach hurt because the seatbelt had saved his life,
but right now it was putting a major squeeze on him. He caught a
pungent smell in the air.
Gasoline.
Something was smoldering too and smelled foul.
The car could catch fire at any moment. They needed help
fast.
Somebody
had to do
something
!

But nobody else was there. He was the only
one who could do anything at all.

All at once Kelly cried out. “M-m-mommy!
Daddy! Help me!”

Jon released the buckle on his seatbelt and
dropped to the passenger side window, which was now on the street.
Slowly, he stood on wobbly legs and got his bearings. Kelly
thrashed above him. She cried and kicked wildly. The toe of her
shoe poked his forehead, nearly jabbing him in the eye.

“Kelly, stop! I’ve got you!”

She calmed enough for him to unlock her
seatbelt and catch her. He reached overhead and manually opened the
sliding door. “Are you okay?”

Kelly trembled with relief. She wiped her
eyes with the back of her hand. “I…I think so.”

“Good. Get out. I’ll lift Travis up to you.
Take him over to the sidewalk, okay?”

Kelly climbed out the side door, which was
now on top.

“Here,” said Jon from below. “Don’t drop
him.” He lifted Travis up through the door. Kelly took the little
boy and set him beside her on the van. Jon frowned. His little
brother was utterly still, arms and legs dangling listlessly. “Is
he all right? Is he…you know…alive?”

“He’s still asleep.”

“He really
can
sleep through
anything! Can you see what happened to us?” Jon looked up and
watched his sister scan the area.

“We were in a accident.” With a
six-year-old’s vocabulary she went on to describe the scene around
them. The bottom of the van was jammed against a telephone pole.
Smoke rose from somewhere inside the engine compartment and fluids
leaked all over the street. About thirty feet away a huge dump
truck rested with its front partially smashed in. Steam rose from
its engine, but she didn’t see anyone inside the truck.

“Go,” said Jon solemnly. He climbed through
the door and poked his head into the night air. From there he kept
a cautious eye on Kelly as she did her best to climb down the
luggage rack to the street without losing her hold on Travis. She
made it and carried her brother to a safe spot. Satisfied, Jon
dropped back into the van. Two down, two more to go.

He stepped over and around the captain’s
seats until he got to his mother. Mrs. Bishop lay curled up on the
passenger door, still in her seatbelt. He released the seatbelt and
bent to pick her up. Jon was strong and his mother was tiny, so he
thought he could handle her weight. But her limpness made her
heavy. It was everything he could do just to move her. Luckily, the
windshield was completely gone, broken and scattered all over the
street. He climbed through the opening and carefully took his
mother by her arms. With all his strength he dragged her out of the
vehicle.

Kelly put Travis on a patch of damp ground
and ran back to help. Broken glass crunched under their shoes as
they dragged Mrs. Bishop to where Travis was curled up sucking his
thumb.

“Jon, you’re bleeding!” Kelly touched the
edge of his forehead. A two-inch wound bled freely down the side of
his face.

It explained why his head hurt. He turned
away from her. “Don’t. I gotta get dad.” He was about to go back to
the van when he noticed Kelly staring oddly at their mother. Jon
looked down. Something about her neck didn’t look right. It had an
unnatural bend to it, as if snapped to one side.

All at once flames rose from inside the
engine. They both jumped back.

“Jon!”

Jon froze at the sight. He couldn’t believe
this was happening. He wanted to act, but his feet wouldn’t move.
The van could explode any second and all he could do was watch.

Jon! Hurry!

The words were shouted inside his head. He
recognized Kelly’s voice, but somehow her mouth hadn’t moved when
she said it. The urgency in her eyes made him jump. He raced to the
van.

“Dad! Dad, wake up!”

Fire spread over the van
like a hot flood. The front license plate read
Bishop 5
, but the letters curled and
turned black in the intense heat.
In the
flickering light Jon saw his father more clearly than before. His
head and face were bloodier than he’d realized. Jon fought off a
wave of terrible thoughts that his dad might already be
dead.
No! Not dead! He has to be
saved!

Jon tried to crawl through the windshield.
Scorching flames shot up and blocked the way. Fire was everywhere.
How could he possibly save his father? He went toward the
windshield opening again. The heat was intense. Flames licked at
his face. He drew back in near panic. All at once he began to cry.
He couldn’t help it.

“DAD!” he screamed. “DAD! WAKE UP!” Jon had
never felt so helpless. Frustration gave way to desperation.

“DADDY! PLEASE, WAKE UP!”

His father never moved. But the fire
responded with the roar of a hungry beast. Desperation gave way to
madness.

Ignoring the danger, Jon broke through the
wall of fire and got inside the minivan. Flames licked at him from
every angle. It didn’t matter anymore. He’d rather die with his dad
than live without trying to help him.

Hot smoke filled the van. Jon tried to
recall what he’d been taught about fire safety at school. But those
lessons had only covered being in a burning house. This was
completely different. The toxic smells of melting plastic and
burning fuels were suffocating. It didn’t seem to matter whether he
stood tall or kept low. Either way he inhaled scalding, poisonous
gases. He groped around and found his dad.

