Oblation: A Spine-Tingling Crime Thriller set in Small-Town California, page 4
Michael watched out the window as the man slid the side door of the van closed and walked around to the driver’s side, and climbed in. The van pulled forward, moving out of the space where it had been parked between the bus and what looked like a warehouse. It proceeded down the side of the warehouse before disappearing around the far corner of the building. Michael had two fear-filled thoughts as he watched the van disappear: Alex and Amanda.
As the man maneuvered the van around the corner of the warehouse, his thoughts went back to the boy in the wheelchair. He did feel bad for the boy. The day was going to be a comfortable fall day, but inside that bus, it was going to get hot as the day wore on. The other children would be uncomfortable, but they should all sleep until much later in the day when they should wake up. Maybe. They would be dehydrated and disoriented, but should be okay. The boy in the wheelchair would have to sit there all day in the heat until one of the other kids woke up. It was going to be a miserable day for him, but he would most likely survive like the rest of the kids. Then he had another thought. The boy might be better off than the rest of the kids. He remembered seeing the boy’s lunch box attached to the side of the wheelchair. The man had noticed it when he was searching for the kid’s ringing phone. The boy would have access to food and probably something to drink. Yeah, he would be okay.
The man smiled to himself as he stopped the van just outside the gate leading into the abandoned industrial park. He saw no cars on the road as he got out and closed the chain-link gate, securing it with a padlock. Looking back toward the warehouse, he confirmed what he already knew: the bus could not be seen from the street. Climbing back into the van, he looked back at the five sleeping bodies among the pillows and blankets. Don’t want any of them to be bruised. They are special. He reached over and turned on the radio, where a story about the latest debate between Barack Obama and Mitt Romney was airing on NPR. Yeah, the stakes are too important.
He heard the police siren and felt his fingers tighten across the steering wheel. He tried putting on a relaxed face as he watched the police car with its flashing lights fly past the entrance of the industrial park. The officer did not even glance at the white van waiting to pull out of the industrial driveway. The driver pulled the white van onto the side road, careful to use his blinker and maintain a proper speed. Then, making his way over to Highway 299, he headed east out of town.
EIGHT
Gary Oakes looked across the library’s table at Mr. and Mrs. Guerro, wondering if there was anything he could say that might ease their concern. He decided there wasn’t, so he chose silence as his best option. Once he and the police officer had determined that the bus was missing, Mr. Oakes phoned back to the school and ordered the school security code to be changed to yellow. The announcement had immediately gone out over the school’s PA system. “Mr. Smith, if you are in the building, please come to the front office; Mr. Smith, please come to the front office.” This was a coded message for the teachers that the school was in lockdown. It was not as dire as a code red lockdown when teachers and students would have barricaded their doors and gotten into defensive positions, but by the time Mr. Oakes arrived back at the school with the sheriff’s deputy and Mrs. Guerro, every classroom door was locked, and no students were in the hallway. Mrs. Prebish and Mr. Valsaint, the other assistant principal, were going from classroom to classroom quietly informing each teacher that a bus was missing and, while there was no threat to the school, it was best to lock it down and keep the students in their classrooms.
Of course, the students knew something was up. Not just because they were not allowed to leave their classrooms, but because they could read the tension on their teachers’ faces. The older students asked questions, while the younger ones were simply aware that something did not feel quite right.
Very soon, Mr. Oakes would have to decide regarding the school and what to tell the students, but he needed to talk to the sheriff first. He had communicated with the school superintendent, Christin MacDonald, and they had decided to call each parent of the students on the bus and inform them it was missing. They asked them to come to the school library, where information and counseling would be available. The school’s guidance counselor and nurse had made the calls. Parents of the students on the bus had been trickling into the school for the past thirty minutes, all asking the same questions and receiving the same answer: “We don’t know. We are waiting for the sheriff.” Every parent was escorted down the hall to the library, accompanied by either a secretary or one of the assistant principals.
Alturas and Modoc County were sparsely populated, and it did not take long for the news of the missing bus to spread. Other parents had already started calling the school, wanting to come and get their children. Others simply wanted to know what was going on. Superintendent MacDonald had informed Gary that she would support any decision he made regarding the students or closing the school, but she thought closing the school might be a good idea.
Some of the parents whose children were missing mentioned that they had tried to reach their son or daughter on their cell phones, but no one had had any success. All said that the call had either gone directly to voicemail or had not gone through at all. After hearing the same story multiple times, Gary Oakes was starting to lose hope that the bus could be located with something as easy as a cell phone.
Mr. Oakes excused himself from the cluster of parents scattered throughout the tables in the library and walked toward the library’s doors, touching base with each set of parents as he passed. He figured that if every student that was scheduled to be picked up by the bus had been, then they were looking at thirty-four students. The thought of thirty-four missing students made his stomach flip, and he wanted to make a dash for the bathroom. But he also remembered one of the most important rules in a crisis: Don’t run.
Stepping through the doors of the library, he took an audible breath and held it. He then let the air trapped in his lungs slowly escape as he continued down the hall toward the main office. How did this happen, and where is the damn sheriff?
