This Deep Panic

by Lisa Stowe

  “Turkey is better.”

  Max laughed. “Sure is.”

  Curtis watched the deputy cross the street to where a second deputy was coming out of the fire department bay. Max tore his sandwich in half and gave her a hunk. Curtis headed back toward the park almost giddy. The monster was gone. Hopefully drowned in the river.

  They were safe. What a fantastic thing.

  Well, there was still the whole survival thing to negotiate through, but at least there were no more monsters. And the threat of aftershocks was still there. But he’d sleep tonight. Really sleep. And those kids would be safe finally. He hadn’t realized just how terrified he’d been over the past two days until now, when it was all magically lifted away.

  ~Day 5~

  1

  Curtis scooped up a spoonful of scrambled egg. Not just a real scrambled egg, but one with chives. He tried not to gulp the food down, tried to savor it, but within seconds he was scraping the little tin plate. The fire burning in a circle of stones in front of him crackled and snapped as pockets of pitch in the cedar caught. The flames warmed his face and hands and knees, a contrast to the chilly breeze going down the back of his finally dry jeans. But…scrambled eggs. He’d never thought such a simple thing would be so wonderful.

  A few people in town had chickens. Some continued to lay eggs as if the world hadn’t just shaken them all. Early that morning Samuel, the firefighter, had gone around town collecting all the eggs people were willing to share, which turned out, surprisingly, to be a lot. He’d also cut chives growing in a tiny garden patch in front of the town hall, that hadn’t been buried in debris. And then he scrounged around for camping equipment and had been cooking eggs for everyone since. It wasn’t a lot, but so much better than cardboard-tasting granola bars.

  Curtis considered licking his plate.

  Seated around the fire, and a second fire nearby, were Ethan, Anya, the high school kids, and Bird, who was finishing his scrambled egg. And licking his plate.

  Curtis yawned until his jaw cracked. He’d slept straight through the night, exhaustion quickly pulling him under and the expected nightmares never materializing. The reassurance from the sheriff deputies that the monster was gone had helped, and so had the flickering light of fires around town. They were safe, he wasn’t alone, his clothes were finally drying out, and the weight of fear was lifting.

  And then when he woke up there was breakfast. It felt like everything was going to be okay and he couldn’t help but grin across the fire at Ethan, who looked momentarily startled but then grinned in return.

  Curtis ran a finger around his plate to catch a few remaining minuscule bits, and decided he would hunt down the mayor, find out what tasks he could take on. There was so much work to do just to keep going until help came. He licked his finger. Maybe he could help Samuel with the injured, or help the mayor with finding a place to bury their dead.

  That thought brought the high school students to mind and his brief moment of contentment died.

  Jennifer sat by the second fire but there was space around her. No one spoke to her. Curtis wondered what would be done. What laws had been broken? She’d left a guy out there alone and it had led to his death, but was that illegal? Even if it wasn’t, it was morally illegal and it hurt when he thought about it. That poor kid should never have died like that, out in the woods in the dark and alone.

  The sound of conversations around him grew quieter and he looked up to see people staring across the ruined street at the crumpled front of the general store. The front door screeched as it was tugged part way open. Betty, cradling her splinted arm, stepped into the doorway, looking around at the groups of people around fires. Her eyes went to the plates people held, with little mounds of scrambled eggs and her mouth opened in surprise. But no one stood to bring her a plate or gestured for her to join them.

  Curtis started to stand, to invite her over, sorry now that his plate was empty. Maybe there was still an egg left somewhere. But then Betty’s face sagged into something like anger. He wasn’t sure, but the lines around her eyes and mouth were deep. It surprised him that she didn’t come join them, that no one called her over or offered her something.

  He decided he would go talk to her and find out what had happened, but she stepped back into the dark interior of the store. He caught the pale flash of her hands coming up to push the door closed again. Even from where he sat he heard the snick of padlocks.

