by Lukens, Mark
He grabbed the can of soda from the counter and shook it up. Then he opened the microwave oven and set the can inside. He closed the door and set the timer on the microwave for thirty minutes. The digital numbers began counting down from twenty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds. Fifty-eight seconds. Fifty-seven seconds. After thirty minutes the microwave oven would start and heat up the can of soda. The numbers counted down like a ticking time bomb in a movie.
Because this was a bomb.
Cole looked into the living room; he watched Stella and David as they slept while he slipped his coat on. He could feel the stacks of money in his coat pockets that he’d stuffed earlier; the metal case of money, now about half full, still sat on the floor in front of his chair. He had also stuffed some packs of money into his socks and a few in his pants pockets. There was no way he could carry all of the money, but he guessed he must’ve had close to a hundred thousand dollars on him.
This is my share of the money, his mind whispered. And Trevor’s. This was our starting over money.
At least he hoped he would have a chance to start over.
But first he needed to get out of this place alive.
Cole slid his hands into his thin leather gloves and he glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was almost six o’clock in the morning.
Frank and the others hadn’t even tried to attack yet. Why? What were they waiting for?
They are waiting for me, his mind whispered to him again. They are waiting to see what I will do, waiting to see if I will follow instructions and kill the boy.
Cole grabbed the flashlight he had set on the counter earlier and he walked as quietly as he could to the front door. He unlocked the deadbolt and the clicking noise sounded loud in the silent night, but he didn’t even bother to turn around and look at Stella and David to see if they were waking up now. What could he do now? He didn’t have the time to explain his actions or motives now because the clock was already ticking down to zero—down to detonation.
He slid the recliner out of the way and unlocked the door handle. He opened the door up to the freezing air, and then he slipped out into the pre-dawn darkness and closed the door behind him.
*
Stella opened her eyes and she watched Cole slip outside and close the door. It was a surreal moment for her as her mind drifted back to a similar scenario for her when she had slipped out into the night from the trailer at the dig site in New Mexico and ran outside for David.
She turned and looked at David. She thought about waking him up, but she didn’t. Let him sleep some more. He needed his rest. He needed to be at his strongest in a little while when they made their escape.
She had read Cole wrong, she realized that now. She had believed that he was really going to stick around and help them. But she should’ve known better. He was a criminal and no matter how much he said he was going to change, he couldn’t do it. He was still just a criminal.
She looked into the kitchen at the single dining room chair that was left. Cole had been sitting in it, she guessed, because one of the metal cases of money was on the floor. It was open, and even from here in the living room she could see that some of the stacks of money were gone.
She thought about taking some of that money. A pack or two could help her and David get far away from all of this.
She had decided not to go to her aunt’s house if they got out of this cabin. What would she do if this thing followed them up there? What would she do if it took her aunt and then sent her aunt back as a hollowed-out husk that asked for things in a gravelly voice?
Or maybe this thing would try a different approach next time. Maybe it would tear her aunt apart piece by piece; her aunt would scream and beg Stella to help her, to kill David so this thing would stop hurting her.
Stella closed her eyes for a moment and tried to push the terrible vision out of her mind. No, she couldn’t risk hurting her aunt or anyone else that she knew. She needed some of that stolen money so they could run and find somewhere safe.
She got up and hurried through the murky cabin. She crouched down in front of the open case of money. So many stacks of money inside—one hundred dollar bills collected into a brick of money wrapped in plastic. Stacks and stacks of the plastic bricks of money. She was about to grab one of them, and then she thought of the old man who had been killed in the bank robbery. The one Cole said Needles had killed. This was blood money. A man had died for this money.
And many had died since then.
But she couldn’t let that get to her, she needed to protect David, and she needed some of this money to take him somewhere safe, a place where he could grow up and become strong. Maybe she could find someone who could help them, a shaman or Medicine man who could train David to harness his powers.
That might mean going back to the Navajo reservation, back to where they had come from, back to where all of this had started.
But what else could she do?
She rolled up her pants legs and grabbed a few stacks of the money. She stuffed the money down into her socks and then rolled her pants legs back down to her hiking boots. She stuffed more stacks of money into the waistband of her pants. She took a few more stacks so she could stuff them into her coat pockets.
And then she glanced into the kitchen and saw the numbers on the microwave oven that sat on the counter. The numbers were moving; counting down.
Now she could smell the odor of gas coming from the stove.
And that’s when she heard the thump from the freezer.
She jumped up to her feet and stared into the kitchen at the freezer against the far wall. The lid bumped again; it opened just a bit and then thumped back down.
“Oh God,” Stella whispered.
CHAPTER 43
Cole stepped off the porch and his boots sank down into the snow. He had his gun in his coat pocket, but he didn’t take it out; he wasn’t even sure it would do any good anymore, yet he still felt better knowing that it was there.
