Mike

They were on the road for ten minutes before Mike remembered his seatbelt. Neither Jonathan nor Nancy payed attention to the metallic click of the buckle. They were both resolutely staring straight ahead. In the rearview mirror, Jonathan's dark eyes reflected their intense focus as he maneuvered the Ford through back roads that were thankfully less clogged with fleeing residents. Every few seconds, like clockwork, he lifted his right eyebrow and flicked his gaze back to Mrs. Wheeler, ensuring she was still behind them. Next to him, the top of Nancy's head was just visible, bobbing fluidly with each swerve.

Mike turned his attention to his lap, where the Walkie-Talkie sat in relentless silence. Its antenna, fully extended, brushed the back of the passenger seat. He cradled the radio in both of his hands, chewing his lip, then placed it on the seat next to him. Jonathan's messenger bag was sitting on the floor and inside, Mike spotted the Pentax camera Nancy had given him last Christmas.

They took a left turn, edging closer to the highway, but still off of the main grid. The silence in the car was thick and felt infuriatingly deliberate. In the rearview mirror, Jonathan's eyes were still staring stonily ahead and Nancy was gradually slumping forward in her seat.

"Where did you see the Demogorgon?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Jonathan looked at him in the mirror, flicked his eyes to the road behind, then dropped them to the way ahead before clearing his throat and responding, "You know the woods where Will went missing? Off Cornwallis and Kerley?"

"Mirkwood," Mike confirmed.

Jonathan was quiet, but when he looked back in the mirror, Mike saw the hint of a smile in his eyes. "That's what Will calls it, too."

Mike chose his next words carefully. He knew what he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure how to go about it. "Did you just see the Demogorgon?"

"What do you mean?" Jonathan replied.

Mike exhaled slowly and pinched his eyebrows together. "Did you see anything… or anyone else?" he asked. He hoped it sounded nonchalant, but from the look he was getting in the mirror, he doubted it.

"Your friend?" Jonathan asked. "The girl?"

Mike scratched his head and mumbled, "Eleven."

"Eleven," Jonathan repeated. "I'm sorry, Mike. No." He seemed to consider the idea for a minute and asked, "I thought you and the other guys saw her disappear."

Mike dropped his hand. "Well, yeah, but we saw the Demogorgon disappear, too. If it's back, then maybe Eleven is, too." He looked out the window as he spoke, scanning the trees with a sudden certainty that Eleven must be out there somewhere.

"This isn't the same monster as last time," Jonathan explained. He made eye contact through the mirror for a brief moment. "It's not the same," he repeated firmly.

Mike sighed. Part of the hopefulness that had sparked earlier collapsed, but part of it was still shining. The chapter of his life with Eleven wasn't done yet. He knew it. He just needed to talk to the guys about it.

Holding the Walkie-Talkie to his mouth, Mike held down the button and said clearly, "Dustin. Come in, Dustin. Over."

The radio fell silent. They took a right and Nancy let out a weak sigh.

"You okay, Nancy?" Mike asked, returning his Walkie-Talkie to the seat.

She covered her face with her hands and spoke through her fingers, "Headache." Her voice was thin and Mike exchanged a worried look with Jonathan.

"How's your back?" Jonathan asked. When Nancy didn't respond, he reached across the seat and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "She feels really hot."

Mike didn't know how to respond. He was sure they had some aspirin packed in one of the bags his dad had stuffed in the station wagon. But was it worth stopping and trying to find some? "She's been looking pretty sick lately," he suggested. "Maybe she has the flu?" He lurched forward as Jonathan suddenly pumped the brakes. At first he thought they were stopping to look for medicine, then he noticed the collision ahead.

Jonathan flipped on the Ford's headlights, flooding the scene ahead. A Volkswagen Rabbit was turned almost perpendicular to the road, its front end crumpled. In front of it, pushed nearly into the ditch was a familiar BMW coupe. The rear driver's side wheel was at a forty-five degree angle and the tire was peeled halfway off of the rim. As they came to a coasting stop, Steve walked into the road, waving his arms to flag them down. He shielded his eyes from the glare of the headlights and crossed to the driver's side window.

"Thanks for stopping. She hit that loose gravel back there too fast and—" He stopped abruptly when he got to the window and stared at the passengers incredulously. "Byers?" he finally said, dumbfounded. He looked past Jonathan, assessed Nancy and glanced in the back seat.

Mike waved. "Hey, Steve."


Traffic was surprisingly smooth on the highway, if a little busier than usual. It seemed that enough people were branching in all directions away from Hawkins that the bottleneck eased once they got out of the city limits.

"Jesus, I cannot believe this," Steve said to no one in particular. Since sharing his story about the Demogorgon and hearing about Jonathan and Nancy's close encounter, he'd been issuing a steady stream of profanity under his breath.

They passed under a sign announcing the next few exits. In the wake of the sign's lamps, they were plunged back into darkness. "We're almost there," Jonathan announced. His eyes flickered to the station wagon behind them where Mike's mom and sister had taken on Mrs. Harrington and the woman who was driving the VW as passengers.

Nancy moaned from the front seat.

"What's wrong with her?" Steve asked, his concern for Nancy outweighing everything else. He turned to Mike and Jonathan in turn. "Nancy?" he asked, reaching forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.

Nancy's left hand, curled into a crescent, was pressed against her cheek, propping her head up. She didn't seem to notice Steve's touch.

"She has a fever," Mike said. He looked at Steve and shrugged. "Probably the flu."

Another streetlamp illuminated the inside of the car and Steve's worry was apparent in the crease in his brow and heavy frown. A moment later the light was gone and his expression was hidden in the shadows again. "There's medicine in one of my mom's bags," he said.

Jonathan nodded. "We're getting off in two more stops. We'll get her some aspirin. And Hopper's cabin has two bedrooms, so she can sleep."

He looked across the seat as Nancy raised her head. "I had a dream about you," she said softly.

In the aftermath of her words, the car was silent. Jonathan kept his eyes determinedly on the road and hands firmly on the wheel. Steve sat back in his seat, withdrawing his hand from Nancy's shoulder. Mike didn't move; he locked his eyes on a smudge across his window and focused every ounce of his energy on ignoring the tension in the car. In his periphery, he saw Nancy relax into her seat.

The gentle vibration of the road beneath them rocked the car hypnotically. Pairs of headlights passed on their left every so often. Some belonged to cars evacuating Hawkins. Some were just travelers passing a cursed town they knew nothing about.

"What did she say?" Steve asked, breaking the stunned silence.

In the reflection of his mom's headlights, Mike saw Jonathan's eyes refusing to break from the road. "She's feverish," Jonathan explained. His voice didn't sound very convincing, but Mike thought he had a pretty good point. That wasn't something Nancy would admit without being at least a little delirious.

"Are you and Nancy…?" Steve began. But he stopped when Nancy suddenly stiffened in her seat.

Mike saw the top of her head shivering. "Nancy?" he cried. The car swerved violently, dropping a tire off of the shoulder, then back onto pavement as Jonathan reached out to grab her arm. Steve shot forward in his seat and Mike watched as Nancy went limp. She slumped in her seat; her head caught on the seatbelt, turning to face Jonathan and then ricocheted loudly against the window before her body crumpled against the door.