In the Dark

by Chris Patchell

  Marissa flung her arms wide, searching, grasping for anything to hold on to. Up ahead she saw it. Thick. Dark. A fallen tree.

  “Please . . . ,” she sputtered.

  Marissa thrashed against the current, but it was no use. The river was too strong. It took everything she had just to keep from drowning.

  The shoreline rocketed past. She was going to miss the tree. She was going to . . .

  Pain lit up her leg. A black boulder jutted above the surface, tossing her sidelong toward the tree. Marissa reached for the nearest branch. Her hands were too stiff to grab on. Instead she hooked an arm around the branch, clinging to it like a lifeline.

  Water raged all around her, flowed over her head. She coughed and sputtered, pulling herself along the branch, gasping for air. Branches tore at her sweater, gouging her hands and arms. Shivering violently, she inched herself along the tree until finally her feet touched the rocky bottom.

  Marissa anchored her toes among the smooth stones and fought her way toward shore. She stumbled from the water and collapsed on the sodden earth.

  The rain pounded relentlessly down. Safe from the river’s grasp, Marissa threw her arms across her face and let the tears come. All the pain, the fear, the exhaustion poured out of her in huge, racking sobs.

  A bone-chilling blast of wind swept off the water, and Marissa shuddered. Wiping her face, she sat up. The girls were here at the bottom of the valley. But where?

  Struggling to her feet, she wrung the water from her clothes as best she could and looked around. The camp couldn’t be far. Before the mudslide hit, she’d been close. She had to keep going. But which way?

  A perilous mound of trees and debris from the mudslide hulked behind her, like half of the mountain had come down. There was no way she could climb it. It was too high and too dangerous. Marissa turned the other way and started walking.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she trudged toward a dense line of trees. Shivering, she stumbled across the rocks and branches strewn across the forest floor. Sharp edges bit into her bare feet. She ignored the pain and pushed on.

  Lost among the trees, she felt doubt swirl around her like the howling wind. She didn’t know where she was going. She should have waited for Seth. What if she didn’t find the camp? What if she died out here, alone in the cold? Who would find her girls?

  Teeth chattering, she hunched her shoulders and kept walking through the woods. Rain pattered against the rustling tree branches. The smell of the dank earth closed in like a freshly dug grave.

  Too tired to go on, Marissa fell to her knees. Through the thinning line of trees, she saw it. A cabin.

  Hope flared in her chest, bright and fleeting. Even if this wasn’t the camp, maybe she could find help. Marissa climbed to her feet and limped across the sodden earth.

  The cabin was small, a single-story A-frame, the kind of place Brooke’s Girl Scout troop might have stayed.

  Marissa stumbled into the clearing. Bare feet sinking into the muddy valley floor, she loped into a run.

  The cabin was completely dark. She scaled the stairs, pounding on the door with her closed fist.

  “Hello. Is there anyone in there? Hello.”

  No answer. She twisted the knob. It was locked. If she could find a way in, maybe she could find a phone. The window was too high, beyond reach.

  Marissa turned and trudged down the stairs. She rounded the other side of the cabin and stopped. A second cabin. Her heart quickened. A fallen tree had caved in half the roof.

  She started toward it. Shuffling along in the wet grass, she stubbed her toes on something hard. She yelped. The long handle looked black in the wet grass. It lay a few feet from a haphazardly stacked pile of wood. An ax. An old, rusty ax, dull as shit.

  Wrapping both hands around the handle, she heaved it off the ground, swaying under its weight. Steadying herself, she approached the second cabin.

  The door flapped open. It cracked against the wall. Marissa gripped the ax handle tight. Senses fully tuned to her surroundings, she crept inside. The smell hit her hard. Bad. Urine. Mold. Death.

  A small cry escaped her lips. She thought about Kim Covey and Brooke. This was the place. She could feel it.

  “Hello. Hello,” she called.

  Nothing.

  She took another step into the inky darkness. Listening. Praying.

  “Hello?”

  “Help.”

