An owl watched him from a tree next to the shed. Zack found the eerie gaze unsettling. A faint sound echoed in the distance, and Zack quickly looked up. He searched around the forest looming not far away, peering through the blackness for forces unseen.
“Guys?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Will?” he asked again, louder.
There was nothing there. He was alone. Considering his present straights, that was either a good thing or a very bad thing.
Keenly aware of his exposure in the open field, he walked toward the gate. A metal plaque with gold lettering greeted him on the way out of the cemetery. The words glowed under the moonlight. They read, Drifter’s Folly Graveyard. Zack let the words sink in as he neared the shed. The diminutive building was larger than it appeared against the backdrop of the field. The wooden planks comprising the hut’s exterior were splintered and worn. There was a sign on a small post a few inches from the shed’s front door. Park Museum, read the plank.
Zack read it again. It was impossible to believe the shed was the park’s so-called museum. Even hikers purposefully looking for the landmark would have difficulty finding it. There were no trails around the grove as far as he could see. Maybe there’s a phone inside, Zack thought, or a computer. Both possibilities struck him as unlikely at best. He eased the door handle open and stepped inside. The door creaked unevenly on rusted hinges as it swung shut behind him.
Moonlight streamed through foggy windows on two sides of the building. Even with the pale beams of light, the hut was incredibly dark. Zack took a few steps forward and bumped into a desk. He felt around for a light and flipped the switch. Nothing happened. Zack swore silently before spotting an old yellow flashlight lying on the desk. To his surprise, it worked.
Zack pointed the beam straight in front of him. There were two to three plaques on each of the four walls, all containing information about the park. Several large black-and-white pictures also hung from the walls. Antique relics were cased under glass containers, several of which were covered in cobwebs. Chairs and desks were pushed or stacked against the walls as well. He guessed the museum hadn’t been in use for a while.
Aside from the dust, the one-room building was remarkably well preserved. He shone the beam around the hut, searching for a phone. No such luck. Between the cemetery and the shed, it was like he had stepped into the nineteenth century. One of the photos on the wall caught his eye. The picture depicted the graveyard many years earlier, when the grove was clear of weeds. A small band of mourners were gathered in the cemetery, listening to a preacher. Wagons and horses were barely visible near the edges of the picture.
Zack read the caption. Drifter’s Folly, as the territory became known, began along a trading route bridging two settlements. Bandits or natives frequently attacked traders and travelers alike. This led to the territory’s name, which served as a warning to anyone wandering through the forest.
He turned to another picture, one showing a military regiment assembled on Whispering Reach. A squadron of soldiers from Fort Perseverance gathered here following the Battle of Fallen Weeds. The soldiers engaged an unknown Native American tribe, resulting in massive casualties on both sides.
Zack wondered how many of the combatants were buried in the cemetery. He remembered what Fields said about the serial killer. Zack wondered if the park’s history was the reason the Hunter picked Drifter’s Folly for his latest murder spree.
After taking a few steps back, Zack searched the hut for anything else that might prove helpful. His footsteps tracked dusty prints across the dirty floor. A large spider scurried beneath him, vanishing into a cranny in the wall. Zack looked up and found a map displaying the landmarks and trails of the park. Shining the light at the map, he traced the paths with his fingers. He tried to commit the sight to memory, like he should have done from the beginning.
His nerves were the definition of frayed. He felt safe in the abandoned shed, but it was impossible to be sure how long he could remain there. Outside, the wind began howling again. Or was it something else? Zack walked over to one of the cloudy windowpanes. He rubbed the glass with the flat of his palm, forming a small window. As far as he could see, there was nothing outside the shed. He was about to turn around when his eyes saw a gleam in the darkness.
That was when Zack saw him. A dark figure was standing at the end of the forest beyond the cemetery. Moonlight glimmered off the barrel of the man’s gun. The figure was staring straight at him. Zack’s hair stood on end. He immediately switched the flashlight off and dropped out of sight. Zack sank against the wall below the window and sat silently in the darkness of the shed. The flashlight hung lifelessly from his hand.
How did he find me? The figure was standing too far away to be certain it was the same deranged individual who entered their tent. Zack was certain it wasn’t one of his friends. Whoever it was, the man had a gun. That alone made him dangerous.
Zack waited a few moments, his mind racing furiously as he tried to think of a way to escape. Each route proved perilous or unknown. There was enough distance between him and the man with the gun that Zack could probably escape into the forest the way he came. That path would end in Whispering Reach, and he would be cornered.