  And then that small sound was washed out by another. A noise at once familiar and yet strangely out of place. People around Curtis stood, food forgotten. He also stood, pulled to his feet by the weirdly out of context noise of an engine laboring down the road.

  An old truck with a camper, followed by an even older World War relic of a jeep, lumbered its way up and over the broken railroad tracks at the crossing. As people stared, the two vehicles rounded the corner onto Fifth Street and pulled in to the general store parking lot just like they’d come for groceries or their mail. Granted, the truck was at a weird cant because of the torn up pavement, and the jeep didn’t even bother trying to get into the lot, stopping instead behind the truck. The doors of the jeep opened.

  Over the past few days Curtis had seen a lot of strange things. Earthquake, devastation, monsters, an eyeball. But none of it prepared him for the sight of McDonald’s employees.

  He could only stare, and he wasn’t the only one.

  The two kids stood side by side as if not sure of their welcome. A woman with long blonde hair that might have been stylish at one point but was now just straggly, climbed out of the jeep behind them. Her slacks were torn in places and her silk blouse stained. Curtis thought she looked almost transparent somehow, as if she was fading.

  The doors of the truck opened. The driver, an elderly man in bib overalls, climbed out, rounded the front of the truck, and helped a very overweight old lady out. From the back doors came a muscular young man and a teenage boy and girl. They stood by the truck, looking as uncertain as the McDonald’s employees.

  Curtis glanced at the locals. No one seemed to know what to do. He put his plate down on the round of firewood he’d been sitting on, and waved. “Morning! Are you hungry? I think we’ve got some scrambled eggs left.”

  The newcomers looked at each other and then joined him hesitatingly. They reached hands out toward the warmth of the fire and slowly, the expressions on their faces seemed to melt from tension and fear to something almost like hope.

  Except for the muscular man, whose dark eyes kept going to the woods, to the trees shattered and those still standing, as if looking for something. There wasn’t fear in his eyes though. Instead Curtis thought he saw grief.

  The two deputies, Max and Casey, crossed the street.

  “Everyone okay?” Max asked.

  “We’re alive, son,” the old man replied. “That’s a good thing.”

  The teenager from the pickup truck pushed forward past the others and grabbed Max’s arm. “My brother. Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know. Who’s your brother?” Max asked.

  “Samuel Beaumont.”

  “Head over to the fire department,” Casey said, smiling. “I think you might find someone there who answers to Samuel.”

  Tears bloomed in the teenager’s eyes and he sprinted away from them, jumping over cracks in the street as if they didn’t exist.

  Max looked back at the group and caught the eye of the older woman in the torn silk blouse and too-pale skin. “I know you.”

  The woman cocked her head to one side, her eyebrows up in momentary confusion. But then she drew in a breath. “Ah yes. You refused to arrest me. Before the quake. You told me there was always hope. You don’t have a career in predicting the future.”

  Casey snorted. “How did you get here?”

  “We came from down below. Sultan,” the old man said. “The high bridge is out so we followed old logging roads. Would never have made it without the winch on the old Crusher.” He gestured back at the truck.

/>   Ethan stepped closer. “Sultan? Is it okay? Was the quake just local? Can we get cars out the way you came?”

  People were crowding in now, desperate hope in their eyes.

  The old man paused before answering, looking around at all those craning close to hear his words. He seemed troubled, and Curtis saw how the others in his group glanced at each other. His stomach dropped, knowing what was coming.

  “Sultan is gone, son. The quake breached the Culmback dam and the city flooded. Not sure how many people had time to get out. But a lot didn’t.”

  Curtis heard the indrawn breaths, the soft sobs, the quiet moans that came from those around him. It felt like hope blowing away on the cold air. If Sultan was gone, if the highway was impassable, there was no help coming from that direction.

  “We moved a lot of trees and rocks with the winch to get the truck through,” the muscular young man said. “There are a lot of slides. A car might make it back out along our route but it will be slow and not safe. Plus, there’s nothing to go back to.”

