Voracious

by ALICE HENDERSON

  Breaking into a run, Madeline followed the path toward the cabins, the dirt and small pebbles of the path crunching underfoot. As she rounded a turn in the path, ducking under a low bough of hemlock, she passed several startled-looking people who stared at her as she went by. She gave them a curt nod, as if that would convince them she wasn’t a mad person fleeing the scene of a crime. She supposed she did make something of a spectacle, tearing down the path at full tilt, not even having the decency to wear jogging clothes and thereby explain her haste.

  She continued on, and soon through the white trunks of the aspen, the cabins came into sight. She jogged to hers, reaching into her pocket and producing the key.

  Before she inserted it, she glanced over her shoulder at the cabin parking area. No Jeep. Noah hadn’t returned yet. She felt torn about seeing him again. She had grown to care for him and longed to see him. But if he truly hated her, honestly wanted her dead, then she hoped she wouldn’t run into him again. It hurt her more than she wanted to admit. Her whole life she’d tried to create a tough shell around herself so that if people rejected her—which they usually did, thanks to her lovely gift—it wouldn’t hurt so much.

  She opened the door slowly, and though she knew the creature couldn’t possibly have beaten her there, she quickly scanned the main room and dashed to the small bedroom to check it, too.

  It was clear.

  She grabbed her wallet off the little table in the main room, and then the toothpaste and toothbrush Noah had bought her, along with the Swiss Army pocket knife. Thankfully she’d had it in her pocket when the flash flood hit. Had it been in her pack, it would be lost in the drink. She slipped the knife and wallet into the roomy back pocket of the jeans.

  Not wasting a moment, she crammed the toothpaste and toothbrush into the paper bag she’d brought the sandwiches back with and quickly left the cabin, locking the door behind her.

  Once again she scanned the parking area, but Noah’s car was nowhere in sight.

  She glanced at her watch. George should be here any minute. She just wanted to jump in the car and drive straight to Mothershead. She probably wouldn’t be any safer there, but at least there she knew the territory. If the creature still insisted on pursuing her, she’d be ready.

  Picking up the pace, Madeline hurried toward the camp store, where George and she had agreed to meet.

  When she reached the parking lot in front of the cabins, she saw his familiar light blue Toyota Celica pull up. Behind the wheel, George scanned over the tourists for signs of Madeline. She waved, jogging over to the car.

  When he saw her, his face lit up. He stopped the car in the middle of the parking lot, much to the chagrin of the cars waiting behind him, great white sharks ever vigilant in their circling for a parking place. He stepped out of the car. “Madeline!”

  “George!” She knew she’d be happy to see him, but to have him there in the actual flesh was more comforting than she’d realized. The sun streamed on his long black hair, making it shine in the bright light.

  He opened his arms, and she raced into them, resting her chin on his shoulder. His familiar scent washed over her: the smell of his lime shaving cream and floral shampoo, the hint of Egyptian Musk oil he wore on occasion. “George, it’s so good to see you,” she breathed. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Impatient drivers behind them started pulling around, squeezing between George’s car and the parked cars beside it. Several glared at them poignantly.

  “But … already? I just got here. It’d be nice to stretch my legs. It’s just as beautiful as I’d remembered. Haven’t been here for a long time.” His gaze wandered out to the breathtaking expanse of Lake McDonald, with the mountains beyond growing golden in the oncoming sunset. “Wow.”

  “We can come back,” she said quickly. “And I can drive if you’re too stiff.”

  He looked back at her, studying her face. “What’s wrong?”

  She sighed. This wasn’t the time to explain everything. “Tell you on the way.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It will be if we get out of here now.” With each passing moment, she pictured the creature dragging itself out of the river and shaking itself off like a beast upon the riverbank, then coming to find her and finish its job.

  “You looked really spooked.”

  She went around to the passenger door of his car and lifted the handle. “I have good reason. Please, George, just get in and drive me back.”

