SWEET REVENGE

A Novel

By

Paul W. West

2478 W. Long Meadow Drive

Taylorsville, Utah 84084

Phone: (801) 966-0063

pwwest@earthlink.net

http://www.geocities.com/paulwwest/Paul_West_Novelist.html

http://valona.blogspot.com/

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

The setting for this story is real. Places and objects have been described as faithfully as the author’s memory and research could recreate them. However, any similarity to actual events or people in the school and community depicted is coincidental.

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SWEET REVENGE

CHAPTER 1

Christmas Eve was usually Mark Wilkerson’s favorite night of the year, or had been until his father ruined his life. Mark hadn’t wanted to perform with the family at that revolting old-folks home. The smells of rubbing alcohol, mixed with stale coffee, antiseptics, urine, and stuff he couldn’t imagine, always made him sick. Not to mention, he couldn’t even be certain the “inmates” as he called them, were even all there. But his dad had threatened to ground him for a month if he didn’t go.

With the program behind them, Mark’s anger simmered as he looked out his rear seat window. His father was driving the family south on I-80 through the City of Vallejo. Beyond the freeway lights, dim Christmas lights on the houses and businesses seemed to peer back at him through the fog like glowing, condemning eyes.

The “Wilkerson Family Singers,” they were billed. Every year Mark’s family put on benefit Christmas programs around the Sacramento area. But his solo tonight made him wish even more that his father hadn’t made him go.

As part of their performances, Mark always played a touching rendition of “Mary Did You Know.” But for some reason, irritability, stress, whatever, this time he had twanged a sour note on his guitar, then embarrassed, he’d forgotten the lyrics and stumbled to some kind of ending that he made up on the way down.

So, that’s what you get for making me go, Dad, Mark thought, staring out the window and refusing to make eye contact with anyone else in the car. The more he thought about it, the more he figured it was really all his dad’s fault.

Now, Mark and his family were finally on their way to Grandma Emily’s house. She was his father’s mother, and every year Mark and his two sisters, 12-year-old Amy, and 6-year-old Sabrina, along with their mom and dad, spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at her home in the tiny town of Port Costa. It was on the Carquinez Straits, just a couple of miles east of the larger town of Crockett, at the south end of the Carquinez Bridge.

Usually, he looked forward to this night. Grandma’s ginger bread and whipped cream was always a hit, and he loved her special hot cocoa recipe. Every year, all the family would sit around her huge Christmas tree in her living room enjoying the lights, telling Christmas stories, and acting out the Nativity. Her tree always smelled pine fresh, and was piled high with gifts the family would open in the morning, along with Santa’s gifts for Sabrina. But this year Mark didn’t feel like enjoying Christmas, with or without his family. It seemed nothing could change his mood. He was angry, yes, but even more embarrassed by his goof.

One bright thought occurred to him. His cousin Gary would be there. Mark always looked forward to seeing his favorite cousin – well actually his only cousin, but it seemed the only times they could ever get together were on those special occasions like birthdays and Christmases. They never had enough time for Gary to introduce him to all those cute girls he always bragged about. Actually, knowing how shy he was, Mark doubted his stories anyway.

Mark wiped at the condensation on his window to see into the night better, but it only made a smear that didn’t help. Thickening wisps of fog blew past his window and he knew the Carquinez Bridge, only a couple miles further south, would be socked in. With this fog, they were going to be late getting to Grandma’s house.

Mark looked toward the front seat. He could see the back of his father’s head and his hands on the steering wheel. He seemed uncharacteristically quiet. He had driven the family in fog before, but this time he was gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual. Was it the fog, or the scene he’d created earlier before going to that senior citizens home?

Probably both, Mark figured. And his stupid mistake probably wasn’t helping.

Mark heard a hint of a snicker and glanced sidelong at Amy. She glanced back with a big grin on her face as if waiting for him to say something so she could open up and rub it in about his goof. He knew she was never going to let him live it down.

He looked away again, but his glance at her must have pulled her trigger. “You sure blew it,” Amy finally said, then snickered and burst into a fit of giggles.

Mark wanted to slap her, but he never would. That was not his style to hit girls, even if they were his dumb sister and deserved it.

Sabrina, sitting in the front seat between their father and mother, sat forward and turned around to look back at Amy. Even in the dim light Mark could see the serious expression on her face. “I think Mark sounded good. I liked his song.”

“What would you know?” Amy said, reaching forward over the back of the seat and playfully patting Sabrina on top of her blonde head.

Mark gave Amy a dirty look and turned away again. Even though he was five years her senior, he felt she would try to run the family if it weren’t for their parents.

Still giggling, Amy said, “I think even Grandma could have heard that sour note of yours. What did you do, break your g-string?” She giggled even harder. “And where did you ever come up with those wild lyrics?” She now looked like she was about to burst wide open from laughter.

“Shut up.” Mark didn’t feel like discussing it. Then he recalled her little foible. “But I saw the goof you made in our ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ routine. I almost missed grabbing your hand, and Mom just about fell all over you.”