Gathering his courage, he rose and stared out the window again to catch a glimpse of the figure. The man was gone. Zack scanned the darkness, desperately searching for the man who was watching him mere seconds ago. His heart raced. Zack scrambled to his feet and headed for the door. If he didn’t act now, the figure might reach him within minutes. With luck, he could slip outside the museum and disappear into the field.
He held the flashlight in one hand and eased the door open. The door creaked even louder than before. Moonlight washed over him as he stepped outside, temporarily overwhelming his sense of sight. Zack took several steps in the direction of the cemetery. Suddenly, a group of tall weeds near the hut started to shift. Footsteps echoed in the night. Zack ran back through the graveyard, fighting against the wind. He cast a brief glance behind him as he cleared the fence. The man with the shotgun was now standing next to the shed. Mustering all his energy, Zack ignored the lactic acid building up in his legs and kept going. He could feel the man’s gaze following him. The figure started after him. Although the man was moving fast, Zack was nearly to the edge of the forest.
“Wait!” he thought he heard the figure shout, but Zack was already too far away to tell for sure.
He left the grove behind and entered the forest. His foot tripped over a rock and he barely had time to correct himself from falling. The darkness forced him to slow his pace, but he continued moving as quickly as he could afford. While he could no longer see his pursuer, Zack sensed he was still being followed.
I need to find a trail, he thought as he stumbled through the forest. He tried to remember the paths displayed on the map. Zack wished he’d spent more attention studying the rendering earlier when he had the chance. Recalling his therapy sessions, he tried not to blame himself. None of them could have expected this.
A voice rang out again, and it was loud and clear.
“Where are you?” his pursuer called.
He couldn’t see the man anywhere. Zack guessed he had managed to put a good deal of distance between himself and the figure. He kept going until he no longer heard the sound of rustling leaves behind him. The scenery changed, and he thought he heard the river roaring in the distance.
If I find the river, I’ll find the trails. With luck, it would also lead him to the others. If I know Will, he’ll be following the water.
When he was confident he was no longer being followed, he slowed to a quiet walk. The shadows might work to the killer’s advantage, but they could work to conceal Zack as well. His heartbeat eventually returned to a steady rhythm, though he was still breathing heavily. His clothes were drenched in sweat. At least his leg no longer hurt from the
fall down Dead Man’s Drop.
He made his way across a winding creek. Based on the proximity of the creek to the museum, Zack guessed the flowing water was either Snowfall Creek or Shatter Creek. Snowfall Creek trickled down from the mountains, while Shatter Creek merged with the river flowing into Dire Lake. He paused, unsure of what to do. Before he could make up his mind, an echo rang through the forest. People were shouting behind him to the east, in the direction following the creek.
Zack wanted to holler, but he didn’t want to give away his position in the unlikely scenario he was still being followed. Instead, he ran in the direction of the shouts, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. He might find his friends. He realized that if they were under attack, finding them might not be a good thing. On the other hand, there seemed to be no way Zack’s pursuer could have outpaced him and reached his friends. It didn’t make sense.
“Come on!” one of the voices shouted.
That sounded like Cole, Zack thought. He was close. Zack peered through the dense layer of trees, trying to locate the source of the sound. He could see nothing in the forest other than blackness and moonlight. As he ran, he passed a narrow dirt trail. Zack turned onto the trail. The shouts were becoming faint. He was losing them.
The dirt path led him into a small clearing away from the creek. Zack looked in every direction, no longer certain where he was going. He stepped off the path, and his right foot met resistance as it passed over the earth. When he looked down, he saw a black wire shining under the moonlight. Before Zack could react, something wrapped around his foot. He was swiftly pulled into the air by a rope suspended from one of the tree branches. The rope swung quickly, and Zack saw the massive tree truck seconds before his face smashed into it.
The last thing he heard were footsteps approaching the clearing.
Then everything went black.
Chapter Eight
Saturday, 12:01 am
Zack awoke with a start. His head throbbed and his vision swam. As he stared down, he could feel blood rushing to his head. He was hanging upside-down facing a tree, a full body length off the ground.
How long was I out? Zack tried to regain his bearings. It didn’t feel like he was unconscious for long, though it was impossible to tell.
As his head cleared, he became vaguely aware of a presence nearby. For a moment, he thought he could see Lily’s face watching him from below. The image sharpened, and he realized it wasn’t Lily after all. Instead, it was a blonde woman he’d never met. Standing next to a bulky man wearing a frown, the woman watched him with suspicion.