  He nodded, gave a last look at the soft ripples of the darkening lake, and climbed back in his car. Closing the door after himself, he studied her once again. “Straight back to Mothershead?”

  She nodded. He threw the car in gear and navigated through the parking lot, the backup of cars behind him restlessly creeping along behind them, tailgating.

  George wound around one end of the parking lot and started toward the exit, driving by several trinket shops and the backcountry ranger station. Madeline kept her head low, not wanting Stefan to spot her. Once out of the congested area, George turned onto the road that led toward West Glacier, the small community just outside the park. Madeline lifted her head once the speedometer climbed to twenty-five miles an hour on the main park road.

  “Mind telling me what this is all about?” her friend asked, peering at her out of the corner of his eye.

  She looked over his car. Three bags of chips lay empty and gutted, crumbly remnants covering the driver’s seat and clustering beneath the emergency brake. A half-empty bottle of Pepsi sat in a cup holder near the stick shift.

  “I appreciate your coming on such short notice.”

  He smiled. “No problem.”

  In the backseat lay several paperback novels, some old CDs, and an umbrella. On the floor behind the driver’s seat lay crumpled wet clothes.

  A red shirt lay under a pair of sodden black jeans.

  “Why are your clothes wet?” she asked, trying to remain calm.

  He frowned. “They’re not.”

  She took in his current outfit, a black T-shirt and faded black jeans. “I’m not talking about what you’re wearing. I’m talking about these!” She grabbed the wet clothes and brought them forward, slapping them down in George’s lap.

  He started at her sudden move, then just stared at her.

  “Well?”

  After a pause he said, “I got caught in a sprinkler system at a truck stop. They were watering this little grassy stretch where people can walk their dogs—”

  She wrenched her hand up quickly and grabbed George’s hair in her fist. It was completely dry. But that didn’t mean the creature couldn’t create hair that was dry when he shape-shifted.

  “Then how come your hair’s not wet?” she said, releasing it.

  He looked at her incredulously. “Because it happened a couple of hours ago, on my way up here. I changed my clothes right after it happened. And my hair just air dried.”

  Madeline squeezed the dripping clothes in her fists. Water streamed from the fabric, and it smelled musty, like river water. “These are not two hours dry.”

  He turned to face her, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. “Madeline, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  It was then she noticed the faint bruise on the underside of his chin, black and blue precisely where she had struck the creature back at the river. The extent of healing matched the timing of the blow.

  She reached up, placing her hand on the cool of George’s headrest. Nothing but white noise flooded into her, interspersed with a vivid flash of a short, muscular man, a previous owner of the car, stepping out to pump gas, thrilled about landing a new job. She pressed her hand there a moment longer, seeking visions of George. None came. She withdrew her fingers and stared back at him.

  Had the creature killed George and replaced him? Or worse, had George ever existed in the first place? She thought of when he’d come into her life. He’d been so accepting. So easy to get along with. None of the problems cropped up that she’d had with o
ther would-be friends. No adjustment period after he learned about her “gift,” almost as if he’d already been prepared for it. And she’d met him about seven months ago, and Noah said the creature had been hunting her for months. George never told her in specifics where he’d been prior to that, only of his future plans to attend college in Missoula. In fact, he’d been evasive when she asked about his past. Her racing mind went over the details of the death of Noah’s lover, how the creature had insinuated itself into her life. Posed as a suitor in order to get close. Learned who her circle of friends were. Waited for the perfect moment to strike.

  George had known about her solo backcountry trek. Worse still, she’d even given him a detailed map of her route. He’d known what trail she’d use on any given day of her trip and even where she’d be along that trail.

  Turning in her seat, she cracked him hard in the face with her elbow.

