He sat down beside her; she did not move away from him. “Debra, I want you to tell me what’s going on. You obviously know more than you have let on. Before, you didn’t think Levi Barrow was dangerous. That has apparently changed.”
Her face turned grim. “I know one thing. If he threatens my parents in any way, Levi is the one who’d better watch out. Dad doesn’t take kindly to bullshit, even from the Barrows.”
“I understand your dad and Levi’s were in the army together. What about that?”
Debra shook her head. “I don’t really know much. Only that Samuel Barrow was killed in Vietnam and Dad helped the family out afterward—financially, I guess. He’s never said as much, but I’ve always thought he must have felt responsible in some way. When I was a child, he went back to Vietnam a few times, even after he retired from the military. Ever since, the Barrows have always treated him with some deference, more so than most. But things have changed in the last year or so, at least with Levi. He’s intentionally antagonized my father. And as you saw, he’s been trying to…get close to me.” She stiffened noticeably.
“So it is more than him getting bent out of shape over some perceived ‘mistreatment’ of his kid.”
She nodded. “What galls me is that Levi apparently put Malachi up to provoking me, just so he would have an excuse to ‘meet’ me. Dad managed to get that much out of Malachi during the last episode at school—right before Rodney’s death. Before you came. I guess Dad has been keeping tabs on the Barrows for all these years. I think he’s been worried that something like this might happen.”
“Your dad’s a shrewd man. I wonder what really happened between him and Samuel Barrow. Did they know each other before the war?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Your mom and dad aren’t originally from here, are they?”
She shook her head. “Huntington.”
“So your dad came here, to the Barrows’ hometown, after Samuel was killed. Interesting.”
“All this happened before I was born. Until recently, none of this meant anything to me at all.”
“There’s some connection between this and what’s happening around here. I’m sure of it.” Copeland bit his lip. “Do you think you could get your dad to open up on the subject?”
She shrugged. “He’s more than close-mouthed about his past. If he hadn’t been so worried about me, he wouldn’t have even told me what he did about Levi.”
“Communication in your family seems to be on a need-to-know basis. Pardon my bluntness.”
“No, you’re quite right. Don’t misunderstand, I love my family. My dad can just be a very headstrong man.”
“So you come by it honestly,” he said with a little smile. “Maybe I should talk to him.”
“You wouldn’t get anywhere. But maybe under these circumstances he’ll be more willing to share things with me.” She glanced at her watch and saw that it was going on six o’clock. “I’m tempted to go out to Mom and Dad’s right now to make sure everything’s all right. This has me all tied up in knots.”
Copeland thought for a moment. “Debra, I may be completely off-base here. But I half suspect that Levi may be trying to goad you into doing just that. I’m sure he knows your dad can take care of himself. It wouldn’t surprise me if he hopes to get you out there alone.”
“I think you might be stretching a bit.”
“I don’t. For what it’s worth, Lynette wanted to talk to your father—to alert him to what Levi Barrow has been doing. Look. The phone’s not working. It’s getting dark. My opinion is that we should all stay together tonight. If anything happens…I think we’re all safer together.”
“I’m just next door. It’s not as if we’re miles apart.”
“Listen to me. Lynette’s got an idea—and I think it’s a good one—that we get together with people in town and share information. Watch out for each other. Face it; however hard it is to believe, we’re being cut off from the rest of the world. I don’t know how or why, but it’s happening. Hell, for my money, your father is the first person we should go to. If nothing else, he knows the story behind the Barrows. If he needs any convincing, you’re the one to do it. It only makes sense.”
She thought for a moment, eyes still dubious. “It does make sense. But pressing my father on something that is obviously very personal to him would be a mistake.”
“You know, teacher, now you’re stretching. I think you’ve become used to having things your way, and now you’re being contrary just for the sake of it.”
“I am not.”
“You are too.”
“I am not.”
He took a chance, reached for her hand, and held it gently. “Debra, at the very least, come back to Lynette’s, and let’s all stay together until we can figure out what’s going on and what we can do about it. I don’t believe it’s safe for us to be separated. Especially for you.”
“That worried, huh?”
He nodded. “The situation is bad enough as it is, and with Levi Barrow thrown into the equation…yes, I’m that worried.”
She gazed into his eyes, gauging his earnestness. She looked tired and shaken, and he thought she had might have been crying after her father’s visit. But the cool gleam in her eyes indicated that her inner strength had hardly begun to be tested. Finally, she nodded and said, “All right. We stay together. After all…it makes the most sense.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I guess you know that over the past couple of days I’ve rather come to like you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She placed her other hand over Copeland’s. Her smile was weak but sincere. “Thank you, Russ. I guess you’re okay too. Mostly.”
“We’d better get back. All right?”
“If we’re having a sleepover party, I need to grab a few things. Give me a minute.”
They rose, and he went downstairs to wait for her. A pleasant warmth coursed through his body, but an aching, icy lump lingered in his stomach. A growing suspicion that new dangers lurked in the coming night eclipsed any satisfaction from his bonding with Debra. After Billy Hart had reported the mist-shrouded chasm appearing where a highway should have been, he had more than half-expected the sheriff to call on him. Maybe enough people had experienced the bizarre phenomena today to force him to investigate—and hopefully find a way to contact someone who could shed some light on the situation.
