After Dark by James Leck, Yasemine Uçar, Marie Bartholomew, Danielle Mulhall Page B

brown eyes sitting behind me.”
    â€œThere’s nobody sitting behind you.”
    I turned. The brown-eyed girl was gone, along with her friends.
    â€œI could really use your help,” Miles said.
    I glanced around the room. It was no good. They were really gone. And the three mannequins that had been standing by the wall were gone, too.
    I threw back the rest of the Re-Animator and slammed the jar down on the bar.
    â€œThe three guys with the sunglasses — what happened to them?” I asked, pointing at the back wall.
    â€œThey left.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œAt the same time as the girls. Right around the time you were telling me about what you like to do during your summer vacations.”
    I rushed across the room and out into the alley. It was empty. The sun wasn’t down yet, but the light was fading.
    I ran around the corner and back out to Church Street. It was still busy; I couldn’t spot the girls or the three mannequins. A moment later, Miles ran up beside me.
    â€œHow could you just let them walk out like that, with those three guys hanging around?” I snapped.
    â€œThey didn’t leave together — not exactly.”
    â€œThey were obviously …” I started and then hesitated. “They were clearly … well, they seemed a little odd.”
    â€œYes, they were odd,” Miles said seriously. “Something bad is happening, Charlie. This is my hometown. I know these people,” he said, gesturing toward the street with his hands, “and I don’t want them to get infected.”
    â€œInfected?”
    â€œIt’s just a hypothesis,” he said. “We have to test it first, and then show the evidence to the world. We need to move, Charlie, or it’s going to be too late.”
    I took one last look along Church Street for the girl with the brown eyes or the mannequin triplets. I didn’t see any of them.
    â€œFine,” I said, “but I want the record to show that the only reason I’m doing this is because I’m lazy and don’t want to walk all the way back to the inn.”
    â€œDone!” he said.
    Saturday, 8:30 p.m.
    Miles led me back down the alley, past the Voodoo and a couple of stores, and over to a collection of garbage bins that smelled like coffee grounds. His minicycle was parked just beyond the garbage cans, but now there was a red wagon attached to the back.
    â€œWhat’s the wagon for?” I asked.
    â€œFor you,” he said, sliding his backpack off. He unzipped it and pulled out a small handheld video camera. “You need to record what we see.”
    â€œAre you sure Shelley has enough juice to pull me?” I said, taking the camera.
    â€œI’ve made some adjustments to the engine,” he said, putting on the backpack. “It’ll do the job.”
    â€œThis thing isn’t going to fall off halfway up one of those hills?” I asked, climbing into the wagon.
    â€œNot a chance,” he said, starting up the bike and sliding on a dark green helmet that looked like it was issued by the military in about 1943. There were old-style goggles wrapped around the helmet, which he slid down over his eyes.
    â€œShouldn’t I be wearing a helmet, too?” I asked, but Miles just revved the engine and tore off down the alley.
    I jangled along, gripping the sides of the wagon as we hurtled by garbage bins and the rear doors of the shops that lined Church Street. We were driving away from Oak Avenue, toward the other end of Church, and I could see the end of the alley speeding toward us when one of the rear doors flew open and a man wearing a white apron stepped in front of us. I would have screamed, but I didn’t have time. Miles swerved toward the brick wall on our right, missed a collection of garbage bins by the width of my fingernails and torpedoed past the man.
    â€œStupid idiot!” the man roared.
    A half second later, Miles whizzed