The Jersey Devil

by Hunter Shea

  A coyote howled. Daniela flinched against her, but remained asleep.

  I got her into this so Tony and I could screw around. Maybe I deserve whatever’s coming, but not her. Please, God, help us find food or water or someone to get us out of here tomorrow.

  Another coyote joined in the nocturnal lament. Their whines gave her a primordial chill.

  Soon, a chorus of coyotes took to wailing, yipping and sounding increasingly distressed.

  “Wh-what is that?” Daniela said, groggily.

  “It’s just coyotes. Something must have scared them. Go back to sleep.” She nuzzled her friend’s neck, hoping she could somehow make her feel safer.

  “Do you think it could be those things?” Daniela sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

  “Even if it is, they can’t see us. We’ll be okay. I promise.”

  Will we? Those coyotes sound awful scared. And it sounds like they’re getting closer.

  “I want to go home.”

  “I know, sweetie. Shhh. We’re going to find a road in the morning. I know we will. You ever hitchhiked before?”

  “No,” Daniela said. “I’m not that dumb. But I’ll take a ride with an escaped convict if he’ll get us out of here.”

  Heather heard a terrific rush of wind and the urgent flapping of wings. She’d watched a nature show once where a camera had been placed outside a cave somewhere in South America. At one point during the night, millions of bats had exploded from the cave, rushing into the night sky. This sounded spookily like that, only worse, knowing that this wasn’t a TV show and all they had for protection was a thin layer of dead leaves.

  “It’s them,” Daniela cried, her body going as stiff as a board.

  “Just stay still and quiet,” Heather whispered. “We can’t let them know we’re here.”

  Moving her head slowly, Heather did her best to let some of the leaves fall from the side of her face. She had to see what was coming their way. Shutting her eyes and hoping for it to go away only worked when you were a kid afraid of the monster in the closet.

  Between the coyotes and the patter of wings, the calm of night had been shattered by a riot of sound.

  Heather looked up, and there they were. Gliding bodies, shadows of things that shouldn’t be, passing over the treetops.

  There were so many. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. A trickle of blood slipped across her tongue.

  Aside from the creatures in the air, something else was running through the forest, too close to where they lay hidden.

  “What is that?” Daniela whispered.

  “I can’t see.”

  There was no way she was going to shift her position to get a better look, possibly giving them away. Whatever it was, she prayed for it to move on.

  Leaves skittered and she heard a low, warning growl. She clamped her hand over Daniela’s mouth.

  The animal resumed its dash, stopped again, and began sniffing at the ground.

  When it finally came into view, stepping cautiously into one of the few shafts of moonlight, Heather cursed their luck.

  She was no expert, but she was pretty sure it was a bobcat. It looked like a cross between a leopard and an overgrown housecat, with spotted fur, a wide face and a short tail. Heather guessed it weighed between twenty and thirty pounds and was about as big as a small to medium-sized dog. She was sure it had claws and teeth that would make it seem much bigger.

  The bobcat slunk low to the ground, pausing as it locked its gaze on them.

  “Slowly hand me that stick,” Heather said so softly into Daniela’s ear, she could barely hear herself. If it was going to attack them, their tick stick was their only weapon. There wasn’t time to search for a large rock to use as a bludgeon.

  “Why?”

  “There’s a bobcat sniffing our way.”

  It pulled its lips back, revealing a deadly smile.

  “If it comes at us, you run while I try to slow it down,” Heather said.

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  There was no need to really whisper now. The animal knew they were there. It could probably smell them from miles away.

  Heather felt the stick as it was pressed into her hand.

  After everything they’d been through, she wasn’t about to get taken down by an overgrown cat.

  She jumped away from Daniela as a pair of dashing shadows descended on the bobcat. It swiped at the air, missing its attackers. They made tight turns, diving back at the bobcat.