“I’m ready,” Debra called. He turned to see her coming down the stairs carrying a small black overnight bag. “I hope Lynette has popcorn.”
The mention of food reminded Copeland that he hadn’t eaten anything since early morning. “Before we do anything or go anywhere,” he said, “a few rations would do us good.” She agreed with a nod, and as they headed back to Lynette’s, she walked close at his side, seemingly relieved, in spite of all she had said, that she would not be spending the night alone. After stepping in through the front door, he took her bag and placed it on the floor next to Lynette’s umbrella stand. “I’ll take that upstairs for you in a little bit.”
“If your heart is set on lifting my burdens for me, I’ve got some furniture at my house that needs to be carried upstairs.”
“Later, perhaps,” Copeland said with a chuckle. He called for Lynette but received no answer. They went through the kitchen to the porch and found it empty. Then he noticed a faint, unfamiliar smell—something very unpleasant, reminding him of the formic acid smell that ants gave off.
“Russ! Russ, look!”
He turned to see Debra pointing to the little alcove off the kitchen where the back door opened to the backyard terrace.
The door hung shattered on its frame, apparently broken in from outside. Something had completely shredded its lower half, and as he leaned down to take a closer look, he saw distinct, black scorch marks on the wood. He immediately recalled the manner of Rodney’s death and the glowing thing that had pursued Zack Baird down the mountain road the previous day.<
br />
“Jesus God,” he whispered. He turned and ran up the stairs, calling Lynette’s name. He found all the rooms empty, and up here, he could not smell the weird, acidic odor. Rushing back downstairs, he again called, “Lynette!”
Debra’s eyes blazed with dread as she came out of the living room. “She’s not on this floor. She’s not here.”
“Oh God, oh God,” he moaned. “How long was I gone? Ten minutes?”
Debra went out the front door and rushed around to the back yard, shrilly calling for Lynette. Copeland was behind her in an instant, his eyes scanning the trees, the steep hillside at the south end of the house, the long meadow that led to Yew Line Ridge. Shaking violently, he went to the ruined door to examine it from the outside. On the bricked terrace, he found a glistening splatter of red.
“There,” Debra said grimly, pointing to the grass at the edge of the terrace. “It leads toward the trees.”
Trying to deny the certainty of what the blood trail meant, he followed it until it vanished amid the oaks, sycamores, and pines that looked down on the house from the almost vertical hillside. Beneath the dense boughs, the shadows loomed thick and heavy, unbroken by even a stray beam of dying sunlight. He saw and heard nothing in that deep darkness; not a cricket chirping, not a mourning dove singing, not a squirrel rustling in the leaves.
Then, far in the distance, something went click-click-clack, click-click-clack. Then it, too, fell silent and did not come again.
The fiery rim of the sun finally sank behind the ridge in the west. As night spread over the land like a frigid, nightmarish cloak, Copeland dropped to his knees and wailed his anguish to the forest, while Debra wrapped her arms around herself and wept a river of tears, as if they could somehow wash away the awful trail of blood at her feet.
Chapter 11
“I don’t know what it was, and I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.”
“I tell you, people could hear it all over town. Most bizarre thing in the world, it was.”
“Well, I didn’t hear anything.”
Elise Martin had never seen her husband so frazzled; not that she could really blame him with all that was going on in town the last few days. Ever since Rodney Lawson’s funeral, Glenn had come and gone constantly, and he had not slept in at least 72 hours. His normally impassive face was taut with worry, and his eyes constantly batted back and forth as if searching for something hiding in the shadows. Today, he had spent the after-school hours visiting with Debra—but he claimed to have heard none of the bizarre music, which had echoed weirdly through town late in the afternoon. Everyone had heard the sounds, and some said it came from the old church on Cheat Mountain Road, which was close to their daughter’s house. How could he not have heard such a racket?
Glenn never lied to her; but now she had her suspicions. But why? What possible reason could he have for not being honest with her?
Most tragically, not long after the sounds had ceased, Ike Gleasman had come home from work to find his nonplused cat sitting in the front yard watching his house—just across the road from the church—burn to the ground. No one could find a trace of Mrs. Gleasman, and according to Billie Wilkins, the firemen feared she had been inside when the house went up. Because the phones weren’t working, the firefighters hadn’t even gotten there until the blaze was far beyond control.
“Debra’s all right?” she asked.
“She’s fine. I asked her to come stay with us, but you know her; she didn’t want to do the sensible thing. Stubborn girl.”
“Wonder where she gets that from?”
“Your side of the family. Your mother.”
“Okay.”
Elise had prepared only a small dinner, leftover roast beef, corn, and fried okra, but Glenn didn’t want to eat. Without paying her any mind, he went upstairs and began making noise, moving things around, and Lord knew what. When he came back down, he had his car keys in hand again.
“Where to this time?”
