TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter depicts the use of firearms, both for target practice and for fighting. While I've done my research, I am not a trained professional, and the contents of this chapter should not be interpreted as instruction or advice. Please proceed with caution.
It wasn't until they were in the junkyard that Christine realized just how flimsy their plan was. It had seemed straightforward yesterday, at eleven o'clock at night in the dark of her living room. Now that the sun was up, the whole thing felt ridiculous. They had a gun, some gasoline, a lighter, two trails of beef leading through the woods, and…that was it. They just had to hope it was Dart who picked up the trail. It wasn't like raccoons and dogs didn't exist in Hawkins.
"If we get a bear, then you shoot the bear," Steve argued, dumping the rest of the meat chunks in a pile. "I don't see what the big deal is."
"Okay, one, I think you're underestimating how hard it is to take down a bear," Christine snapped. "And two, once the gun goes off, we lose all chance of luring Dart out here."
"Not necessarily," said Dustin. "If you kill a bear, you're kinda just adding to the dinner plate."
"Exactly!" Steve grinned and jabbed a finger at Dustin. "You say gunshot, Dart says dinner bell."
The boys nodded and laughed, satisfied with their mutual understanding. Christine folded her arms as she looked between them. She was glad they hadn't killed each other in the woods, but this buddy-buddy development wasn't sitting well with her.
"Okay," said Steve, dusting off his hands. "Trail is laid, bait is set, and for the trap—"
He pulled one can of gasoline out from his backpack, upending it over the pile of meat. Christine's jaw dropped.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"Wha—I'm—the trap!" Steve looked furiously between her and Dustin. "The gas is the trap, right?"
"You're pouring it on the bait!"
"Yeah? How else are we supposed to light him on fire?"
"By pouring it around the bait! We're luring him out here by scent! You don't think the smell of gasoline is gonna deter him?"
"Oh, come on. It's not that bad."
"It's disgusting, Steve!"
"Well then, next time you—"
"I said medium-well!"
Christine and Steve ceased their bickering as a new voice joined the fray.
Lucas was standing on the crest of the hill, one hand waving over his head while the other held his bike steady. Dustin had mentioned that Lucas had finally made contact and was coming to meet them at the junkyard. What he had failed to mention was the redhead accompanying him.
"Who's that?" Steve asked in confusion.
"I have no idea," Christine said sharply. "Dustin, who the hell is that?"
She turned to him expectantly, but Dustin didn't answer. He was also looking at the hill, his face equal parts confused, crest-fallen, and unspeakably angry.
There was no time to for him to answer. Lucas was already leading the girl over to their group. Christine side-stepped Steve, planting herself in front of him so that the gasoline was hidden behind her back.
"Hi, Lucas!" she called with a tense smile. "Hey! What are you doing out here?"
"Looking for you guys," said Lucas as he rolled up. "I called Dustin and he said you could use some help."
"Help? Help with what?"
"With Dart," the girl answered. "You said he escaped again, right?"
Christine managed to keep her smile, but it must've looked manic in comparison to how tightly she was clenching her fists.
"I'm sorry. Who are you?"
"Um…Max…?"
Christine raised her eyebrows. "Max…?"
"Mayfield," Lucas supplied. He was beginning to look sheepish. "She goes to school with us."
"Oh, that's nice. And you invited her to help look for Dart?"
"He begged me to help look for Dart," Max corrected. "Somehow this is supposed to prove the existence of man-eating lizards and alternate dimensions."
Christine's blood ran cold. She exchanged a worried look at Steve, then rounded on Lucas, who was already flinching.
"…Sorry…"
"Sorry?" she repeated. "Are you fucking kidding me, Lucas?"
"She wanted to know!"
"No shit! And your parents didn't? Your sister? Or any of the other people in Hawkins?!"
"Oh, don't worry," Max assured her. "I promised to accept the risks. I know if I tell anyone I'll get my head blown off by a government sniper or something like that."
She smirked in amusement, confident that this was some sort of game they were playing. She had no idea what she'd walked into. What Lucas had walked her into. The boys being here was bad enough, but if another girl died, if someone else went missing because they stumbled into the path of the Demogorgon—
Christine lunged for Lucas, only for Steve to yank her back.
"Okay! How about we cool it, huh?" He looked around with a smile and pointed to each kid in turn. "Max, great to meet you. Steve Harrington. If you wanna help, just start grabbing sheet metal and stacking it up by the bus, okay? Great. Henderson, you bring Lucas up to speed. Chrissy, let's find you something to do that's not child homicide."
He forcibly wrapped an arm around her shoulder and began towing her away from the group. Christine followed reluctantly, but not before shooting one last death glare over her shoulder at Lucas.
"You are in so much fucking trouble. Both of you are in so much—"
"They got it, Chris. Walk."
It took Steve considerable effort to pry her away from the kids. Even then, she kept one eye on the group. Dustin had grabbed Lucas with all the frustration Christine was suppressing, dragging him behind a rusty car so they could converse in low voices. Max was wandering aimlessly around the junkyard, but to her credit, she did actually seem to be collecting sheet metal. It looked like, while she didn't believe whatever Lucas had told her, she didn't have anything better to do with her afternoon.