  The leaves had fallen from Heather and Daniela. Both let out tiny yelps as they watched the strange creatures settle in to maul the bobcat.

  “Quick, we need to get back under the leaves,” Heather hissed. With shaky hands, they gathered the leaf pile back on top. All the while, they watched the creatures pull fur and flesh from the bobcat as evenly as if they had chef’s knives for claws. The bobcat wailed in agony.

  One of the flying creatures lifted it off the ground, and seconds later, they were gone. All that was left were a scattering of blood-soaked leaves and tufts of ravaged fur.

  Heather and Daniela didn’t dare move, speak or reveal themselves until the sun came up. At least then, they would be able to see their death coming.

  Chapter Thirty

  Daryl was surprised by the strength of the emaciated woman. No matter how hard he tried, she kept getting the best of him. She straddled his chest, nails digging into his arms, teeth gnashing dangerously close to his nose. He held her back as best he could, his fingers digging into her neck.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he said, spittle flying from his mouth as he struggled.

  Stop thinking of her as a woman! Holding back is only going to get you killed.

  One of her nails pierced his flesh through his shirt. The wound burned immediately, like the world’s worst case of cat scratch fever.

  “Son of a bitch, that hurts!”

  Twisting to his right, he broke her grip on his arm, using his lower half to buck her off his body.

  Now that he had one arm free, he balled his fist, swinging as hard as he could. The blow connected with the side of her head, snapping it back. One moment she was snarling like a rabid dog, the next it was lights-out. She slumped on top of him, a deadweight that belied her slight frame. Daryl was careful wriggling out, making sure not to just toss her aside like a filthy rag doll.

  When he got to his feet, he took several cautious steps back, massaging his knuckles. The woman was all skin and bone, and the bone part didn’t feel good when he punched it.

  “Who are you?” He knelt to get a closer look at her face while keeping enough distance between them that she couldn’t strike him if she suddenly snapped awake. “And how did you end up here?”

  She looked like one of those feral people that he’d read about—usually children left to fend for themselves in the wild, becoming more animal than man in the process. This woman was no child. If he had to guess, he’d say she was in her thirties, maybe forties. It was hard to tell.

  Her skin was so dirty, it camouflaged her nudity.

  Now the dilemma was, did he get back to the business of getting out of here, alone, or did he bring her with him? Sure, he could carry her now, but what would happen when she woke up, probably madder than a lovesick wolverine?

  Their struggle made the pain in his ribs even worse. Getting her out wouldn’t be easy.

  “You know, I didn’t need any more complications.”

  He moved some of the sturdier looking boards together so they were a ramp leading up to the surface. All he had to do was walk up them and leave this place in the rearview mirror.

  Daryl looked down at the feral woman, her chest rising slowly, evenly. The side of her head was already starting to swell. She may have been bat shit crazy, but he felt bad for hitting her so hard.

  “I don’t know how I’m gonna do this.”

  Getting her into a fireman’s lift almost took his breath, and consciousness, away. If she wo
ke up kicking and screaming, he couldn’t save her from hitting the ground hard.

  Carefully, he placed his foot on the first plank—then the next on the board beside it. He took the first few steps slowly. Any sign of the boards breaking, he could easily bail. So far, they held.

  Release from the underground was just a few feet away. Gaining confidence, he stepped faster, his balance tipping from the woman’s weight.

  At the midway point, the sound of wood cracking made him stop.

  Oh, shit! Move your fat ass!

  Daryl practically ran the rest of the way. One of the boards snapped, slipping out from under his foot. He lost his balance, attempting to fall forward. The woman slipped off his shoulder, rolling in the dirt. Free from her weight, he reached out, digging his fingers in the dirt as both ramps collapsed. It took him a moment to realize he’d made it. Only his feet dangled over the old basement.

  He rolled onto his back, greedily sucking in fresh air until the ache in his lungs made him slow down.

  I got us out of there. I should probably get going before she wakes up. When I find help, I can lead people back to her. If I take her, she’ll just try to kill me again.