  The shrill, thin cry carried on the wind. Marissa’s heart jolted. She turned and sprinted through the door.

  “Kelly. Brooke,” she screamed.

  “Help.”

  Marissa spun toward the sound. On the edge of the clearing, she saw it. A third cabin loomed ahead, dipping into the water’s edge.

  She ran.

  Chapter 63

  “Marissa,” Seth yelled. “Marissa.”

  Static on the phone line. She was gone.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Damned thing. Seth wanted to smash the phone against the ground, shatter it into a million pieces. He hit redial, but the call refused to connect. The camp. He had to find the camp before Marissa walked straight into Bowman’s trap.

  Seth launched the map application on the phone. He stared at the tiny screen, waiting for it to load. Slow. The signal was weak. Useless piece of fucking shit. He shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  A blast of wind tore off the river, driving the yellow-and-orange flames high into the night sky like an angry serpent. Seth headed toward the fire.

  Twenty yards away he spied a fireman hunkered down, crouched over a map. Seth jogged toward him. The raw wind cut straight through his wet clothes and he shivered. Cahill had said the youth camp was only a few miles from here, downriver. Remote, it was just the kind of place where Bowman could do his dirty work.

  “I need your map.”

  The fireman glanced up. Surprise registered in his bright-blue eyes. Seth’s greedy gaze found the bridge, not far from where he was standing. He traced the blue line east, following the winding path of the Tolt River.

  All around him emergency personnel were shouting orders. Acrid-smelling smoke carried on the wind.

  “You’re wet,” the fireman said.

  “Yeah, I had a little car trouble. The map?”

  Standing, the fireman reached behind him. He grabbed a thin blanket out of the fire engine.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to Seth. “Now get back behind the perimeter.”

  He hooked a thumb to where a ragged line of onlookers gathered.

  “I’m a cop. SPD.”

  The fireman arched an eyebrow.

  “I’m impressed,” he said, looking anything but. “You still need to get back. With this wind, I can’t predict which way the fire will turn.”

  Seth wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. The fire roared. Bright columns of flames devoured the building. Seth heard a groan . . . deep, inhuman. The structure heaved.

  He heard a shout. “Get back. Get back.”

  The line of firemen broke. A crack, louder than a shotgun blast, rang out. Fear coiled inside Seth. Another groan. The roof collapsed. Cinders, ashes, and sparks billowed out into the night sky.

  Freeze-frame images flashed through his mind. The green door. The flames. And Holly. How he couldn’t save her. How he would never save her.

  “Did everyone get out of the building before it went up?” Seth asked.

  “According to the cook, yes. We won’t know for sure until we investigate.” The fireman stared up at Seth. His eyes narrowed. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Look, I just need to get across the river.”

  The fireman snorted. “Tonight? Good luck.”

  “You must have police boats.”

  The man cocked an eyebrow and shrugged a burly shoulder. “That’s more your department than mine. You can try to track down the police chief, but on a night like this, with the storm, the flood, and the shooting, all available vessels will be used for search and rescue, not a pleasure c
ruise down the Tolt.”

  “A shooting?”

  Oh shit.

  “If you’re a cop, you would have heard it on your scanner.”

  “I’m off duty.” It was a clumsy lie, and from the look on the man’s face, Seth knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Have you identified the victim?”

  The fireman stood up and folded the map. “You’re asking a lot of questions . . .”

  And he wasn’t going to get answers here. Seth snatched the map and took off at a run.

  The roads were choked with traffic—people trying to leave town, cut off by the flood. He ran his finger along the blue line of the river and searched for a symbol, a triangle, a green patch, any indication of where the camp might be. Nothing.

  If Cahill was right, he had to head east.

  Seth raced across the street, heading toward the river. Neighborhoods flew past. Densely packed rows of houses thinned out as he neared the water.

  Seth pulled out the phone and dialed a number he knew as well as his own.

  “Alvarez,” the lieutenant growled into the phone.

  “Brad, I know where they are. I need backup . . .”

  Seth relayed the facts as quickly as he could. Alvarez had questions, but there was no time.

