In the Woods

by Nancy Gideon

  He had to see her again.

  It was then the dog drew up, pausing in the center of the room to lift its head and sniff the air. An anxious whine sounded as it identified the source.

  Its mortal enemy.

  Alex took advantage of the creature's hesitation. It was the only chance he would get. He leapt through the empty window frame and sprinted across the lawn, aiming for the Jeep like a guided missile. He heard the crash and thud of the beast hurtling out after him but he didn't waste even a precious second by looking around to see how many desperate yards separated them. He vaulted over the door of the Jeep, key in the ignition even as his rump hit the seat.

  Exhaust snorted and gears ground as the Jeep shot back out of the drive, cutting too short and bouncing up onto the lawn.He'd fix the ruts later, he thought as he sent the tires spinning, grabbing purchase in the newly fertilized grass, flinging up clods of it as the Jeep lunged down the street in a wildly weaving path.

  Only then did Alex dare glance up into the rear view. The breath seized up in his lungs.

  For right on his bumper, racing after him in great bounding strides, like a mongrel after a mail truck, was the devil creature.

  He downshifted and gripped the wheel with a white-knuckled anxiousness, his only plan to out distance the beast and make good his escape.

  He tore out of his quiet subdivision, thankful for the lack of traffic on the lazy holiday morning, the Jeep doing sixty-five by the time he spun out onto the main town drag. Thoughts careened through his head as if bounced about by the Jeep's rough suspension as Alex sought a way out of the short block congestion of the city in favor of a long straight stretch of highway.

  He glanced in the mirror again. The damned thing was gaining on him like a juggernaut, powerful legs pounding the pavement with piston-like efficiency. Fangs gleamed whitely, hungry for the taste of him.

  Swearing, Alex took a corner on two wheels.

  And found himself boxed in by a huge gathering of people standing with their backs to him, waving flags in gleeful ignorance.

  The Memorial Day parade.

  As he neared the partitioned off street ahead, he could hear the booming bass notes and drums of one of the high school bands beating out the tempo of some patriotic song. He could hear the joyous noise of the crowd. At the last possible moment, he cranked the wheel, sending the Jeep skidding, shimmying around a corner—smack into a flag draped barricade of saw horses closing off the rest of the road.

  Particle board splintered. Pieces of it flew up over the hood, raining down in tiny darts into the open front seat of the Jeep, impaling Alex with needle-like sharpness in dozens of places. He didn't feel the pain, not over the adrenaline rush as he continued to manipulate the Jeep down the side street. Red, white and blue banners streamed behind him like some Indy pace car float.

  And the devil dog was nearly in his back seat, snapping madly at the flutter of flags trailing off his roll bar.

  At the next turn-off, his luck ran out. No saw horses to block the way. Instead, there were two police cars angled across the thoroughfare. Slamming on the brakes, Alex wrestled the shuddering vehicle around, transferring his foot immediately to the accelerator to rocket past a string of parked vehicles toward an opening he could see up ahead. Tramping down on the gas, he ran for it, hellbent in desperation, hoping it would prove the exit to the maze of busy down town streets before anyone got hurt.

  Just as he cleared the cross walk, Alex got a good look at where he was heading—directly into the parade route. He was traveling too fast to stop without going into a dangerous swerve, so he shifted down and hauled hard on the wheel, racing parallel to a troop of startled Boy Scouts who broke into shrieks of panic when they saw what was following him.

  After that, all was pandemonium.

  The out of control Jeep spun, tires squealing above the screams of those lining the street. He banged on the horn, warning all those who could to get out of the way. Band members scattered like hens in a chicken yard with a weasel dropped into their midst.The Jeep thumped over their abandoned instruments, smashing through a bass drum as it did a slow loop in the middle of the street.