  Resting on a knee, he checked her to make sure she hadn’t gotten any cuts when she flew from his grasp. She was still out, but it was hard to find fresh wounds through all the grime.

  She’s obviously been out here a long while. She’ll be fine. She’s in her element. I’m the one that intruded on her. Nothing to feel guilty about.

  He cast a wary glance at the trees, wondering if one of those Jersey Devils was lurking about. He wasn’t about to let them take him unawares again.

  Stepping away from the unconscious woman, he spotted something just above her hip.

  “What the?”

  Licking his thumb, he wiped as much dirt as he could from the area, worrying that he might be coming in contact with some kind of open sore or disease.

  But no, it couldn’t have been that cut and dried.

  The woman had a blazing red mark in the shape of a hoof.

  The same one he bore above his own hip.

  He sighed, hands on his knees, staring at her matching mark.

  “I can’t leave you now.”

  He lifted her again, not knowing how long he’d be able to carry her like this. Maybe when she woke up, he could reason with her.

  “You showed me yours. Later, I’ll show you mine.”

  Maybe then she wouldn’t see him as the enemy. Because they certainly shared a common one between them.

  * * *

  It was dawn by the time they got back to the vans. Bill felt like he was seconds from collapse. The cooler was where they’d left it inside the old Ford. He gave each of them a bottle of Gatorade. Water just wouldn’t be enough. There was also homemade beef jerky they all tore into. Protein was a necessity. Carbs would come from the package of hot dog rolls.

  “Norm, I think it’s best we leave your car here,” he said, swallowing hard. “We need to stick together. The police scanner is in the old van. We can come back for your car and the minivan later.”

  Norm took a gulp of Gatorade, his mouth full of jerky. “That old thing c-can carry us all?”

  “Don’t you worry about my van,” Boompa said. “Besides, it has a false bottom to hide our weapons. If we get pulled over in the minivan, we could be in big trouble.”

  “I’ll drive,” Ben said. Unlike the rest of them, he drank and ate sparingly.

  “No, son, I’ll take the wheel. You could use the rest.”

  Bill’s hand did a strange flutter, an act of betrayal he didn’t need now. He stuffed it in his pocket before anyone could see.

  “Dad, I sometimes went three days without sleep in that goddamn desert, on high alert the entire time. Trust me, I’m fine.”

  As much as he wanted to father him, Bill knew he was right. Of all of them, his son was the best equipped to handle things now that they had gone to hell.

  Ben slapped the side of the van. “Let’s saddle up!”

  April flicked a triangle of jerky at her brother as she stepped into the van.

  Carol grabbed Bill’s hand. “I keep thinking about what Ben said. Do you think it could get as bad as he says? The Jersey Devil has stayed hidden for over two hundred years.”

  “I guess they never had people like us around to royally piss them off,” April quipped, taking the front passenger seat.

  “Spoken with eloquence,” Boompa said, settling in behind her.

  Bill worried about his father. He was eighty, after all. He looked like eight shades of dog shit, but so did they all. He never complained once, but that didn’t mean he was well.

  A dark, terrifying suspicion crossed Bill’s mind. He’s thinking this is a one-way trip. He’s not going to leave anything in the tank.

  He patted his father’s shoulder, feeling the solid muscle and bone.

  In a sense, he was feeling the same way. Priorities had changed. If it meant losing his own life to get Daryl back, he’d do it without reservation.

  Ben brought the Ford roaring to life. April turned on the scanner. Everyone in the van held their breath as they waited for the first report to crackle over the airwaves.

  * * *

  A sedentary retirement was never in the cards. When Jean and his wife, Rose, retired in the same year, they worried a lot about becoming too comfortable with days puttering around the house, tending the garden, mapping out what shows to watch on TV that week. Office dwellers their entire working lives, now that they had time, money and freedom, they wanted to explore all of the things they’d missed.

