Finally Wake got him positioned properly, Barry lying on his back in the wheelbarrow, his arms and legs splayed out to the side. Wake fished the car keys out of Barry’s pocket.
“It… it’s the blue Mercedes,” said Barry, eyes closed. “Make sure… sure you don’t ding the door.”
Wake slowly rolled Barry toward the parking lot, grunting with the effort. The wheel in front was big, but partially deflated; Wake had to use all his strength to push it forward, splashing through a puddle. He stopped partway to the parking lot, picked up a manuscript page that lay on the ground, a muddy footprint on it. Wake read it quickly through, folded it up and put it away in his jacket, then lifted the wheelbarrow again. He heard sirens approaching.
Randolph popped out of a nearby trailer, saw Barry lying in the wheelbarrow. He jabbed a finger at Wake. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you two are playing, but you’re going to get it now! I told you, Rose is a nice girl.”
Wake put down the wheelbarrow, straightened up, his back creaking. “What are you talking about?”
“The two of you alone in there with her half the night,” said Randolph, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to?”
A car screeched up in the parking lot, catching Wake and the wheelbarrow in the headlights. A man in a dark blue suit jumped out, stalked over to the security gate. He pounded on the gate. “Open this thing up!”
A couple more police cars pulled up.
“Here they are!!” shouted Randolph. “I’ll get the gate open,” he said, limping toward the lockbox.
The man in the suit flashed a badge. “Agent Nightingale, FBI.” He pointed a pistol at Wake.
“What’s with the gun?” said Wake, taking a step back. He still had the gun he had taken from the kidnapper in his jacket, wondered how he was going to explain that. Car doors slammed in the parking lot, and he saw the flashing lightbars atop the cop cars strobing the night.
“You’re under arrest, Hemingway!” shouted Nightingale, his eyes like hard black stones.
“Hemingway?” Wake wanted to laugh, but the look on Nightingale’s face drove that thought away. The man was deadly serious. “Arrested for what?”
“You… you move… move a muscle and I’ll blow your brains out,” said Nightingale, wagging the pistol.
Wake noted the FBI agent’s slurred speech. As Barry would say, not good.
“Open the gate!” Nightingale stepped back as the gate creaked open. He shook a pair of handcuffs out of his suit jacket, dropped them on the ground. Cursing, he bent down to pick up his cuffs.
Wake looked at Barry sleeping peacefully in the wheelbarrow, then bolted toward the rear of the trailer park.
He heard gunshots behind him and a ceramic deer exploding as he ran past it. This guy was nuts! No way was Wake going to allow himself to be arrested. Not by Nightingale or anybody else. He had to meet the kidnapper at noon.
“Get back here!” said Nightingale. “That… that’s an order!”
Wake heard another gunshot as he leapt over a low fence bordering the park. He ran through the trees, the darkness closing around him. There was shouting behind him, deputies chasing after him.
In the distance he heard Sheriff Breaker yelling at Nightingale over the cruiser radios, telling him he was out of his jurisdiction, the two of them arguing over who had command authority. Wake wasn’t about to turn back. He hated to leave Barry behind, but Barry could take care of himself. He had a knack for it.
Branches raked across Wake’s face as he plunged deeper into the woods. He patted his jacket pocket. He had brought the flashlight with him, but he dared not use it now. It would only give away his position, and besides, his eyes were slowly adjusting to the dim light. He heard more shouts behind him, and Breaker calling his name. Wake increased his speed, fleeing the sheriff as well as Nightingale.
It was up to Wake alone to find Alice. It had always been up to him.
Alice had screamed until she had no voice left to scream. Around her, the darkness was alive. It was cold and wet and malevolent and without end. She was a prisoner, trapped in the dark place. The terror would have burned her mind out, but one thing made her hang on: she could sense Alan in the dark. She could hear him. She could see the words he was writing as flickering shadows. He sensed her, too. He was trying to work his way to her.
