“I’m starving,” he said suddenly, cutting into her thoughts. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded.
“There’s got to be someplace to eat near the campground.”
“No cheese and crackers tonight?”
He shook his head. “There’s a diner out on Route 2. Great omelets.”
Her stomach grumbled at the thought of it.
“But don’t you even want to clean the cuts?”
“That’s what restaurant bathrooms are for.”
“Of course.” She threw the Jeep in gear.
At the diner, a rotund waitress in a burgundy apron and large-collared white dress seated them by a window. The diner was of ’50s cinder-block construction, the exterior painted utilitarian gray like an old bomb shelter. Heck, maybe it was one, Madeline thought. But she didn’t care. She was starving.
Bright neon signs in the window advertised a Breakfast Special and four kinds of beer.
Inside, attempts at cheery decoration included enough plastic flowers and plants to open their own craft store, and vases at every table held genuine carnations in reds, pinks, and whites.
They sat down in a vinyl-seated booth, the material creaking as they squeezed in.
The waitress, after giving Noah a long, disdainful look, as if he’d been out picking fights in the local bars, gave them each a menu and walked away. Noah excused himself for the men’s room and returned ten minutes later, looking infinitely better. He was right; he healed fast. Already the swelling in his eye had receded, and he could now open both eyes. The wounds in his neck and stomach were mere scratches, and the gash in his leg had almost closed completely, just a thin, red line visible through the tear in his jeans.
They made small talk while they glanced at the menu, resuming again after the waitress took their order. Noah looked nervous, glancing out of the large windows now and again at the darkened parking lot. When he wasn’t doing that, he studied her intently as she sipped the steaming cup of coffee that tasted like two-day-old peanut shells soaked in hot water. For once he seemed at a loss for words and kept unusually quiet as they munched on their omelets and steaming French toast drenched in maple syrup.
She glanced around at the other customers, most of them middle-aged men and women wearing ranchers’ clothes: worn overalls, warm corduroy shirts, and almost all the men in wide-brimmed cowboy hats. She loved that none of them stared at her or whispered surreptitiously. She was a total stranger here.
Country music played softly from a tinny speaker above them. A man sang about his “girl” in a mournful voice, crooning that he would have loved her forever, even if it took all night.
An electronic bell chimed as another customer entered the diner. Madeline turned to look at him and froze. It was Steve, the naturalist.
Or something pretending to be Steve.
He walked in, giving the waitress an easy smile and removed his ranger’s hat. With one hand he fluffed his sandy brown hair to get rid of his hat hair and began following her to a table on the other side of the restaurant. He walked with a bad limp.
Madeline dipped her head low so the creature wouldn’t see her and turned to Noah.
“Noah!” she said low, urgently.
He looked up in midsip. “What is it?”
“Stefan!” she whispered.
Noah started, coffee spilling over the table. He winced as it burned his hand, then put the cup down. “Where?”
“Over there.” She gestured with her head. “He’s being seated, impersonating Steve. Just like he did when he wrecked his car.” When Noah remained silent, she went on. “That can’t be Steve. You said the creature could only appear as someone it had killed, so what I saw that night in the ditch, the creature imitating Steve, must mean that he had killed him earlier that night.”
Noah wrinkled his brow. “Only look like someone he’s killed?”
She nodded. “Right?”
Noah swallowed hard. “Right.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just,” he cleared his throat, looking over at Steve. “Just so many victims.”
“What should we do?” she asked, leaning closer to him across the table. “Confront him? Jump him in the rest-room?”
“We shouldn’t let him see us. Let’s just leave.”
Madeline’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Noah just stared back at her.
“But you’ve been waiting for this opportunity. Let’s lure him outside and tackle him.”
Suddenly, as she watched him from across the table, he ducked his head low and turned it toward the window.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“He’s coming over here.”
“What?” Fear flopped in her stomach. She turned slowly. “Steve” was walking quickly toward their table.
“Madeline!” he said. “I can’t believe it’s you. I saw you from across the restaurant. Thought you’d be gone by now!” He continued toward her, limping severely. She sat transfixed, watching him approach. To her amazement, he walked right up to the table. “Can I sit down? My leg’s killing me. And I have to talk to you. You won’t believe what’s happened.”
Her mouth went dry. Her limbs felt heavy as sledgehammers, and still she sat, immobile, as she watched him. Here he was, the creature, in the middle of this well-lit diner, talking to her as if nothing was wrong. His gall was unbelievable.
She was blocked into the booth, “Steve” standing in her exit path. Noah just sat there silently, his face unreadable, almost frozen.
And then, to her amazement, Noah scooted over and offered “Steve” a seat.
“Thanks a lot, man,” he responded, and plunked down next to him in the booth.
The thing pretending to be a naturalist leaned across the table and whispered to her. “You won’t believe what happened. I never should have doubted you!”
She listened, half-dumbfounded by Noah’s behavior and half trying to figure out how she could make it out to the Jeep to grab the backpack and the weapon.
