She looked back at Dingbat trying to make sense of what was in his mouth. It looked like a length of stiff black rope. One end was pink and shiny. Her hand flew to her mouth in the next instant as everything came together. Kath stood up to run from the room knowing she wasn’t going to make it to wherever the bathroom was. Maybe it would be better to vomit outside the front door so that she could keep walking and get home to call the sheriff.
Dingbat followed her, the cat tail still in his mouth. In the hallway Kath unloaded her stomach, far from either the bathroom or the front door. The spasms stopped her from walking and though she hated herself for getting sick on someone else’s carpet she felt she had every justification. As the cookies wormed back out of her mouth she made the connection between the savoury smell and the flesh of cats and the retching worsened, hurting her stomach and chest. Dingbat began to whine.
Maggie followed her out to the hallway and stood watching with her arms folded.
‘Kathleen Kerrigan, no one has ever been so rude or disgusting in this house. Those were the best cookies I ever made. I’ve eaten twenty already this afternoon.’
Kath stopped retching and fell to her knees, her hands clutched over her chest. Maggie stepped past her and stared.
‘My God, Kath, are you having a heart attack?’
Kath fell against the wall, slipping down until she came to rest in an awkward position in her own pile of sickness. She lay back in the warm dampness managing to push one leg out from under herself. Maggie put her hands on her hips and shook her head.
‘Well, I shouldn’t do this when you’ve been so ungrateful. Just think of all the favours I’ve already done for you, and here I am about to do another. No one could ever call me uncharitable.’
She knelt beside Kath, whose eyes were starting to close, and rolled up her sleeves.
‘I know CPR,’ she said.
The last thing Kath saw was Maggie’s tongue, as it turned from pink to purple and split into several flailing tips. The tips squirmed into her mouth, forcing her clenched teeth apart. They flexed and twisted their way down her throat.
Chapter 27
It hurt to run again at first but after a few minutes the pain passed and in its place Kerrigan felt a surge of euphoria akin to intense sexual arousal. He was Lethean now: invincible. His pack seemed weightless as he sprinted along the path. Where he felt the load was on his conscience; he’d wasted too much time. If he’d left the previous morning, he might have been able to prevent Carla from wandering off alone. He’d already failed to keep the family from harm.
Something else bothered him. They seemed to have found the tree that was marked on their old map. How was it possible that he didn’t know about such a tree? The closer Kerrigan came to the place where José was waiting for Carla, the greater the sense that he was being played; like he was one crucial step behind in everything he set out to do. How that could be possible, he didn’t know. The only person who could be directing things was the writer of the letter; now a Fugue or something worse. The same person who was preparing for his arrival. Perhaps he’d been preparing for years.
Up ahead, the trail had been hacked through another obstruction of plant growth. On the other side of the opening Kerrigan saw a different kind of ground; leaf covered and dead. As he ran through the mouth-like opening and into what he would come to know as the arbour, several things happened at once. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing:
The tree was indeed huge and he stopped dead when he saw it. But there wasn’t time for him to think about its size or wonder how it had become such a monster. The tree reacted to his arrival as if it had been stung. Even from fifty yards away he saw the trunk of the tree buckle, ripple and contract. Its grey, elastic bark shuddered and the entire giant shook. He heard the branches above him rustle and leaves, thousands of broad fleshy leaves, rained to the earth all around.
Not a single one touched him.
Those drifting close on their way down blew away as though repelled. He heard a low rumbling under the ground and the forest floor shook. Where the trunk met the ground, there was a tightening; the roots thickened and shortened as they contracted, drawing the tree even more tightly into the earth.
Above Kerrigan the branches shrank away, allowing sunlight to make a pool of brightness where he stood. There was no question that the tree feared him. The rumbling in the ground receded, the soil settling around the new position of the roots.