  He slipped behind a beat-up old bungalow. The soupy grass squelched beneath his feet as he headed toward the water’s edge. A few feet away from an outbuilding, he spied a bulky shape.

  A boat. Covered with a tarp.

  Light spilled from the windows of the bungalow. He heard music. Laughter. A party in full swing. With his luck the fucking boat would be riddled with holes or rusted through. He crouched down beside the hull and removed the tarp. It flapped and rattled in the wind.

  It wasn’t much, just a small aluminum boat. Light. With an outboard motor. He ran his hand along the bottom. No holes. It would do.

  He started toward the water. The hull clanged hollowly against a boulder like a gong. Seth cringed. He glanced back at the house.

  Over the roaring river, he heard it. A dog . . . barking. Not a high-pitched yip or whine, but the deep, throaty barks of a big dog.

  The bungalow’s door sprang open. Seth caught a whiff of skunky smoke on the wind. Pot. As quick as a shot, a dark shape burst from the house and raced toward him, barking and snarling.

  Christ.

  He grabbed hold of the boat’s bow and broke for the river. The blanket billowed around his shoulders and sailed off, flailing up into the night sky like the wings of a crow. The hull of the boat clanged and thumped in his wake.

  He was still fifteen yards from the water’s edge, and the dog—some kind of tank with legs—was closing fast.

  “Kage,” a man shouted. The dog slowed. His ears pricked back at the sound of his master’s voice. “Shut the hell up. It’s just a squirrel. Stupid fucking dog.”

  Ignoring his master now, Kage surged forward. Powerful shoulders rippled beneath a slick black coat. He sniffed the air. Snorted. Seth kept running.

  “Hey, bro,” a voice in the distance called. “Dude’s jacking yer boat.”

  “What the fuck?”

  Three skinny men stepped out of the bungalow. The dog lunged at Seth. White fangs snapped the air, so close he could smell the dog’s fishy breath. He tripped. Fell back. His hands flailed wide and he landed in the river. The dog charged in, snarling and barking, drool dripping from his powerful jaws.

  The fast-moving current grabbed hold of the boat, pulling it downriver.

  Seth lunged deeper into the frigid water, grabbing hold of the aluminum side. The boat dipped. Kage barked. Chest-deep in the river, the dog gave up the chase.

  Water surged around Seth, clawing at his legs, threatening to throw him off balance. Then a shotgun blast filled the air with a deafening crack. Seth crouched behind the hull. Another shotgun blast sounded, carrying across the river. Praying he didn’t overturn the boat, Seth climbed over the side and collapsed on the bottom, chest heaving.

  The roaring water drowned out everything as the bungalow receded in the distance.

  Seth started the motor.

  Chapter 64

  “Kelly? Brooke?”

  It was her mother’s voice. Kelly was sure of it. Hope surged through her. She jumped to her feet. Stumbling through the dark, she tripped twice before reaching the door.

  “We’re in here. Hurry.”

  The ropes bit into her wrists. Winding up, she drove her boot into the door as hard as she could. Pain flared in her toes, but she kept on kicking it, wishing it were Andy’s head, trying to make as much noise as she possibly could.

  “Stand back,” her mother called.

  Kelly did as she was told. Thwack. The wooden door split. Thwack. Thwack. The axhead hurtled through, snagging on the splintered wood. Kelly bounced on the balls of her feet, wanting to rush forward and help. But with her hands tied behind her back, she was useless.

  Marissa wrenched the axhead free. She heaved it into the door with all the force she could muster. Kelly heard her mother panting from the effort. Each blow came slower. Harder. Finally she broke through.

  “Oh God, Kelly,” she called, her voice quaking with fear. “Where are you?”

  “Over here,” Kelly called, moving closer.

  Marissa let out a cry—half sigh, half sob—and dropped the ax. Rushing forward, she threw her arms around Kelly’s shoulders.

  Her mother smelled like sweat and mud and rain. Surrendering to the awkward hug, Kelly dropped her head to her mother’s shoulder, wishing she were small again. Wanting to crawl into the safe circle of her mother’s arms, like she had when she was little.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m all right. You?”

