by Tess Grant
She slipped around the outcropping, trying to fade into the trees. A soft whoosh came as a branch was held back and let go, and something moved across the clearing. A long roll and a sharp crack sounded from above. Lightning filled the sky with white light. A figure bent over what showed of the duffle. Kitty charged around the boulder, swinging the entrenching tool like a club. It went wide and clattered against the rock, and the dark shape fell to the ground, an arm up in defense.
With a jolt, she recognized the person sprawled on the ground. It certainly wasn’t Melville.
“Geez, Kitty, it’s me. You almost took my head off. It’s a good thing you can’t hit crap with a shovel.”
“Joe?” She felt stunned. “What are you doing out here?”
Even in the bad light, she could see the embarrassment on his face. “I followed you.” He rolled over and stood up. “Look,” he started, but a roll of thunder from above interrupted him. He squinted upward. “We need to get out of here.” Leaning down, he picked up a long-handled shovel. “I saw you trying to dig with that entrenching tool. They’re really cool but they don’t dig for shit. I went back and grabbed this out of your dad’s workshop.”
Kitty wanted to hug him for joy, but it would have slowed them down. She turned to the bogged-down duffle. “Can you get this out? ’Cause I’ve had it.”
He leaned down and poked at the sides of the duffle, testing it by pulling on the handles. “Piece of cake. Whole lot smaller than my mom’s rose bush.”
Planting the shovel about six inches from the duffle, he started to dig a semi-circle. The heavy clumps of earth chunked out into a pile. Watching the muscles in his shoulders bunch and relax under his shirt, Kitty was glad enough to turn it over. Her own shoulders and arms already ached.
The rain started, huge drops falling slowly at first. She could feel the tap of it on her head. The wetness on her scalp came seconds later when it worked its way through her hair. Drops were hitting the sleeves of her cotton sweatshirt, wicking in immediately and leaving dime-sized wet spots behind. Joe’s gray t-shirt clung to his back, the dampness spreading quickly.
He leaned down and grabbed the duffle’s handles. She could see it starting to inch upward as he rocked it from side to side. Suddenly, he crouched beside it and then stood up quickly, using his legs for propulsion. The bag came out with a jerk, and Joe staggered backward, almost flattening her in the process.
He turned, his face scrunched against the rain, which was coming faster now. “Cover the hole?”
She thought quickly of the punji sticks, not buried nearly as deeply as the duffle but nearby. The cavity from the duffle might be a good starting point to get them out. Still, the gaping dark hole would also be an attention getter. She nodded.
“There’s more, but we’ll get it later,” she yelled above the rising noise of the storm.
He dropped the duffle on the ground and with sharp jabs threw the dirt clods back in the hole. She went to his side and kicked the already sodden leaves back over the fresh scar in the earth. He handed her the shovel and swept up the duffle.
She stopped him with a hand on his biceps. It was useless talking now. The wind was nearly screaming in the canopy and the pelting rain in the clearing was almost as loud. She pantomimed, gesturing broadly at the side straps, then pretending to pull them over her shoulders like a backpack.
Joe nodded with a quick jerk of his head and then swung the duffle up on his back. He started at a fast trot out of the clearing down the trail. Maddie was nowhere to be seen. She had probably high-tailed it for home when the rain sped up and would be sitting underneath the porch steps waiting to be let in, unflappable as always and dry. Kitty swept up the e-tool in one hand and the shovel in the other. The two weights balanced each other nicely, and she ran to catch Joe.
It was drier under the trees. The broad fingers of the oak leaves caught handfuls of the rain, holding it despite the fury of the storm. Every now and then a tree rattled violently in the bluster, and a micro-storm cascaded off the leaves. The thunder reverberated and crashed against the trunks. The lightning was the worst, frightening in its stark whiteness and blinding in its intensity after the near dark.
She could see Joe ahead of her, a tall shadow darker than the other shadows. The lump of duffle on his back gave him an odd silhouette and, between that and the way he shambled from the weight, he looked like some crazed hunchbacked assistant for the mad doctor.
