Frozen Footprints

by Therese Heckenkamp

  “And now you’re worse than he ever was,” Clay said coldly. “And all these years, you let me think I’d started the fire, you let me carry the guilt—”

  “You wanted to carry it,” Abner scoffed. “No one has to tote guilt around if they don’t want to. You just toss it away. Guilt is for weak people. People who bow to God, and that’s why I don’t.”

  “But you still went to the seminary? It makes no sense.”

  “On the contrary. Old habits die hard. I was indoctrinated, still just a kid. Oh, I knew Dad deserved killing, but I actually felt some guilt. It’s not surprising I fell back onto the crutch of religion. I wasn’t as strong then as I am now. Besides, it beat working a job, and it didn’t hurt that my piousness pleased Ma, either. She was always the most important person in my life.”

  “Until Lydia,” Clay said. “But you never really loved her either, did you? You couldn’t have. A monster like you could only love yourself.”

  Abner’s nostrils flared. “Watch your tongue. You know nothing about me and Lydia. Nothing.”

  “Why don’t you tell me then.” Clay came into view, skirting the edge of my grave with care. “Starting with why you killed her.”

  A tempest brewed in Abner’s eyes. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed from his throat. “I did not kill her. It was all Perigard’s fault! If he hadn’t fired me, I never would have gone to the bar, never would have had those drinks, never would have fought with Lydia when I got home.” His fists trembled. “She stormed out. It was a black night, icy roads. I was worried about her, like any good husband, especially with her in her condition—I was going to be a father—you never knew that, either—we’d only recently found out. I went looking for her in my truck—”

  “So you were driving drunk,” Clay said stiffly.

  “No. I was aware, in complete control, until God interfered, sabotaging the road with ice, sending the truck sliding—slamming right into Lydia.” Abner shook his head, his bloodshot eyes unreadable. “It was too dark. I never saw her walking on the shoulder of the road. Didn’t see her till the headlights hit, and then—it was too late.”

  “You killed her,” Clay concluded, his chin jutting defiantly. I noticed that he had the shovel in his hands. When had he picked it up? “What I want to know is how you got away with it.”

  “It was late, an isolated road . . .” Abner mumbled, before snapping, “I didn’t kill her! It was Perigard. Perigard, and God.”

  “Your mind is warped,” Clay said, “and so is your conscience. You really have thrown away your guilt, convinced yourself you weren’t at fault by blaming others, blaming God. But look at the price you pay. You reek of evil and death.” Clay’s expression radiated disgust. “Face the truth: You killed your wife.”

  “I didn’t,” Abner repeated, his face clearly blanching, despite the shadows.

  “Oh yeah?” Clay indicated the ground. “Then why are these two graves spaced apart like this? There’s room between them for another grave. A grave, and a body. If I dig here, I’ll find her bones, won’t I?” With that, he thrust the shovel into the ground.

  With a beastly cry, Abner leaped at him. “Don’t you dare desecrate her grave!” He yanked the shovel from Clay’s grasp and shook it in his face with rage. “Yes, I took her back here to bury her. She’s my wife; I had the right. No one else cared. She had no other family.”

  Realizing Abner’s concentration was all on Clay, I sat up carefully.

  “This is where we had our honeymoon, and she loved it here. But she won’t rest in peace until we get revenge!” Suddenly Abner swung his gun at me, and I leaped from the grave as he squeezed the trigger. A bullet zinged past my ear. Clay landed a well-aimed punch at Abner’s temple, and the monster reeled, but didn’t fall. He lurched forward and cuffed Clay’s jaw.

  While the brothers grappled for the gun, I plunged to Max’s side, tugged at his arm, and patted his face frantically. “Wake up, Max, wake up!” He stirred and groaned, put a hand to his head, and sat up.

  “What’s going on?” He blinked dazedly at the brothers, scuffling and wrestling wildly, kicking dirt onto us.

  “This is our chance,” I hissed. “Come on!”

  There were too many of us for Abner to keep track of and gain control of. His mistake had been in having us all unrestrained in the same room. As I tugged Max from his trench, I saw Clay seize the gun. But the next second, Abner knocked it from his grasp, and it fell, skittering away, lost in shadows. Abner crashed a fist into Clay’s face, and he fell backward. I turned and ran toward the stairs, pushing groggy Max as I went.