“Steve” continued talking. “So last night, after I dropped you off, I kept on toward Missoula. I wasn’t two miles away when all of a sudden I see this dark shape standing at the edge of the treeline. At first it’s upright, like the shadow of a man just at the edge of the road. Then, as I get a little closer, it drops down on all fours. My headlights lit it up. It charged straight for my car.”
He fell silent and glanced around at the other tables to see if anyone was listening. They weren’t. Above him the speaker piped out a sad ballad about a dejected man who would do anything to get his lady back. Madeline was beginning to notice a pattern.
“It rammed into my car. Full tilt. Smash. Completely creamed the driver’s side. I swerved off the road and into a ditch. The thing came around and opened the passenger door, started climbing in. It was terrifying: absolutely inky black and featureless, more like a shadow than a living thing. But it had eyes—I’ll never forget them; huge red saucer eyes—and a mouth full of pointed teeth. It tore a huge gash in my leg.
“I pulled out my shotgun and shot it. Two times at point-blank range. Right in the head and chest. It let out this howl and flew back into the ditch. I reloaded, hit it again. I tried to get out of my side of the car but couldn’t. I could already smell gas spilling out, so I quickly climbed out of the passenger side.” He looked around again. No one was even glancing over at them. “And can you believe that thing started to get up? I reloaded and fired the rest of my rounds into its chest and ran like hell.”
She watched him as he talked. His voice, mannerisms, eyes, all seemed like Steve. She hadn’t known the naturalist for very long, but even still, she’d felt a kinship with him. They read the same books. Had similar interests and beliefs. Some people you just liked right away and felt a strong connection to. Steve had been one of those people. Suddenly she was starting to have doubts that this was in fact the creature.
“It’s got to be the same thing you saw, right?”
He continued. “I hiked for a long time, my leg killing me, and eventually reached this ranger’s residence. We radioed for backup. But when we got back there, my car had exploded and burned through a meadow on the side of the road. There was no sign of the creature. No body. No remains. Just the smoldering meadow and strewn car parts.”
She looked at Noah, who was listening intently to the ranger. “What happened then?” he asked.
Steve shrugged. “An EMT fixed my leg. I got stitches and some codeine. Went back to my cabin.” He regarded Madeline intently. “And regretted not doing more to help you,” he added.
“You were plenty of help,” she said, leaning even more toward believing him.
“Why didn’t you get the hell away from here?” Steve asked.
She stared at Noah. “I thought I could help,” she said finally. Reaching across the table, she squeezed Noah’s hand. He seemed surprised, but then he squeezed her hand back.
She suddenly thought of a way she could know for sure. She looked uncertainly across the table at the naturalist. “Could I see where it scratched you?” she asked.
Steve raised his eyebrows in shock. “Well, I wouldn’t call it ‘scratched,’ more like ‘took a chunk out of my leg.’ What, are you into the gory stuff? Shark victims, bear attacks, that kind of thing?”
She shook her head. “It would just put my mind to rest about something.” If this was actually Steve, then the wound would still look fresh.
Steve shrugged. “Okay,” he said finally. “But you probably want to finish your dinner first.”
Just then the waitress approached and set a steaming cup of coffee in front of Steve. “Just want to sit here, hon?”
“Sure,” he said, then looked at Noah and Madeline. “If that’s okay with you two.”
“Oh, perfectly,” Noah said, trying to make him feel at ease.
Madeline found she couldn’t eat another bite of omelet until she knew for sure if the person at their table was her new friend or her relentless pursuer.
At her insistence, the three of them went out to the parking lot. Steve wore the kind of pants that zipped off into shorts, and he zipped off the bottom half of the left pant leg. Pulling the leg up, he revealed a blood-soaked bandage covering his thigh. Gently he peeled away the white first aid tape on one side and revealed a hideously long gash in his thigh. Brown stitches, over thirty total, ran the course of the wound, which seeped blood at the edges.
Gasping, Madeline took in the severity of the wound, sucking in breath and wincing.
Noah gave a long, low whistle.
“Satisfied?” Steve asked, grimacing as he replaced the bandage.
Noah nodded.
Madeline still wasn’t sure. She guessed it could fake a wound, too. She said, “Now give me something personal.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Like your watch or a piece of jewelry.”
“What, are you robbing me now, too?”
“Seriously.”
After a pause, during which he scrutinized her, he said, “Okay.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a half dollar. “My grandpa gave it to me. Good luck charm.”
She grasped the coin tightly and let images come to her.
An older man with a kind face sitting in a blanket-covered chair telling a story …
Steve and the woman she’d seen before in the vision from his couch, kissing passionately …
Steve hiking along a road in the dark, leg in agony …
Steve arriving back at the scene of the fire with backup …
This was Steve. She handed the coin back.
“Mind telling me why that was necessary?”
“The creature can—” Madeline began, but was cut off by Noah.
“The creature’s scratches can be poisonous. But it doesn’t look like he infected you.”
Madeline looked at Noah in bewilderment.
Steve sighed. “Well, big thanks for small miracles.” Then he looked at Madeline with concern. “But that thing—twelve rounds right into his chest and head. No effect but to stun him. You need to get away from here, Madeline. Get in your car right now and get the hell away.”