Or the mad werewolf killer. Kitty shook her head to clear the rain from her eyes and the thoughts from her head. She’d been Phinney’s understudy for three months, but was it enough for her to step into his role? At least, it was a step up from the self-pitying damsel in distress she’d been playing ever since the letter arrived. She picked up the pace.
She and Joe reached the woods’ border. She was inclined to run straight across to the house but Joe paused. He pulled her in close to a heavy trunk where the cover was better.
“Your mom’s still gone, but she won’t be for long,” he yelled. “What’s the plan?”
Kitty thought for a second. “Let’s go to the workshop. Dad has a tarp. I’ll wrap the duffle and shovels and we’ll hide them back in the main barn until I can get to them. Wait until after the next bolt of lightning.”
He nodded. She watched the road intently but heard a strange noise. Joe leaned forward, hands on his knees, shaking with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” she yelled.
He stood up and shrugged, still laughing. “This is the most fun I’ve had in months.”
Kitty rolled her eyes. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
There was a crash, and then an intense flash of light. Kitty could see the entire yard, farmhouse and barn in the brilliance. As darkness dropped again, they broke out of the covering trees and ran. The ghostly image of the farmyard still swam in front of her eyes. She hoped her night vision returned before she ran headlong into the trunk of the maple or the mailbox.
They raced across the yard to the workshop. Joe was fighting to open the door against the wind. Every time he started, an unexpected gust would snap it shut. He finally got a big enough crack to shove his arm and leg in and leveraged the door enough to worm in. Kitty thrust the shovels through the door knowing they clattered on the floor even though she couldn’t hear it. She started squirming her own way in. She could see Joe’s face in the lightning shining over her shoulder.
Except that lightning doesn’t shine over people’s shoulders.
Turning her head back toward the yard, she could see headlights turning in the drive. They were pointing directly her way, two beams filled with streaming rain. She heaved the door open with a sudden strength and toppled inside. It banged shut behind her and they were in darkness.
Chapter Eight
Kitty sat up slowly, rubbing at her hip where it had taken the brunt of her tumble. She had fallen close to the shovels but not on them. It would have left a nice gash if she had landed on the blade. The sudden switch from the fury outside to the dark calm of the workshop disoriented her. The rain thrummed softly against the tin roof above.
A click fell into the silence. Against her already ringing eardrums, it sounded monstrously loud. A petite shaft of light cut the gloom. Joe had a tiny flashlight. It had to be soaked right down to the batteries, but it burned bravely just the same.
“Feel like telling me what you’re doing?” Kitty glared in the general vicinity of the beam’s origin. On the one hand, his arrival had been a gift. The duffle wouldn’t have budged without his booster shot of muscle. On the other he had followed her. Followed her. If it had been a full moon, the wolves would have made short work of picking him off.
“What’s the problem?” Joe sounded bewildered.
“You followed me.” She stood up swatting sawdust from her butt from habit, but only feeling the cling of damp fabric.
“I tried to talk to you out in the woods, but the storm was coming.” The beam bobbed closer to her.
�
�Whatever. Don’t follow me.” Her voice sliced at her own eardrums; she could only imagine how sharp she sounded to him.
He was close enough that she could see him now. His face was all flat white planes and dark hollows from the weird backlight thrown by the flashlight, like kids telling ghost stories at a campfire.
He squinted at her, trying to understand. “Kit, I helped you.”
“And the next time I want your help, I’ll ask for it.” Same knife-edge voice cutting the dark.
“I came down to talk to you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been trying to for quite a while now. You were leaving so…” he stopped short of stating the obvious. “I meant to let you know I was there, but I…I didn’t. I’ll apologize if that’s what you want, but I didn’t do anything.” He dug in his pocket, pulling out a Ziploc bag. He shoved it at her. “Here.”
Kitty reached hesitantly for the Ziploc. She held it up by the corner with two fingers and let it sway, sliding back and forth in the faltering beam of the flashlight. Inside was a much-folded piece of newspaper, so yellow it couldn’t all be caused by bad lighting. She tried to make her voice light. “A plastic baggie? Going for that Boy Scout recycling badge again? You and Sam.”
