the parking lot, down the hill and into the woods. Lana followed. Fred’s pink plastic flip-flops slapped against his heels. Together they scrabbled a little ways down the trail, then turned off of it into the grass and brush. Tall sprays of grass thrashed all around them.
“All right,” said Fred, turning around to Lana. “Let’s take some shots here.”
Fred aimed the camera at her and took a picture with the flash. Slackit . The flashbulb spat a piercing blank field of light at her, and for a fraction of a second her monstrous shadow stretched high up into the trees. The light of the flashbulb bounced off the paint on her skin; it made her shine with false light, the stolen light of a reflective surface—a mirror, a moon, a satellite.
At first it looked like Lana didn’t know what to do with herself. Her skinny adolescent body was positioned in an awkward, unattractive way, her arms cradled against her torso like she wanted something to hold on to.
“What should I do?”
Fred ratcheted back the lever to advance the film, sank a finger into the shutter-release button—flash, slackit .
“Just, uh, I dunno. Do whatever,” he said. “Relax. Pretend you’re a . . . Pretend you’re a wild animal or something.”
As Fred took more pictures Lana appeared to gradually loosen up and get into it. She started to become comfortable with being his model, with being naked, being vulnerable, on display, outside, in a place she’d never been before in her life, with him. She was hopping around, thrashing around in the grass, being a bunny, being a fox, being a deer. Slackit, slackit . Again, Fred was sinking into that trance of concentration that he went into when he was working intently on something, and he began thinking exclusively in images, or how to capture the images. He was thinking about lines, framing, exposures, depths of field, and the distribution of light, and in his mind this stuff pushed away all the thoughts about all the things he hated in the world, and all his problems, and all his troubles: troubles with money, troubles with drugs, not having health insurance, forgetting to pay his bills or brush his teeth or clip his toenails or reregister his car, the government, people who don’t love music or art or any of the other things that make life worth living, being an adult in general.
At some point Lana said: “Look.”
She was pointing up. Fred followed her finger, looked where she was pointing. An object, like a tiny, dim moving star, was scrolling slowly across the sky. The light moved in a shallow arc, gathering in brightness until it became a bright white flash, and then the light, though still moving in the same direction and at the same speed, began to fade, until it disappeared from the sky.
They were still and silent for long enough that the crickets forgot them and started chirping again.
“ Whoa! ” Fred whispered, awed. “Was that a fucking UFO?”
Lana rolled her eyes.
“No, Fred,” she said. “I think it was like a satellite or something.”
Then they heard someone, someone not too far away, screaming in the dark.
• • •
“Jesus, dog, why you gotta go all psycho on the motherfucker,” said Jackson. “I mean you just fucked him up bad , dog. I seen some shit before but I ain’t never seen ’at much blood come out of a motherfucker’s head like ’at.”
Maggie squirmed out of Jackson’s hold, kneeled down on the ground and hugged Caleb Quinn. She was crying. Jackson picked up the flashlight.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here. I can’t fuckin’ believe you brung the bitch with you, dog. You wanna look like a cowboy and shit in front of her? Is that it? Fucking stupid, dog.”
Jackson pointed the flashlight at Kelly, who looked down at himself and saw that his clothes were covered in blood. Maggie was still hugging Caleb, and now she was also covered in blood.
“What time you reckon it is?” said Kelly, trying to sound casual.
Jackson pointed
“All right,” said Fred, turning around to Lana. “Let’s take some shots here.”
Fred aimed the camera at her and took a picture with the flash. Slackit . The flashbulb spat a piercing blank field of light at her, and for a fraction of a second her monstrous shadow stretched high up into the trees. The light of the flashbulb bounced off the paint on her skin; it made her shine with false light, the stolen light of a reflective surface—a mirror, a moon, a satellite.
At first it looked like Lana didn’t know what to do with herself. Her skinny adolescent body was positioned in an awkward, unattractive way, her arms cradled against her torso like she wanted something to hold on to.
“What should I do?”
Fred ratcheted back the lever to advance the film, sank a finger into the shutter-release button—flash, slackit .
“Just, uh, I dunno. Do whatever,” he said. “Relax. Pretend you’re a . . . Pretend you’re a wild animal or something.”
As Fred took more pictures Lana appeared to gradually loosen up and get into it. She started to become comfortable with being his model, with being naked, being vulnerable, on display, outside, in a place she’d never been before in her life, with him. She was hopping around, thrashing around in the grass, being a bunny, being a fox, being a deer. Slackit, slackit . Again, Fred was sinking into that trance of concentration that he went into when he was working intently on something, and he began thinking exclusively in images, or how to capture the images. He was thinking about lines, framing, exposures, depths of field, and the distribution of light, and in his mind this stuff pushed away all the thoughts about all the things he hated in the world, and all his problems, and all his troubles: troubles with money, troubles with drugs, not having health insurance, forgetting to pay his bills or brush his teeth or clip his toenails or reregister his car, the government, people who don’t love music or art or any of the other things that make life worth living, being an adult in general.
At some point Lana said: “Look.”
She was pointing up. Fred followed her finger, looked where she was pointing. An object, like a tiny, dim moving star, was scrolling slowly across the sky. The light moved in a shallow arc, gathering in brightness until it became a bright white flash, and then the light, though still moving in the same direction and at the same speed, began to fade, until it disappeared from the sky.
They were still and silent for long enough that the crickets forgot them and started chirping again.
“ Whoa! ” Fred whispered, awed. “Was that a fucking UFO?”
Lana rolled her eyes.
“No, Fred,” she said. “I think it was like a satellite or something.”
Then they heard someone, someone not too far away, screaming in the dark.
• • •
“Jesus, dog, why you gotta go all psycho on the motherfucker,” said Jackson. “I mean you just fucked him up bad , dog. I seen some shit before but I ain’t never seen ’at much blood come out of a motherfucker’s head like ’at.”
Maggie squirmed out of Jackson’s hold, kneeled down on the ground and hugged Caleb Quinn. She was crying. Jackson picked up the flashlight.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here. I can’t fuckin’ believe you brung the bitch with you, dog. You wanna look like a cowboy and shit in front of her? Is that it? Fucking stupid, dog.”
Jackson pointed the flashlight at Kelly, who looked down at himself and saw that his clothes were covered in blood. Maggie was still hugging Caleb, and now she was also covered in blood.
“What time you reckon it is?” said Kelly, trying to sound casual.
Jackson pointed
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