by Ron Ripley
John stopped. He jerked his head to the right, towards his truck.
Someone’s here, John thought. He examined everything closely. His eyes sought out tell-tale shadows, the straight lines that gave away humanity.
Nothing, John thought. The hair on his neck was standing up, his heart beating quickly. No, there’s something here. I can feel it.
Jimmy would have said John’s ‘spider-sense’ was tingling, and in a way, Jimmy was right. John’s ability to read a situation from the subtle clues around them had saved the brothers from arrests, repeatedly.
A shadow fluctuated near the pickup. Near the back of the truck, where the rifle was. And where his phone was, too.
And the damned bullets! John thought angrily. He kept a tight rein on the fear trying to boil over in him. With slow movements, he pulled his hands out of his pockets, taking his SOG folding knife with him. He put his thumb on the quick-flip for the blade and focused on the shadow he had seen.
Even though he was only a short distance away, John couldn’t tell if there was a big animal or a small person by the back of the truck.
One way to find out, he thought.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Get away from my ride!”
The shadow flinched but didn’t leave.
Anger flared up in him, and John took a step closer to the pickup.
“I know you can hear me!” John shouted. “Now get away!”
Again, the barest hint of movement, but the shadow remained where it was.
With the barest pressure from his thumb, the blade of the knife sprang out, clicking loudly. He reversed his grip on the weapon, so the back of the edge ran parallel to his forearm.
John took a deep, calming breath, exhaled through his nose, and advanced towards the truck. He went at it wide, making sure he could see the person before they could rush at him.
When he came abreast of the pickup, he stuttered to a stop.
A young woman crouched at the back of the truck. Her clothes were tattered, a vivid red mark around her neck, and the sun shining through her to the ground behind her. John’s grip on the knife loosened and he dropped it.
The young woman’s brown eyes were wide, she opened her mouth and in a voice full of fear she whispered, “Run.”
John wanted to ask why, but something struck him in the back of the head, and he fell forward. The ground rushed up to greet him as he passed through the cold air the young woman occupied.
Chapter 4: Jimmy’s Late Again
When Jimmy pulled into the defunct main street of Griswold, he saw John’s pickup. But he didn’t see his brother. Frowning, Jimmy parked alongside John’s truck, turned the engine off, and got out.
“John!” Jimmy called out. His voice echoed off the two buildings before it was swallowed by the forest around him. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out, “Johnny!”
Silence answered him.
Jimmy went to John’s truck, opened the door, and saw the keys in the ignition. He walked to the back and looked in the bed. Some of John’s camping gear, his bolt-action Enfield rifle, and his cellphone.
“What the hell?” Jimmy murmured. He looked around the town, glanced down, and froze.
There was blood on the asphalt and the grass that grew between the cracked pavement.
Oh, no, Jimmy thought. He turned back to John’s truck, grabbed the rifle out of the bed, and went back to the vehicle’s interior. In the glove box, he found a box of cartridges and several loaded clips. He stuffed everything but one clip into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. With a quick motion, he put the clip into the rifle, chambered a round, and went to the blood on the pavement.
Jimmy dropped down into a squat and let his eyes roam slowly outward, searching the street until he spotted another splash of blood. He got up and walked carefully, eyes flicking from the pavement to the town around him. Each step was cautious, and he followed the blood trail as quickly as he could.
It led steadily on toward the store.
Was the door always open? Jimmy wondered. Or is there a squatter? Did someone get the jump on John?
Jimmy increased his speed, more blood leading him to the store’s small porch. A long streak across the old, worn wood showed where his brother was probably dragged.
Through the doorway, Jimmy could see little. The darkness seemed to undulate, and fear dripped out of the building, making Jimmy’s mouth dry and his throat tight.
What the hell’s in there? he asked himself. It doesn’t matter. John’s in there. Someone’s got your brother. Get him back.
Jimmy brought the rifle up to his shoulder and tucked his cheek against the cool wood of the stock, smelling the gun oil.