"I can't believe him," Christine hissed. "I cannot bel—I mean, Barb's parents are selling their house and we can't do anything about it! Meanwhile, Lucas—"
"It wasn't just Lucas," Steve reminded her. "Dustin brought the thing to school to show it off to all his friends. He's kinda the one who told her in the first place."
"Great! Then they're both insane! Steve, she could die. Any of us could die! And if we don't, the government will kill us for breaking our non-disclosure agreements. I mean, if just one of them was thinking—"
"Hey, cut them some slack, okay?" Steve knelt down to a pile of spare tires, heaving one up onto its side. "They know they screwed up. They were just trying to impress the girl."
"Impress…?"
"Apparently she's like a video game goddess or something—Mad Max. Their whole little group is obsessed with her. Which, by the way, is why Dustin's been so weird lately, so you can relax. He's just uh…you know, figuring out girls and all that shit."
Christine gawked at him. "I'm sorry. And you know this…how?"
Steve looped his arm through the tire and smoothly hoisted it up onto his shoulder. "Shop talk. Keep up, Walcott."
He winked at her, pushed up his sunglasses, and then walked off toward the school bus. Christine was left standing there, completely floored.
"What the fuck is going on?" she asked the empty air.
Steve's reassurance hadn't actually reassured her; they were still in a dangerous situation with slim hopes of navigating out alive. But if male testosterone, puberty, and growing pains were what had landed them in this situation, then she figured there wasn't much she could have done to avoid it. There was certainly nothing she could do about the fact that they were here now, and the sun was starting to go down.
Still, Dustin and Lucas seemed to know how much trouble they were in. They each gave Christine a wide berth as they began prepping the junkyard, which was fine by her. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and took charge of the pile of tires, systematically moving them from the edge of the clearing to the bus, then hoisting them up onto the roof. She wanted a barrier they could use for cover if they needed to keep a lookout or shoot from up high.
Once she was satisfied with the crow's nest, she moved onto fortifying the bus. The kids had been collecting sheet metal to plate the sides, though she had no idea how they were going to affix them. She upended her backpack to sift through the odds and ends she'd grabbed from the garage that morning: hammer, screwdriver, pliers, zip-ties, nails, screws, spare wire from her electric kit, and a few rolls of duct tape.
The first thing she tackled was the front window, which she figured would be the most vulnerable spot on the bus. Steve had wrangled a metal grate that was big enough to cover most of the glass, but it was impossible to hold the metal, the nail, and the hammer all at the same time.
"M'fuck," she cursed through the nails she'd pinned in her mouth, nearly snapping her finger off as she dropped the grate for the fourth time.
"Here, I got it!"
Max appeared at her side and helped her lift the metal back into place. She wedged her shoulder under the frame, which gave her just enough balance to hold it up while Christine fumbled with her hammer. She mumbled a quick 'thank you' and moved to secure the grate before it got too heavy again.
"So…you're Christine, right?"
Max was watching her curiously, though her expression seemed guarded, like she was still assessing her surroundings, trying to decide how much of Lucas's story she believed. Christine was surprised she'd even made it this far. Christine wouldn't have gone wandering into the woods after a far-fetched story like that. Well…she had gone into the woods after the same far-fetched story, but last year she'd had Eleven for proof.
Christine's stomach twisted into a knot, and she slammed the nail through the rusty metal with unnecessary force.
"Yeah," she answered stiffly. "Sorry we kinda skipped introductions."
"It's fine," Max replied. "Lucas told me all about you earlier. Sorry I…intruded on your adventure or whatever."
"It's not a—" Christine cut herself off and forced a deep breath. "You don't have to apologize. If I'm mad at anyone, it's Dustin and Lucas."
"I mean…I asked them to tell me. A lot."
"You didn't know what you were asking, and they did. It was their responsibility to keep you out it, not yours."
Christine wordlessly switched sides with her so she would start working on the other end of the grate. Max hung back but didn't walk away. She was still looking at Christine, her eyebrows knitted together in suspicion and concern.
"You're like…actually serious about this."
It wasn't phrased as a question, but the implication hung in the air. Christine didn't answer immediately. She finished securing the grate as best as she could, fixing it to the bus, propping it on the rusty windshield wipers, taping down the edges. She gave it a few experimental tugs and turned back to find that Max was still waiting. Christine sighed and dropped her hammer back into her bag.
"Look, I'm not saying this to be mean, or belittle you, or be a bitch. But yeah: I'm serious. What we're doing right now is dangerous, okay? Someone—" her voice cracked a little bit. "—Someone died last year. So whether you want to believe it or not, the safest thing for you to do would be to go home right now and forget whatever Lucas said to you. All of it."
Max's face fell; it hurt to watch. Christine had already watched the boys change so much after everything they'd been through: the way shadows always seemed to fill Will's eyes, the way Mike constantly clenched his jaw, the way Lucas restlessly scanned his surroundings, the way Dustin would randomly appear on her doorstep whenever he'd spent too much time alone. She didn't want to watch another kid grow up too fast—but she also didn't want to watch anyone else die.