At the same time, he saw José Jimenez, who had been approaching the tree as Kerrigan arrived. It was the man’s tiny figure beside the unnatural hulk of the trunk that made the size of the tree so striking. Jimenez was thrown to the ground by the force of the tree’s movements. It must have felt like an earthquake to him. The Spaniard flew back from the tree long before he was close enough to touch it. He landed on his backside and kept going. He crawled frantically, kicking and scrabbling away from the tree, trying to stand and run all at the same time. When he gained his feet, he ran until he saw Kerrigan then changed direction, the look of gratitude on his face suggesting he was happier to know someone else had witnessed what he’d seen than he was to be still alive. He reached the edge of the arbour where Kerrigan looked on and stood panting beside him as the tree became quiescent once more.
A charged silence returned.
It was then that Kerrigan saw a woman crawl like an animal from the undergrowth far to their right. Mesmerised by the tree, she didn’t notice them at first. Her clothing was torn and shredded from where she’d caught herself on thorns and branches in the dense undergrowth.
It was only when the woman stood up that he realised who she was. Her ‘clothing’ was a ripped bathrobe. Her knees and the palms of her hands were gritty with blood and dirt. Her blonde hair was tangled and frizzy, the dryness of it all too obvious. It stuck out in random directions, restyled by the undergrowth as she’d passed through it on all fours. Dead leaves and twigs still clung there. Cuts and scratches crisscrossed her face.
Amy rose up slowly, all the time focussed on the tree, an expression of deep awe on her face. That, at least did not strike Kerrigan as inappropriate. Immediately she was upright she began to remove the rags that had once been her robe. She walked naked and unashamed towards the tree, her motherly breasts swaying a little as she went, her thigh flesh rippling with each step.
Kerrigan withdrew a binder from each wrist strap and sprinted towards her. Immediately, the tree responded with shudders and rustlings. From high above, over the centre of the trunk he heard the tree utter a scream like gas escaping under intense pressure; neither an animal nor human sound, but one that implied intelligence.
When he was in range he flicked a binder towards Amy. It flew in a slight arc, as true as if it was guided. It sang its own song as it sped into her, a whirring whistle like a single note from a wooden flute.
The tree bent a branch down towards her, moving with liquid grace. It encircled her waist and raised her high up over Kerrigan. The binder missed. She smiled as if the tree’s touch completed her. Other branches reached out to caress and stroke her naked form, exploring her the way a blind man’s fingers explore a face. They moved with supple fluidity like the tentacles of an octopus.
Kerrigan aimed a second binder at her, a difficult shot because she was almost directly overhead. The tree swung her out of the binder’s trajectory and it connected with a branch behind her. Where the binder touched the branch the sinuous grey wood tightened as though in pain, turning immediately black. A moment later the branch, only a small one, snapped at the point of contact and fell writhing to the earth. It twisted there for a few seconds and then lay still.
All the while the tree hooted and screamed and flailed its numberless limbs. It was a dubious victory to have severed and destroyed such a small part of it. Kerrigan knew he didn’t have enough binders to kill the tree even if he threw them for a month. Meanwhile, Amy was beyond his help.
He retreated to the old trail where José crouched watching. Th
e tree called out a low whistle of triumph and was still once more, except for the branches that had taken Amy. Those limbs still stroked her as though she was a priceless talisman. She seemed to have fallen into a peaceful trance under the tree’s ministrations. When it had finished exploring and comforting her, the tree held her outwards to the forest — perhaps a shield or warning to anyone who saw her. As he looked on, Kerrigan felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘Please explain to me what I have just seen,’ said the Spaniard.
Kerrigan’s explanation was flat, matter of fact.
‘The tree is using the woman to protect itself,’ he said.
‘There are no trees that can do what you say.’
Kerrigan turned to see if Carla’s father really meant that after what he’d seen. It was clear he was in shock. The Spaniard mashed a fist against his lips and looked away.
‘I cannot leave my daughter to wander in such woods as these,’ he said.