  “Not so fast.” Abner grabbed for me. I swerved and darted, zipping randomly, avoiding his fatal grip, yet glad I was distracting him from Max. Maybe Max would make it out of the cellar.

  As I rounded the perimeter of the room, I saw the hole Max and I had dug through the cellar wall. At the same time, my foot struck something—the gun, kicking it into my empty grave. No chance at reaching the weapon before Abner caught me, I dove through the hole in the wall. Abner roared and lunged for me, seizing my boot, but I kicked and pulled free. While he bellowed behind me, I assured myself that the hole was too small for him. Indeed, when he tried to follow, he became wedged in the tight earthen passage. Seething, he clawed at the dirt with his talon fingers. I backed away and prayed Max had made it up the stairs.

  I had no exit from this prison, but at least I could stay free of Abner’s clutches. I gulped. Unless he dug his way in. But that would take time. Time for Max to get help.

  I put my hand to my face. The stench in our old prison was overwhelming, and I realized how close I was to the waste bucket. Familiar with its location in the dark corner, I hoisted the bucket easily. Then I turned and hurled the contents in Abner’s face.

  Spitting and spewing muck and profanity, his rage spiked, and he twisted himself free of the hole. Needing to see what was happening, I crouched down from a distance and saw him heading for my grave. For the gun. My heart hammered. He’d return to the hole and shoot at me like a caged animal. Yes, I could dodge, press myself against the walls, but for how long? And what if a bullet ricocheted? Dirt walls, I comforted myself. That can’t happen. Can it?

  Maybe he wouldn’t come after me, maybe he’d go after Max. But that would be even worse.

  Where was Clay? If Abner had knocked him out, why didn’t I see him lying on the ground somewhere?

  Suddenly, I did see him. But he wasn’t lying on the ground. Shovel in hand, he crept up behind Abner, who was kneeling at the edge of the grave, reaching down to pick up the gun. Clay hoisted the shovel and slammed Abner on the back of the head. The strong thwack resounded through the cellar and oscillated into my hole. I watched Abner topple, like a felled tree, into the grave.

  Dropping the shovel, Clay turned to me. “Come on, I don’t know how long he’ll be down.”

  I clambered into the passage, nasty now with leftover waste, but I barely cringed. Clay reached for my hands and tugged me through so I popped out into the cellar like a cork from a bottle. “We should get the gun,” I said breathlessly.

  Clay shook his head. “Can’t. He fell on top of it.”

  As I hesitated, he pulled me to the stairs. “Let’s get out of here!” We raced up the steps, knocking the lantern over as we went. I heard it clatter down the steps behind us.

  As I emerged from the trap door, a figure lunged toward me. A knife-blade flashed, and I shrieked.

  A hand clapped my shoulder. “Chill, Char. It’s only me.”

  “Max?” My knees trembled. “You should be out of here by now. Gone for help.”

  “You think I’d leave you?” He lifted the knife. “I was just getting this.” He made as if to move past me, and came face- to-face with Clay.

  “You don’t need that anymore,” Clay said, eyeing the blade. “I bashed him with the shovel. He’s out cold.”

  “Then I’ll finish him off.”

  Clay met his gaze. “You can go back down there if you want
, but we’re getting out of here.”

  I nodded. I wanted to get far away from Abner and this cabin, but I wanted Max with me. My eyes snagged on the sharp blade, my mind envisioning blood. No matter how much Abner deserved it, I couldn’t fathom returning to the cellar and carrying out such a horrible task. “Max, come with us.”

  He hesitated, and I took his arm. “Please. Don’t make yourself do that—”

  Our debate was cut short, because at that moment we heard an unearthly groan rise up from the depths of the cellar. Our eyes flew wide as we realized Abner was already awake. We raced for the front door.

  My rapid footsteps matched the pace of my heart as I bolted from the cabin and hurtled down the driveway with Max and Clay right behind me.

  As we fled, my ears pricked. All too soon, I detected a sound behind us like a cabin door crashing open. Dear God, no.

  Shots pierced the night.