Elizabeth turned around to look in the back seat. “Okay, kids! That’s enough. I think we all did just fine. I doubt anyone in the audience even noticed our little goofs.

Of course not. They weren’t even there, at least not all there. Mark thought. That was my point in the first place.

Mom continued, “In fact the manager of the home asked me if we could come back again next year. So, I think we should all be grateful for the talents God has given us, and the opportunities we have to share them with the less fortunate.”

Good grief! Next year? Mark felt like groaning. Next year he would be 18. He would be away at college and maybe have to, or rather get to, miss all those dumb benefit programs.

Elizabeth turned back and looked over at Robert, a concerned look appearing on her face. “Maybe you should slow down in this fog.”

“I’m okay,” Robert said. He sounded terse. “The bridge is only a little farther, then we should be okay, assuming the road between Crockett and Port Costa isn’t socked in. I’ve seen it thicker than pea-soup on that Snake Road. Mother is going to worry if we’re late, and you know how she gets.”

“Is there something else bothering you?”

Robert shook his head. “No. It’s nothing.”

“Is it the fog?”

“No, nothing. Just a headache.” His voice rose a few decibels. “Don’t worry about it, Liz.” He reached around Sabrina and patted Elizabeth’s arm.

Elizabeth turned back to the front, then added, “Something seems to be bothering you. Is it the program?”

“Some program,” Amy said. “At least Sabrina did her part well. But Mark! That’s why Dad’s mad. First he didn’t want to go and we almost had to hogtie him. Then, like the pig he is, he hogged the whole show, as usual.”

Mark couldn’t hold back. “You just don’t appreciate talent when you see it.”

“Talent? You call that goof talent. Oh yeah, it sure takes a lot of talent to break your g-string.” Amy started giggling again.

“Okay, you two,” Elizabeth said, her voice sounding stern this time. “You know, I’m wondering if Santa Claus is going to come this year with those kinds of attitudes.”

Sabrina turned in her seat again. “You guys better be good. I don’t want Santa to miss me.” She sounded like she was beginning to cry. Even in the dark her pale blonde hair glowed, and her little pout almost melted Mark’s attitude.

“Santa Claus?” Amy said. “Come on. I know all about him.”

Elizabeth looked over at Robert again. He seemed to be concentrating on the roadway ahead and ignoring the banter. “You sure you’re okay?” she said.

Mark looked over at Amy. “Oh? And when did you grow up?”

He looked back ast his father.

Robert nodded, but Mark could see his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “Sure. A couple of aspirin wouldn’t hurt, but I’m okay.”

Amy looked back at Mark, an incensed look on her face. “I’m not that dumb.”

Mark had to laugh. “Maybe not that dumb, but still pretty dumb.” She’d left herself open to that one.

“Mom! Did you hear what Mark called me?”

In the dim light, Mark could see his mother sighing.

“Well, she called me a pig,” Mark said.

“Santa Claus is not dumb!” Sabrina scolded back. “He loves everyone, just like Jesus.” She turned to sit forward again in a huff.

Mark fought the urge to laugh.

“How about we change the subject,” Mom said. “Maybe we should sing some more Christmas carols and get back in the Christmas spirit.”

“I want to sing ‘Jingle Bells’,” Sabrina said, bouncing in her seat.

Amy patted Sabrina’s head again. “We just sang that one, silly. How about ‘Winter Wonderland’?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Okay. At least it beats ‘Jingle Bells’.”

Sabrina turned around again and scowled back at Mark and Amy. “I like ‘Jingle Bells!’ Mommy, I want to sing ‘Jingle Bells.’”

“We just sang that one, honey. Sit down, now. Let’s let someone else choose this time.”

Amy started singing in her young, but clear soprano voice. Sabrina and Mom joined in.

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening . . .

Mark didn’t feel much like singing, but decided to join in on the second stanza anyway. As they sang, Mark noticed that his father didn’t join in as usual. He still seemed upset and Mark knew he was probably the reason.

. . . A beautiful sight,

We’re happy tonight,

Walking in a winter wonderland.

When they finished the song Mark said, “Now, how about ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’?” He could have almost predicted what came next.

Amy butted in, “No. We’re almost to Grandma’s house and I want to sing ‘Silent Night’ before we get there.”

“You just picked ‘Winter Wonderland’. It’s my turn,” Mark said.

Again, Mom to Amy’s rescue. “I want to sing ‘Silent Night’, too. Don’t I get to choose?”

Mark struggled to not let out low growl. Amy always got her way.

Looking out his window again, Mark saw that they were finally at the Carquinez Bridge. As expected, a wall of dense fog socked in the half-mile-wide channel between Vallejo and Crockett.

As Robert drove onto the bridge, bright yellow lights warning drivers to slow down, burned into Mark’s eyes. Then the they were behind them.

Silent night, holy night,

Mark and his mother joined in with Amy and Sabrina.

All is calm, all is bright,

Robert looked over at Elizabeth. “Getting thicker, Liz,” he mumbled as he slowed the car even more.

Round yon virgin, mother and child,

Mark felt the car slip sideways slightly as it crossed a steel expansion joint. “Road’s getting slick too,” Robert said.

