Watchers

Blood

Troy had some serious trouble getting his car out of the parking lot. He didn't talk to me at all as he tried to maneuver his piece of junk around the other, nicer cars. Both of us were soaking wet from running out of the gym. The rain was pouring in heavy sheets and the wind was so strong I'd had trouble running straight. Now, the two of us were getting the seats of his car nice and damp. The inside smelled like smoke and sour milk anyway, so I didn't think the scent of mold would really bother Troy. I'd been in his car quite a few times for Sloppy Soldiers rides. I was always in the back while Adam was up front, so to be riding shotgun was kind of a new experience. More than once, I sort of wished I was in the back. The front window gave a much larger view of the storm, and it was the freakiest thing I'd ever seen.

Troy must've been driving ten miles an hour, but the wind was so strong and the roads were so covered in rain that his car skidded sideways pretty often. I didn't even ask him where we were going because I didn't want to break his concentration. He looked super scared, like he was standing face to face with the devil or something. I just kept my eyes off of him as much as I could and watched the outside with growing fear. Driving through town was a trip. Buildings were hurt from fallen branches and a lot of wires were shaking. But I didn't see any real tornado damage. Nothing like roofs being ripped off houses or trees being uprooted. I didn't think the real trouble had hit yet, if there was going to be any at all.

We made it out of town safely, but most of that was because we were the only people insane enough to be out on the road and there was no chance of us getting in an accident with someone else. It took about twenty minutes, but Troy finally made it to the four-lane road we Goldenrock inhabitants called the highway. Once we were on that, driving was a little easier. He couldn't go too fast, but there weren't things blocking our path like there were in town. Plus, the highway was up kind of high, so the rain wasn't flooding it.

Another half-hour and I saw what had to be our destination. I hadn't said a word to Troy the whole drive, so when I started talking, he practically jumped in his seat, like he'd forgotten I was there. "Is that it?" I asked him, not caring if I'd startled him. "The Coach Motel?"

He nodded nervously, his shaggy brown hair flapping wetly against his cheeks. "That's it. Dropped Nyler off here several days ago. He paid me to get him a room. Wouldn't take money from a kid, you know. So I did it for him. Number fourteen's his."

"Why would you get him a room?" I asked. "Don't you know how much people are worried about him?"

Troy shrugged, keeping his blank expression. "Nyler's got his own ideas. Like me. You got to honor a man's individualism."

I shook my head. "Whatever. Just drop me off outside his room."

We'd gone down the exit ramp and were approaching the ratty-looking, one-story motel. A light flickered at the office, and there were little bulbs outside every door, but other than that, it was pretty dead. The sky was dark and the weather was terrible, so I almost didn't want to get out of the car when Troy parked in front of room number fourteen. "What are you going to do?" I asked, not even really caring about his answer.

"Me? I'm going for cover. Not here, though. I'm off. Don't ask me to wait, cause I'm not going to."

I didn't respond. I didn't care if he waited or not. I'd find my own way home, and I was going to have to, too. Right when I got out of the car, Troy turned the junker around and got right back on the highway. It was just me and the door to room number fourteen. A dim light was on in the room window, but it was hard to see because thick curtains were pulled across it. I stepped up onto the stairs so I at least was covered from the rain by the small roof overhead. I was sure my steps creaked as I went toward the door, but the wind and thunder and rain muffled them. For some reason, I was really scared to go into that room. I guess it was because I didn't know for certain what I'd find in there. Adam, hopefully—but all the cops' talk about finding his body freaked me into thinking I would enter the room and find him lying dead on the floor. Or dead in the closet. Or dead in the bathroom. Or maybe I wouldn't even see him at all. Maybe he skipped out of the motel. Caught a ride somewhere else. Maybe he hitched a ride to Florida or something.