  He was coming up on a 'Y' in the road, a narrow canyon lined by tall buildings and fringed with the populace of their community.One street was clogged with a lumbering float carrying a bevy of waving teenage beauties in tiaras and satin sashes. The other was cordoned off by barricade cones and citizens. He took the path of least resistance. The by-standers could move a lot faster than a flat bed when they were motivated.

  Veering right, he headed straight for them. The road quickly cleared of screaming on-lookers as he hit the cones. He heard them thudding around under the frame of the Jeep and was thankful he didn't have to discover if a human body would make those same sounds.

  It was then his right front wheel struck the sidewalk and he lost the last vestiges of control.

  The Jeep jounced hard up over the curb and smashed into the rear of a parked car. Alex hit the steering wheel with rib bruising force, his forehead smacking into the windshield frame to put the lights out momentarily. The jolt of another force hurtling into the back of the vehicle shook him back to full awareness.

  The devil dog collided with his rear bumper, coming halfway over the back end to flounder in a dazed frenzy, its front feet reaching out, slashing wildly, talons tearing through Alex's shoulder.

  Alex flung open the door and staggered out onto the pavement, reeling weakly toward the closest building, hoping to find some sort of refuge.

  Locked. It was locked. Hanging on the door was a sign bidding him to have a happy holiday.

  Not very damned likely!

  He stumbled down the walk, aware that his nemesis had gained its feet and was coming after him. Only between him and the beast stood a smorgasbord of frightened by-standers. The creature was on them in an instant, ripping, shredding, creating a panic of screams and shrieks of agony.

  Alex collapsed against the side of one of the buildings, staring back at the carnage while wiping the blood from his eyes, trying to stem its flow from the gash at his temple. It was a nightmare.A fire had begun beneath the Jeep where its gas tank had buckled in the collision. He spotted a police car, its lights flashing frantically as it cut around the group of fleeing parade watchers to angle up between him and the chaos he'd created in his wake.

  "What's going on?" the officer shouted, opening his door. "Are you the driver of that Jeep?"

  The devil dog's head shot up. Blood flowed down its chin and stained its ferocious teeth.

  Alex waved his arms. "Get back in your car! Now!"

  As he rushed toward the policeman, the officer took a step back, reaching for his gun, sure he was under attack of a madman. Just then, he was toppled by a lunge from the creature. His gun went skidding under his car as massive jaws closed on his head. His screaming was terrible.

  The ground rocked as the Jeep split apart with explosive force.Hot metal pelted down from above as flames consumed it. Above all the commotion, Alex heard a familiar sound.

  A siren.

  The station's hook and ladder, still draped in parade colors and balloons, roared onto the scene. Alex found himself a spectator as his unit made quick work of rolling out the hoses in a strategic attack on the burning vehicles. Over the spray of the water, he met Al Fargo's stare and watched it widen in slack-jawed disbelief when he caught sight of the devil dog gnawing on the law enforcement officer. Al mouthed a prayer as Alex wobbled over.

  He was met by uncertainty, then, one by one, as they saw the demon, with amazement.

  "Holy Mother, what is that thing?" Stan gasped.

  "That's what killed the Gorhams and put Helen in the hospital," Alex told him with a grim simplicity.

  "Seeing is believing, brother." His hand clamped down on Alex's uninjured shoulder. "And I believe. Sorry I ever doubted you, man."And he looked back at the beast, shaking his head as if even now, he questioned what his eyes told him. Or at least he wanted to.


  Alex shrugged off the apology as unimportant. What did it matter? He was surrounded with the familiar sense of camaraderie once more, in this moment when pulling together would mean live or death.

  Wayne climbed out of his chief's car, waving for crowd control.Then he stopped and stared. He looked at Alex for confirmation.

  "Is that—?"

  At Alex's nod, he took a deep breath and became all business.

  "Let's get it the hell out of here and away from these people.Chet, Davy, turn the hose on it!"

  The blast of water struck the creature in the ribs, knocking it over from the force of the stream. Snapping, shaking, snarling, it fought against the jet of water, but Alex knew it was a temporary solution. Any minute, the beast would break away and run. Then it would start all over again.