Holy infant so tender and mild,

“Robert, be careful of that big truck.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded tight.

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Robert eased the car into the center lane to pass a lumbering, yellow gasoline tanker.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Mark never saw the car that rushed up behind them, only its headlights shining in his father’s side mirror. Then the bright flash of red taillights as it swerved to avoid hitting another fog-enshrouded car just ahead. “Look out!” Mark yelled.

Sabrina and Amy screamed.

Mark heard and felt the crunch and scrape of metal on metal as the passing car clipped their left, front fender. The impact tossed Amy against him.

Tires squealed. The car slid on the slippery pavement and Mark could see his father fighting against the steering wheel to regain control. The tanker’s horn blared as it bore down on them, tires screeching.

The truck’s headlights, shining through Amy’s side window, momentarily blinded Mark.

“Mommy!” Sabrina screamed.

He heard more scraping and clashing of metal. Sparks from the impact lit up the night as he felt the sedan tilt and begin to roll, first onto its side, then its roof, then over again, tossing the family about like confetti.

Trying to hold onto anything stable, Mark saw Amy grab his door handle. “NO!” The door popped open.

Before he could react, Mark felt his leg, arm and shoulder scraping into the wet, cold pavement, as he tumbled across the freeway.

Mark was amazed that he remained alive, and even conscious. Lifting his head, he shook it to make sure he wasn’t dead. Then he saw the tanker and his family’s car locked together, skidding for several more yards.

Metal groaned.

Sparks flew.

The tank truck exploded and hot flames shot high in the sky, enveloping the car.

Mark felt the concussion from the blast thrusting him even farther back from the wreck, and he had to cover his head and eyes with his arm and roll across the asphalt to avoid the shards of hot metal, glass, and flames that rained all around him.

Mark looked up again and from the light of the fire he saw Amy’s crumpled body on the side of the road with burning debris scattered all around her.

Another car skidded to a halt a few feet behind Mark, and he had to roll out of its way before it hit him. A sharp pain shot though his right arm.

Honking horns, screeching tires, more crunching bumpers, and the pop and tinkle of smashing headlights and taillights echoed through the swirling mist.

Shaking his head, Mark tried to prop himself up, but the pain in his right arm was too intense. He turned to look at his sister again. In the bright headlights from the car behind them he could see her blonde hair soaked with blood. Is she alive? he wondered.

Mark tried to stand, but another sharp pain shot through his right leg and he fell. He wiped at something trickling into his eyes, then looked down at his hand and arm. Blood. More blood soaked through his pants leg.

Looking at the wreck again, he thought he could see his family through the billowing flames, trapped in an inferno, writhing and screaming under the roar of the crackling flames.

“Mom! Dad!” he screamed. “Sabrina!”

Gasoline-fed flames from the tanker licked in his direction. Once more he tried to stand. He had to rescue them, but he stumbled and fell. His leg wouldn’t support him. “Mom! Dad! I’m sorry!” Tears, mixed with blood flowed in his eyes and down his face. The flames were too hot to crawl through. He knew his parents would never hear his apology and the guilt added to his horror.

A motorist yelled something at him, but he couldn’t understand what. Mark realized he had to get Amy out of the path of the approaching flames.

Dragging himself across the cold, damp asphalt, he inched toward Amy’s motionless body. Grabbing her with his good arm, and pushing with his good leg, he tugged at her until they were out of the traffic lanes and on the narrow emergency sidewalk, away from the spreading blaze.

Pulling himself to a sitting position, he held his sister tight, rocking to and fro. “I have you Amy. I’ll take care of you. Just don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead!”

As he cried, he felt her body stir. Looking down into her blood-covered face, he saw her eyelids flicker.

Clutching her tight, he heard the steam whistle from the local C&H Sugar Refinery, just below the south end of the bridge. It was blasting a series of deep-throated tattoos through the foggy night air. Somehow Mark knew it was signaling an emergency on the bridge. Rescue vehicles would be coming.

Frozen by fear, and a leg and arm that wouldn’t work, all Mark could do is hold Amy in his good arm, and shield her eyes and ears as best he could so she wouldn’t have to witness the horror around them, if she were even conscious.

A motorist finally ran to help, but there was nothing he could do. He and Amy could only wait for the emergency vehicles that were already too late.

Mark cried, and rocked Amy back and forth as he watched their mother, their father, and little Sabrina burning to the tune of the C&H whistle.

The Real Summer is a fictional story loosely based on the experiences of the Martin Handcart company as they crossed the plains in 1856. I have often wondered what those faithful pioneers would think of the modern conveniences that we take for granted and what impact a real knowledge of their faith would have on us. This story is simply an excuse to explore both.

Through journals and narratives I have attempted to learn as much as possible about the actual experiences of the handcart pioneers. I chose to follow the Martin company because my great, great grandmother was a member of that company. However, I have combined the experiences from many companies into this story. In other words, some of the experiences included may never have happened to the Martin Handcart company. They either happened to another company or I made them up! I love fiction!

Please let me know what you think and share with your friends.

Enjoy!