  “A little banged up, but I’m fine. Brooke’s not.”

  Marissa swung her gaze wildly around the cabin, but Kelly knew it was hard to see much in here. The darkness was like a heavy black veil, blanketing their surroundings. She could barely see her mother, and Marissa was less than two feet away.

  “Where is she?”

  “Over here.”

  Kelly crossed the cabin floor. She stopped a foot away from her sister’s prone form. Marissa dropped to her knees. Kelly heard the uneven rhythm of her mother’s shuddering breaths, and she knew Marissa was either crying or trying not to.

  “Oh God. Brooke.”

  Her mother knelt over Brooke, her hands running over the narrow length of her sister’s body, as if trying to convince herself that Brooke was real. Kelly knew exactly how she felt. A choked sob escaped Marissa’s lips, and Kelly’s heart constricted.

  “She’s so . . .” Marissa’s voice broke off. “What did he to do her?”

  “She says she’s out of insulin,” Kelly blurted. “Mom, she can’t feel her feet.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. Is she going to be all right?”

  Marissa didn’t answer. Kelly heard a slow clicking like the second hand of a clock ticking and she knew what it was.

  “You’ve got insulin. You think it will help?” Kelly asked, afraid to hope.

  Marissa didn’t answer right away. When she did, sadness thickened her words.

  “It will do some good. I don’t know how much though. We need to get her out of here.”

  The wind caught the ragged remnants of the door. It slammed hard against the wall. Kelly spun, expecting to see him there. Watching them. All she saw was the charcoal sky.

  “Where is he?” Marissa asked.

  “When I woke up, he wasn’t here. I don’t know where he is.”

  “He’ll be back.”

  A chill raced through Kelly, and she knew her mother was right. He would be back, and by then they’d better be long gone.

  “I had a knife. Brooke dropped it when she passed out. If we can find it . . .”

  “Okay.”

  Marissa crouched on the floor. Everything was slower, clumsier, scarier in the dark.

 
“Any luck?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Shit, Mom. Hurry.”

  “I’m trying, Kelly.”

  Kelly bounced her weight from one foot to another in a nervous dance, like a boxer waiting for the next round. She thought about the dojo and all the things Logan had taught her, hoping she’d remember them if Andy came back.

  Kelly’s eyes flicked to the doorway. Nothing.

  “Got it,” Marissa said, clutching the knife.

  Kelly turned. The ropes dug painfully into Kelly’s raw wrists. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to stand as still as a statue while her mother continued to saw.

  “Come on, come on,” Kelly muttered under her breath.

  “I’ve almost got it.”

  The pressure on the ropes increased and Kelly hissed. She heard a noise out on the porch, like boots scraping against raw wood. A narrow beam of light pierced the dark, and Kelly shrank back.

  “Mom.”

  Panicked, Marissa lost her grip and dropped the knife.

  Andy lumbered through the door. The flashlight caught Kelly full in the eyes, blinding her. Kelly squinted and looked away. He crossed the room with long, slow strides, like he had all the time in the world.

  This was it.

  Each slow step drove shock waves of fear rippling through her gut. She wanted to shrink away. She wanted to run, but she didn’t because she knew that was what he wanted. He wanted her scared. She refused to give the bastard the satisfaction.

  Kelly stood strong, with her body angled sideways and her weight on her back foot, just the way Logan had taught her. Hands still tied behind her back, she stood like a shield between him and her family.

  “Looks like the band’s back together,” Andy said with an unhinged grin.

  He was bigger than she. Stronger. All she had was her quickness and the element of surprise.

  Kelly lashed out with her foot, aiming for his groin. He jerked back, dropping the flashlight, easily deflecting the blow. He grabbed her heel and shoved, knocking her off balance. Kelly careened to the side and crashed to the floor. Andy’s laugh, low and chilling, rumbled through the cabin.

  The flashlight rolled along the floor. Shadows danced across the walls. Brooke’s crumpled form was caught in its beam.