This Deep Panic

by Lisa Stowe

  Jennifer also stood at the fringe, a couple feet from Betty. None of the high school group invited her to come back into their circle. He didn’t blame them. He felt bad for the girl but at the same time, was afraid of what she might do next to ensure her own survival. There were so few of them left that they should stick together, value life. And yet she had betrayed them. No one trusted her anymore.

  He cleared his throat, looking at his notes as if preparing for a lecture. Which, in a way, he was.

  “We know some can be killed.” Curtis tapped his pencil on the notebook. “It appears some may not, at least by guns.”

  “Right,” Michael snorted rudely. “Like you know anything about monsters.”

  “Actually,” Curtis said calmly. “We’re not talking about monsters.”

  Casey twisted her empty mug round and round in her hands. “No? What then? Because they sure as hell look like monsters to me.”

  “You already know the answer to that question.” Curtis smiled at her. “You talked about that Sisiutl as a myth of the Coastal tribes in Canada where your family is from. And that’s what we’re dealing with here. Myths.”

  “Those are real, son.” Ben leaned forward to add a piece of wood to the fire. “As real as you and me. Not myths.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Curtis said. “But real as they are, they’re still myths. Are you all up to hearing some theories and some history and some ideas?”

  “I’m going to need more coffee, I can tell.” Max took up a dented aluminum coffee pot and poured tar-black liquid into his mug.

  “Settle in then.” Curtis stood and paced a short line back and forth, as if standing at the head of a classroom. “First, I’m going to lay out my working hypothesis. You’ve all heard about leprechauns?”

  “Oh, god,” Michael said. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “Look.” Ramon reached out to grab Michael’s arm in a grip tight enough that the young man squeaked. “My niece is out there. Either add something constructive or shut up.”

  Michael flushed a deep red and jerked his arm free. But he fell silent.

  “Um, okay then.” Curtis flipped a couple pages. “I’m not talking about what you see depicted everywhere on St. Patrick’s Day. The little people have a much more ancient lineage than that. During pre-Christian times, they were real. But according to recorded and documented legends, as Christianity moved in and took over from the old religions, people quit believing in them and quit talking about them.

  “And as people quit talking and believing in the old gods, the old deities, the old religions, those creatures grew smaller. They went underground, inside hills, and so forth.”

  Anya leaned forward. “Underground?”

  “Yes. Those old religions and mythical beings did just that. As they lost their power because people no longer believed in them, they disappeared.” Curtis turned a page in his notebook. “Like the Tuatha Dé Danann. The lived in Ireland long before the ancestors of the modern Irish. They were skilled in magic and disappeared into the hills when the modern-day Irish ancestors came. They are treated in historical documents as real, actual people, all the way up to the seventeenth century. But the modern world overcame them, too.”

  “Well, sure,” Ethan said. “If you’re going to be killed for believing different from what the ruling religion or government dictates, those things you believe in must disappear. We used to see that all the time with missionaries or terrorists coming in to villages. It wasn’t so much that the locals gave up their beliefs, they just knew it was safer to quit practicing in public.”

  “Exactly!” Curtis said with a wide grin, as if a favorite student had just aced a test. “And those old stories did fade. Like leprechauns, they grew smaller and smaller until they were no longer seen. Or rarely seen. And yet we still talk about leprechauns, don’t we?”

  “And this relates to fucking cannibals with antlers coming out of their head, how?” Spike tossed the dregs of his hot chocolate on the fire, making the flames sputter before flaring back up.

  Curtis rolled the pencil between his fingers, staring at his notes for a moment. And then he looked around the group and shrugged, blushing. “This is just an idea, remember. But look. We know that throughout time, old beliefs faded. We know that in several legends similar to leprechauns, the old ones went underground. Or into rivers.” He glanced at Ramon. “Or into trees. So ask yourself this. If they went underground, would a devastating earthquake release them?”

  Michael laughed out loud.

  But he was the only one.