CHAPTER 14
“I SEE HIM!” A spotlight speared through the dark woods. “Over here!”
Wake melted back into the trees, bent down as the flashlight beams danced through the darkness.
“Never mind! Wasn’t him.”
“Dammit deputy, get your head in the game.” It was Agent Nightingale’s voice. “Fan out! He’s got to be here somewhere.”
“Sheriff Breaker said—”
“I don’t care what Breaker told you,” said Nightingale. “My authority supersedes any local officer.”
Wake watched as the flashlight beams moved away from his position, still shouting as they crashed through the underbrush. He heard gunshots.
“You see him?” bellowed Nightingale. “You see him?”
“Which way did he go?”
Wake slipped noiselessly through the woods, following a path he wouldn’t have even seen a few days ago.
“Stop firing!” It was Breaker’s voice. “You have no grounds to arrest Mr. Wake.”
“Fan out!” said Nightingale. “He can’t have gotten far.”
Wake left the path, starting down a steep slope, scrambling through the underbrush, tripped and kept going. He wasn’t able to move as quietly as he would have liked, but with all the deputies thrashing through the woods, they probably couldn’t have heard him anyway.
At the bottom of the slope he found himself in a narrow gorge, the rocky sides too steep to climb back up. His only choice was to move forward or back through the gorge; either way he risked being trapped.
Flashlight beams bobbed closer.
Wake stepped toward the rocks, pressed himself against them.
“I saw movement! He’s down there!”
Wake cursed silently as the flashlight beams started toward the gorge. None of the lights were pointed directly at him, but Nightingale and his men seemed to be on to his general position.
A shot from a flare gun lit up the sky, sizzling, then another, turning the world black and white in the glare. Shadows raced through the trees, monstrous silhouettes in the night.
“That’s him!”
Wake ran as the first flare faded, ran between the widely spaced lights in the darkness.
“More flares!” ordered Nightingale as the second one started to die.
“Who’s got the flares? Anybody?”
“Well, go get them!” raged Nightingale. “Do I have to tell you people everything?”
Wake slipped slowly past the spotlights ringing his position to the south, hurrying down another trail that paralleled the gorge. Through the trees he could see a police car fishtailing down the gravel road above, lights flashing, the siren howling.
“Anybody see him?”
“Head him off!”
Another flare shot up into the night, but they were looking in the wrong place now, the light not reaching him. Wake moved easily through the shadows, started to sprint when the roaring started, the ground shaking underfoot.
“What was that?” yelled Nightingale.
Wake heard someone screaming into a radio, the voice metallic, broken by static. “What the hell! Help, I need… help, I need backup.”
The roaring sound shook the trees, rolled like thunder across the woods.
“No!” screamed the deputy over the radio. “Get off, get off, get off!”
The deputy’s desperate pleading reminded Wake of Rusty’s cries for help as he lay wounded in the lodge, his guts flopping into his lap.
“Help me! Help me, somebody, please!”
Wake heard a series of gunshots, somebody running through a whole magazine as fast as they could pull the trigger
, but what was odd, what Wake couldn’t understand was that the gunshots seemed to be coming from almost directly above him.
Suddenly, a huge shadow passed overhead, blocking out the moon and stars, the forest dark now.
Wake cried out as a wrecked police car dropped from the sky, hitting a highway lookout point in front of him. The tires of the car exploded, the windshield blew out, glass sparking like razor-sharp rain as it fell through the trees.
Wake ran to help, ears ringing.
The police car lay broken where it had landed, the roof collapsed, doors sprung. No sign of the officer, but the lightbar on top still weakly flashed blue and red lights.
Wake tried to imagine the power of whatever it was that had lifted the squad car high into the air, then tossed it down almost on top of him.
He remembered one of the manuscript pages he had read, hints of a dark force that animated cars and tractors, flung fifty-gallon drums like marshmallows. Wake listened to the car’s radiator hiss, steam trickling out of the crushed hood, bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.