Christine left Max to sit with that for a while. She grabbed her bag and the next piece of sheet metal, moving around to the long side of the bus. The smaller sheets were easier to maneuver, and it wasn't long before she'd covered all the glass in the folding doors. She was about to move onto the windows when a loud ripping noise made her jump.
Max peeled off a strip of duct tape and slapped it onto the door. She took a step back, shifting awkwardly while Christine stared at her.
"Lucas walked me here," she explained. "I don't know how to get back, so…unless one of you's walking me home, you guys are stuck with me."
Christine chewed on her bottom lip. She didn't want anyone else to be in harm's way, but if the alternative was letting her wander the woods alone…
"Fine," she sighed, grabbing the roll of duct tape from the girl's hands. "You hold up the grates from the inside, and I'll screw 'em in."
Max nodded dutifully and scurried up the stairs into the bus.
The work went a lot faster with an extra set of hands. With the boys supplying material from all around the yard, the bus rapidly transformed from an abandoned wreck to the armored tank they'd need.
For the most part, the girls worked quietly, keeping to themselves aside from an instruction here or there, or a request to pass the screws. Still, Christine recognized the feeling of being watched. It wasn't the same as it had been with Eleven; El was fascinated by everything around her, overwhelmed by curiosity and confusion and fear. Christine doubted that it was fear holding Max back—probably just independence and stubbornness. Either way, it still left Christine with the task of making conversation. Like Steve had said: shop talk.
"So…how long have you been friends with the boys?"
"Like, Halloween," Max answered with a shrug. "Lucas and Dustin invited me trick-or-treating."
"Oh. That…actually makes a lot of sense…"
Max paused in the middle of tying off a piece of wire, narrowing her eyes. "Why?"
"Nothing," Christine dismissed. "I just haven't heard them talk about you before."
"Yeah, well, I just moved here, so…"
"Oh, cool. Where from?"
"California."
The roll of chicken wire Christine was carrying seemed to leap from her hands. She scrambled to recover without cutting herself or losing her composure.
"Wait, C—California? So…did you move with Billy?"
She hadn't expected Max to be overflowing with joy and recognition, but it was still jarring how quickly her face flooded with resentment.
"Great," she growled, snapping the pliers closed. "You know Billy."
"Well…yeah, I mean—he's—we're both at the high school, so…are you his sister?"
"Stepsister. We're not actually related. Thank God."
"Come on. Is he really that bad? He seems…fine…"
Max stopped fully this time. She peered out the window at Christine, scanning her head to toe. Christine had tried to keep her voice light and conversational so it didn't sound like she was fishing. Judging by the dirty look that Max was giving her, she hadn't succeeded.
"Oh," Max said flatly. "You're one of those."
Christine raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"I know all the high school girls think he's hot, or whatever, but the truth is that he's an asshole. He's a shitty person and a worse brother."
"Ouch," she said with a weak laugh, "that's…a real high opinion you've got of him."
"Look, do what you want, but if he's being nice to you, it's just because he wants something."
"Like what?"
There was a beat as the two of them stared at each other. Christine fiddled with the chicken wire in her hands as Max blinked at her, shocked. After a moment, her face broke into a smirk. She laughed, but when Christine didn't join in, she quickly smothered the sound. It was with pink cheeks and worried eyes that she finally cleared her throat.
"I mean…he wants to get laid. As in…sex?"
"Right!" Christine squeaked and flapped her hands, chicken wire and all, as if she could wave the horrifying situation behind her. "Right, no, I—I thought you meant—I got that part, seriously, ha…"
She tried to focus her attention on the task at hand so she wouldn't have to think about Max's giggling.
She knew that Billy wanted to sleep with her. He had been pretty clear on that front, if nothing else. Sometimes she just forgot that, for other people, sex was just…sex. She was so used to being considered a nerd or a psycho that the idea of anyone wanting to use her for sex of all things was…almost bizarre, frankly.
"Are you sure we're talking about the same Billy?" Max asked with another smirk. "You uh…don't seem like his type—and I mean that as a compliment."
"Thanks," Christine scoffed. "Well, I might not be his usual type, but apparently he's mine."
"Wow. You have crappy taste in guys."
"Yeah, don't remind me."
Max nodded to the yard behind Christine's back. "The jock doesn't seem too bad though…"
"Oh, trust me," she laughed, "it depends on the day. Popularity scars people in unbelievably grotesque ways. He's come a long way, but I'd reserve judgement on that one."
Max snickered, but didn't fully laugh, holding the chicken wire in place as Christine clambered up on top of a rusty barrel so she could reach the window. As she went around the edges with her pliers, crimping the wire into place, she gave Max a calculating look out of the corner of her eye, then decided to test the waters.
"What about you?"
"What do you mean?" asked Max.
"Well, it sounds like you've been hanging out with the boys a lot. And Lucas brought you here, sooo—"
"No," she snorted at once. "All of them are weird. I was only hanging out with them because they were stalking me, and I only came here because I was supposed to see some monsters. That's it."