He didn’t smile. His voice was the hard one now. “I want to know what you know, Kit.”
A vague uneasiness pawed at her like some dark cat tapping her ankles with his paws. She raised her eyebrows aiming for the perplexed innocent look.
He coughed out a laugh and rolled his eyes at her acting. “Like I don’t know your face. You know something.” Leaning a little closer, he continued. “I think my dad knows something. too. And there’s that whole Phinney deal.”
He started for the door, clicking off the beam as he went. Kitty clutched the Ziploc in her hand, squeezing the wet plastic into folds over the square inside. Then she heard him stop moving, pausing in front of the door.
“Sam told Eric you explained closed caskets to him. I’ve got one of those. Feel like explaining it to me?” He pushed out of the workshop and bolted across the lawn. The door caught the wind and slammed backwards against the barn wall. Then it swung shut, cutting his running figure from view.
There hadn’t been much light outside, but the little workshop was absolutely inky by contrast—a mirror of her own dark thoughts. Kitty sighed. How many more things were going to get heaped on her before she found her way out of this? For starters, her mom still waited in the house. She shuffled for the door and promptly rammed her foot into the shovels.
Grimacing, she wished for Joe’s tiny flashlight. She could have slapped her forehead and said “Duh” when she remembered the workshop was wired for electricity. Leaning over she flicked on the overhead light.
Kitty looked down at her hand, still balled up. She uncurled her fist and the Ziploc lay flattened in wet folds, the small square of folded newspaper inside. She knew what it was but she pulled it out anyway. Unfolding it gently, she smoothed it out on the workbench nearest her. The paper was ragged and faded; its creases threatened to pull apart like tattered seams. It wouldn’t be long before Melville’s cold case list was a look-alike for it.
It was the obituary for Joe’s uncle. She had read it five months ago when she started on this journey with Phinney, and she was looking for some confirmation of the old man’s crazy story. She reread it now, surrounded by the smell of sawdust and the hum of rain. The thunder punctuated the dark horror of the park ranger’s story. Joe’s uncle had been searching for a lost lumberjack; he found a werewolf instead. Kitty shuddered and the motion brought her back to the present. The name of Joe’s partner, Kevin Irish, still stuck in her head. It had stopped her the first time she’d read the obituary. She made a mental note to ask her dad which of the far-flung second cousins he belonged to and where he’d gone. Folding the newspaper, she slid it back into the plastic baggie and then into the back pocket of her jeans.
First things first. The night of the fire, Kitty had hidden the .45 here in the workshop. She went to the corner now where Maddie’s bed lay and pulled it away from the wall where it covered a loose board. Kitty pried the section of wood back with the fingers of her left hand and managed to slide enough of her right hand into the wall to grasp the gun. She lost hold once, and the board snapped down hard on her hand, pinning it. Biting her lip, she worked the board up again and slid the gun out of the crack. She reached in a second time and took out a knotted-up paint rag. She’d unloaded the gun and put the bullets inside. She unzipped the duffle wide enough to slide both into the bag.
Searching the workbenches, Kitty found a heavy blue plastic tarp under one of them. She pulled open a side door leading out of the workshop and into the main barn area. It smelled of old hay and pigeon poop, but it was dry, and her mom and Sam never came in here. The shop light fanned across the ancient oak boards that made up the pitted floor. She unfolded the sheeting out of the spray of light. Placing the duffle tight against the outside of the workshop wall, she flipped the tarp loosely over top. It was out of sight but some air could move through the hollow tube of it, letting the canvas bag inside dry a little or at least hold off the mildew.
She’d better get her butt to the house. The longer her mom waited, the worse it would be. Werewolves were a picnic compared to what was waiting in that kitchen.
****
The small and very angry woman facing her could give snarling lessons to the undead.
“Kitty!” Anne snapped. “I asked you what part of the rules didn’t you understand? Nobody in the house while I’m gone. Right? We went over it before I left.”