  George cried out in surprise and pain. His hand flew up defensively, the car swerving into the oncoming lane. He slammed on the brakes as a Honda Civic honked and swung wide around them. The Celica screeched to a halt, the smell of burning rubber filling the car. Grabbing his head in her hands, Madeline smashed it hard against the glass of the driver’s side window. Blood streaked down the window as she let go. She released her seat belt and leaped out of the car, taking off into the trees beyond.

  Not daring to look back, she ran, dodging between white aspen trunks that glowed in the slanting light of the setting sun. The ground lost elevation, and she darted down a rise and slipped in a section of mud. Her boots lost all traction, and she came down hard on her back. Quickly flipping over onto her stomach, she peered up to the top of the rise, expecting at any moment to see a sleek, black shadow appear at the top of the hill, eyes red and gleaming, eager for the hunt. She tried to listen over her own labored breathing and the deafening sound of blood pumping through her burning ears.

  She was only a quarter mile or so from the town of West Glacier. Getting her bearings, she realized that the car lay between her and the town. She’d either have to make a wide arc around the car or charge back the way she’d come, hoping the creature hadn’t had time to recuperate. If she took a wide arc, it could easily recover and then lope after her, quickly covering the ground between them.

  She chose to retrace her footsteps.

  Rising to her feet, wiping muddy hands on her shirt, she bounded up the rise. Running diagonally so she wouldn’t pass directly near the car, she raced toward the road. In a few seconds the black asphalt came into view, along with George’s light blue car. She passed quickly over the road, not stopping, but glancing at the car as she did so. He was still in the car, slumped over the wheel, one window dripping red.

  She made it over the road and entered the trees on the other side, heading toward the tiny refuge of West Glacier.

  20

  SOON the trees parted, and another road came into view: the main road that ran through West Glacier. She broke through the treeline and stopped at the side of the asphalt, scanning up and down. Across the street lay the West Glacier Motel, and next to it a line of gift shops and a restaurant. She jogged along the road without crossing, sprinting across the parking lot of a small camera store. Inside, customers browsed over the racks of filters and film.

  She passed the store, then ran across the parking lot of a gas station, where patrons stared at her as she darted through the maze of cars.

  She forced herself to stop running, to slow to a walk and figure out what to do. Chest heaving, she stopped altogether, bending over to catch her breath. Before her stood the impressive stone building of the Alberta Visitor Center, a tasteful structure of gray stone with large windows. The Canadian flag flapped in the breeze above it.

  She wanted to get out of the open. Glancing back at the road and seeing no sign of the Toyota or “George,” she walked to the visitor center and opened the tall entrance doors. Inside, a cluster of visitors stood at the information desk while Canadian attendants busied themselves handing out maps and giving directions.

  To one side of the desk stood a massive false rock face with a taxidermied mountain goat on top. She ducked down a narrow passageway to her left, winding by displays on logging and early tourism industry in the Canadian Rockies.

  Finally she found a quiet little corner by a luge display and sat down next to its red and white sled. What could she do? What were her options? She could rent a car, but she didn’t know of any nearby places, and it would take her a while to find them. She’d also have to scare up a ride to the rental location if it was too far away.

  She could hitchhike. But at this point, paranoia was tightening its already considerable grip on her perceptions. The creature could be any person who picked her up along the road. Stefan would just have to steal a different car, assume a different form, and nonchalantly pick her up from the side of the road.

  She put her head in her hands.

  “You okay?” asked a young voice next to her. A little blonde-haired girl stood there, a rubber lizard in one hand.

  Madeline smiled. “Yeah. Just got a headache.”

  “You should take aspirin. My mom gives me this orange-flavored aspirin. It’s pretty good.”

  Madeline guessed at the girl’s age. Five. Maybe six. Kate’s age. In all the panic of the last few days, she’d nearly forgotten about the little girl she’d pulled from the dam. She hoped Kate was okay.

  “Cool lizard,” Madeline said, indicating the girl’s rubbery companion.

  “It’s a gecko. His name’s Dexter.”

  “Hiya, Dex,” Madeline said.