Christine tucked her lips in to hide a smirk. It had been a very fast answer, only slightly more composed than her own floundering at the mention of Billy. She didn't know Max well enough to push, but it seemed like a touchy subject.
"Anyway," Max continued—and if she hadn't sounded defensive before, she certainly did now, "Lucas told me the whole story about last year, and you're in a lot of it. He wouldn't shut up about you, all, 'Chrissy knows all about physics' and 'Chrissy was so brave' and 'Chrissy's a badass.' I'm pretty sure he's in love with you."
"Yeah, it's kinda cute," Christine sighed. She finished off the last corner of the chicken wire and fixed Max with a knowing look. "Still, take it from someone who knows, Lucas knows how important this is, but he's pretty much incapable of lying when he likes someone. He wouldn't tell that story to just anyone."
Max had a pretty great poker face, but Christine was close enough to see the way she fidgeted at the insinuation. Christine grinned and jumped down from her perch on the barrel. She stuffed her leftover supplies back into her bag and hopped up the stairs to the bus. By the time she'd collected everything and made it inside, Max had secured her mask of indifference.
"So, you've seen one of these things before?"
"Yup," Christine confirmed as she dropped her things in the corner. "Well, something like this thing. Hopefully this one will be a lot smaller, a lot weaker, and a lot easier to take down."
"How did you take it down?" Max asked warily. "Last year?"
"Ha, barely, but…it wasn't all that different from our plan here. A little bit of gasoline, a bat full of nails, and uh…this."
Christine patted her shotgun where it was propped up against one of the seats. Max stood up a little straighter. She inched forward, trying to sate her curiosity by getting a better look while her hands were glued to her sides. Now she looked like Eleven: intrigued, but scared to get too close.
"Do you seriously know how to use that?" she asked. Then, when Christine nodded: "…Can you show me?"
Christine pursed her lips, drumming her fingers on the back of the seat. The responsible part of her wanted to tell Max that shooting wasn't a party trick and that, if they were unbelievably lucky, Max would never have to see the gun go off. They couldn't risk scaring Dart off before he got to the end of the trail, and they really shouldn't be wasting ammo.
The sucker in her saw an impressionable young girl, looking to her for reassurance. That was the part that won out.
"I guess I could warm up with a test shot, make sure it's firing smoothly." Christine grabbed the gun and slung it over her shoulder. "Come on."
They ventured outside into the fading light, then walked around to the other side of the bus, far away from the boys and any other creatures that might've been lurking in the tree line. Christine kicked her way through the tall grass in search of a suitable target. She collected a few bottles and some cans that hadn't had all the life crushed out of them just yet, then lined them up on another stack of spare tires.
"Have you ever fired a gun?" she asked as she walked back toward the start.
Max folded her arms over her chest and shook her head.
"Yeah, that's…probably the right answer. Um…well, first thing's safety: yours and everyone else's. You check the gun, check your surroundings, and once you're all clear, you can line up your shot. You never point a gun at anything you don't want to shoot. Got it?"
Christine fixed Max with a serious look and waited for her to nod before continuing. She tossed Max one of the shotgun shells to inspect while she loaded another into the barrel.
"The big thing that separates a shotgun and a handgun is range."
"Like, how far you can shoot?" Max clarified.
"Well, yeah, but it's more important how wide you shoot. A bullet hits a spot; a shell hits a whole area. So if you were over there holding one of those bottles, I'm not gonna use this to snipe it out of your hand."
Max grimaced and dropped the shotgun shell into Christine's waiting hand. She held it up to the light and exaggerated her motions so Max could follow along.
"So you check the safety on the gun, shell goes here, load. You cradle the base of the gun up here on your shoulder, with your feet apart like this—that way when it goes off, you don't get knocked back. Then you just…cock it, aim, disengage the safety, and…"
Christine pressed the stock to her cheek, lining up her shot. She squeezed the trigger and, with a resounding bang, about half the cans knocked over. Max whistled, but it was barely audible over…
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—"
"RUN FOR COVER! EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF! I REPEAT, RUN—"
Christine winced sheepishly, and it was only then that Max burst into laughter. She grabbed her stomach and doubled over, cackling as the boys continued to scream in absolute panic. It was awful, but Christine started to giggle too.
"Christine?!" Steve came sprinting around the back of the bus, eyes wild. "Are you okay? What was that? Where's…what the fuck?"
That pushed Max over the edge. It sounded like she was practically crying, her breath coming out in squeaks between all of her giggles. It made it that much harder for Christine to keep a straight face as she replied.
"…Gun still works."
Steve glowered at her and jabbed a finger at the bus. "Just get the hell inside. Both of you."
Christine shoved Max to go first. They both kept their heads down as they shuffled past Steve, who glared at them the whole way, muttering things like "insane," "dangerous," and "completely unprofessional."