His words chilled her as the three stood out in the shadowed parking lot. Once again she felt vulnerable, uncertain. Ironically, thinking the creature was right there in the diner with them had almost been preferable to having no idea where it actually was. It could be waiting anywhere, hoping to catch her alone. She shuddered against the chill of the evening.
“Let’s get back inside,” she said.
The other two nodded, and they turned their backs to the night, returning to the diner and its cheerful plastic flowers.
Their food had gone cold.
After they ate, and after much debate in the parking lot, Steve went back to his cabin, and Noah and Madeline returned to their own. Noah had tried to convince Steve not to get involved, though the ranger was already in it to some extent, as he had to write up a report about his car. “The other rangers seemed to think it was a grizzly,” he had explained. “They’ve been known to take a gunshot and keep moving.”
“What do you think?” Noah had asked, keeping mum about the true nature of the creature.
Steve had shaken his head. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s no damn grizzly. It’s something otherworldly. And something lethal.”
Noah had nodded, and Madeline and he said no more. Steve said some armed rangers were doing sweeps of the area to see what they could turn up.
Back at their cabin in Apgar, Madeline went through the ritual of checking windows and doors about six times. She was still hungry, even after their cold, slimy omelets, which were definitely not “great” as Noah had claimed before. Neither had eaten much of theirs, deciding to pick up something else on the way home.
Noah had gotten them sandwiches at the little camp store. Madeline believed hers was tuna salad but wasn’t entirely convinced. Noah’s, on the other hand, was clearly ham, or possibly turkey. They munched on the flabby white bread, which was soaked with a white, tangy, unnamed sandwich dressing, and chewed at the wilted lettuce bits. It wasn’t the best meal she’d ever had, but it was at least better than the grease-laden omelet.
Already the bruises on Noah’s face had faded, and she could only see them because she knew where to look. The cuts on his neck and stomach had completely closed, and the gash on his leg was nothing more than the faintest red line.
“Your healing powers are amazing.”
He nodded. “One of the benefits.” He grimaced at the food. “This isn’t very satisfying. What a bad night for food. Nothing seems to taste very good.” After a moment, his face brightened. “Say! What if we rob one of those metal bear lockers that campers are required to put their food in?”
She stared at him in wonder, sandwich wilting in her hand, the tuna dripping onto the table, looking for an easy route back to the sea.
“Hey, it’s dark. We could be sneaky! There are probably hot dogs, Cheetos, you name it!”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to be awakened by little Billy wailing at six in the morning because someone with clearly sketchy morality has absconded his Cheetos?”
Noah frowned, harrumphed, then bit into his soggy sandwich. “I guess not,” he mumbled.
She chewed on hers awhile longer, finished it, and licked her fingers. “Well, I’m ready for those Cheetos now.”
Noah stared back at her.
“Well?” She crossed her legs and looked at him impatiently.
“No, no,” Noah said, waving a dismissive hand at her. “I’m a reformed man now. Can’t stoop to having ‘sketchy morality. ’ ”
“Me and my big mouth.” She looked down at her hands. “And I was already looking forward to Day-Glo orange fingers.”
He looked away, chin up, a superior gleam in his eye. “As attractive as that sounds, you will not be able to corrupt me.”
“Shoot.”
He looked at her then, closely and intensely, his smile fading completely. “It’s amazing you can be high-spirited in such serious danger.”
She gave a slight shrug. “Sometimes you have to be or you’d go crazy. At this point, I guess I’m too exhausted to be terrified.”
He nodded. “I know what you mean.” He smiled again. “Thanks. I haven’t laughed in a long time.”
She nodded. “Me, neither. What an intense couple of days this has been.”
“I’ll say.”
She regarded him with interest. “This must be normal for you, living your life on the run, always in danger.”
He looked away, out of the window. “I suppose I am on the move a lot. But I kind of like the danger.”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m so stressed out I keep catching myself clenching my teeth. You actually like this?”
He looked back at her, eyes glittering. “A little bit,” he admitted. “Though I don’t appreciate being hunted.”
She thought of the creature out there, prowling, perhaps even now back on their trail.
“Nor do I,” she responded.
“Well, I don’t think you have to worry about that anymore.”
Her brow crinkled. “You mean you think he’s given up now? Before, you wouldn’t agree. What changed your mind?”
“I wouldn’t say he’s given up, but I think if he was dead set on killing you, he’d have tried by now.”
“Tried?” she snorted. “I think he already has … dragging me down in the freezing water, chasing me down the mountain in the dead of night, almost getting me barbecued in that meadow—”
“Maybe he wasn’t trying to drown you in the river. Maybe he was frantic and clutched on to you in panic.”
She stared at him in wonder.
“I mean,” he added quickly, “his MO is to eat people, not drown them.”
“I guess you have a point,” she conceded, though she felt sick at the thought of the river and that thing’s claws holding her fast underwater.
“Sorry if I upset you.”
Voracious Page 19
