Freddie

Randy bounded up the slippery steps, snagging the last empty seat on the bus. He dropped his backpack on the floor. It landed in a puddle of other kids’ bootslush. Randy didn’t care. School was cancelled early. The whole afternoon was free.

The bus was a caterwauling zoo of elementary schoolers, everyone screaming to celebrate the early release. Outside, snow pounded the school in swirling gusts.

“Quit horsin’ around,” grumbled Hank Rollins, the bus driver. He shifted his hefty bulk, turning to glare behind him. “I said quit hollerin’, or we ain’t goin’ home.”

The decibel level downshifted. Aaron Wheeler pounded Randy on the back. “Wanna have a snowball fight when we get home?”

“Sure!” Randy cried. “You can have Brian. I’ll take Georgie.”

Georgie Frears had a cannon for an arm.

Hank Rollins shifted the bus into gear, and the big yellow beast heaved off into the snow.

“Hold on!” A voice cried from outside.

Randy saw the principal, Mr. Joiner, running toward them, his tie gesticulating in the wind.

Hank Rollins stopped the bus, opened the door.

“You need to take Freddie home,” Mr. Joiner shouted over the roar of the engine.

Whispers swept through the bus. Randy craned his neck to watch as a procession of teachers staggered out of the school, carrying what looked like a small body wrapped in a white sheet.

“That’s Freddie!” Ian Crowell said. “Freddie’s dead!”

Randy pressed his face to the glass. A single booted leg dangled from the sheet-wrapped bulk. He felt a flush of cold drain through his face. Could someone really die at school?

“What happened?” someone asked.

“He fell off the monkey bars,” someone else replied.

“No, he tried to eat a whole footlong, and choked to death!” said Kip Farber. “He turned blue and everything!”

“That’s not what happened,” said Mike Tully, a fifth-grader. “Jed Kemp killed him.”

Jed Kemp sat at the back of the bus, in the farthest seat from the door, glaring out the window.

“Why would Jed kill him?” Sarah Boone whispered.

Mike shrugged. “He jammed pencils in Freddie’s eyes.”

Randy’s face went cold again. He peered out the window at the sheeted corpse, looking for two bloody puncture wounds.

“I heard Mr. Joiner got mad and threw a chair at Freddie,” said Kyle Murdoch. “Knocked his head off.”

“There’d be blood everywhere, if he did,” said Georgie Frears. “Freddie died in the bathroom.”

“How do you know?” asked Sarah Boone.

“He said his stomach hurt,” Georgie replied. “Went into the commode, never came out.”

Randy believed Georgie, because Georgie could throw a snowball like Nolan Ryan.

“Mr. Joiner and Mrs. Pelletier went in there,” Georgie elaborated, once he had everyone’s attention. “They found a six-foot python, all covered in blood. It had eaten him from the inside out!”

Jessica Curran screamed.

“That’s not what happened,” said Aaron Wheeler, but he didn’t sound too sure.

Randy watched as the teachers and Mr. Joiner lugged Freddie’s body onto the bus.

Hank Rollins heaved himself out of his crackling leather seat. “Hush up, now,” he growled at the kids. “Show some respect for the dead.”

The bus went silent.

Mr. Joiner lurched up the steps, a sheeted bulge that might have been Freddie’s head wedged under his arm. He looked around the bus. “Randy,” he said.

Randy’s mouth fell open.

“Make sure he gets home safe,” said Mr. Joiner.

The teachers counted to three, then dumped the sheet-wrapped body into the seat with Randy. The head-end landed in Randy’s lap.

“Why me?” he croaked.

“You’re Freddie’s neighbor,” said Mr. Joiner. “He’s your responsibility.”

The principal and the teachers filed off the bus, hurrying back toward the school.

“Gross,” Aaron Wheeler said, grimacing at Randy. “You have to take the dead body.”

“I don’t want it,” Randy stammered.

“Hush up,” said Hank Rollins, settling back into his seat. He levered the door shut, yanked the gear shift, and the bus lurched away from the school.

Randy tried to push Freddie’s body off his lap, but the dead corpse was stiff with rigor mortis. Randy still could not believe a kid had died at school. Nobody was supposed to die at school. They all wanted their teachers to die. They wanted Mr. Joiner to die. But not each other.

Ian Crowell and his sister Katelyn leaned across the aisle toward Randy’s seat. “Can we see him?” Ian asked.

Several other kids peeked over the back of Randy’s seat.

“That’s gross!” Randy said.

“Just pull the sheet away.”

“No!”

“I’ll do it,” said Georgie Frears.

Everyone watched as Georgie reached his famous snowball arm out toward the corpse. His trembling fingers pinched the sheet. The bus hit a frost heave, and everyone jounced in their seats. The sheet fell away from Freddie’s head. Freddie’s lifeless eyes were wide with terror, his mouth frozen mid-scream.

Everyone moaned. Danny Paulson threw up.

Randy closed his eyes, trying to will the image of Freddie away.

“I want to see it again!” said Aaron Wheeler.