The sun was setting fast, the sky already fading to dusk by the time Steve had wrangled everyone inside. They'd done a lot of work in one afternoon: old mattresses and milk crates and broken chairs had been shoved up against the wall to create a home base. Outside, there was now a layer of junk about a foot thick on all sides of the bus, ready to act as a barrier if something were to attack. Christine tried not to think about the hole in the wall of the Hendersons' cellar where Dart had burrowed his way straight through concrete. This was the best they could do, and they had to pray that it would be enough.
And wait.
It was uncomfortably tense in the bus. Everyone was silent, barely able to look at each other for fear of worrying someone else. Christine knew she wouldn't be much use to anyone if she fell asleep or had another panic attack—two opposite ends of the spectrum, yet both very real possibilities—so she did what she always did when she was stressed: she pulled out her Walkman.
She hung her headphones around her neck and turned up the volume until she could hear the melody of REO Speedwagon playing faintly. Then she sat down with back to the wall, closed her eyes, and tried to focus on her breathing.
The songs on the tape were her only way to keep track of the time. She listened to the wind outside, Dustin's footfalls as he paced the length of the bus, the ladder creaking as Lucas climbed to the roof to keep watch. There was a repetitive clicking sound across from her, which she assumed had to be Steve playing with his lighter. He'd started smoking less after he and Nancy made things official, but he still liked to do grand, flourishing tricks with his lighter now and then. The fidgeting must not have been enough to dissipate his nerves, because he was the first to break the silence.
"What if it doesn't come?"
"He'll come," Dustin assured him. "He has to come."
"Okay, but what if he doesn't?"
"Then we use a different kind of bait."
"Yeah, I think Big Buy will be closed by the time we hike back for some bacon."
"I don't mean meat, idiot. I mean we lure it with blood, like last year."
"I'm sorry, blood?" Max repeated incredulously. "You're joking, right?"
"No, I'm not joking," Dustin snapped. "Christine had to cut her shoulder open and everything. She still has a scar."
"And I will not be doing it again," said Christine, without opening her eyes. "I volunteer Steve this time."
"Yeah, no. I'm not doing that."
"Wait, can we go back?" Max asked. "You—you cut yourself and collected the blood so that you could—could summon some kind of monster and kill it?"
"Yup," Christine sighed. "The Byers had to get new furniture and everything."
"…And you're not joking?"
"God, no one is joking!" Dustin stopped pacing abruptly to round on Max. "This shit is dangerous, okay? Why are you even here if you don't believe us? Just go home."
That was enough to make Christine open her eyes. "Dustin."
"What?" he snapped, storming to the opposite corner. "It's the truth."
Christine pressed her lips together in displeasure. She tried to send Max an apologetic look, but the girl was staring at Dustin in disbelief. Her eyebrows had climbed up toward her hairline, her mouth hanging open. She unfolded her arms and pushed out of her seat.
"Geez, someone's cranky. Past your bedtime?"
Max shot Dustin a glare before ascending the ladder to join Lucas on the roof. Steve watched her go, a vague smile on his face.
"That's good," he said quietly, once she was out of earshot. "Just show her you don't care."
"I don't," Dustin said stubbornly. Steve turned to look at him, which only made Dustin glare harder. "Why are you winking, Steve? Stop."
Steve shrugged and slouched back against the wall, the lighter twirling through his fingers with ease. Christine looked back and forth between him and Dustin. Her throat felt like it was swelling shut again, only this time, it had nothing to do with a panic attack.
"God," she groaned bitterly, "I knew it was a bad idea to leave the two of you alone together."
"What?" Steve frowned at her, affronted. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Tell me you didn't say that."
"Say what?"
"That he should treat girls like he doesn't care about them! That's bullshit!"
"Okay, one: I did not say it like that. And two, it's not bullshit. It works for me all the time."
"Oh, does it? Because last time I checked, you didn't get through a year of dating Nancy by treating her like shit. You didn't get her in the first place by treating her like shit!"
"Yeah, and look how that turned out," he grumbled.
Christine laughed derisively. "Oh my God! Do not try to tell me—"
"Okay, hold on," Dustin interrupted, "but clearly there were some girls that liked Steve, even when he treated them like shit."
Christine did not at all appreciate the pointed look he gave her, but at this point, she was too angry to care.
"Fine," she spat, "you wanna talk about that? Let's talk about it. Depriving a girl of attention is a great way to give her a complex and make her crave affection. But when she does finally get it? She's not gonna hold out for yours."
She raised her eyebrows at Steve, who was already shaking his head.
"Right," he chuckled darkly. "Right, so that's my fault."
"You know what? It kind of is!"
"Wait…what's his fault?" Dustin asked.
"That Chrissy's into some asshole that thinks almost running her over counts as flirting."
"Oh, shut up, Steve."
"Wait, running her over?" Dustin looked between them rapidly, trying to catch up to the conversation. "Like, Max's brother?"
"Yup!" Steve said with false brightness. "That's the one!"
"Christine! Gross!"
"It's not gross," she said, before rounding back to Steve. "And you're one to talk! You just said to treat girls like you don't care."
"Ha! Okay, acting like you're not interested is way different than acting like you don't care if someone dies."