As if in answer to the unspoken question, Sheriff Tarpley stepped through the doors of the school just as Gary Oakes came into the foyer. Sheriff Phylis Tarpley was well-liked and well-respected, but Gary Oakes thought this was going to be one of the toughest days on the job for her. He also figured she was up to it.
“Sheriff,” he said, reaching out his hand, “am I glad to see you!” He was going to ask how she was doing but realized that would be a stupid question.
“Principal Oakes,” Sheriff Tarpley said, returning the handshake. The muscular grip and the callused hands revealed someone who could probably still make it through Marine Boot Camp. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
He directed her through the outer office and down the hall. Prebish, Valsaint, and the secretaries watched as they crossed the public area behind the front counter. Stanley Valsaint wanted to ask if there had been any progress, but a look from Mr. Oakes cut him off before he could say anything.
Closing the door to his office, Oakes motioned the sheriff toward the chair in front of his desk while he circled behind it and sat down. Then he asked the question that everybody wanted answered: “Any news?”
He recognized a break in the tough persona of Phylis Tarpley. She looked down at her hands and then said softly, “No, nothing.” Then, looking up at Mr. Oakes, she added, “This looks like it is going to be a long day.”
Gary Oakes took another long breath to regain some composure and thought for a minute. “I’m going to call the parents and release the students.” Thinking about the logistics, he walked around the desk and opened the door, calling the two assistant principals into his office.
“We need to release the students, but we need to figure out how to do it.”
Karen Prebish looked over at Stanley Valsaint. “We kind of anticipated this, so we called Sylvia Hernandez to see what she could do. She called back just a few minutes ago to say that they had been able to get hold of almost every bus driver, and they were returning to the bus barn to be ready in case this was the decision you made. You should also know that Mrs. Ingram, the Principal of the High School, called and said she would be following your lead. That makes the transportation situation easier and allows for the older siblings to be home with their younger brothers or sisters.”
Mr. Oakes smiled at both of his assistant principals, realizing, not for the first time, how important it was to have people who could anticipate the needs of the school and act independently. “Thanks for that. I appreciate you two. But there is something else we need to do. We need to get on the phone with every parent to make sure someone is at home. I do not want any student returning to a house where there is not an older sibling or parent waiting. No student is to be left at home alone today.”
“Yes, sir,” Karen Prebish said. “We will get on the phone along with the counselor, and I believe Ms. Boles may be available. If we can’t get in contact with a parent, what do you want to do?”
“If we can’t get in touch with a parent, or if no one can be at the house, then the student will have to stay here until someone can come to the school and pick them up. We’ll need a couple of teachers to volunteer to stay.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Stanley said.
Mr. Oakes knew that was true and smiled again at what a great staff he had. Why did this have to happen?
Sheriff Tarpley’s phone rang. She answered it before the second ring and walked out of the office for more privacy.
Gary Oakes watched the sheriff leave, then continued speaking to his assistant principals. “I’ll give you guys about ten minutes to start the phone calls, then I’m going to get on the PA and make an announcement to the students. Any idea how soon the buses can start getting here?”
Out of habit, Stanley looked at his watch. “Silvia Hernandez said she could probably have the buses here by eleven o’clock. So just over an hour.”
Mr. Oakes glanced through his office door and saw the sheriff on the phone. Through the glass windows separating the main office from the school foyer, he also saw Superintendent MacDonald being greeted by the deputy at the front door and making her way to the door of the main office. “Great! Then let’s plan for a dismissal around 11:30. That should give us enough time to get in touch with most of the parents. Karen, would you call the high school and let them know what we are doing, and Stanley, you get back in touch with Sylvia Hernandez to tell her.”
Christin MacDonald arrived at the door of his office just as the two assistants were leaving. “Remember,” he added as he followed them to the door, “unless we can verify that a parent or another adult will be at the home when the bus gets there, no student leaves this building. And Stanley, you might want to pass that on to Sylvia so she can tell the bus drivers. I know this may be an additional headache for the drivers, but today is a unique day, and everyone will need to step up and do a little extra.”
“Does that include me?” Superintendent MacDonald chimed in as they walked past her.
Gary knew she was trying to be light-hearted and relieve some tension, but he gave her a serious look. “Especially you. I’ve got a library full of parents who want to know where their kids are, and they are looking for someone in authority to tell them something substantial and give them hope.” Looking down at his feet, he finished in a fading voice, “Frankly, I’m about to lose it. I don’t know what else to do or how I can give hope when I am slowly losing mine.”
“Here, Gary, sit down,” she said, indicating a chair in front of his desk and then sat in the chair next to his. She was close enough that their knees were almost touching, and laying her hand flat across her knees with palms up, she ever so slightly moved the fingers in a come-hither motion inviting Gary to take her hands.
Gary reached out with both hands, and she leaned forward and took his hands into hers. He looked up at her and realized her eyes were closed. She’s going to pray. Gary Oakes had never been a particularly religious man. His family attended the local Methodist Church when he was growing up, and he attended church at Christmas and Easter, but he never really prayed, and now the superintendent of the local public school system was going to pray inside the school. Gary gave a small interior laugh. Well, I guess if there was ever a time when prayer was needed in school, this is it. He then remembered that MacDonald was Jewish, and he didn’t even know how they prayed. Was there something he was supposed to do?