He watched the snowy field and the dark blob of trees, but he couldn’t see much in the darkness. The moon was already setting low in the sky behind the trees, but even with the scattering of clouds across the night sky, he could see a little bit into the darkness. He didn’t turn on the flashlight yet, he would wait until he was inside the garage to use it. He didn’t know if using the flashlight would attract this thing out here, but he had a feeling that it didn’t matter either way—this thing knew he was out here now, he was sure of it; he could practically feel it watching him, waiting to see what he was going to do.
Waiting to see if he would follow instructions.
As long as Cole was following instructions, he felt sure that he was relatively safe for the moment.
Cole trudged through the snow towards the hulking black shape in the darkness that was the garage. He walked past Tom Gordon’s pickup truck and it blocked the freezing wind a little. Already his face felt numb and his fingers were turning into ice blocks underneath his thin leather gloves. He paused for a moment at the end of the pickup and looked around one more time—nobody moving in the darkness. He looked back at Frank’s spot in the snow, but Frank wasn’t there. He looked back at the cabin which was dark except for the yellowish glow of the kitchen light in the windows. He didn’t see any movement inside and the door wasn’t open with Stella watching him from the doorway.
He turned back to the garage. He needed to hurry; he could see the digital numbers from the microwave oven (bomb) counting down in his mind.
He hurried through the snow to the garage doors which were already partway open from when he’d entered the garage days ago. But he would need to push the doors open even wider to drive the snowmobile out.
And what if it doesn’t start? What if the battery is dead? What if that thing has known about the snowmobile the whole time and destroyed it already? What if it has known about my plans the whole time?
Cole pushed these thoughts away. He had to try. What else could he do?
He
pushed at the other wooden door with his hands and immediately he felt the sting of the cold through his gloves. He pushed against the door, but it wasn’t budging. He leaned into it more, driving with his legs, trying to find some traction in the scattering of snow on the concrete of the garage and the gravel of the driveway in front of the doorway. One last push, and he nearly screamed with effort as …
… the door broke free with a crackling of ice. The garage door let out a wail of protest into the freezing air as he slid it all the way open until it thumped to a stop.
That might have awakened Stella, he thought.
He hurried into the darkness of the garage. It was like entering the mouth of a cave. He thought about looking for a light switch somewhere on the wall; if the electricity worked in the cabin, then it must work out here. But he didn’t want to waste time with a search for the switch; he had to hurry. The flashlight should be enough to light his way. Besides, he knew exactly where he was going in the garage.
He turned on the flashlight, its beam knifed through the darkness and he could see the clouds of his quick breaths in front of his face. He moved forward through the pathways of boxes, crates, shelves, and junk. He came to the tarp over the snowmobile—it was just how he had left it, with a few boxes toppled down on top of the blue tarp.
Cole set the flashlight on a nearby shelf, and he tried his best to angle the light beam down onto the tarp. He pushed the boxes to the side and he ripped the tarp away; it made a loud crinkling noise when he stuffed it down between some boxes. He could see tiny ice crystals and dust floating in the air through the light beam.
And right where he’d seen it before was the snowmobile. He checked it over quickly, it was an older model, maybe ten years old he guessed, but it looked well-maintained. Living out here in the woods and mountains, this snowmobile would be someone’s (Tom Gordon’s) lifeline if a blizzard hit, and that person would take care of it; the snowmobile would need to be operable at all times.
He shoved his hand into his pants pocket and even though his fingers were beginning to go numb, he could feel the keys to the snowmobile. He grabbed the key and stuck it into the ignition. He twisted the key gently, he didn’t want to start the snowmobile, he just wanted to see if the electrical system still worked and he wanted to see how much fuel was in it.
The lights of the snowmobile lit up when he twisted the key, and he could see the fuel gauge—almost full. He twisted the key to the off position, took it out of the ignition and pocketed it. He didn’t want to start the snowmobile yet—there was something else he needed to do, the other reason he was in the garage.
He grabbed the nearly full gas can from the floor and ran for the open garage doors. The open doorway looked like a dark blue square against the pitch-black garage wall. He almost expected Frank or Jose to step into that dark blue square. He could see Frank’s head cocked to the side in his mind; he could see that plastic smile. “Where are you going, Cole?” Frank would ask in his pleasant but gurgling and grave-cold voice.
Or maybe Trevor would step into the doorway, the jagged pieces of his remade body silhouetted in the doorway.
Cole pushed the thought of Trevor away.
No one stepped into the doorway and Cole ran out of the garage and right to the cabin.
Frank and the others would be coming now, Cole thought. They would be coming when they saw what he was doing.
You’re not following instructions, his mind whispered.
Fuck the instructions, Cole thought.
He ran as fast as he could and the gas in the plastic can sloshed as he stomped through the snow. His lungs were burning and his muscles were already aching from the run. He ran right up to the corner of the cabin, the same corner where Trevor had hopped over the porch railing down into the snow to check the back of the cabin the first day they were here—it seemed so long ago now.
Cole pulled off the plastic cap on the nozzle of the gas can and he tossed it away. He wouldn’t need it anymore; he was going to use every bit of this gasoline. He sloshed the gas all over the logs of the cabin. He ran down the side of the cabin, drenching the logs as he went.