The other kids swarmed around. This time Aaron reached down and yanked away several inches of sheet.

“Ewwww!” sang a chorus of girls.

The bus hit another frost heave, and the body jumped up off the seat. It landed sideways. Freddie’s tongue fell out of his mouth.

“EEEEWWWWWW!”

Randy pushed the disgusting corpse out of his lap. The top end fell forward, thudding against the floor. The bus hit a deep patch of snow and slush, and the body rolled onto the floor.

Ian Crowell poked Freddie’s boot with his toe. Jessica Curran screamed again.

“What are Freddie’s mom and dad going to do with all his toys?” Ian asked.

“Freddie has The Legend of Zelda on Super Nintendo,” said Georgie Frears. “I call dibs.”

“I call his G.I. Joes!” shouted Brian Lutz.

Randy remembered that Freddie had borrowed his skateboard the previous summer, and he made a mental note to get it back. The rest of the kids went around the bus dividing up Freddie’s possessions. The Super Nintendo games were hotly contested.

“Freddie was never very good at kickball,” said Nicky Drake. “He always just muffed the ball. Maybe it’s better he’s dead.”

“Poor Freddie,” said Sarah Boone.

The bus weaved to a shaky halt at Mary Burton’s house. Mary and her little brother Dwayne grabbed their backpacks and sprinted off the bus, b-lining for their house without looking back.

When they reached Kip Farber’s house, Kip got off and stood in the front yard, snow up to his knee-caps. He took off his fluffy winter hat, placed it over his heart, and stared somberly at Randy, as the bus pulled away.

The bus weaved and skittered along the wooded back roads of the town, dropping the kids off one and two at a time, until there were only about a dozen kids left. And Freddie. Blasts of snow assaulted the bus. The wind slapped at the windows, shoving the bus back and forth across the road.

“Aw, Jesus,” muttered Hank Rollins.

They had come to the top of the hill on Old Millpond Road. Randy and Georgie and Aaron Wheeler sometimes came up to the hill on snowy days and sledded down, when there were no cars around. Now the bus teetered on the edge of the downslope. Randy thought of a toboggan, barreling out of control.

“Everybody, hold on,” said Hank Rollins. The bus crept downward, fish-tailing through thick snow.

The children screamed with glee.

“Go faster!” someone shouted.

“I hope the bus hits a tree and explodes!” cried Ian Crowell.

“Shut up, stupid,” Jed Kemp hissed from the back of the bus.

Randy grabbed the seat in front of him, holding on for dear life. The bus accelerated, plowing toward the bottom of the hill.

Danny Paulson threw up again. Nicky Drake laughed. “Danny had fish sticks for lunch!” he cried. “Look!”

“Don’t say that, Nicky,” Danny groaned, his face turning green.

Freddie’s corpse slid out from below Randy’s seat, sliding along the wet floor toward the bus driver. Randy watched helplessly, hoping Hank Rollins would not yell at him.

“Somebody grab Freddie!” cried Sarah Boone, but nobody did.

“We’re gonna crash!” screamed Ian Crowell.

“Quiet down!” said Hank Rollins.

The bus swerved hard to port, the tail end spinning into the oncoming lane. Randy buried his face in his hands. The bus spun around in a gut-wrenching 360. Hank Rollins frantically jerked the steering wheel, first left, then right. His John Deere baseball cap fell off his sweaty, bulbous head. The tail of the bus spun off the road into a ditch, caroming off a mailbox, a tree, and finally a stone wall. Quite suddenly the bus was no longer moving. Hank Rollins unleashed a stream of curses that the children had previously only heard on TV.

One or two kids started to cry. Aaron Wheeler gripped Randy’s shoulder. “That was awesome,” he said.

“I know,” said Randy, his heart racing. “Way cooler than sledding.”

“Mr. Rollins,” Georgie Frears called out. “Can we do that again?”

Hank Rollins pulled himself up out of his seat. He stared back at the children, his beady eyes making silent calculations. After a minute, he grabbed the door lever and wrenched open the door. A blast of frigid air swept into the bus.

“I’ll have to get another bus,” Hank grumbled. He stepped out into the storm.

“He’s leaving?” someone asked.

“Where’s he going?”

“What are we going to do?”

Hank Rollins staggered away, back up the hill. In moments he disappeared in the blinding snow.

Fritzed on adrenalin, Randy had momentarily forgotten about Freddie. Now he remembered. Mr. Joiner had said Freddie was Randy’s responsibility. But how was he going to get Freddie home now?

“We could be stuck here for hours,” said Ian Crowell. “We might have to burn our math books to keep warm.”

“Anyone have any Skittles?” asked Brian Lutz.

“We’ll have to eat Freddie’s rotting corpse!” Nicky Drake cried.

“Please, Nicky….” Danny Paulson groaned.

“Everyone, shut up.”

Jed Kemp stood up from his seat, his lupine eyes scanning for prey.

“I’m in charge,” Jed declared, stepping into the aisle. His gut hung out from beneath his winter coat.