  “Maybe we can go east,” Casey said. “Go back the way this truck came, at least to the highway, and then head east over the mountains. Get help from Leavenworth. Or maybe there’s radio reception from the top of Steven’s Pass.”

  Max shook his head. “Doubt we could even make it to Skykomish. Think about the tunnel there. Maybe someone could do it walking out, but that would take days.”

  “Well, there’s Rob,” Casey persisted. “He’s been bringing down people from Skyko One on that raft. Maybe he could take people downriver past the flooding.”

  “Too dangerous,” Max said. “Rafting flood debris.”

  Curtis barely listened. Maybe someone would try to walk out but it wouldn’t be him.

  “You don’t want to go out there anyway, dude,” said the young man who had helped the blonde out of the jeep. “There’s things…” His voice faded as he looked at everyone staring at him.

  The slightly plump young woman from the jeep moved closer to the kid. He seemed to draw strength from her because he lifted his chin and stood straighter.

  “There’s monsters out there,” he said. “You aren’t going to believe us but there are. We saw them.”

  Max walked over to the kid and put a hand on his shoulder. “We believe you. It was here, too. But it went into the river. It’s gone.”

  “No,” the kid said, shaking his head. “We saw it killed. It was torn apart in front of us. Though that fog-”

  “No, wait,” Ethan said. “It didn’t die. It hunted us all the way here.”

  “The shadows, wisps of fog.” The blonde woman rubbed her chest as if she were in pain. “That is what’s hunting all of you. You can’t kill them.”

  A deep silence fell over the group. They stared at each other with dawning horror in their eyes. Curtis felt his lovely scrambled egg curdle in his stomach and swallowed against sudden queasiness.

  “Okay,” Max said, his voice calm and sure and cutting through the heavy silence. “Time to talk this over and figure out what’s going on.”

  The old woman grunted as she moved ponderously toward the back of the camper on the truck. “Build up that fire, boys. Someone get me a big pot of water. This talk is going to need hot chocolate all around.”

  “Hot chocolate?” Casey asked. “Seriously? You have hot chocolate?”

  “And coffee. We have plenty of supplies,” the old man said. “And we’ll happily share them. Especially the hot chocolate. Like Mother says, mayhap we’re going to need it.”

  “I think we’re going to need something a lot stronger,” Max said, tossing a piece of firewood onto the flames.

  “But in the meantime, honey,” the old lady said, “chocolate always helps the bad news.”

  “And I need books,” Curtis said, looking across the street at the still-standing school. “I have an idea. Save me some hot chocolate.”

  2

  Sharon put her hand over the curving slope of her breast, where her skin burned from below. She stood by the fire watching the others as they introduced themselves, found pots, filled them with water from bottles, and acted like it was old home week. She watched, but took no part in their camaraderie. There was something else pulling at her. She lifted her chin and drew in a deep breath.

  There was an odd scent in the air that made her edgy. Maybe propane. Which would make sense. Tanks damaged from the quake and venting. The faint stink was a small irritant, like a tiny invisible splinter felt every time a finger brushed it.

  She rubbed her skin with cold fingers then cautiously pressed her palm harder against her breast. She smiled in bitterness at the irony of the movement. Her hand pressing, feeling for lumps like a good girl, testing monthly like all the women’s health literature insisted she do.

  Like it had made any difference.

  She still felt no lumps under her palm but there was something there. She’d noticed a faint tingle when they were getting close to town and now that tingle was more like dancing nerves. Like those cancer cells were waking up.

  She flashed on the PET scan she’d had last month. Positron Emission Tomography. They’d had her not eat or drink ahead of time. And then fed her glucose. Supposedly if there were cancer cells in her body, starving them and then feeding them sugar made them wake up. In the scan they would then show up as bright red lights. On the screen her body had been pale gray, like a shadow of her life. Like those shadows that had killed the kids.