  The girl laughed. A woman walked up behind the child and put her hands on the small shoulders. “Ready to go? We’ll go get ice cream.”

  “Really? I’m ready!”

  She turned without a word and grasped her mother’s hand. Together they walked away, rounding a corner beyond further displays.

  Madeline returned her head to her hands. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

  Outside, the distinct shriek of a train whistle sounded. She lifted her head.

  The train. Lots of people would be on it. And the station was just around the corner from the visitor center. The whistle pierced the air again.

  She was out of the visitor center in a flash, pushing past a family that was dithering over a map of Banff National Park in the doorway.

  Outside, she ran up a small rise and saw the silver of an Amtrak train sitting at the station.

  Scanning the road, she saw no sign of George or the car.

  She rushed toward the station, hoping the train would stay at the station for a few more minutes.

  Madeline ran to the ticket window, trying to catch her breath to talk to the cashier there. An elderly man with a neatly trimmed white mustache, he waited patiently while she gasped and tried to swallow away the dryness in her throat. “Does this train go through Mothershead?” she asked.

  The cashier shook his head. “Nope. This is the Empire Builder. It goes west from here but stops along the way in Whitefish, and you can take a bus from there.”

  “Great,” she said between gasps. “Is it leaving soon?”

  “At 5:46 p.m.” He looked at his watch, a gold-banded thing with a black face. “That’s in about twenty minutes.”

  “Terrific.” She pulled her wallet from the roomy back pocket of Noah’s jeans. Fishing her credit card out, she passed it across the counter.

  He totaled up her ticket and finished the sale, handing her a small folder with her ticket inside. Then he pulled out a piece of paper and wrote something on it. “These are the bus times out of Whitefish,” he explained, “and directions to get to the bus station from the train.” He slid that paper across the counter, too.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking the offered paper and envelope.

  “You can go ahead and board, if you like. Might be a good idea. You can get a better seat.”

  She nodded and turned away from the counter. Light from the setting sun streame
d into the little train station, and she squinted against the golden brightness.

  Outside the train waited, and uniformed Amtrak employees stood by the doors to assist passengers. She left the small station and crossed to the closest attendant, a young woman with cocoa-colored skin and long, braided hair swept up under her hat. “Go up to the second level and sit wherever you like,” she told Madeline. “The conductor will come by later and take your ticket once the train’s in motion.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Madeline said, smiling at her. She scanned up and down the platform. She was alone except for the train workers.

  She stepped up into the train and climbed the small staircase to the first level. Racks of baggage rose on either side of her, suitcases stacked neatly next to army duffels and backcountry packs. To her right stood another staircase, this one taller than the first. She climbed its carpeted steps and emerged on the second level in the heart of coach seating.

  Most of the seats were empty, and she was glad for it. She’d been hoping to have a couple seats to herself so she could stretch out. She chose a seat on the right side of the train so she could look out that way in the direction of George’s car and the park. Only five people occupied the car: a couple near the front sat sound asleep; a woman in her fifties read a Dorothy Gilman novel; a young guy in a cowboy hat sat listening to headphones with his eyes closed; and the last one, a Caucasian dreadlocked guy about her age wearing a batik shirt, sat staring out of the window and looking as if he’d just left the love of his life behind. She could feel sadness wafting off him.

  She sat down, bombarded momentarily by the white-noise Bus Seat Effect, which she tuned out. Leaning forward in the seat, she waited impatiently for the train to depart, watching out of the window with unease.

  Madeline started awake with a jerk. She hadn’t even realized she’d dozed off. Her exhausted body had made the choice for her.

  The train lurched out of the station, and her drowsy head knocked against the seat’s headrest. Out of the window, Glacier National Park stretched into the distance. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and shadows filled the forest. They chugged away from the station, slowly passing through the tiny town of West Glacier. She watched the Glacier Highland Resort go by out of the opposite window.