  No. That word struck like a hammer on a forge.

  No. It ended here and now.

  But how? If an explosion the size of a Vesuvius eruption couldn’t finish off or even slow the sucker down, what the hell would?

  He swayed, struck suddenly by an intense bout of dizziness.Blackness swelled up to obliterate his vision and against that dark screen, he could see the tall creature making that sweeping gesture toward the woods, toward that violated grave. His knees buckled.Wayne and Al had him by either arm in support.

  "Hey, you all right?" Al demanded. "You look like hell. Let me get you over to the ambulance. It’s having a heck of a time getting through the crowd. We can handle this. Some celebration, huh?" He’d forgotten that he was supposed to be the hero of the day when confronted by his friend’s obvious long term bravery.

  "No, I can't."

  "Buddy, you've been through the mill. Let someone else finish it. They caught the guy, the serial killer. Did you hear? And now no one's going to doubt that everything you said it true . . . not after this. Police marksmen are on the way. They'll take care of that—that thing. You're bleeding, bro. Come on."

  Alex jerked free, his mind spinning, the gears of his thoughts finally meshing. "No. I understand now. I'm the only one who can finish it and I'm going to. Right now."

  Pandemonium still reigned in the crowd, people running to escape, the curious pushing to get a look, all tangling up in traffic and delaying the rescue units. Media cameras were already trained on the scene with milky faced reporters shouting their reports over the din of the gathering as the cornered beast both terrified and fascinated.

  And that's when Alex saw his opportunity.

  A motorcycle sped down the main thoroughfare, weaving in and out of the dazed crowd of onlookers. Alex raced toward it, grabbing the operator by one arm, yanking him off the bike.

  "Hey!What the—"

  "Gotta borrow your bike."

  Alex ran to catch the motorcycle as it spun out of control on the pavement. Hoisting it up and swinging astride, he revved it and headed to the group of fireman.

  "Wayne, keep the water between that monster and the crowd. I'm going to try to lead it out of here."

  Wayne stared. "How the hell are you going to do that?"

  "By giving it something to chase."

  "Be careful!" Al shouted.

  Alex nodded and jumped the bike forward as the fire hose was angled away.

  Wet and frothing with agitation, the devil dog howled eerily as it looked in indecision between the potential victims huddled on the other side of the water jet and escape which lay in the opposite direction. Then Alex roared up, close enough to draw its attention, proving an irresistible temptation in its simplistic mind.

  "Come on, you ugly mutt!"

  Alex let out the clutch and the bike lurched down the empty stretch of road leading out of the congested epicenter of town. A glance in his rear view confirmed what he'd hoped.

  The devil dog was following.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Black top became gravel then, finally, a bumpy dirt two track.

  Alex fought to control the motorcycle over the obstacle course of ruts and rock. It was a gentleman's bike, made for city riding not for banging down country roads. His spleen felt bruised, his kidneys shaken not stirred.

  The name is Fool. Damned Fool.

  Somewhere along the line, the danger of what he was doing ceased to faze him. Plan set, he carried it out with a vengeance, to whatever end fate might prescribe. All he knew was it had to end, here, now, with him.

  No matter what the cost.

  What payment could be worse than seeing Helen caught in the jaws of that beast? What price could demand more of him than leaving her behind, not knowing whether she would live or die, knowing he couldn't be there if she cried out for him? At least she’d know what he'd done to save her, to save all of them. And that made the sacrifice worthwhile.

  In his mind, he'd already paid a thousand times over, when he realized he might never see his wife again, that they might never grow a child between them. A hellish price to pay for any man. Now it was time to exact a little something in return. Like the satisfaction of burying that bastard deep, back where it belonged.

  He glanced in the mirror. The lane was empty behind him, had been for some time. The devil dog had fallen off the pace just before he turned down the two track. But Alex didn't wonder if it was still following. He knew it was. It was back there, on his trail, following scent or instinct or whatever preternatural link had been forged between them when he'd unearthed the demon.