The manuscript page was supposed to be fiction, a horror story for late night chills, but it was coming true in Bright Falls, every page of it.
The radio crackled to life and Wake jerked back.
“This is Nightingale. What just happened?”
Wake held the handset, but didn’t answer.
“Unit Twelve, respond,” ordered Nightingale.
Wake quietly replaced the handset. He could hear Nightingale talking to someone, then he came back on the air. “All units, Wake was last sighted running along the gorge from the trailer park. Be advised that the suspect may be armed. Approach with caution.”
“Come in, Agent Nightingale. This is Sheriff Breaker.”
“Nightingale here.”
“What on Earth is going on, Nightingale? My deputies tell me you fired at Wake, and there’s no report of him having a gun.”
“I’ll decide that,” said Nightingale.
“You almost hit a civilian—”
“Look, Sheriff, Wake’s running, I’m giving chase. I don’t have time for this.”
“Well, make the time! You can’t just go shooting at people in my town!”
“I’m a federal agent pursuing a fugitive. You want to discuss my methods, Sheriff, make an appointment. Out.” Nightingale broke the connection.
The radio crackled again. “Sheriff? This is Thornton. We got Wheeler and Rose in protective custody. They didn’t put up a fight or anything. They both seemed to be out of it, and they’re not the only ones. You ask me, Sheriff, this Agent Nightingale’s been hitting the scotch bottle like a gong—”
The deputy’s report was drowned out by a roaring that shook the trees. Wake took off running through the darkness, but whether that thing, that dark force was searching for him, or just shaking the forest to its core, he didn’t know. All he could do was keep moving.
Wake kept to the high ground whenever he could, not wanting to be trapped in the gorge again, where Nightingale and the deputies, or something worse, could trap him. He tried to take animal trails that ran alongside wider hiking paths, hoping to reach the forest road on the other side of town.
There was a ranger tower visible above the trees, the tip of it blinking steadily to warn off low-flying aircraft. Once he reached the tower, Wake could orient himself and find a way to get to the coal mine by noon tomorrow. After that, he could straighten things out with the sheriff. Let her deal with Nightingale. Wake hadn’t done anything wrong, except refuse to obey the order of an FBI agent under the influence.
He touched the kidnapper’s 9mm in his pocket. He’d get Alice back from the man tomorrow, then call the sheriff.
A helicopter circled above the area, its searchlight combing the forest. Nearby several flashlight cones bounced along the trails in the darkness, searching for him. He angled off, went deeper into the woods, always keeping one hand on the flashlight.
A raven screamed, not in pain, but in some kind of awful triumph.
A moment later, the screaming and the gunshots started, the sound echoing through the night.
“Shoot it! Shoot!”
“It’s not stopping!”
“Run!”
The Dark Presence slammed through the forest, knocking over large trees, splintering them into matchsticks.
Wake could see the lights of the deputies swaying wildly as they ran. He saw the muzzle flashes from their pistols. They didn’t have a chance and there was nothing he could do.
“Oh, God, help me! Help me!”
“No, please!”
“Get away!”
The Dark Presence howled and all the lights in the forest went out, every spotlight and flashlight flickered and died, every flare and headlight. There was only silence now. Wake lay flat on the ground, his cheek pressed into the dirt, trying to hide.
He kept thinking about what the kidnapper had said last night, that the Taken seemed to be drawn to Wake. Wake lay there trembling, hoping the man was wrong.
He waited until the flashlights were switched on again, the lights far away, drifting back toward the trailer park and the road. Nightingale and the deputies might have no idea what had happened in the forest, but they knew they didn’t belong there. Wake didn’t have a choice. There was safety in the light, just like the Diver had told him, but Wake would be arrested if he retreated to safety, and there would be no one to meet the kidnapper tomorrow. He headed off in the darkness, moving carefully, alert to the sound of raven’s wings. Twice the ground trembled under him, but he waited it out, kept moving.