‘I’ll find her.’
‘I will come with you.’
Kerrigan shook his head.
‘You need to be with Maria and Luis. They’ll have a better chance of making it back to your car if you stay together.’
Jimenez pondered the choice and Kerrigan could see it was a hard one to make.
‘I’m trusting you with my daughter’s life, Mr Kerrigan. You have to bring her back to us.’
To Kerrigan, it was a simple matter. He would give his life if necessary. It was his duty.
‘I promise you I will do everything I can to return her safely,’ he said. ‘Anything.’
Jimenez nodded.
‘You should hurry,’ Kerrigan said. ‘If you run you’ll catch up to them soon. They need you.’
‘Can you tell me what is happening here?’
Kerrigan didn’t have to think too hard.
‘War.’
‘When we get back to the town, should we call for help?’ asked Jimenez.
‘There’s no one you can call. Just wait for me to bring Carla back and then drive away. Here, take these with you.’ He handed Jimenez a few binders for throwing. ‘Do you still have the binder on the necklace?’
‘I never took it off.’
‘Make sure it’s visible.’ Kerrigan reached out, pulled the leather thong up from under the man’s collar and dropped the binder out onto his chest. ‘Did you find your grandfather’s last resting place?’
‘No. There is no sign.’
‘I’m sorry you had a wasted journey.’ Kerrigan placed his hand on Jimenez’s shoulder. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘And don’t stay in the Clearing when you get there. Wait for me in my cabin.’
When Jimenez was out of sight, Kerrigan stepped back into the arbour. Amy and the tree were motionless, as though they were sleeping. He began to search for signs of Carla.
When it came time to pair up, no one wanted to partner Randall Moore. It was only then that he regretted being so outspoken with Sheriff Powell. He ended up with a bookish man called Ricky Flowers who looked seventeen but was probably thirty-five; one of those people that never seem to develop beyond adolescence. He was a lanky man with a prominent Adam’s apple; looked like he’d tried to swallow a child’s building block and never finished the job. Judging from his emaciated frame, the man hadn’t eaten anything else since, owing to the blockage. The orange hunter’s jacket swamped the man’s shoulders and hung down like it was draped over a wire hanger.
Randall cursed his big mouth.
Still, he reasoned, at least he’d have no problems keeping the guy in line. They’d been given a section of the Eastern Path to search and some of the woods to the south side. Neither of them knew the terrain well. Randall hadn’t been out hiking in the woods for twenty years and Flowers, a computer nerd from what Randall could make out, never went outside unless he was in a car.
Randall watched as Flowers took long gangly strides along the trail, looking up at the trees or biting his fingernails but never actually looking for anything on the ground.
‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’ asked Randall. ‘This is meant to be a search, understand? You got to look for things.’
‘It’s nice out here,’ said Flowers, stopping to acknowledge Randall’s admonitions before walking on just as fast. ‘Everything seems . . . fresh.’
‘Yeah, but we’re trying to find some missing kids. You can’t just stroll off.’
‘Can you smell that? That’s real pine.’ Flowers stepped over to a tree and swiped a few needles from it. He walked back and held them under Randall’s nose.
‘I can smell it already, Mister Flowers. Okay if I call you that? We need to concentrate on the matter in hand here, you get me?’
‘You can call me Ricky or Flowers. Whatever.’ Suddenly Flowers froze and then pointed, ‘Hey, what’s that?’
Randall turned with his hand already reaching for his pistol. All he saw was a reddish blur and a movement in the higher branches of a pine.
‘That, Flowers, is a squirrel. Can we focus here, please?’ Randall’s heart was pounding a little. ‘Do you even understand what we’re doing?’
‘Sure. We’re looking for two boys and a girl.’
‘You think we’re gonna see ’em up in the trees?’
Flowers’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. It looked painful.
‘I guess not,’ he said.
‘You got to help me out, Flowers. We’re meant to be a team, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘So let’s be the ones to find these kids and then everyone can go home. What do you say?’