Go, he commanded, and he went.
He moved in quickly, crouching slightly to present a smaller target. A quick step to the right and he stopped, listening. The sound of something tearing reached his ears. Jimmy let his eyes adjust to the darkness, trying to focus on the sound.
To the right a little more, Jimmy thought. He adjusted his position and was able to make out a counter, and damaged shelves.
Someone whistled.
A happy tune interrupted by more tearing noises.
Behind the counter. John is behind the counter.
Jimmy moved carefully, but the floor beneath his feet was old and traitorous. After his third step, a board let out a shriek.
The whistling stopped.
“You, behind the counter,” Jimmy said forcefully, “stand up where I can see you.”
“Would you see me, boy?” a deep voice asked. The hatred in the words reminded Jimmy of his father and weakened his knees.
“You heard me,” Jimmy said, managing to keep the fear out of his voice. “Get up or I come over and put a hole in you.”
The stranger chuckled. “How can I refuse such a demand?”
Jimmy kept the rifle aimed at the counter and waited.
A heartbeat later, the individual stood. And stood, and stood.
He was tall, well over six feet. Thinner than anyone living Jimmy had ever seen. The man’s eyes glistened with the light from the doorway. He was pale and shirtless, his chest concave. His head was thin, sparse brown hair clipped short, which highlighted his long face and nose. His hands were below the counter.
Jimmy took careful aim at the man’s chest. “Mister, you’re going to raise your hands up where I can see them, or I’m going to blow your back all over the wall behind you. I’m not asking, I’m telling.”
“I believe you would,” the man said, nodding approvingly. He raised his hands up as commanded.
In his left, he held a leg. In his right, he held an arm. John’s arm.
Jimmy recognized the tribal tattoo around the bicep. It was the same one he had on his own.
Blood dripped from the limbs, and it looked as though they had been ripped from John’s sockets.
John, Jimmy thought numbly. Then he squeezed the trigger on the Enfield. The sound of the shot deafened him briefly, the flash of the muzzle ruining his vision in the dimness.
But Jimmy fired all five rounds, and even without looking he knew he put all of them in the man’s chest. Or he thought he had.
The stranger laughed, and something heavy hit Jimmy in the head, knocking him back. Jimmy tripped over his own feet, fell, and hit the floor. The air rushed out of his lungs, and his back screamed out in pain. Gasping for breath Jimmy got onto his side, dug another clip out of his pocket, and spilled the rest onto the floor.
He slammed the clip home, got to his knees, and was knocked over again as something crashed into his chest.
Before he could regain his breath, the Enfield was ripped out of his hands, and he was picked up. Cold hands grasped either arm and lifted him off the floor. Blinking, Jimmy tried to see, kicking out with his feet but encountering nothing.
“You are a wiry fellow,” the deep voice said. “I think I should like a hunt. You look like you enjoy a good hunt. Have you ever been the prey, hm?”
Jimmy continued to struggle, but the man squeezed him tighter. A scream of pain tore its way out of Jimmy’s throat. He went still.
The man loosened his grip and said, “Now, you haven’t answered my question.”
“Why?” Jimmy said furiously. “Why did you kill him?”
“Because I can,” the man replied in a bored voice. “And, well, it has been a long time since I have. He woke me up, you know. I heard him cleaning his rifle. Such a clear and delicate sound. Nearly as sweet as a songbird. I’d been asleep for quite some time. Dreaming you know. Now, answer my question.”
“What question?” Jimmy snapped.
“Have you ever been prey?”
“What?” Jimmy asked. “No. Why would I be?”
“So, a new experience for you,” the stranger said happily. “I do so love virgins. Ah, perhaps I should introduce myself then. I am Abel, Abel Latham. And you are?”
Jimmy remained silent, but Abel squeezed, and Jimmy gasped out, “James! James Quill!”
Abel relaxed his grip and said, “I knew a Quill once. I didn’t like him. How appropriate then, wouldn’t you agree, James?”