"Well that's bullshit too! One of the things I do like about Billy is that he tells me he's interested. He asks me questions, compliments me, invites me places—"
"So you want a guy that comes on strong," Dustin clarified, in a very peculiar voice. "Hot and heavy. Like a lion?"
"What? No, it's—it's not about being hot and heavy. It's showing that you pay attention."
"To what? No, really," he added as she prepared to snap at him, "what…what do I do?"
Christine bit back the angry remarks she'd been ready to throw at Steve, then rubbed her temples with a weary sigh. She'd never felt qualified to give love advice. It was easy enough to talk Nancy through something, but it wasn't like Christine had any experience to back up her claims. While she was glad that Dustin was finally comfortable asking her stuff like this without being weird about it, she wasn't thrilled about the timing. Demogorgon aside, it wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in front of Steve.
She pulled her headphones off and shifted to give Dustin her full attention.
"Okay. I know this is gonna sound like shitty advice, but the best thing you can do is to be yourself."
"Um…yeah." Dustin wrinkled his nose. "You're right. That sounds like shitty advice."
"I get it," she said, with the ghost of a smile, "but seriously. You're…an incredibly annoying, incredibly smart kid, and the right person will see that. But in the meantime, if you're trying to get a girl's attention? The best way to do that is just to show that you notice her."
"You notice her," he repeated, as if testing the words. His eyes momentarily flitted over to Steve, then back to her. "Like how you were talking about…feeling special?"
"Mhm."
"Okay. How do you do that?"
"It depends on the person," she answered. "It could be, 'Hey, I noticed you seem down. What's wrong?' Or 'I noticed you weren't in class, so I copied the notes.' Or 'I watched that movie you love, can we talk about it?' Or 'I made you a mixtape of songs you might like.' Just…listen to her when she talks. And if she mentions something about herself, remember it. Show her that you remember the joke that she made, or that thing she said without thinking, or the story she told, because…because at the end of the day, all anyone really wants is to be noticed. Not shoved aside, or put up on a pedestal, just…someone who's their friend. And all of that will be easy if you honestly like her, because—because you already think she's interesting and you want to talk to her and she wants to talk to you so…that's when a girl will fall for you. Okay?"
Dustin nodded solemnly. Christine forced a smile and lowered her eyes to her Walkman, which she'd suddenly lost all desire to listen to. The tape that was spinning away had Steve's handwriting all over it, one of the many mixtapes he'd made as part of her "music education." She didn't think she could listen to it now, when his eyes were so painfully boring into the side of her skull and—
An unearthly screech from outside made all of them jump out of their skins. Christine leapt to her feet and scrambled to the closest window.
It was nearly pitch-black outside, and a low-lying fog had rolled in from nowhere; it made seeing nearly impossible. Christine could barely make out the edges of the wrecked cars, let alone the bait, the line of gasoline, or any monsters creeping in the shadows.
"Do you see him?" Dustin asked, squeezing next to Steve at the window to her left.
"No," Steve whispered back. "I can't see shit."
"Lucas? What's going on?!"
"Hold on!" Lucas shouted from above. They waited with bated breath as he scoured the fog, until—"I've got eyes! Ten o'clock! T-ten o'clock!"
"There," said Steve, jabbing his finger out the window.
"What?" Christine squinted harder. "Where? I don't—"
"Left of the overhead, down low."
She huffed and pressed her face against the window. There was one lone light that towered over the clearing, casting long shadows in all directions. The way the fog was billowing over the grass, it was tough to tell what was actually moving and what was just an illusion. She could make out a shape, low to the ground, but it easily could have been another piece of junk.
"What's he doing?" Dustin hissed.
"I don't know." Steve shook his head, his knee beginning its telltale bouncing. "He's not taking the bait. Why is he not taking the bait?"
"Maybe because it smells like gasoline," Christine suggested tartly. "I don't know about you, but that usually kills my appetite."
"Okay, for the last time, if I poured it around the meat—"
"Will the two of you stop?" Dustin snapped. "He ate the whole way here! Maybe he's just not hungry anymore."
"Or…maybe he's sick of cow…"
Steve and Christine looked at each other for a moment, then moved at the same time. In the few seconds it took for Steve to retrieve his bat, Christine had already scrambled in front of the door to block him off.
"No! Steve, no. You can't—"
"Hey, it's okay," he assured her. "It's like you said, right? If we don't go out there it's gonna be Barb all over again."
"Steve, if you go out there it could be Barb all over again!"
"What are you talking about? I'm fine." He gave her a cocky grin, one that almost disguised his nerves. "I've got backup, I've got a bat, and I've got a badass looking out for me."
His hand came up to her shoulder, steadying her as she swayed on her feet. It was getting hard to breathe again, but she couldn't decide if that was the impending doom, the thought of Barb, or the way Steve's thumb was gently rubbing over her flannel.
She squeezed her eyes closed, clenching her jaw. "No. I don't like this."
"Yeah, well, you don't like anything I do. Just cover me, okay?" He released her to reach into his pocket, pulling out his lighter and tossing it to Dustin. "And get ready."