  Casey rubbed her palms against her knees. “Two weeks ago I’d have said you were crazy.”

  “We know what to do then!” Payton sat up straight with a wide smile. “We just have to quit talking about them! Then they’ll disappear!”

  No one spoke for a long moment and she held her hands out, palms up, as if her point had just been proven by their silence.

  “Well…” Curtis glanced from Ethan’s pained expression to Ben, whose eyebrows had climbed into his sparse hairline, and tried not to laugh. “Not exactly. It took many generations before previous truths became myths. I don’t think we have that much time.”

  “So what do we do?” Lucy asked from where she sat next to Spike. Her voice was soft with fear.

  Curtis flipped a page. “List what we know. The school had some books on myths. Based on what I found, and on descriptions from all of you, I think we can identify what we’ve seen so far.”

  “Like the Windigo.” Rowan opened her sketchbook and turned it so the others could see a pencil drawing.

  “The Pacific Coast version. Then Casey identified the Sisiutl. Or something similar. The legends about Sisiutl being the searcher of truth are as numerous as the legends that tell of it being the monster you saw.” Curtis tapped his pencil on the page and spoke thoughtfully. “The Black Dog. Me and Louis saw it. Huge, glowing eyes, a common theme in many cultures. Often associated with ancient pathways, crossroads. They’ll turn vicious if attacked but are more commonly seen as guardians.”

  Marie reached out to clutch Artair’s hand as she lifted her chin. “The fog.”

  Her words startled Curtis. She was such a quiet girl, seated between her uncle and the teenager, with her head down and hands folded in her lap, that it was easy to forget she was there.

  Curtis turned to point his pencil at Tessa and Connor. “Not fog. Based on their descriptions I think it’s more like shadows, or the Gray Men. And to be honest, those things kind of terrify me.”

  “And a cannibal doesn’t?” Spike asked.

  “Well, sure. But the Gray Men. Or Shadow People.” Curtis shivered and shifted closer to the flames. “Shadows with no features. Barely there and barely seen. They’re common in myths. Some say they are from parallel universes that sometimes overlap with ours.”

  Michael snorted. “First you’re trying to get us to believe in leprechauns and now you want us to believe in aliens?”

  Ramon turned toward Michael, who flinched back and fell silent.

  Curtis didn’t reply, suddenly remembering Henry and his talk about the Hole experiments and parallel universes.

  “Curtis?” Ethan asked.

  “Oh, right, sorry. Those Shadow People don’t necessarily kill you. They can, of course, or they can just eat your soul.”

  Silence fell again at his words.

  “Then we have the grizzly and the wolf.” Ramon threw a hunk of wood onto the flames and the sudden flare of sparks made several of them jump.

  “Yes.” Curtis flipped a page. “And their tree spirits. Another common myth. An external soul. Or trees that hold a soul when someone dies, to keep it safe. Dryads in Greek mythology, Kodama in Japanese folklore…it’s pretty much a common theme in any culture. Here, the young boy and the grizzly first appeared to Anya so they have some connection to her, just like the wolf and Ramon’s niece connect to Ramon and Marie.”

  Curtis avoided looking at Ramon, at the pain in his dark eyes.
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  “They aren’t monsters,” Nathaniel said. “They helped us.”

  “Well, sure,” Curtis said. “Not all myths are bad.”

  “Just the fuckers eating us,” Spike said.

  Curtis shrugged and turned another page. “Have we missed any?”

  Marie straightened and stared straight at Sharon.

  Curtis saw Sharon shift on the round of wood she sat on. One hand came up to cover her heart. Or maybe her breast. She stared back at Marie for a long moment but didn’t speak.

  Artair squeezed Marie’s hand. “Go ahead.”

  “The old woman. And the raven.”

  “Of course!” Ben said, turning to Curtis. “We forgot her. We all saw the old woman, but Marie was the only one who saw the raven on her shoulder.”

  Curtis’s face lit up. “Seriously? You saw the Stone Woman? How cool is that? Is she here now?” He turned in a circle but saw nothing but the grayness of a misty late morning.

