“No,” said Patrick.
“No way,” said John.
“Well, I don't know,” Dean said. “I just thought we could cover more ground.”
“It's not safe,” Patrick said. “We’re already split up.”
The three of them walked for hours, calling their friends’ names and having no luck. Patrick was exhausted—both physically and mentally—and had begun mumbling to himself. His hands shook.
“I think I see a clearing ahead,” John called.
They ran to catch up with him. They had walked so long that the sun had begun to go down behind the tree line. Patrick stepped forward and moved some brush out of the way. Scanning the area, he saw where they had arrived.
Back at the campground.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Pat?”
“Patrick?”
He could hear his friends calling his name, but it wasn't truly clicking in his mind. He stared in disbelief. His mind seemed to move in slow motion as the brutal southern heat sent waves of exhaustion through him.
“How?” was all he could manage to say.
“Man, I really don't know,” John said. “I don't think we turned once the whole time we were walking.”
Dean put his hand on his shoulder. “Look man, I know you don't want to hear this, but I really think we need to stop for now. If we continue looking, we're going to die out there from a heat stroke or something, and that's not helping anyone.”
“Besides,” John said, “It's getting dark. We already have a fire pit here, and Sam and Tim might come back here looking for us.”
He was swaying from front to back.
“Patrick?” Dean said. “Hey man, I think you need some—”
Patrick took a step forward and fell flat on his face.
When Patrick woke, he heard the crackling of a fire. It was dark, and his nose felt broken.
“There he is,” said John. “Damn man, I tried to catch you, but you just passed the fuck out. Your nose was bleeding pretty bad, too. How do you feel?”
“Where's Sam?”
Dean and John exchanged glances.
“Pat, we still haven’t found him,” Dean said. “We had to stop for the night, remember?”
“We can't stop.”
“You got so hot, you almost died. We had to stop. What did you want us to do, tie you to a log and carry you?”
He sat up and put his hand to his nose. He winced in pain and drew his hand back quickly. It was definitely broken.
“I fucking hate this place,” he said, holding back tears. “More than anything.”
“We'll find Sam and Tim,” John said. “And then we'll get the hell out of here.”
Standing up, he glanced around the campground. Everything was gone, except for the fire. “I'm so hungry,” he said.
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out some individually wrapped Lifesavers candies. “This is all we have,” he said.
“That's it?”
“Yeah, man. Everything was gone when we got back, remember? The tent, the car, everything.”
“Well,” John said. “Almost everything.” He pulled a plastic sack out of his pocket. It was the weed.
“So, all we have to survive on is a few pieces of candy and something that will make me even more hungry.”
“Does that mean you don't want to smoke it?”
He thought about the pain in his nose. “No,” he said. “Let's do it.”
Dean dug the old soda can out of the fire pit and packed it with the weed. They took turns puffing and passing. Once all the weed in the can was gone, they walked down to the creek and drank from the water on their hands and knees.
They returned to their seats at the fire and sat in silence for a while, each of them occasionally tossing more kindling into the pit. Even with the sun down, the heat of the night was almost unbearable; each of them had to move their seats back from the fire. When they sat back down, John sighed loudly. “I need to tell you guys something,” he said.
“What's up?” Patrick asked.
“It's just… I feel bad for even bringing it up with Sam and Tim being missing. I mean I know there's a lot going on right now, but I'm going to explode if I don't tell someone.”
“We're listening,” Dean said.
John smiled weakly. “Thanks. Well, it's about Ronnie. You guys know he's been nothing but trouble for me and my mom. He's been stealing money from me and threatening to leave my mom if I told her. And she depends on him so much—financially and all—and that's why I didn't say anything for so long. But I had decided to finally put a stop to it, I mean I know he's abusive to her, and I was going to tell her about everything after this trip. I had decided that I would take on extra hours at the store, whatever I had to do to help her out. I was going to get her to leave him for good.”
“Why can't you?” Dean asked.
John's chest rose and fell dramatically. He was on the verge of sobbing. “When I was getting ready to leave for the trip, I overheard them arguing. That son of a bitch got my mom pregnant, and he blamed her for it. I heard her apologizing, and he was yelling at her and calling her names. I confronted the piece of shit, and I swear I wanted to kill him.” John lost control of his emotions and began to cry. Hot tears streamed down his face.
“Shit, man,” Patrick said. “I'm sorry.”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “But that's not the worst thing ever, is it? I mean can't she just leave him and get child support or something?”
John struggled to regain control of himself. “I don't know,” he said. “I just hate seeing her suffer. She deserves better, and I hate him so much. I'm afraid he'll try to kill her if she leaves. He's threatened her before.”
“Fuck him,” Patrick said. “You know, I could get my dad to go over there and kick his ass.” All three of them burst into laughter at that. John laughed the hardest, choking back sobs.
“Thanks, guys,” he said.
Dean said, “We really all have some fucked up families, don't we?”