“Who says?” Aaron Wheeler asked.

“I say,” said Jed. “I can beat the crap out of anybody here. If anyone has any food, give it up. Now.”

“I don’t like him,” Ian Crowell’s little sister whispered. “He doesn’t flush after he uses the bathroom.”

“Anyone doesn’t do what I say, I’ll sit on his head and fart,” Jed Kemp announced.

Georgie Frears narrowed his eyes at Jed. “I bet if I kicked him in the balls, he’d go down,” Georgie speculated.

“I don’t want to freeze to death,” said Sarah Boone. “And I don’t want Jed Kemp to fart on my head.”

“He farted on Freddie’s head once,” said Aaron Wheeler. “Maybe that’s what killed him.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Georgie. “It’s only about a mile home.”

Several of the kids whispered agreement. In the back of the bus, Jed Kemp held a second-grader upside-down by his ankles.

“Wait a minute,” Randy said. “What about Freddie?”

They all looked at each other.

“Mr. Joiner said he’s my responsibility,” Randy said. “I can’t just leave him. His mom will wonder where he is.”

“All right,” said Georgie. “We’ll carry him.”

“Eww,” said Katelyn Crowell.

“My grandad was in Korea,” Georgie said. “He told me they never left a fallen man behind. If we all grab an arm or a leg, we can carry him.”

“You guys are crazy,” said Nicky Drake. “I’m staying here with Pukeface.” He clapped Danny Paulson on the back. Danny swallowed hard to keep down the rest of his fish sticks.

“Anyone leaves ain’t gettin’ back in,” warned Jed Kemp.

“Shove it up your butt, butt-breath,” said Aaron Wheeler.

Jed Kemp’s face turned red, but he remained looming at the back of the bus, like a leafless, haunted tree.

Randy grabbed his backpack off the floor. “Let’s go,” he said.

Together, he and his friends dragged Freddie’s corpse out of the bus. They cinched the sheet tight around Freddie’s screaming head and dangling feet. They zipped up their jackets, pulled on their hats and mittens.

“Just follow the road,” said Georgie.

Sarah Boone led the way, holding hands with Katelyn Crowell. Randy, Georgie, Ian, Aaron Wheeler, and Brian Lutz heaved Freddie’s corpse onto their shoulders, marching behind the girls like pall-bearers. Soon the bus disappeared behind them.

Ian Crowell tried to raise everyone’s spirits by singing the theme song to The Animaniacs, but it was too cold to sing, and that song was too annoying, so they all trudged on in silence. The snow pounded their faces, seeped down their necks, caked their boots, melted into their socks. Not a single car passed them by; nor did they see any houses. The world was washed out in white.

After an unknowable period of time, Sarah Boone looked up and cried: “A mailbox!”

Randy recognized the mailbox at the end of Freddie’s driveway. It was shaped like a big red barn. “This is Freddie’s house,” he said.

The procession turned, staggering up Freddie’s driveway. When they reached the house, Randy rang the doorbell.

The door opened, and Freddie’s mom stood in the doorway. A whiff of warm air sputtered out of the house.

“What are you kids doing home from school this early?” asked Freddie’s mom.

“They let us out because of the storm,” said Randy.

Sarah Boone took Freddie’s mom’s hand. “I’m sorry, Mrs. McCorkendale,” she said. “Freddie died at school today. We carried him home.”

Freddie’s mother gasped. “Freddie?”

The kids gently set the corpse down on the front steps.

“What happened?” asked Freddie’s mom.

“He tried to eat a whole bucket of paste,” said Ian Crowell.

“Mrs. Hollenbeck strangled him for chewing gum,” said Aaron Wheeler.

“We think it might have been a python,” said Randy. “Mr. Joiner told us to take him home, so we did.”

“The bus broke down, so we had to walk,” said Brian Lutz.

“I understand,” said Freddie’s mom, tears pouring down her cheeks. “You kids are very brave. Carrying Freddie all the way home through a snowstorm. He was so lucky to have such good friends.”

Freddie’s mom picked up the sheeted corpse by the legs, and dragged it into the house. The kids stood in the snow, listening to her sobbing as she closed the door.

“Poor Freddie,” said Sarah Boone. “I hope I don’t die at school tomorrow.”

“There won’t be school tomorrow,” said Georgie Frears. “We’ll get a snow-day.”

Ian Crowell smiled. “Awesome!”

“What should we do now?” asked Brian Lutz.

They all stared at each other.

“Let’s go to my house, and build a fort,” said Randy. “I live next door. My mom can make us hot chocolate.”

There was a cheer of agreement. Together they bounded across Freddie’s yard to Randy’s house, a spring in their step now that they’d been relieved of the burden of Freddie’s corpse. Randy’s mom made them all mugs of hot chocolate, using an entire bag of mini marshmallows.

The kids spent the rest of the afternoon building a snow-fort in Randy’s backyard. The storm raged and howled and buried their fort in snow. But they didn’t care, because any afternoon away from school was a victory.

They named the fort Fort Freddie.