Kitty considered her answer. Obviously, Anne had seen Joe either ducking into or out of the workshop. Denial would dig the hole deeper. Her preferred MO—acting stupid—wasn’t going to cut it either. That was too bad; it had worked pretty well for the past five months.
“Technically, he wasn’t in the house,” Kitty said and regretted it the moment it was out. The words hung in the air, shimmering in all their iridescent smart-ass glory. Kitty knew immediately when her mom registered what she said. She would have thought it impossible for any more sparks to come shooting out of Anne’s eyes, but they did. Oh crap. I wasn’t going to act stupid.
“You know, Mom,” Sam said from his vantage point at the kitchen table. “She’s right. That’s why Maddie sleeps in the workshop. Because it’s not the house.”
Anne spun slowly on one heel to face Sam. She planted both hands flat on the kitchen counter and leaned toward her son. Kitty couldn’t see the look that passed between the two of them and no words were spoken, but Sam suddenly stood up and scooted through the kitchen. He wrinkled his nose at Kitty as he passed as if he could smell the coming carnage.
“I tried,” he mouthed. As he disappeared around the corner into the living room and up the stairs, he called, “Goodnight, guys.”
Anne turned back to face her. “Now that your little brother isn’t here to defend you, wanna try again?”
Kitty took a deep breath. Partial truth was good. It might work.
“I’m waiting.” Her mother folded her arms squarely across her chest.
“I didn’t invite him, Mom.” Kitty went slowly, determined not to send out any more verbal bombs. “I felt like being home alone. I got bored and decided to take Maddie for a quick walk in the woods.”
Anne tapped her foot. Whether she really meant it to irritate, Kitty didn’t know, but it sure did.
Get a grip, Kit. Keep this good and clean. “Joe came down to see me, saw me go in the woods. He thought it would be funny to follow me. You know, jump out from behind a tree and scare me. That part wasn’t very funny though.” Kitty warmed to her story.
“And how did you end up in the workshop?” Anne’s voice had calmed a little.
“We were going to put Maddie in the workshop early. She was wet anyway, and I wouldn’t have to go out later and do it. But she was already at the house and when we saw you come home, we knew you’d let her in here.” Kitty could see her moth
er softening. “So that was it.”
Anne rubbed at her eyes tiredly. “Took you awhile to get in here. Were you just sitting out there chatting or what?”
Internally Kitty gave a little jump. She hadn’t thought about that. “He wanted to ask me about something. With the rain, we decided to wait ‘til it slowed down.” That was no lie. She pushed her dripping hair out of her face for emphasis.
Anne walked to the sink and turned on the tap. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she let it fill. “What was so important he had to talk about it tonight?”
Hmmm. His dead uncle is probably not the right answer here. With a sudden flash, Kitty remembered her mother’s dreamy nostalgia when she had mentioned senior year earlier. Acting out of self-preservation, she blurted out, “He wanted to ask me to homecoming.”
Déjà vu—Kitty knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it. Only this time, it wasn’t because of her mother’s anger but because of the gushing joy it elicited. That and the fact that it didn’t even resemble a partial truth.
“That’s fabulous, Kitty.” Ann swept over from the sink and hugged her, soaked clothes and all. “When is it? We’ll have to get you a dress. Ooh, I can email your dad tomorrow.”
“Yeah, fabulous,” Kitty echoed faintly, letting her forehead slump against her mother’s shoulder.
Chapter Nine
Sam had Scouts after school, and Kitty took the opportunity to snag a ride from Zoe in her government class. If she got home within twenty minutes of school letting out, she would have a little time to herself before Anne picked up Sam on her way home from the hospital.
It was duffle time. Ready or not.
Zoe pulled her car behind the other cars waiting to make a fast getaway from Oakmont High. Kitty glanced out the window, then looked twice. Pulled up tight to the curb across the street from the high school was a dark sedan. A small metal arm poked out of the frame near the side-view mirror. Inside sat a figure tall enough that his head nearly touched the roof.