  “Go ahead, run, you fools,” Abner thundered. “I’ll hunt you down and skin you alive!”

  A few more shots whizzed past, then eerie silence settled around us, although our feet pattered madly and air whooshed past my ears.

  Was Abner following us? Would we run till we fell, exhausted, into his clutches? And where were we even trying to run to?

  As if in answer, Clay yelled, “Head for the lake!”

  Yes, the lake. I felt a twinge of hope. Clay fished on the lake. He knew it well. He would know where the other houses or cabins were, which ones would contain people. People who could help us. People with bolts on their doors and phones to call the police.

  We ran along the edge of the narrow road, camouflaged by tree shadows. Any trees that weren’t pines were skeleton hands, reaching up with bony black fingers to snatch the moon from the sky. My heart raced like one of Grandfather’s model trains, pumping with incredible power despite my small size.

  Where did my energy come from? It certainly didn’t come from food or water. Sprinting down the snowy road, I became a fleet-footed deer. A hunted deer. That’s when I knew where the energy came from: Fear. I had looked into the eyes of evil and only narrowly escaped. Thanks to Clay. I glanced at him, jogging beside me, then turned my attention to Max.

  Can he make it? My heart squeezed. He was barely keeping up, and he began to fall behind, clearly in pain. I slowed slightly. My boots soon became bricks strapped to my feet, and the swift deer image vanished from my mind. Several times I tripped and skidded and almost pitched head over heels.

  Just as we reached the ice, I heard a sputter and a roar behind us. Distant at first, but the sound grew as if an avalanche was approaching. Legs still pumping, I chanced a glance back, and my alarm increased exponentially.

  A truck growled with rage as it tore around a bend.

  Abner’s truck.

  He’s going to run us down.

  Chapter Twenty

  Snorting with wicked glee, the truck pursued us onto the ice. Popping and pinging sounds pierced the air as the ice protested the weight. Headlights hit, exposing us like specimens under a microscope. I saw my shadow, a contorted black image of myself, running before me, yet bound to me. Even my shadow can’t escape. My mind laughed sickly.

  Any moment now, heavy tires would grind my flesh and bones into the ice. My heart beat itself into my throat, and I couldn’t swallow.

  My eyes gazed desperately ahead and swept the tree-shrouded shoreline. So far to go yet. No shelter to dive for. Just this wide expanse of ice.

  Behind us, the mad zooming roar became deafening. The metal monster would be on top of us in seconds. As if realizing this simultaneously, we fanned out. This way, at least only one of us could be hit at a time. Maybe one of us would even escape. Hearing the raging increase in motor volume behind me, I realized that I would not be the one to escape.

  I would be the first victim.

  Somehow, I forced myself to run faster. At the same time, I knew how futile it was to think I could out-race a chariot from hell.

  It will be over soon. He can crush me and kill me, but at least he can’t drag me down with him to hell.

  As if I wasn’t already startled out of my wits, an ear-shattering crack startled me further, making me turn, despite myself. I was just in time to see the front of the fierce truck plunge through the ice and splash violently into the lake. The back tires spun uselessly on the remaining ice, spitting snow. The glare of the headlights now gone, I saw nothing but blue, black, and purple blended with shadows.

  Then the rest of the truck shifted, slid, and dove into the dark watery abyss.

  Taking Abner with it.

  Instead of relief, fear and urgency still tugged at me, and I ran.

  Cracking noises followed me, and even as I continued to move my legs, I realized I was not running. I was falling. I flailed my arms for balance, but only lost it more. The ground shifted beneath me. Even as I thought, But it’s not ground, it’s ice!, I tottered, slipped, hit the ice, and kept on falling.

  Water! I felt myself being sucked into the frigid depths of the lake. I grappled for the edges of the broken ice, but only succeeded in splashing myself. Freezing droplets stung my face like splinters of glass.

  My heavy clothes weighed me down, but I treaded water ferociously while gulping nasty mouthfuls. My teeth chattered so hard, I thought they would break. My voice froze and I couldn’t scream. The truck had been too close to me when it broke the ice, and the cracking must have spidered outward. Abner was still trying to get me.

  Even now, I heard his wretched voice calling out.

  I’m delirious.

