times, so how hard could it be? Since they’d probably stay at Dad’s for a while, they both packed overnight bags. They’d both slept late, so they tried to hurry, because they wanted to make it to Dad’s before nightfall.
Macy suggested that she should drive first, to which Marcy said, “You know how it works. We have to play rock-paper-scissors.”
Macy rolled her eyes but started the ritual anyway. Their old ceremonial game seemed childish to her now, but it was how they has always resolved disputes. Having an identical twin had some drawbacks. Marcy was bossier, and Macy figured it was not worth the ensuing battle to point out that they were old enough now to make their own decisions.
Macy decided on rock, and Marcy, of course, paper. “You always win,” Macy grumbled. Sometimes she thought Marcy could read her mind. Was it not enough that they mirrored each other, with blue eyes and blond, wavy hair? It just was not fair, but perhaps that’s what had kept them alive and together. Macy felt ashamed of herself for being upset with her sister. It would indeed kill her, too, if Marcy died of the virus and left her all alone.
Marcy grabbed the keys out of Macy’s hand and they walked out to the attached garage, making sure the car doors were closed before they let the garage door up. Adjusting the seat so that her feet could just touch the pedals, Marcy checked to see if she could see out the rearview mirror.
“Put your seatbelt on, Mace, this might be bumpy,” she said.
Before Marcy could start the ignition, Macy advised, “You have to move that stick to R , like Mom does.”
“I know, I watch her too— watched her, I mean,” Marcy said, a small crack in her voice. She turned the key, hearing it complain far too loudly, and then removed her hand. “Oh, I think it’s on now,” she said. Then she moved the stick to R , but nothing happened. “Okay, what do we do to make it go?” she asked Macy.
“You have to use the pedals. I think the left one is the brake and the right one is the gas. Try putting your foot on the gas a little,” Macy said.
Barely pressing the pedal on the right, she could hear the engine get louder, but the car didn’t move, so she eased up on the pedal. Macy noticed the other handle next to the drive stick. “This is the parking brake, I think.” She reached over and pushed the button to lower the lever. Then they started sliding backward down the sloped driveway. Marcy screamed, and Macy yelled, “Hit the brake!”
As Marcy stomped on the brake, both girls lurched forward, nearly hitting the dashboard. Shaking now, they looked out the window, having just barely reached the road. Macy noticed an audience of a single curious boxer dog, sitting on his haunches, panting. At first glance the dog looked like any of the once-beloved neighborhood pets. She’d seen this one on a leash walking with its owner many times before.
Then she noticed another dog and shouted, “Look, they’re coming! Quick—close the garage door so they can’t get in!”
The garage door closed just in time. A blood-stained Akita showed up, baring his teeth at the girls. The noise encouraged his entourage to do the same, and even the docile boxer joined in. “Time to go,” Marcy said, lifting her foot off the brake. The car slid back as the dogs went from a low growl to ferocious barking that caused the girls to scream again. Then, remembering the brake pedal, Marcy pressed it again, but this time not so hard. Macy reached over and began to spin the steering wheel to move the car into the road, like their mom used to do.
With dogs trailing behind them and jumping up at the windows, Macy pushed the shifter from R to D and yelled at Marcy, who was too distracted by a German shepherd snarling at her window to press the gas pedal.
“Press the gas, Marcy!” she yelled, trying to get her attention again. Some part of Marcy heard her, and she stomped on the gas as Macy tried to steer from the
Macy suggested that she should drive first, to which Marcy said, “You know how it works. We have to play rock-paper-scissors.”
Macy rolled her eyes but started the ritual anyway. Their old ceremonial game seemed childish to her now, but it was how they has always resolved disputes. Having an identical twin had some drawbacks. Marcy was bossier, and Macy figured it was not worth the ensuing battle to point out that they were old enough now to make their own decisions.
Macy decided on rock, and Marcy, of course, paper. “You always win,” Macy grumbled. Sometimes she thought Marcy could read her mind. Was it not enough that they mirrored each other, with blue eyes and blond, wavy hair? It just was not fair, but perhaps that’s what had kept them alive and together. Macy felt ashamed of herself for being upset with her sister. It would indeed kill her, too, if Marcy died of the virus and left her all alone.
Marcy grabbed the keys out of Macy’s hand and they walked out to the attached garage, making sure the car doors were closed before they let the garage door up. Adjusting the seat so that her feet could just touch the pedals, Marcy checked to see if she could see out the rearview mirror.
“Put your seatbelt on, Mace, this might be bumpy,” she said.
Before Marcy could start the ignition, Macy advised, “You have to move that stick to R , like Mom does.”
“I know, I watch her too— watched her, I mean,” Marcy said, a small crack in her voice. She turned the key, hearing it complain far too loudly, and then removed her hand. “Oh, I think it’s on now,” she said. Then she moved the stick to R , but nothing happened. “Okay, what do we do to make it go?” she asked Macy.
“You have to use the pedals. I think the left one is the brake and the right one is the gas. Try putting your foot on the gas a little,” Macy said.
Barely pressing the pedal on the right, she could hear the engine get louder, but the car didn’t move, so she eased up on the pedal. Macy noticed the other handle next to the drive stick. “This is the parking brake, I think.” She reached over and pushed the button to lower the lever. Then they started sliding backward down the sloped driveway. Marcy screamed, and Macy yelled, “Hit the brake!”
As Marcy stomped on the brake, both girls lurched forward, nearly hitting the dashboard. Shaking now, they looked out the window, having just barely reached the road. Macy noticed an audience of a single curious boxer dog, sitting on his haunches, panting. At first glance the dog looked like any of the once-beloved neighborhood pets. She’d seen this one on a leash walking with its owner many times before.
Then she noticed another dog and shouted, “Look, they’re coming! Quick—close the garage door so they can’t get in!”
The garage door closed just in time. A blood-stained Akita showed up, baring his teeth at the girls. The noise encouraged his entourage to do the same, and even the docile boxer joined in. “Time to go,” Marcy said, lifting her foot off the brake. The car slid back as the dogs went from a low growl to ferocious barking that caused the girls to scream again. Then, remembering the brake pedal, Marcy pressed it again, but this time not so hard. Macy reached over and began to spin the steering wheel to move the car into the road, like their mom used to do.
With dogs trailing behind them and jumping up at the windows, Macy pushed the shifter from R to D and yelled at Marcy, who was too distracted by a German shepherd snarling at her window to press the gas pedal.
“Press the gas, Marcy!” she yelled, trying to get her attention again. Some part of Marcy heard her, and she stomped on the gas as Macy tried to steer from the
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