He hurried around to the back of the cabin and he continued to douse the wood with the gas. Then he ran over to Stella’s Chevy Suburban and splashed gas all over the vehicle. He was about to run back to the cabin and finish the job, but he saw something moving around in the dark field.
Two figures stumbled through the snowy back field, getting closer and closer to the cabin. It was difficult to make out the details of the figures, but just by the awkward way one of them moved through the snow, like the pieces of his body were shifting against each other, and the tatters of clothing were hanging from the frame, he could tell it was Trevor.
Cole didn’t watch them approach; he had to keep his mind on what he was doing, on the task at hand. The digital numbers were counting down in his mind. He ran back to the cabin and continued dousing the logs with the gas.
He rounded the corner of the cabin and ran as fast as he could through the snow, still dousing the logs on this side of the cabin with the gas he had left. He was afraid Needles and Trevor would catch up to him. He was afraid that he would feel cold dead fingers grabbing the back of his neck soon, afraid that he would hear his brother’s now-raspy voice.
The gas in the plastic container was almost gone when Cole got to the front corner of the cabin by the porch. He looked back behind him; he could see his tracks through the snow, but he didn’t see the two figures anymore.
You know who they were, his mind whispered to him. They were Needles and Trevor. You know that; don’t try to pretend that you don’t know who they were.
Cole ignored the whisperings in his mind that seemed to be getting louder and louder. He splashed what little gas he had left all over the logs and then he threw the gas can into the snow. He climbed up onto the railing, clamored over it, and then dropped down onto the floorboards with a thud as snow flaked off of his pants legs and boots. He got to his feet and he was about to bolt to the front door, but a voice stopped him in his tracks. It was Frank’s voice—this monster’s mouthpiece.
“What are you doing, Cole?”
Cole looked out at the field and he saw Frank standing in the snow. He was standing in the same spot as before. Same Frank. Same clothes. Same smile. Same hollowed-out body.
Only this time Frank had someone else with him—Jose. And Jose held an ax.
“You need to kill the boy, Cole,” Frank said.
Cole took a step towards the front door, and then another, yet he still kept his eyes on Frank and Jose.
As Cole took a step closer to the front door, Jose took a step closer to the cabin.
Cole couldn’t see Jose all that well in the darkness, but even from what he could make out, he could tell that there was something wrong with the way Jose looked, something very wrong with his body, his neck, and his face.
Cole took another step towards the front door; he was only about six or seven long strides away from it.
And now Jose started running towards the cabin through the snow. He raised the ax up in his hands which were way too thin—almost skeletal.
Cole ran for the front door. His boots clomped down on the floorboards and snow flaked off of his pants and coat. He reached his hands out for the door handle as a thought raced through his mind.
What if Stella was awake now? What if she’d seen him leave? What if she had locked the door?
CHAPTER 44
Stella hadn’t locked the door; she hadn’t even made it to the door yet. She still stared at the freezer in the kitchen. She was on her feet now and she backed away from the nearly empty case of money and from the dining room table chair. She backed away from the kitchen with its microwave oven that she could see was clearly counting down numbers. She backed away from the smell of gas.
She backed away from the freezer.
The lid continued bumping up and down, and then the lid finally crashed open and slammed into the log w
all. It was held there against the wall by a thin arm with a spider-like hand.
Oh God, Stella thought. They had forgotten about Tom Gordon in the freezer. They had been so worried about barricading the doors and windows, that they forgot that the owner of the cabin was still stowed away inside the cabin this whole time.
Why hadn’t they thought to strap the lid down somehow? At least with strips of tape.
But it was too late to worry about that now.
Stella had backed all the way up into the living room, in front of the couch where David still slept. But she didn’t look at David; she kept her eyes on the freezer where Tom Gordon sat straight up. His movements were jerky as he climbed out of the freezer, and his limbs, which seemed like they were at odd angles, popped back into place with loud snapping sounds as he moved. Tom Gordon’s body wasn’t completely thawed yet and the ice crystals still twinkled on his bluish skin. He stared right at Stella with his eyeless face.
And then he smiled.
“No,” Stella whispered.
She finally turned to David. He was still sleeping on the couch, but his arms were straight up in the air and his hands moved like he was still drawing the symbols in his notebook, still writing an ancient language that he couldn’t possibly know.
“David!” she screamed. “Wake up!”
David’s eyes moved back and forth underneath his closed eyelids. Back and forth. Back and forth. But he wasn’t opening his eyes, he wasn’t waking up. His hands moved in the air as he drew the imaginary symbols.
“David!”
She shook him. “You have to wake up!”
A slamming noise startled Stella. She looked back at Tom Gordon who stood in front of the freezer on unsteady legs. But she realized the slamming noise hadn’t come from the kitchen. It had come from …
… the front door.
*
Cole burst through the front door and then he slammed it shut. He locked the deadbolt, but he knew they were going to have to get out of this cabin very soon—it was a ticking time bomb.
