He hadn’t ventured out to the river much in his life anyway, but he knew enough to get some sense of direction. He was on the northern bank, judging from the slow current. The river cut against the upper part of the county and eventually made its way down south through Southwick, a good sixty miles away by road. Upriver, its source was hidden in the reptilian ridges of the north woods. He knew of several crossings, all of which would keep him away from Coldwater, but he wasn’t quite sure which one he would come to first. Upriver would be the right course to take. He knew that, and it settled in his mind as the only correct option.
But for now his exhaustion was getting the best of him.
He crawled back to the embankment and found a hollow that fit his body decently enough. The night was cool but not frigid, and as he closed his eyes and listened to the flow of the river, he slept the sleep of a dead man, a dead man resurrected to a dark night.
3
The two men drove out from Coldwater that morning in silence, like the quiet of two men going to work, content to allow each other to wake up and process the morning without the aggravation of conversation. The truck motored north up the county road several miles and then headed east on gravel, and soon the gravel turned to dirt, and the dirt slowly gave way to a two-track heading into the woods. A developer had attempted to plot out a subdivision in the area but gave up when the market told him that folks from the city didn’t want to live this far in the sticks.
Coldwater was sixty miles from the nearest “metropolis.” City really. Sixty miles from where a family could buy groceries was the more proper way to say it.
The old Ford pushed on through the woods until the two-track finally gave up its ghost and terminated in a large clearing. The truck came to a stop. The passenger, who was half slumped in the seat, spoke first.
“Go on, Kyle, check it out so we can get out of here.”
“Why me?”
“Well, I sure ain’t going to do it!”
“Why don’t we both go?”
“Come on. You know I got this bum leg in the mornings. Just walk up there, check it out, and we can head back.”
Kyle hesitated in the driver seat. He stared into the woods. A tremor of fear slowly crept into his face as he white-knuckled the steering wheel.
“Here, take this,” said James from the passenger seat, handing over a long hunting knife.
“What good is that going to do?”
“You serious? He’s tied up . . . underground. How much more protection you need?”
Kyle stepped out of the truck, forcing his body to move as his nerves were getting the best of him. He almost tripped over one of the ruts in the mud made from the vehicles the night before. They were all over the clearing. He had been braver the night before, when there were so many of them, but now, on his own, his courage was nowhere to be found.
Kyle stood by the truck.
“Get going!” James yelled from the cab. “You’re the one that wanted to come here. Now go check it out.”
“Now that we’re here . . . I don’t know.”
“Just do it! Otherwise you’ll be bugging me all day to drive back out here. Go check it out, see that he’s still buried, so we can go home.”
“This is stupid.”
“It is stupid, but you ain’t going to leave me alone until you see it with your own eyes.”
Kyle wiped a sweaty hand on his jeans. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“I knew Haywood never should have let you come along.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said. You were all gung ho yesterday, but now you’re giving me an anxiety attack. Don’t make me get out of this truck and drag you up there. ’Cause when you see he’s still underground, I’ll be mad at you for wasting my time.”
“Okay, okay . . . calm down.”
“Just go already.”
Kyle closed the truck door and walked up the trail into the woods. About a quarter mile up, he saw the small clearing in the trees, saw the disturbed dirt. He inched his way closer, slowly. The sight scared him. He was startled by sounds coming from every side of him. The birds, the insects, the sound of the swaying trees in the light wind. He approached the clearing.
He saw the spot where they had buried Michael. Saw the earth pushed aside and sunk down into the crater, saw the drag marks from the hole and the footprints that led off deeper into the woods. In one quick second, his mind had processed the whole scene. His nightmare had come true, his guilt had been telling him all night that his fear was real.
Kyle turned and ran as if his life depended on it. He would have screamed, but his voice was lost, lost in the chaos. He could see the truck through the leaves. He ran, harder and harder, until he made the clearing. Jumping in the truck, he slammed it into drive, spun it around, and floored it back to the county road. James was almost ejected from his seat.
“What are you doing?” James shouted.
Kyle was silent. He felt as if his blood had stopped coursing through his veins. A cold sweat dripped from his hairline. His hands on the wheel shook uncontrollably as they guided the car rocketing through the woods.
“Kyle . . . Kyle!”
Kyle looked over at James. And with a whispered breath said, “He got out!”
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Andrea, who brought this story to light after being shelved for so many years. To the most incredible editor, Barb, thank you for taking the story to new levels with your attention to detail and precision. To Michele, Hannah, and Karen, thanks for putting up with me and getting the book into as many people’s hands as possible.
To all my friends involved in the world of books: it would take pages upon pages to name you all. Thank you so much for your encouragement, interest, and humor. To the crew at the original H2, thanks for the inspiration.
And last, to Liz. You have let me believe in dreams that seem impossible, while keeping me rooted to the ground. I can never thank you enough.
Samuel Parker was born in the Michigan boondocks but was raised on a never-ending road trip through the US. Besides writing, he is a process junkie and the ex-guitarist for several metal bands you’ve never heard of. He lives in West Michigan with his wife and twin sons.
SamuelParkerBooks.com
SamuelParkerAuthor
@ParkerSuspense
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