He continued to look at her, looking for some sort of direction, and finally decided to close his own eyes. He could feel a calm come over him, and he heard her voice. “All loving Father, you guided your people through the desert and protected and fed them. Be with us now as we make our way through this desert. Guide us, feed us, and shelter us.”
She fell silent, and Gary felt a tear make its way down his cheek.
“Amen,” came an answer from the doorway.
Opening their eyes, they looked over at Sheriff Tarpley leaning against the doorframe. “There’s always a place for prayer, whether it be in a war zone or a school.” She took a step forward and shook Christin MacDonald’s hand. “Superintendent, good to see you again. Though I’m sorry, it has to be under these circumstances.”
Watching the sheriff, Gary Oakes wondered again how she remained so calm. Sheriff Tarpley walked around to the back of the desk and started to sit down in the only available chair, but before her butt landed in the seat, she looked over at Principal Oakes. He gave her an affirmative nod. Then, sitting back fully into the chair, she said, “I’m going to have to jump in right away with some bad news.”
“Oh God,” Gary said. “Did they find the bus?”
“No, but I did send a couple of deputies over to the bus driver, Eric Crenshaw’s house. They found the door locked, but after making their way inside, they found Mr. Crenshaw dead in his bed.”
Christin gave an audible gasp, and Gary’s hand reached for hers out of the need for a human connection. “How did he die?” Christin asked.
“At this time, it is all preliminary, but according to the deputy, given the position of the body, the pillows, and the disheveled nature of the covers, it appears that he was suffocated. I’m sorry to tell you that the taking of the bus appears to have been premeditated, and they did not want Mr. Crenshaw to show up for his route.”
The news about the death of Old Man Crenshaw came like a slap across Gary Oakes’s face. The sense of peace he had felt during the prayer dissolved, and he felt himself slump forward in his chair as he placed his hands over his face. “What about the children?” he said into his hands.
“At this time, we honestly don’t know. Right now, we are doing everything possible. I have deputies setting up roadblocks on the roads in and out of town and leading out of the county. We have contacted all the local radio stations as well as social media platforms and are asking people to keep an eye out for the bus. We have also gotten the hospital to put the Life Flight helicopter into the air to search for the bus. Additionally, the forest service is going to have a spotter plane sent to the area to cover some of the more remote passes through the mountains.”
“That all sounds good,” the superintendent said hopefully, “but how would you assess the chances of locating the bus?”
“Honestly, I don’t think they are very high. Since this appears to have been premeditated, I’d have to think they would have anticipated our actions. The good news is that you can’t easily hide a bus, and it doesn’t move very quickly, so it should be able to be easily spotted on the road. The bad news is that the kidnappers most likely anticipated this, and the bus is most likely somewhere that can’t be seen from the road or the air. And, finally, all they would need to hide the bus is a large shed or a pole barn in the woods. Which brings me to another matter, Principal Oakes.” The sheriff looked at the principal in an officious manner. “I heard what you said about releasing the students. I don’t want you to do that.”
“Why?” Gary asked, looking up at the sheriff.
“The main reason is that I don’t want all those extra buses on the road. Can you imagine all the false claims we will get when people see a bus on the road at noon when they know it is not supposed to be there? It will just make our job that much harder.”
Gary looked over at Christin. “But what if a parent is concerned about their child’s safety?”
“The sheriff makes a good point, and any parent who wants their child at home can come to the school and check them out. But I am going to go along with the sheriff as of right now. For now, we will treat this like a normal school day.”
“I have also assigned three of my deputies to stay here at the school. I don’t think there is any threat to the students here, but it is best to be safe.”
“Okay,” Gary said. “Let me just update Stanley and Karen.”
Gary Oakes pushed himself out of the chair and took another deep breath before walking out of the office.
Superintendent MacDonald looked across the desk at Sheriff Tarpley. “So, what do we tell the parents in the library?”
“The hard truth,” she answered.
NINE
The sting from the sweat in his eyes woke Michael up. He had not realized he had fallen back asleep, and he could not guess how long he had been asleep. The last thing Michael remembered was yelling at the kids on the bus, trying to get them to wake up. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear away the sweat and the sleep. All he saw were sleeping bodies stretched out on the benches throughout the bus. Surely, someone should have woken up by now. “Hello, wake up,” he shouted. “Come on! Someone, get up!” The only response was the same silence that had answered him before. Behind him, someone breathed softly.
He had a terrible thought at that moment: What if everyone else is dead? What if the only two people alive are me and the person I hear? Across the aisle, there was a small boy stretched out on the seat. Michael looked for any type of movement that might indicate that the boy was alive. But after watching him for some time, he could not detect any movement or sound coming from him. “Hey, you! Wake up!” he called. Nothing. He noticed a pool of saliva just below the boy’s mouth. Do dead people drool?