"Steve—"
This time, he didn't stay to comfort her. He brushed her to the side and headed for the door, easing it open and slipping out before she could form another argument.
Christine cursed and leapt into action. She seized the shotgun and a box of shells, shouting at the open hatch on the roof.
"Max! Max, get down! We gotta move!"
"What?" Her red hair tumbled down as she stuck her head through the door. "What are you gonna do? Where's—"
"Switch with me! Now!"
Max didn't argue. She swung her legs in and slid down the ladder like a practiced firefighter, staying clear as Christine scaled it back up.
"Chrissy?" Lucas whispered. "What's—"
"Hold these."
She shoved the ammo into his arms so she was free to pull herself through the hatch. It was an awkward fit; with Lucas sitting next to her, there was barely enough room for her to plant herself with her shotgun. She had to brace her feet on the lip of the door with her knees butting up against the tire wall. She checked the barrel, got into position, and scanned the length of the junkyard.
Steve was already several yards away from the bus, his bat swinging back and forth at his side. The sound of his whistling carried back to her on the breeze, slightly off pitch as it traveled through the air. Christine forced herself to look past him, scouring the fog for the figure she'd seen from the window.
Lucas hurriedly did the same with his binoculars. "What the hell is he doing?"
"Being an idiot," Christine grumbled. "What else is new?"
She tensed as the fog cleared ever so slightly. There was definitely something creeping through the fog, smaller than last year's Demogorgon had been, but a hell of a lot bigger than a house cat. Even just looking at the silhouette, Christine recognized the long, awkward limbs, the oddly-shaped head, hiding rows upon rows of teeth…
"Come on," Steve called out to it. "Dinner time. Human tastes better than cat, I promise."
Christine gripped the shotgun even tighter. From this angle, she wasn't going to be able to shoot the thing anyway; Steve was standing directly in her line of sight. She should've taken the gun and gone out there with him, kept a lookout from the sidelines so she could get a better angle. Up here, she couldn't adjust her position, so unless he laid down flat and she got incredibly lucky—
"STEVE, WATCH OUT!"
Lucas's shout scared the shit out of Christine, and she fumbled in the shotgun in surprise.
"I'm a little busy here!" Steve yelled back over his shoulder.
"No! It's—"
"Where?" Christine demanded.
"Three o'clock! Three o'clock!"
She planted the gun on her shoulder and followed his direction. She swung right, clicked off the safety, and froze.
It was a lot easier to see up close. There was a black pickup truck parked a few yards away and, crouching on top of it, another long-legged creature—a Demogorgon in miniature, though slightly more proportionate. The Demogorgon's arms had been long enough to scrape the ground while it was standing at full height, and on two feet, it had been almost humanoid: a head, neck, and chest with mottled, rotting flesh.
This creature looked distinctly more like an animal. It had little to no neck and seemed more coordinated on all fours than its predecessor. At this stage of its development, it looked like there was a short tail swaying behind it. Christine wasn't sure if this was a younger Demogorgon or a different creature altogether, but she was willing to bet it was just as lethal.
And there was more than one of them.
"Get inside," she ordered Lucas.
"What?" he squeaked, as another figured stepped out of the fog. "But we—"
"Get inside now."
This time, he didn't argue.
Christine listened to the ladder squeak as Lucas scrambled inside but didn't take her eyes off her target—or, targets. The creatures were multiplying by the second, a new one crawling out of the shadows every time she adjusted her aim. She took a deep breath and did her best to steady her hands.
"Hey, Steve?"
His voice shook slightly as he called back. "Uh…yeah?"
"This one's not a warning shot."
"Yeah. I got that."
One of the monsters screeched, but Christine didn't take the time to check which one it was before she pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The shotgun shattered the silence, and all hell broke loose.
Too much was happening to keep track of all of it. All of the kids were shouting, Dustin's squeaky voice rising above them as he screamed for Steve to get back to the bus. Steve was busy; Christine couldn't keep her eyes on him, but she saw him dive over one of the cars, duck, then spin around to nail one of the creatures with his bat. She wished she could be more helpful, but at this distance, any shot she took in his vicinity would risk hitting him too.
Instead, she focused on picking off the stragglers at the edges of the field. The gunshot had done exactly what she'd been afraid of: alerted the creatures to an additional target. The ones that weren't pouncing on Steve began stalking around the bus, the flaps of their faces opening in short bursts to hiss and roar at the sound of the gun. Christine got a few of them, but the shotgun only held so many shells. Every time she stopped to reload the whole pack moved closer. There was no way she'd be able to get them all.
Below her, Steve dove into the bus, and the door screeched as the kids slammed it shut behind him. It was only a moment later that someone was insistently slapping her leg.
"Chrissy! Abort! Christine, you—get inside! Mission abort!"
"Dustin, I—"
She grunted as she shot again, scattering a few creatures away from the door. The next second, the bus jolted beneath her as one slammed into the back end of the bus. Christine swung and shot again.
"Fuck!"