  “We saw her in Sultan,” Ben said. “Right before the flood.”

  Marie clutched Artair’s hand. “Sharon knows the old woman.”

  Sharon jumped up. “I’m done with this crazy talk.” She tossed her mug to the ground, spilling tea into dirt, and stalked away in the direction of Index Avenue and the ruined railroad crossing.

  The others watched her leave and Curtis wondered if they should call her back. It wasn’t safe to wander around alone but then he couldn’t force her to stay with them either. When she disappeared from view, he turned back to the others.

  “What’s this about a stone woman?” Ethan asked.

  “Oh, wow.” Curtis sighed. “An old, old myth that crosses all cultures and has been adapted for almost all religions. The Crone in goddess mythology. The Virgin Mary in Christianity. The guardian of the natural world. The heart of the land. The Mother. She’s called innumerable things. But as the Stone Woman, she walks among us yet is rarely seen. Sometimes she has a tall staff, sometimes a raven, sometimes both. If you get touched by the staff you die instantly. But she is seriously powerful. I mean, like, power over all life, control your destiny kind of stuff. You treat her with reverence and she’ll help you. Look at all the ways people down through the years have prayed to her and worshipped her as the mother of life.”

  “You sound like you believe in that one,” Ethan said.

  “Oh, yeah. I mean, can you picture it? An old woman with a raven? It’s like the epitome of all mythical stories.”

  There was a shift of movement at the fringe of the group as Betty took a step forward. “I believe you.”

  Her voice made Curtis jump. He’d forgotten she was there. She raised her hand to the sky, palm up, as if calling down benediction from a pulpit.

  “I believe all of it,” she repeated. “All the demons you describe. It’s in the Bible. ‘They will turn their ears away from the truth and will turn aside to myths.’ 2 Timothy 4:4. That’s a direct quote from the Word of God. We brought these monsters on ourselves.” She turned back to the store and spoke over her shoulder as she walked away. “There’s nothing left to do but pray. The end times are here.”

  The others looked at each other uncomfortably.

  “She never used to be like that,” Curtis offered, almost in apology.

  “Trauma takes people that way sometimes,” Samuel said. “They need something to believe in, that makes them feel like someone is in control and able to save them.”

  Rowan closed her sketchbook and leaned her elbows on her knees. “No god is going to save us. But we know what these monsters are now.”

  Anya finally looked up. “So we know what they are. Whether they came from the earthquake or something else, it doesn’t matter. We need to kill some of them. How do we do that?”

  All eyes turned to Curtis. He poked at the stack of books on the ground with his foot then looked up to meet their hopeful faces.

  “Kill them? I have no idea.”

  5

  Sharon paused on the other side of the railroad tracks to catch her breath. Walking even that short distance from the fire seemed too far. Which was ironic when she thought of all the hours she’d spent in the gym and the swimming pool, in yoga classes and doing Pilates. Now it was like she was weighed down, being pulled toward the earth that would soon cover her bones.

  It couldn’t come soon enough.

  The faint scent of propane was back. She caught slight whiffs as the chilly breeze eddied around her. Maybe that would be the way to go. Find the tank that was leaking and ignite it. Up in a ball of flame, instantly doused, instantly beyond pain and caring. She lifted her chin and sniffed, turning her head until she caught the smell.

  Somewhere down Index Avenue maybe. She started in that direction, going slow because of the torn up street and downed lines. A few cars were canted out into the road, one white SUV tipped on its side. The houses she passed all had damage to them. Several were completely collapsed in on themselves. It made sense that somewhere in all that carnage, gas leaked.

  As she made her way down the street, pausing occasionally to catch the scent she followed, she thought about what Curtis had said. Of course the world was now full of monsters. Of course they weren’t safe. She’d known that since the day she’d seen the monstrous cells eating her body. She wanted to take Tessa and Connor and shake them, force them to fully see how truly awful the real world was. Maybe then they’d have a chance of surviving.