“I’m going by a few students’ houses. Too many of them were out today. With no phones, I want to check up on them.”
“I don’t know that that’s in your job description.”
He sighed. “Honey, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s trouble going on in this town. I’m just looking to help as best I can, all right?”
“Seems to me there’s more to it than that.”
He gave her a long, wistful look, and she knew she had hit on something. However, nothing she could say now could drag any answers out of him. If he intended to reveal anything, he would do it on his terms, in his own good time.
“I’ll be back soon. Try not to worry.”
“If I worry, it’s your fault.”
He gave her a brief hug and kissed her on the forehead. “We’ll talk later. I promise. Right now, I have to do what I have to do. All right?”
She shook her head in frustration. “You’ve always been tightlipped, but never mysterious. You’re going to drive me out of my head like this.”
“Not for very much longer.” Then he turned and went out the back door. She heard the car start, and off he went again.
“Why don’t you just retire?” she asked the wall and sat down to eat her dinner by herself. He could have retired already, but he seemed intent on working until he was physically unable. She admired his energy, his strength of will, and his sharpness of mind, but she was getting tired of having to share him with his job after all these years. It was high time they spent their days together as they wished, without obligations that by right should have passed to the younger generation.
Outside, a loud, rattling engine briefly caught her attention. Lately, she had been hearing it frequently, and she wondered who would drive such a detestable noisemaker through their quiet neighborhood. No one had moved in, no one was having contract work done, and no one had friends or family who drove clunkers coming and going at all hours. Glenn had successfully lobbied to make it against the law for these young people to go cruising with their music so loud it shook the walls, and as far as she was concerned, the same ordinance ought to apply to trucks that needed a new muffler, if not a whole new engine.
She had just finished her sparse dinner and carried her plate to the sink when something outside caused her to stop in her tracks: a low rustling; nothing more than the sound a small animal might make moving through the bushes beneath the kitchen window. But for some reason—no doubt because of the strange goings-on of the last couple of days—the noise set her nerves on edge, and her heart began to beat a little faster than usual. She brushed the curtains aside and peered out the window into the dark back yard, but without the floodlights on, she could not see a thing. In the brightly lit window, however, she would be clearly visible to any spying eyes, human or otherwise, so she closed the curtains, uncertain whether to go through the house locking all the doors and windows or to berate herself for being silly.
Click-click-clack…click-click-clack.
It sounded like the rapping of drumsticks on sheet metal, not very loud, but very nearby.
She went straight for the kitchen door, twisted the deadbolt, and then headed quickly to the living room to lock the front. Her hand was just reaching for the knob when a sharp rapping on the door nearly stopped her heart, prompting her to draw up short with a hand at her chest. She stood there, immobile, for almost half a minute until another loud knock came. She finally found her voice, raspy though it was.
“Who is it?”
No response.
“I said who is it?”
A low, gruff voice finally replied, “Friend of your husband’s, ma’am.”
“What’s your name?”
“I just need to talk to you a minute. It’s about Glenn.”
A lump rose in her throat, again stealing her voice. At last, she managed to croak, “Has something happened to him?”
“We better talk face to face.”
She pushed herself forward, grasped the doorknob, and gave it a tentative twist, only h
alf-certain she wanted to open it. Before she could make up her mind, the door burst open, the knob smashing into her fingers and sending a blinding jolt of pain up her arm. Stumbling, she threw out her other hand and grasped the stair railing to keep from falling.
An ugly, familiar figure stood in the doorway, small eyes glaring at her from beneath a bony brow, long greasy hair hanging in disarray over his forehead.
“You,” she spat. “What do you want? You know you’re not welcome here.”
“Don’t think that matters much, Miz Martin.”
In the kitchen, glass shattered, and she heard a heavy thump, as if something large had burst through the window and dropped to the floor. Her eyes widened with dread as Levi Barrow took a step toward her.
“What was that?”
“You’re gonna see in a just a minute.”
“What do you want, Levi? Glenn’s not here, and you and I certainly don’t have any business.”
“Dunno if I’d say that,” Barrow said with a dangerous-looking smirk. “The major’ll be back soon, I reckon, and then we’ll see what business we have.”
Click-click-clack…
The sound she had heard from outside, in the house now, in the kitchen, coming this way. What in God’s name?
CLICK-CLICK-CLACK…CLICK-CLICK-CLACK…
Barrow’s mouth widened to reveal his stained, crooked teeth. “Have a look around there, why don’t you, Miz Martin.”
She could feel the other presence in the room. Something was moving behind her; a soft, sliding, scraping sound, slowly drawing nearer. And the smell…acrid, sour. God! Unable to stop herself, she turned around and saw the hot golden glow on the hardwood floor, something moving toward her, the size of a good-sized child, but nothing like a child.
Before the scream could burst from her lungs, consciousness began to flee, and she hit the floor like a sawn branch, barely feeling the crack of her skull against the stairway railing. The last thing she heard was Levi Barrow’s jubilant giggling; then a warm, welcome silence rushed in to replace the loathsome noise, and the world went blessedly dark.
The Nightmare Frontier Page 11