“I don’t know,” Jimmy said, taking in great, deep breaths.
“I suppose not,” Abel said, sighing. “Now, are you ready?”
“For what?” Jimmy asked, his mind racing. How do I get away? I have to get away. I have to get the cops here.
“For the hunt,” Abel said. He chuckled. “You will run, I will follow. Not right away, mind you, for where is the fun in that? No, you will run, and you will hide. I will hunt you. I will find you. And then, I shall see how pretty your insides are.”
Abel let go, dropping Jimmy to the floor. Jimmy’s entire body howled in agony.
“Run,” Abel said. “Run as fast and as far as you can, James. I’ll be coming after you soon.”
Jimmy scrambled to his feet, launched himself out the door, and sprinted to his truck. He jumped in, started the engine, and slammed the pickup into drive. The sharp, iron tang of blood was in his nose, and a glance down showed he was splashed in it.
Worry about it later. Later, he told himself. He crushed the gas pedal beneath his foot and raced along the road, branches slapping at the truck. For more than a minute, he drove recklessly back toward Route 111. A mirror broke off, the road curved sharply again, opened up, and Jimmy slammed on the brakes.
He was back in Griswold.
Abel stood on the porch of the country store, wearing only jeans and boots. His thin arms were folded across his chest, and Jimmy realized there was something wrong. It was almost as though he could see the darkness through Abel.
The tall man waved and called out, “Run, James! Run!”
Jimmy panicked. He got out of the truck and sprinted for the tree line. Behind him, his pickup rolled forward slowly. As he reached the trees, Jimmy heard a dull crash. Without looking back, he knew what had happened. His truck had hit John’s, but it didn’t matter. None of it did.
He’s going to kill me if he catches me, Jimmy thought frantically, and he plunged deeper into the forest.
Chapter 5: In the Diner
The diner was small, with a good morning crowd, and Shane and Courtney had drawn more than a few disapproving looks. They were obviously not father and daughter, and Courtney looked younger than her age.
The waitress was cold and gave Shane a withering stare. He recognized it for what it was, and why, but it took Courtney a few minutes to realize they were the focus of several people’s attention.
“Why are they looking at us?” Courtney asked in a low voice.
“Two reasons. First, my lovely locks,” he said, running his hand over his bald head, “and second, because you look like you’re at least twenty years younger than me.”
“Seriously?” Courtney said. She looked around, shook her head and turned her attention to the menu.
The waitress came back with a cup of coffee for Shane and orange juice for Courtney. She put his mug down hard, splashing coffee onto the Formica of the table, and she gave Courtney a pitying look. Then the waitress left without waiting to see if they were ready to order.
“Wow,” Courtney said, a note of discomfort in her voice. “That was pretty bad.”
“I’m a dirty old man,” Shane said, shrugging. “At least that’s what she’s thinking, and most of the others. I’ve been stared at for years because of my hair. And, when there was all the angst in the news about Iraq some people would frown at me when I was in uniform. Not too many, though.”
“It’s not right,” Courtney said, closing her menu and putting it down. “Who cares about the age difference? They’re not dating us.”
“People like to judge, doll,” Shane said. He put his menu next to hers. The coffee was strong and hot, and it made him smile. “I’m not bothered by them.”
The waitress returned, ignored Shane and said to Courtney, “What’ll you have, sweetheart?”
“Two eggs over easy, with a side of bacon and wheat toast, please,” Courtney said, glancing at Shane.
The waitress wrote it down quickly on her order pad, then, without looking at Shane, she said, “And you?”
“The same, please,” he answered.
The waitress left.
“Damn,” Courtney said. “She gets no tip.”
“Tip or no tip, it’s not going to change the way she thinks,” Shane said. “But I’d like to tip anyway. Being a waitress is tough. Couple of my friends in the Marines, their wives picked up waitressing jobs to help make ends meet. Long hours, bad pay, and a whole lot of idiots.”