“Yeah.”
“Definitely.”
John said, “We're going to find your brother, Pat. I know it.”
He stood up and put some more wood into the fire. “I sure hope so,” he said.
Despite the many arguments put up by Dean and John, Patrick insisted on taking the first watch when it came time to go to sleep. He was positive he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he wanted to.
Sitting in the dark by the dying fire, he thought about their current situation and began to cry. How could he let this happen to his little brother? Sam was the one person who always had his back. And, truthfully, Patrick was likely the only person who had stood by Sam through it all. When Sam was getting tripped in the hallway, or called a faggot by everyone in the school, Patrick was always there for him, because they were brothers. The two of them were close, whether Patrick liked to admit it or not. He loved Sam, and he felt responsible for his current predicament.
Where are you Sam? What happened to you? Are you hurt?
He watched his friends as they slept, and he felt very uncomfortable. It was the lack of noise that drove him crazy. Even the creek—which usually made plenty of noise—was too quiet. The sky was too dark. He was too tired.
Too scared.
There was something else that was bothering him. That goddamned bridge. It was staring at him.
“Stop it,” Patrick said under his breath. He looked away from it, but he couldn't turn his back to it. He didn't want to turn his back to anything.
When he was a small kid, he had been terrified to get off his bed at night. If he had needed to use the bathroom, or get some water, he would try his best to wait until morning. If he had stepped on the floor, he was sure that a hand would have reached out from under the bed and pulled him under where he could never come back out.
He’d had a recurring dream when he was young. He would walk into his parents' bedroom to tell them he had wet the bed, but they wouldn't be there. He hear
d a scratching noise from under the bed and then, like the Wicked Witch of the West coming from under the house that had killed her, a clawed, green-spotted hand would yank him under the bed. He could see his parents down the hall, looking for him and he wanted to scream for them, to tell them that he was right there, and he needed their help, but the hand was squeezing his throat, and he could only squeak hoarsely.
After those dreams, he had requested that his mattress be put directly on the floor.
At that moment, in the middle of the dark campground, with only a small flicker from the campfire, he wished that he had eyes in the back of his head because he felt that, at any moment, a green-spotted hand was just about to grab him from behind, and he wouldn’t be able to call for help. A shudder ran down his spine.
A crash came from the woods behind him.
Patrick screamed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dean and John both jumped up from their sleep.
“What's going on?” John asked.
Dean was covered in a cold sweat. He looked like he was going to puke.
Backing against them, Patrick could only point in the direction of the noise. It was getting louder now. Whatever was out there, it was getting closer.
“Oh my God,” said Dean. “I was just dreaming about him. Always dreaming about him.”
“Who?”
“The Goatman.”
“Stop it with that shit,” John said. “It's fucking ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
It sounded like a drunk grizzly bear was running through the trees at full speed, slamming into everything in its path.
There was another noise.
Coming from the direction of the covered bridge, a voice cried out. It was impossible to tell what it was saying, but it sounded like someone in distress.
“Whatever is in the woods, it's almost here,” Patrick said, his voice shaking. He turned to run, looking over his shoulder.
Dean and John followed him.
Dean said, panting, “Are we really going towards the bridge? Didn’t you hear that?”
Patrick wasn't slowing down. Neither did they.
Daring one more glance over his shoulder, he saw the outline of a figure coming through the trees on the other side of the creek.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Faster!”
John looked behind them and screamed. Something was running after them at a full trot, and whatever it was, it seemed to be chasing them directly toward the bridge.
Standing in the middle of the bridge, was a small-framed person. The person was facing the open window overlooking the creek.
Patrick stepped forward a few feet. Out of breath, he called, “Sam? Is that you?”
The person turned his head and frowned.
“Hello?” he called. “Sam?”
Sam turned so that his face showed in the moonlight. Patrick rushed over and put his arms around him. Dean and John came over to them as well.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Sam! You're okay! What happened to you?”
“We have to jump,” Sam said.
“What?”
Sam pointed behind him. “He's not giving us any other choice.”
Patrick had been so excited to find Sam that he had completely forgotten that he was being chased by something. He turned his head slowly and saw what his brother was pointing at.
In the dark it was hard to make out specific details, but there was a large man standing at the entrance to the bridge. Only, he didn't appear to be a normal man. Sticking out of the top of his head were curved horns.
Dean wailed and clung to Patrick. John reached down and picked up a rock.
“Get the fuck out of here, you creep!” John demanded. He tossed the rock and missed the figure by at least a foot.
The thing just stood there, breathing.
“We have to jump,” Sam said. He climbed into the window facing the creek, and before Patrick could protest, Sam jumped into the flowing water.
Patrick hesitated for a moment—only a moment. What motivated him was the Goatman running in his direction. He could hear the heavy breathing, the animalistic noises.
He peered out of the window, and he could just barely make out Sam pulling himself out of the creek.
Okay, he made it. I can do this.