  Index Avenue turned at the end, becoming a short little street that linked to Avenue A and the river that raced deep and wild along the boulders bordering the road. Sharon turned in a circle feeling like some sort of bloodhound. When she picked up the scent again, she headed toward Avenue A. The rushing water drowned out all other sound and its raging power sucked away debris from the quake. Whole fir and cedar trees with root balls still attached scraped the edges of the street as they were swept downstream. Roof rafters were pulled under only to bob back up. Someone’s trailer, upside down, went by with tires slowly spinning. The bloated, bobbing carcass of someone was hung up in tree branches. As fast as she saw something, it was gone, downriver.

  Sharon flashed on the moment when she’d stood at the remains of High Bridge thinking about jumping into the river. She could still do that. She wondered which method would be less painful, burning or drowning. She laughed to herself at how surreal such thoughts were. If someone had said such things to her a month ago she’d have wanted them committed.

  She crossed Avenue A, going closer to the river. But before she reached the rushing whitewater at the edge of the street, an intense knifing pain cut through her breast. It slid, bright and almost incandescent through her racing heart, her stomach, her groin, and down her legs. Her knees gave out and she dropped, coming down hard on broken asphalt. Her breast was a ball of white-hot heat and all she could do was hang her head, dig her fingers into gravel, and struggle to breathe.

  The world glowed as if she was seeing an aura and she knew she was going to faint. She rolled onto her hip and shoulder, lying down in the middle of the road. And as she did so, the pain eased in such a tiny increment that she wasn’t truly sure it was getting better. Except that she drew in a breath.

  Slowly, her vision came back, but she lay there several moments before her heart eased back to normal and the pain faded to a dull, distant throbbing. And then she carefully made it to her knees, and then to her feet. Bits of gravel were embedded in the palms of her hands and blood trickled down her arm from small abrasions on her elbow.

  Even though she was determined to die as soon as possible, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when she fell. She sniffled and wiped tears away from her eyes. And when she dropped her hands, the raven stood there at the edge of the river.

  The bird was big, even for a raven, with feathers so black they shone blue and glossy. She was sure, looking at it, that it was the same one that had landed on the jeep. Its head was cocked to one side so that an ebony eye stared straight at her.

  “Go away.” She took
a step toward the eerie bird.

  Pain tingled brighter in her breast. The raven squawked and stretched out its wings, flapping them.

  “Crazy bird.”

  She wanted to go to the river, to the cool waters that would douse the fire under her skin. But she didn’t want to pass the raven. It was just a bird. Except…maybe it wasn’t.

  Maybe the old woman was near.

  The scent rose up on the breeze again. Propane. Or maybe not. Its sweetness tantalized her, pulled her toward the back road out of town. She took a step in that direction, away from the raging river.

  The raven folded his wings.

  6

  Ramon left the others by the fire and walked past the general store and down 5th Street toward the Wall and the woods that made a towering backdrop over the town. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Anya and her dog following. He paused for her to catch up.

  “Do you think they’re up there?” Anya raised her chin in the direction of the granite cliff and the trees.

  Ramon shrugged. He knew she wasn’t asking about monsters. “Maybe.” He ran a hand over the shepherd’s head absently. “My niece. She was twelve. When I saw her with the wolf, she was older. A young woman, somehow. But it was still her.”

  Anya was silent a long moment. And then she started forward, heading for the tree line. Ramon fell in step beside her.

  “My son…I gave birth to him in the woods. He was premature and only lived a few moments. I don’t know if he would have survived if I had been closer to help. His father was useless.”

  The last part was spoken in a tone of deep anger. Ramon touched her arm lightly. “Did the father die in the quake?”

  “No. Devon left me. Left us. Before the quake.”

  “Us?” Ramon asked.

  “I buried my son under a yew tree. And I couldn’t leave him when Devon wanted to go.”

  A sudden blinding flash of realization hit Ramon. He heard the voice of the boy with Alegria. Yew trees.