It was almost dawn by the time Wake reached the base of the ranger station, orange light tingeing the horizon. He looked around before he slowly climbed the wooden steps to the station itself. He didn’t move slowly out of caution. He was too exhausted to climb any faster. There were no flashlights in the woods and the helicopter was long since gone. Either Nightingale had called off the chase, or more likely, Sheriff Breaker had called it off for him. The station was dark, the tiny red warning light on top flashing every ten seconds.
“Hello?” called Wake.
No response. He couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.
Wake walked through the open door. The station was empty. He started to turn on the lights, then thought better of it. No sense advertising his presence here.
A pair of binoculars hung from a hook, a ranger’s hat beside it. There was warm coffee in the automatic percolator. He poured himself a cup, rummaged through the small refrigerator in the corner. Half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. An apple. Five oatmeal cookies. A container of pulp-free orange juice. Wake tore into the food, ravenously hungry.
The radio on the desk was humming with voices. Wake turned it up. Pat Maine’s night owl show was on.
“I just stepped outside to catch a breath of fresh air, and let me tell you, nights like this make me especially glad I’m here talking to you, and not home in bed. Once the weather takes a turn like this, I can’t sleep at all; it’s all… angled bed sheets and dark thoughts, punctuated by the occasional nightmare. Is it just me? I don’t think so, because from what I’ve heard, there was some wild doings at the trailer park a few hours ago. Got reports from the neighbors of gunshots. Hope nobody’s celebrating Deerfest a little early. So let’s be careful out there, Bright Falls. Live and let live. Anyway, I hope I can make the night a little bit easier to get through. Caller, you’re on KBF-FM.”
Wake started on the oatmeal cookies, listening carefully and trying not to eat too fast.
“Hey, Pat, it’s Walt Snyder.”
“What’s on your mind, Walt?”
Wake chewed slowly, listening to the caller’s heavy breathing.
“I don’t know nothing about that business at the trailer park, but I can’t sleep either, Pat. I’ve been just staring out of the window here, trying to make sense of it all. I ain’t been drinking, either, you know, I just…”
“You sound like a man with a problem, Walt.�
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“There’s just something in the air, you know? Like something’s about to happen.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, Pat, it’s just a feeling. Like something’s wrong around here, and there’s nothing we can do about it except… I gotta go, Pat. I know what I must sound like.”
“No apology needed. Good luck to you, Walt, hang in there,” said Pat Maine. “Strange days and stranger nights, folks, and Walt’s not the only one with a case of the yips. Just something in the air, like I said. Anyway, let’s take a little break, and when we come back, we’ll talk about what’s your favorite part of Deerfest. I know for me, it’s the blackberry pie eating contest.” Maine cut to a commercial for the hardware store, and their special on chain-saw sharpening.
Wake searched through the ranger tower, found a flare gun and flares. He tucked them into his jacket. Then he left a note detailing what he had eaten, what he had taken, signed his name, and included his phone number in New York. No sense giving Nightingale something to use against him.
The police band radio on the far wall crackled to life.
“Team one, come in, over. Team one, this is Sheriff Breaker, report, over.”
Wake picked up the receiver, then quietly returned it to its cradle.
“Team two, come in. I need a report, over.” Breaker sounded tired and frustrated. “Come on guys, talk to me. Come in, please. Over.”
“Sheriff Breaker, this is Agent Nightingale. I’ve lost contact with most of the men I commandeered last night. What kind of incompetents—”
Wake switched off the radio. He hung his head, exhausted, still hearing the deputies’ screams, their pleas for help as they tried to understand what was happening to them, why their bullets were useless. Then he went to the sink and washed his face. He barely recognized himself in the mirror.
Wake found a map in the desk, which gave him a clear picture of where he was, and what route he needed to take to get to the coal mine. It was mostly back roads and hiking trails, but once it got lighter, he wouldn’t have to be constantly looking over his shoulder.
Alan Wake Page 12