Gathering his courage, he jumped. Dean and John followed closely behind.
The Goatman bellowed in frustration after swiping for John's ankle and missing by mere inches.
He hit the cold water and instantly went numb. His mind was moving at a speed ten times faster than his body could manage. When his head came above water, he could see Sam standing on the creek bank, shivering.
Dean and John slammed into the water behind him. Dean surfaced immediately, screaming in pain. The creek water turned a crimson hue all around them.
“My leg! I sliced my leg on a rock or something. Goddamn, it hurts!”
Patrick waded to Dean, and John helped him lift Dean out of the water. Above them, the horned man-beast watched.
“Come on!” Patrick shouted. “Dean, I need you to walk!”
“I'm trying!” Dean said through gritted teeth. The blood poured from the six-inch gash in his leg.
Reaching the bank, he pulled himself from the water first, then he turned to help John drag Dean onto the bank. As soon as they were all on solid ground, Patrick glanced toward the bridge’s window.
The Goatman was gone.
A clop-clop-clop sound echoed on the wooden floor of the bridge.
“We have to go, now,” Patrick said.
Sam stood with his arms by his side, emotionless, speechless. Dean was trying not to scream. Every step he took sent a gush of blood down the side of his leg.
“We need to wrap his leg,” John said. “It's really bad.”
“If we stop now,” Patrick said, “We're dead. Plain and simple. That crazy fucker is coming down here.”
“I can walk,” Dean said. “Let's just go.”
He glanced around. To their right was the creek and the road out of this hell-hole. To their left were more woods. When Patrick looked back to the right again, his decision was made. The Goatman stood twenty yards away, blocking their path to the road out of the campgrounds.
“Come on,” he said. “This way.”
Patrick and John each put one of Dean's arms over their shoulders and helped him hop along between them. Sam followed behind.
It was very dark, and their only source of light―the small cigarette lighter—had just been soaked in the creek.
Patrick had to walk with his free arm in front of him, shielding his eyes and face from the many branches and bushes in their way. He could feel things crawling on him, and he tried not to think about what they could be.
Daring a glance behind them, he saw that the creature had vanished. His heart jumped in his chest and cold sweat mixed with the creek water on his skin. “I'm so sorry I got you guys into this,” he said.
Nobody offered any reprieve.
He knew they had to keep moving, but they couldn't see where they were going, and Dean needed medical attention—or, at least, the best they would be able to provide. Limbs continued to scratch their arms and faces, and Dean was moaning in pain.
John looked behind them. “I think he's left us alone,” he said. “At least for now.”
They entered a small clearing where the moon offered some light, and they set Dean down on the ground. Sam stared silently at the trees.
Patrick took off his socks and tied them together. “This will have to do,” he said. He inspected the gash in Dean's leg. It was bad. “Look at me,” he said to Dean.
Dean, tears in his eyes, looked at him. “I know what you're going to say. It's going to hurt. Just do it.”
He wrapped the socks around the gash and tightened them until they were wrapped around the wound twice. Blood had already begun to soak through. Dean didn't make a sound.
“Okay,” John said. “What do we do now?”
N
obody spoke.
Sam was still standing away from the group, facing the trees.
“Sam,” Patrick called.
“Sam!”
Wiping his bloody hands on his shorts, he stood up. He walked over to Sam and put his hand on his shoulder.
Sam jumped.
“Sam, are you okay? You haven't said a word since the bridge.”
“I don't think I am, Patrick. Not at all.” He wouldn’t face his brother.
“What happened to you? Where did you go? We came back, and you were just… gone.”
Sam turned and faced his brother. His expression was that of someone who just met a stranger. “Came back from where?” he said.
“Sam, we went looking for Tim. We were only gone half an hour. Someone put the Suburban in the river. When we came back to the campground, everything was gone. Including you.”
“That's strange.”
He was terrified by his brother's apathy and confusion.
That's strange? Who the fuck says that?
“Sam, you're freaking me out.”
“I was freaked out when you left me alone.”
“You volunteered.”
“You're supposed to take care of me. I'm young and stupid.”
Sam was not acting like himself. He was sure of that. What had happened to him out here?
“What did you see? Where did you go?”
“I saw him.”
A chill went down his spine.
Sam continued, “I saw where he died. It's a tree with a rope.”
“Where he died? What do you mean by that? You're not making any sense.”
“He whispered it in my ear. That's how I know. I fell down when I ran.”
“Ran?”
“Yes. From them.”
“Sam, listen to me. You have to start making sense. I don't know what you're talking about.”
Sam sighed. “It's hard to remember some of it. I hit my head. I told you.”
“Try harder.”
“I just know that I saw some people coming towards me, and they had weapons. Shovels, axes, stuff like that. I ran towards the bridge and I tripped and hit my head. I woke up, and the Goatman was kneeling over me. He told me that he would spare me if I showed everyone where he had died.”
Tamer Animals Page 9