  The problem was their friends had gotten old before their time. Diabetes, heart disease, bad joints, the litany of ailments that kept them either on the couch or in their doctors’ offices was downright depressing.

  When Jean left his job in Boston, he’d been diagnosed with early signs of diabetes. No way was he going to get on the medicine merry-go-round. He and Rose got off their asses, changed their diets, moved to New Jersey to be closer to their only child and grandchildren and got a new set of friends. They’d balked at the fifty and over community, but their protests were short-lived.

  It was far from a cabal of aging retirees. Here were folks who wanted to get the hell up and do things.

  Like this hike on the Batona Trail. Rose led the team of six couples on the trail after a night of camping. The goal today was to get to the Batona River and do some kayaking.

  Jean admired his wife’s newly sculpted ass, a perfect apple in khaki shorts. Neither had been this fit since their thirties.

  He came up behind her, cupping a cheek, using his body to block his flirtation. “If more men had wives like you, there’d be no need for little blue pills,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Try to keep it in your pants,” she said, chuckling. “You heard Jim and Dawn last night.”

  “We all heard Jim and Dawn last night.”

  “Exactly. You’re gonna have to wait till we get home.”

  “Hey, newlyweds, how much farther to the river?” Eddie McClusky said from the middle of the pack. His wife, Edna, walked a few paces behind him, munching on a Snickers bar. Jean was astounded by the amount of sugar the woman consumed. And a little jealous.

  “Not far,” Rose said. “We should be there in under an hour if I’ve read the map and markers right.”

  “Anyone down for some skinny-dipping?” Jim said with a mischievous smile. Dawn playfully slapped the back of his head.

  “I don’t need the sight of your pale ass to ruin the beauty of nature around us,” Eddie shot back.

  It’s amazing, Jean thought. We’re all grandparents, yet somehow it feels like we’re back to being kids again, blazing trails in the forest with libidos that have somehow managed to turn back the clock. Maybe it’s the weed Jim brought.

  Yes, they’d all sat around the campfire last night toking on what seemed an endless supply of joints that Jim had stuffed in his pack. Jean and Rose hadn’t
smoked in years, the last time being the day Mary had moved out to go to college. They’d both needed it to get through that night.

  Rose said, “Does anyone need a break?”

  Jean turned around to see if anyone looked too pooped. He tugged on Rose’s arm. “Hold up a sec.”

  “Something the matter?”

  He double-checked the headcount.

  “Hey, where’s George?”

  George Howard was a retired Philadelphia cop with a chest as wide as a wine cask. He’d taken up the rear, behind his wife, Allison. She stopped and turned around.

  “He probably stopped to shed a tear for the old country,” Allison said. “George? We’re all waiting for you.”

  Now everyone stopped, waiting for the telltale sounds of the burly Irishman to come lumbering out from behind the bushes, zipping up his fly.

  “George?” A tinge of concern crept into Allison’s tone.

  “That’s not like him,” Jean said softly to Rose. “All those years checking in with dispatch. He always telegraphs every move he makes.”

  “Hey, George, quit pushing so hard and zip up!” Jim called out, his hands cupped around his mouth.

  “I don’t like this,” Rose said.

  “Me, either. Maybe we should double back. He might have passed out,” Jean said.

  Or worse. He could have had a heart attack. The man smoked like a chimney and wasn’t in the best of shape. Plus the stress of being a cop all those years.

  “Let’s go,” Rose said. She was about to tell everyone to head back when the sound of cracking branches made her instinctively cower, covering her head with her arms.

  Something wet and heavy crashed to the ground between her and Jean.

  Jean felt something hot and sticky on his face. Touching his cheek, his fingers came away crimson.

  Looking down, he stared straight into George’s dead eyes. The big man looked as if sharks had gnawed at him, flaying open his chest.

  “Oh, my God!” Dawn screamed.