Courtney shook her head. “Still not happy about it.”
Shane winked at her. “You don’t have to be.”
He glanced out the window of their booth and saw dark storm clouds. The trees on either side of the road bent back with a sudden, surging wind.
When he looked back to Courtney, he asked, “So why a ghost town?”
“Why not?” she said.
“Squirrel Island.”
Her face paled, and her lips tightened. “I don’t think there are really ghosts in this town.”
“No?”
She shook her head.
“Fair enough,” Shane said. “I hope there aren’t.”
“Me too,” Courtney said softly. “I wouldn’t mind meeting a spirit on my own terms, but I don’t want to be surprised by one again.”
“Yeah,” Shane said, picking up his mug and taking a drink. “Not a whole lot of fun.”
They lapsed into silence for several minutes. The waitress arrived, smiled at Courtney, served them both, and left.
“She does not like you,” Courtney said, taking a bite of her toast.
“Nope. I’m robbing the cradle,” Shane said.
“You’re a brat,” Courtney said, grinning. “Maybe I should tell her I stole you out of a nursing home.”
“That’ll work,” Shane said with a chuckle. “Ask her if my senior discount applies to your meal, too.”
Courtney laughed, wiped her mouth with her napkin, and said, “Maybe we could see if one of them could help you back to the car.”
“We’re not at a bar,” Shane said with mock seriousness, “and I have never been too drunk to walk.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “I either walk or pass out. No half-measures for this Marine.”
Courtney’s happy laughter filled the air, and Shane forgot about the looks of the wait staff and other patrons.
Chapter 6: Trying to Hide
I’m lost, Jimmy thought. He couldn’t tell if it was good to be lost, or bad. It all depended on whether or not Abel was in the woods.
Jimmy had found a small brook, slipped down a washed-away bank, and had hidden himself among the exposed roots of a pine tree. He had taken a drink of water and examined the front of his shirt. There was plenty of blood, but it wasn’t his. Whatever Abel had hit him with had left its mark.
What the hell did he use? Jimmy wondered. Oh, damn.
&n
bsp; Jimmy bent over and retched, all of the water he had drunk burned its way back up and out of his throat.
He hit me with John’s parts, Jimmy thought, and he threw up again. He dry-heaved several times, spat out the foul taste of bile, and rinsed his mouth. Wincing, Jimmy forced himself to drink more water. The day was too warm, and his body was already in agony over what he had done the night before.
The air around him darkened, and for a heartbeat, he feared Abel had found him. A glance up to a hole in the canopy showed him storm clouds.
He frowned. No forecast of rain today.
Nothing about your brother being murdered by some unholy creature, either, Jimmy thought bitterly. You need to get your act together, and you need to get out of here. Figure out a way to come back and kill whatever Abel is.
Anger spiked in Jimmy’s heart, and a fierce rage burned within him.
He forced himself to settle back into the cool depths of the root system. The various insects he ignored, closing his eyes and focusing on clearing his mind. It was still muddied with the aftereffects of the heroin and the drinking.
Jimmy kept his eyes closed, and he listened. The sounds of the forest were normal over the soft noises the brook made. The different birds called out to prospective mates or argued with rivals. Squirrels yelled at everything. A twig cracked the careless step of a deer close by. The air was warm, almost heavy. There was a charge in it as well, the tiny hairs on his arms standing up as an electrical current seemed to ripple through.
A thunderstorm, Jimmy thought. If it’s strong enough, it’ll break the back of the heat. Cool it all down.
The squirrels were the first warning Jimmy had. They stopped their angry chatter. When he noticed it, the birds ceased their passionate calls. Even the brook muted itself.
Jimmy didn’t have to wonder why.
Within several minutes, Abel walked silently about thirty yards away. The trees were shadows through the man. His head scanned to the left and to the right, searching for sign of Jimmy’s passage.
He knows what he’s doing, Jimmy realized as he watched Abel. The killer paused and looked, inspected branches and leaves.