Flowers nodded.
‘All right, I’m gonna lead the way and you do what I do, got it?’
‘No problem.’
Randall moved forward taking slow steps, scanning the ground for signs of disturbance and casting wide glances into the woods on their right from time to time. He exaggerated the movements to try and set an example for the keyboard-tapper behind him. After a while he looked back to see how Flowers was doing and saw him staring up at the treetops again. Randall sighed and kept walking.
Randall stopped to take a leak about a half hour later and it was while he relieved himself that his teammate made an important discovery.
‘Hey, Mister Moore. I think I found something here. Look.’
He glanced over his shoulder expecting Flowers to be pointing at a bird or a rock and was shocked when he saw the guy holding up what looked like a black tee shirt.
‘There’s more stuff over there,’ said Flowers, pointing.
Randall finished his piss and walked over to investigate. He found a bra. Further along the path he could see a pair of jeans and some black boots. He couldn’t believe it was Flowers who’d spotted it. If he’d waited another minute or two to take a leak, he’d have found the clothes first.
‘You think this is that girl’s stuff?’ asked Flowers.
Randall nodded, saying nothing. Flowers walked further along to the boots and then picked up a pair of white underwear. He held them to his face and inhaled.
‘God damn it, Flowers. You put those down.’
Randall marched over and slapped the underwear from the skinny guy’s hand.
‘What are you? Some kind of fucking pervert? You want to explain to Sheriff Powell why you were touching the evidence?’
Flowers shook his head.
‘Don’t touch anything. Nothing, understand?’
‘Okay, okay.’
Randall pulled out his radio.
Chapter 28
‘Sheriff Powell, this is Randall Moore, we’ve got something out here.’
There were a few moments of silence and then the radio crackled and spat Powell’s response.
‘Copy that, Randall. Where are you?’
‘About a mile and a half east of the Clearing.’
‘Stay put until we get there.’
‘Will do, Sheriff. Out.’
Randall stared at the strewn clothes and wondered what they might mean for the girl who’d worn
them. Was she dead? Raped? Just crazy?
‘You know, Flowers,’ he said. ‘I think we should go a little further along here and see if we can find her. Maybe she’s hurt.’
‘Uh, I don’t think so, Mister Moore. We’re meant to stay with this stuff until the sheriff gets here.’
‘Shit, boy. When did you ever listen to instructions? You coming or not?’
Flowers looked down at the clothes, particularly the underwear, as if he wanted nothing more than to be left alone with them for a little while. That settled the matter for Randall.
‘You’re coming with me. Let’s go.’
‘Wait, one of us should make sure this stuff is safe.’
‘It’ll be safer without you, panty boy. Come on.’
Randall had to physically push Flowers away from the discarded clothing and get him started up the trail. Even then Flowers kept looking back. Randall shoved him along without pretending to be nice about it.
‘Keep your eyes open, Flowers. We’re looking for a naked girl.’
After that the guy started to concentrate like he was in an exam.
Randall checked his watch. It would take the sheriff at least a half-hour to arrive. He figured they’d walk for ten minutes and then turn back if they hadn’t found anything. He was checking his pistol for the third time that morning when he bumped into Flower’s back. He was about to give the guy another mouthful when he saw why Flowers had stopped in his tracks. In the path about fifty yards ahead of them was the girl they were looking for. He recognised her from the photos they’d been given. Even from this distance she was more striking than her picture had suggested. For a start she was as naked as he’d predicted.
The effect of this on Flowers would have been amusing if Randall hadn’t been so similarly affected himself. He was standing, staring, with the pistol still in his hands, mesmerised by the naturalness of her marble-pale skin against the greens and browns of the trail and the forest beyond. She stood with her feet apart in a posture of strength and confidence, her hands on her hips and her head tilted a little as if waiting or inquiring.
Blood Fugue Page 18