  Everything pearly gray. Except for that breast and armpit, so full of cancer cells that it was a bright red beacon among the shadows, pointing to her death.

  That, she realized, was what her breast felt like now. Like the cells had been starved and were now awake and in a frenzy of feeding. Awake and lit up.

  She rubbed her skin again, breathing shallow against the burning of her breast.

  Soon, she thought. Soon.

  3

  Ethan stared at the high granite cliff behind the town, overwhelmed and heartsick with all he’d seen up there in the woods over the past four days. A big fire snapped, sending sparks and smoke high in the morning air. Other than the sound of the flames, it was quiet. A profound, heavy silence that sat on his shoulders like the heavy clouds sat on the crags.

  They had finished their breakfast and their stories and now waited for Curtis to come back from the school, where he’d gone saying something about needing books. The others seemed to feel a tiny bright hope, that maybe Curtis, the timid scientist, would find the answers they needed. But Ethan had no hope.

  A breeze, damp and chilly, moved through the town and he shivered. This place of forest and water still tugged at his soul in spite of all that had happened.

  It was such a contrast to the years traveling with his parents, being hauled along on their missions through hot and arid countries. Through war zones. Through shattered lives and trauma, carrying the impossible goal of his parents to save the world. How he’d longed for the lush green forests he saw in books and movies. How he’d craved colors other than blood and gun-metal gray.

  He’d thought coming to the mountains and the forests would be an oasis. A cool and lush place to be washed clean of all he’d seen growing up. And then when he’d taken the Environmental Science job, he’d been overwhelmed by the desire to show the students the natural world, with no cruelty and no danger.

  Instead, here they were.

  The survivors in this tiny town clustered around fires, building them up as if roaring flames would keep nightmares at bay. And sitting there clutching cups and mugs and glasses with hot chocolate, or instant coffee, or tea, they’d shared their horrible experiences and the creatures they’d faced.

  Ethan glanced at Anya. She sat silent, one hand on her dog’s head, watching the flames. The only time she had reacted to the earlier stories was when Ramon talked about his niece and a boy. With a grizzly and a wolf. She had jerked around in shock, and then met Ethan’s eyes. He’d recognized Ramon’s description as well.

&nb
sp; Their grizzly. Their boy.

  And now no one knew what to say. Or what to do. And so they waited, watching the school for Curtis’s return. Or watching the two sheriff deputies, as if expecting Max and Casey to have answers or explanations.

  But they were silent, too.

  So Ethan watched the cliff face, scanning for movement. Because there was no help coming and nowhere to go. And the kids were still his responsibility. The fires they sat around, the shelters they found, were nothing more than illusions of safety.

  At least the responsibility wasn’t on just him and Anya anymore. Max and Casey had guns. Ben said they had rifles and guns in the back of their truck, along with ammunition. He wasn’t sure guns would do any good, especially after hearing the description of some of the creatures the others had come in contact with. But he still felt reassured that guns were available.

  If only his parents saw him now. With their idealistic dreams and refusal to use weapons even in self-defense. He turned to the fire, pinching the bridge of his nose at the irony. His parents wanted to save the world. He wanted to save these kids. They would have done anything to meet their goal except touch a gun, even if that meant sacrificing their only child.

  He would do everything he could, too, including sacrificing his parent’s only child. Except he sure as hell was going to touch a gun.

  4

  Curtis had trotted back from the school with a sheaf of papers and had been madly scribbling on them for the past twenty minutes while people waited, silently. Now he cleared his throat and straightened, unconsciously slipping into his professorial role.

  “Okay. Can I have your attention please?”

  People shifted their attention to Curtis, some looking hopeful, some just scared, as if they knew what came would just be more bad news. The mayor and EMT, Albert and Samuel, joined their circle around the fire. Betty had come out of the store for something and Curtis saw her watching them from the parking lot. After a moment she tentatively joined them, but she stood at the fringes, cradling her splinted arm.