"Abort!" Dustin was still screaming. "There's too many of them! Chrissy—Chris, please!"
"Move!"
Christine shot until the barrel was empty, then tucked her feet in and fell through the hatch. She landed on her feet, and was about to reach up to retrieve the ammo when the whole bus shook again. The box slid through the hatch, shells tumbling out onto the floor and scattering in all directions.
She swore again and fell to her knees, grasping at the ammo as it rolled out of her reach. It didn't help that the bus was still shaking violently, or that the kids were running all around her. It sounded like Steve was beating the crap out of something up front, and Dustin was screaming into his radio.
"Is anyone there?! Mike?! Will?! God?! Anyone?!"
Christine managed to gather a few shells and was shoving them into the gun when the kids let out a fresh round of screams. She looked up just in time to see a set of sharp claws rip out from a square of sheet metal. The barrier was several layers thick, but evidently, it still wasn't thick enough. She urged her hands to move faster.
"Shit!" Dustin bellowed, grabbing his walkie again. "We're at the old junkyard, and we are going to die!"
If anything could have made the situation worse, it was silence.
Christine didn't notice it at first; she was too focused on loading the gun to pay attention to the squelching sound of Steve's bat at the door. She didn't even lift her head until Max's shoes came into her line of vision.
Max was standing in front of her, looking up at the ceiling in apprehension. Christine didn't have time to ask what was wrong. She only heard the last two footsteps before the creature reached the hatch. Two slimy hands gripped the ladder, poised to jump inside. It poked its head through the hole, making a low, familiar clicking noise…
Christine froze. All at once, her brain was replaying every memory, every nightmare she'd had in the last year. That sound kept her up at night. She heard it everywhere: in the gurgle before the sprinklers turned on, in the dishwasher when it drained after the cycle, in the hum of the water fountain in the hall. That sound had broken her leg. It had taken Eleven. It had killed Barb.
Max screamed.
Christine leapt into action. She pushed Max out of the way, propped herself up one knee, and took aim as the creature roared. The shotgun went off with a bang, and the shell's impact propelled the creature off the bus and completely out of sight. Christine blew a strand of hair out of her face as she readied the next shell.
"Eat that, fuckface."
She anchored the gun against her shoulder again, prepared to take out the next monster that tried the hatch…but nothing came.
Everyone stood quietly, waiting for the next bout. There was another screech, but this time, it sounded distant. Christine's heart sank; her first thought was that the creatures had reinforcements, and that more would be bearing down on them in a few seconds, but the bus was still. They must have waited two whole minutes in silence before anyone found the courage to speak.
Steve caught Christine's eye, looking pale. "Should…should we check?"
"Yeah," she managed quietly. "Yeah, we should check."
Christine got to her feet on quivering legs. Her heart was still pounding wildly, but the adrenaline already felt like it was fading from her muscles. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steel herself. Silence didn't mean safety, and if there was a second attack, she had to protect the kids. She couldn't do that with shaky hands.
Steve was watching her cautiously. He raised his eyebrows a fraction, silently asking if she was alright. Christine tightened her grip on the gun.
"Stay back, okay?" she advised, looking at each of the kids in turn. They nodded nervously and hung back as she and Steve walked to the door.
It was an absolute horror show. The bus stairs were coated in slime, blood, pieces of shattered glass from the door, and flecks of skin that had ripped off the monster as Steve beat it back. It was still hanging in the door, broken limbs inside while its body hung like deadweight outside.
Steve wrinkled his nose and stepped forward, but Christine pulled him back. Ignoring his questioning look, she lifted the gun and fired another shot at the door. The kids all screamed, masking the sound of the creature's body as it fell into the grass.
"I—is something out there?" Dustin demanded. "Is it still alive?"
"I don't think so," Christine said, as calmly as she could. "But, better safe than sorry."
The door creaked loudly as she stepped out, making her wince. She made sure to go barrel-first, her finger ready on the trigger in case something tried to jump out from behind a car. The junkyard had returned to its previous stillness, the low fog rolling over the grass, almost obscuring the three or four bodies that scattered the ground. She stepped over what was left of the one that had attacked the door, walking further into the clearing.
She didn't relax until Steve appeared at her side, his bat resting on his shoulder.
"This doesn't feel right."
Christine scoffed, lowering the gun slightly. "Tell me about it."
The door creaked again, and they turned back to the bus. Lucas, Max, and Dustin were all inching their way down the stairs, staring in horror at the crumpled body on the grass. Not one of them had waited for the 'all clear,' but Christine was too shaken to scold them.
"What happened?" asked Lucas.
Max shook her head. "I don't know."
"Think you guys scared them off?" Dustin suggested.
"No, no way," said Steve. He shared a grave look with Christine. "They're going somewhere."
"All of them?" Max asked weakly. "Like where?"
"Well," Christine sighed, "I'm willing to bet they were called back to the mothership."
She glanced to Dustin and Lucas and, in unison, all three of them turned to stare at the tree line. Somewhere, behind a few miles of woods and an electrified fence, something was going on at Hawkins National Laboratory.