Beside him Mr. Bishop hung from his
seatbelt, unconscious—or worse. His face and head were a bloody
mess.

“DAD!”

Jon tried to undo the seatbelt. The buckle
was hot. It burned his fingers just to touch it. A strip of molten
plastic dripped off the door and landed across his left forearm. It
seared the flesh instantly.

Jon screamed in agony. But he never stopped
fighting the seatbelt release. He pressed the release button with
all his strength. It was locked tight.

“I can’t get it open!”

“Jon! Get out of there!” Kelly had moved
closer to the fire.

“I’m not leaving him! Get away!”

Jon fought furiously with the seatbelt. His
fingers burned every time he touched the hot buckle. He pulled and
punched and even chewed on the belt. Nothing could open it. Any
second now the van was going to blow up. If it did, he would die
with his father.

Fine!
Then I’ll die, too!

NO!
cried Kelly inside his head.
You
can’t!

Jon looked up, stunned. It sounded like she
was in his mind again.

“I can’t get it open!” He coughed, desperate
for clean air. Tears poured out of his eyes. He needed to get away
from the fire—but not without Dad.

Suddenly, Jon got the feeling he wasn’t
alone. He looked back.

An older man in blue jeans and white running
shoes also risked the flames. He stooped over the dashboard and
reached out his hand. Resting in his palm was a Swiss Army knife,
the longest blade pulled out.

“Here, kid!” cried the man. “You’d better
hurry!”

Jon took the knife and quickly sawed through
the seatbelt. His father landed hard on top of him. Luckily, the
man caught some of the load. Together they dragged and tugged Mr.
Bishop out of the van. By now several other people had arrived to
help. Moments later the van exploded in a ball of fire.

“I called the police and the rescue squad,”
said an old woman who stood beside the man with the pocketknife.
“An ambulance is on the way.”

Jon coughed uncontrollably in long, deep
heaves. The man patted him on the back to help loosen the nastiness
in his lungs. His face, arms and hands were burned and bloody. The
old woman started slapping his right leg just above the ankle.

“Your pants are on fire!” She quickly put it
out.

“Kid, that’s the bravest damn thing I’ve
ever seen in my life,” said the man with the knife. “Or the
stupidest. But I understand why you did it.” The man looked at the
Swiss Army knife and shook his head. “It’s so strange. I didn’t own
a pocketknife until a half hour ago. Some guy I didn’t know came up
to me and put it in my hand. He told me it was a good knife and
might come in handy some time.”

Jon barely heard him. He looked down. Kelly
sat between their mom and little brother. She leaned close to her
mother’s face and whispered to her.

“Mommy! Wake up, Mommy! Are you okay? Can
you hear me?”

Their mother opened her eyes ever so
slightly. She half smiled at her daughter. Then her fading gaze
settled on Jon as she let out a long, last breath and lay still.
Kelly jerked and cried out like she’d been electrocuted. She
grabbed her own head with both hands and began to sob.

“I love you,
too
, Mommy! Oh, Mommy,
please don’t leave us!” Kelly looked up at Jon. “She said goodbye.
She said she loves us all. It hurts my head
so
bad!”

Jon stared at his mother in total shock and
disbelief. “No! She’s not dead! I saved her! They’re just
hurt!”

“No….” Kelly wailed in spastic throbs.
“They’re…dead!”

Kelly flopped across her mother’s body and
pressed her face into her breast. Jon looked down at his mom, then
at his dad. Dad hadn’t stirred the entire time they moved him and
he clearly wasn’t breathing now. It finally struck him like a bolt
of lightning. Kelly was right. Their mommy and daddy really were
dead. Jon collapsed from the shock. The man caught him and set him
on the ground.

The old woman checked Mrs. Bishop’s pulse.
After a while she bit her lip and went to Mr. Bishop. She shook her
head sadly. “Little girl’s right. I don’t know how she knew, but
she’s right.”

All at once Travis sat up, thumb in mouth,
looking dazed. He smiled groggily at the woman. Then he curled up
in the crook of his dead mother’s arm and went back to sleep.

2

THE BULLY—SEVEN YEARS
LATER

KELLY

I hate Kelly Bishop. I just wanna kick her
face in.

The random thought snapped me out of a deep
sleep. I wiped drool off my cheek and pulled a strand of curly
brown hair from my mouth. I looked up, totally confused. Where was
I? What day was it? What’s this puddle of saliva doing on my
desk?

Then it hit me. Monday
morning, first hour, math class. Oh yeah, talk about your major
letdown. As usual I’d dozed off listening to the teacher, Ms. Zach,
drone on forever about the value of x or y or some other dumb
letter. Ms. Zach was old, gray and still single after like a
hundred years. That woman could put the Energizer Bunny to sleep. I
rolled my eyes (something I’m really good at) and was about to plop
my head back on the desk, but the
hate
thought was a definite wake up
call. Why would somebody think like that? I mean we’re talking
about Kelly Bishop here. That’s me!