Black Moon by Kenneth Calhoun Page B

was only for a few seconds, but it was enough for the Marine, who caught the dropping of her head in the rearview. He turned in his seat, reaching for her with both hands, completely abandoning the wheel and shouting incomprehensibly, and she jolted awake. She screamed, seeing the crashed car rushing toward them over his shoulder. The impact sucked him halfway out the windshield and spat him back into the driver’s seat with a smashed face. The car crumpled toward her as she folded over, bashing her mouth on her own knees, then blasted back with the seat into the trunk, which held her like a coffin. She had hadto kick it open to escape, then wandered a few wobbly steps before collapsing on the shoulder, out cold. Another crash—a car plowing into the trunk she had just fled—jolted her back onto her feet. She darted for the concrete barrier that lined the road and almost threw herself over before realizing she was several stories above the ground.
    NOW she was in the home of some strangers, staring into the mirror looking like a stranger herself. Maybe she was no stranger to them, she pondered. Maybe I just think I’m a stranger because I was in a crash. I’m just confused or something. Happens in movies all the time. Maybe I really do live here and have always lived here and that other life is just a dream I had. That’s why they don’t ask who I am. But she also knew that the sleepless are like that. They lose the ability to recognize people.
    Plus, they get really stupid, Lila reminded herself as she stepped back into the hallway. You can talk them out of anything, except shipping you off to some imaginary safe zone, even though it’s just a rumor passed around by a bunch of sleepless lunatics.
    Oh, man, my face kills.
    She found the next door closed, but not locked, so she ducked inside. The bed was unmade. There were posters of shirtless actors on the wall. Eww. That whole vampire scene that Lila hated. This must be the cheerleader’s room. She went over to the desk where a laptop sat. She tried to turn it on. Nothing, of course. There were trophies on a shelf—cheerleading victories.
    Catching her reflection again in the dresser mirror, it occurred to her that she should change her clothes. She searched the drawers and selected a pair of jeans. Sitting on the bed, she stripped off her bloodstained shorts and slid into the pants. Theywere a little loose, but she cinched them tight around her narrow waist with a belt.
    She decided she wanted a shirt with buttons so she wouldn’t have to pull anything over her battered and bruised head. When she pulled open the closet door, she was confronted by two large eyes in the darkness—unblinking eyes the size of saucers. She gasped and drew back before her brain could process what she was seeing.
    It was a mask.
    The mask of a team mascot. An owl’s head with enormous eyes. Oh, yeah, she thought, recalling the local high school’s team name from the trophies. The Night Owls.
    OUT on the street there was a commotion at the center of the cul-de-sac, where the ashes were piled. Several parents and kids had emerged from the houses and were gathering in the hot, shadeless street. Lila could see them from the cheerleader’s window. She wondered if one of the kids was the cheerleader. Maybe they had food out there. The soggy cornflakes hadn’t quite filled the void of hunger. She had been carrying it for weeks now—always hungry, always sleepy.
    She made her way to the gathering, stepping over the clutter of objects the houses seemed to have coughed up on the yellow lawns—toaster ovens, printers, shattered televisions and torn-up books, soiled clothes, soccer cleats, documents blowing around. Broken shards of circuit boards and plates, barbecue grills. How had all this gotten outside? A couple of young boys came up behind Lila, running past her toward the ash pile, where two men were standing with rifles slung on their backs. Lila studied them. Could they drive her