  He'd called it up through his ignorance. Now it was up to him to put it back.

  He only hoped he could reach the clearing in time. The thought of being caught in the woods, on foot, helpless . . .Well, he just wouldn't think about it.

  He almost missed it.

  Alex was watching the trail, nursing the bike around the worst of the ruts when he caught a fleeting glimpse of an indentation in the trees on the roadside. Cursing, he applied the hand brakes with more vigor than he'd intended. He greeted air. The flight was brief, ending with a breath-snatching thud on the dirt track while the bike careened off into the underbrush, falling over like a mustang with its front leg down a gopher hole. From where he lay, face down in the dust, he could see the front suspension bars were badly bent.If it had been his horse, he’d have shot it to be merciful. As it was, it would never carry him out of the woods.

  But leaving alive wasn't what he concentrated on.

  It was hell to move, harder to actually get his feet under him to drag himself up. His shoulder, where the demon's talons had sunk in, throbbed like a bad tooth. Pain reverberated all the way to his fingertips. The fall from the bike tweaked something in his back, making muscles scream when he straightened.

  Now all he had to do was run through a mile of dense woods beating a monster to its own grave. Once there . . . again, he'd think about that when he got there.

  He took a step and groaned.

  If he got there.

  The woods were dark and cold, more unforgiving than his worst memory of them. He staggered on, half blinded by sweat and blood from his head wound, convinced that with the next step, he'd fall over and be unable to rise again.Not that he was in bad physical shape, only that he'd been in two vehicular accidents in half as many hours and was pumping on pure adrenaline. His normal reserves had been exhausted days ago.

  He started hearing things. Footsteps, breathing. He was moving too fast to check behind him, but his flesh was creeping in steady conveyor belt ripples up and down his spine. There were eyes watching him from out of that thick expressionless darkness where shadows hung heavy enough to conceal his greatest fear—the fear that he wouldn't reach his goal. His mind was tortured by the knowledge that at any second claws could grip him from behind, putting a savage conclusion to all he'd hoped to do, where only the impenetrable forest would be witness to his passing and his noble plan.

  His toe snagged a root, and loamy ground came up to mete out a hard slap to his face. Consciousness threaded, growing fragile and dangerously frayed. How great a temptation to just stay where he was, breathing in the rich p
eat-like scent of the earth while his aching body knew a justified rest.

  Rest in Peace. Or pieces.

  He conjured up Helen’s sweet face, letting it wave before him like a tempting mirage.

  Moaning with determination, he lumbered to his feet, tottering aimless for a moment before his bearings got recalibrated.

  He was lost.

  That truth surged up with icy finality and with it, the want to lie back down and cry in mindless failure. What if the beast had gotten ahead of him? What if he'd been wondering in circles for the better part of an hour, no closer to his goal than when he'd first left the road?

  What if it was out there, hidden in the underbrush just out of sight, crouched down, waiting to pounce, ready to tear out his last scream with one quick rip of its claws?

  Who would know? Who would hear?

  Helen would never know how much he'd longed for her. She'd never understand how much he truly loved her.

  No.

  No, way it was going down like that. No way.

  He wiped his eyes and looked, really looked, at his surroundings. Trees, all of similar size and spacing.Indistinguishable bushes, most with teethlike barbs hungry for a bite out of his flesh. Mossy ground that accepted and erased a passing footstep with sinister ease. He paused, momentarily cheered by the sign of broken twigs.

  But had he snapped them running from the clearing or just seconds ago? Frustration and doubt swamped him in a drowning flood.

  There.

  His vision strained. His breathing stopped. His thoughts quieted to just one prayer. Let it be a sign that I'm going the right way.

  And it was.

  Up ahead, off to his immediate right, he could see two formless lumps on the bed of leaves. The packs he and Wayne had abandoned in their desperate flight.