  But no, my head bobbed above water, and Abner’s voice carried through the air, a yell—not vengeful, but fearful. “Clay! Clay, help me!”

  Between my up-and-down dance in my patch of ice water, I caught sight of Abner’s head, yards away, bobbing like a rotten apple.

  Somehow, he had made it out of the truck. I was vaguely impressed. He really must have a deal with the Devil. But will Satan save him? My head dunked into water, choking me. I should be worrying about myself. Deathly cold, I coughed and sputtered. Christ, save me.

  Through my watery struggle, I saw Abner wrestling for a hold on the ice, but he couldn’t pull himself up. “Clay!”

  Glub, glub, lake water filled my mouth and ears. I thrashed my arms and legs and bounced back up. Again, I heard Abner.

  “Clay, brother! Don’t let me die!”

  Glub, glub.

  “Brother, I’m begging you!”

  Glub, glub.

  “Have mercy!”

  My legs kicked, and the effort was so feeble, I assumed this would be my last moment above water. I caught sight of someone on the ice, carrying something like a long stick, running for the wreckage, just before my head sank underwater. Clay, you’ve gotta be kidding . . . still trying to save your brother . . .

  I was barely aware of my consciousness shimmering, drifting away, and I had the shadowy impression my body, too, would simply drift away into an unknown, watery grave. Someday my bones would wash ashore and some vacationing child would find them. I was too numb to panic at the idea. Instead, I thought wearily that it was too bad that the last thing I had to hear in this world was Abner’s voice.

  But the last person I had seen was Clay. Somehow, I didn’t regret that, and I began to pray that he wouldn’t fall into the water when he tried saving his brother. But the ability to think slipped away from me. My legs and arms slipped away from me, too. And my heart . . . my heart didn’t seem to be beating anymore. Maybe I was already dead . . .

  * * *

  Something poked me in the cheek. A slightly uncomfortable sensation, but it made me realize that I had a cheek. And a head. Arms. And legs. But I couldn’t breathe. My lungs burned, bursting for air. I struggled upward, flailing toward a quivering light.

  I broke through water, gasping and sputtering, buoyed up only a moment before sinking.

  “Char! Grab the stick! Grab it!”

  The urgent voice, so close, jolted me, forcin
g my legs into movement. A glimmer of awareness returned. Clay stood on solid ice, several feet from me, holding out a branch. I grappled for it with my numb, wet, gloved hands. Useless hands. I can’t. I can’t hold on.

  “Max, she can’t grab it. I’ve got to get it farther out. Hold my legs.” Suddenly the branch dove under the water, bumping my body. “Put your arms over it!”

  My arms?

  “Char, you can do it!” Max’s voice.

  I tried. I willed my muscles to be muscles, instead of these heavy slabs of useless meat. My arms slid over the branch, and I curled myself against it. The stick supported me, and suddenly, I was no longer sinking.

  In fact, I was moving, gliding through the water. Chunks of ice parted before me, and I was riding a water chariot under the moonlight. Riding toward my rescuers, glowing in the night. One reached out and hauled me from the water. I almost managed to say, “Thank you,” before I sighed and slipped away.

  * * *

  Like shards of ice, noises slid past me until one voice struck with such force it shattered me out of my delirium. “Char! Fight it! You’ve got to wake up!”

  I sputtered ice water and opened my stiff eyelids to see Clay and Max kneeling beside me. My head swirled. Which one had spoken? Which one was speaking now?

  “You’ve got to keep moving. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Out. Yes. We’re always trying to escape something. The cellar. Abner. Death. I shivered. No, I’d been shivering all along. When was the last time I hadn’t shivered? My body knew nothing but this constant trembling.

  I felt myself being hoisted by Max on one side, Clay on the other. They wanted me to walk, but I couldn’t feel my legs. The water that coated me was turning to ice, glazing me with a glassy shell.

  My eyes felt frosty, like little snowballs. But they could see, for a moment. They saw what was left of the wreckage, the liquid lake within the solid lake, the fragmented ice floating like flat, desolate islands. The cracking turmoil had settled into eerie silence, as if this lake had never known such things as vehicles. As if the terror had never happened. The truck was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Abner.