“He’s awake,” the man said.
Now that he could see clearly, Zack realized the woman barely resembled Lily. Her hair was lighter than Lily’s, and her face and figure were fuller. Lily was rail thin while they dated, probably stemming from her fast-paced lifestyle and frantic energy. It was only on the occasions when she was depressed that she ate anything other than fruits or vegetables.
Zack tugged at the rope binding his foot in an effort to free himself. “If you aren’t here to kill me,” he said to the couple, “I could use some help.”
The pair exchanged glances. Finally, the woman nodded. “I think we should get him down from there,” she whispered nervously to her companion.
“Are you sure?” the man asked, also in a hushed voice.
Zack could hear everything they said. After a few seconds, the man approached the tree and took out a sharp knife. The man slowly cut through the rope until Zack felt himself fall. He hit the soft earth with a thud.
“Don’t move,” the man said, holding the knife close to Zack’s throat. He then patted him down for weapons. For the moment, Zack was glad he was unarmed. The knife shone brightly under the moonlight. Zack eyed the blade carefully. Only a few hours ago another knife had been held against his throat. He wasn’t enthused about the prospect of it happening again.
“If you try anything,” the man said, “I won’t hesitate to use this.”
Choked up from the fall, he shook his head silently to convey to the stranger that he meant no harm. The man narrowed his eyes and took two steps back.
“Start talking,” the man said. “Who are you?”
Zack rose and climbed to his feet. The sudden movement appeared to spook the woman. Her companion rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Even considering the circumstances, the touching gesture made Zack envious.
“My name is Zack Allen.” Zack held up his hands as if to indicate he wasn’t a threat. He remembered Will mentioning running into two campers near the recreation area. Was this the blonde woman he was talking about? “You might know my friends,” he added quickly. “Will? Dave and Steve?”
“Those are the guys we met earlier in the park,” the woman said to the man with the knife.
“The one who couldn’t keep his eyes off you,” her companion muttered.
The petty comment struck Zack as silly considering the circumstances, until he remembered his own flashbacks to Lily and changed his mind. Latching onto the things that made them human in a crisis seemed only natural.
“I’m Ron,” the man said, “and this is Beth.” Ron returned the blade to his belt, but he kept a close eye on Zack.
“Thanks for cutting me down,” Zack said warily. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
Ron nodded. “We were following the creek when we heard you.”
“We’re lost,” Beth added.
Ron clenched his jaw. He looked as if he wished she hadn’t said the words. “We’re not lost,” he corrected. “We just need to find the trail and we’ll be able to start our way back.”
“You’re going back?” Zack asked. He shook his head. “There was someone behind me that way,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
Ron’s expression darkened. “Who was following you?” he demanded, looking agitated. Although Ron was shorter than Zack by several inches, the man was far more muscular. Not to mention he had a knife. Zack didn’t want to give him reason to use it.
“I don’t know,” Zack answered honestly. “He had a gun, but it could have been anyone. I wasn’t going to stick around and find out.”
“Where are your friends?” Ron asked suspiciously.
“We got separated on the way down the cliff.”
“What happened?” Beth asked. “We were about to go to sleep a few hours ago when we heard more gunshots.” There was fear in her eyes, and Zack couldn’t blame her.
“We think they came from the cliff. That’s where you were camping.”
The memory of Steve’s death flashed through Zack’s mind. He could smell the Hunter’s rancid breath on his face. The dead eyes under the black bandana haunted him. It all came rushing back.
“We were sleeping,” Zack whispered. “I heard something outside the tent. A man stepped inside and threatened us. He said he would hunt us until dawn. Then he shot one of my friends.”
Ron’s mouth dropped open. “Fields was right,” the man muttered. He glanced at Beth, who appeared staggered by the news.
“We tried to radio Fields when we heard the shots. He didn’t answer.”
That stopped Zack cold. If Fields still wasn’t answering, he was either gone for the night or dead. In either event, they were alone.
“This isn’t happening,” Beth whispered, shaking. “It can’t.”
“Calm down,” Ron said. Perhaps it was because he was too was on edge, but Ron’s words didn’t come off particularly reassuring.
“I was looking for my friends when I came across this trap,” Zack said, almost to himself. “There’s no telling what else is waiting for us.”
“We found two bear traps after we started walking,” Beth volunteered. “After Fields’ story, Ron didn’t want to stay near the tent until we knew more.”
“The man who was following you—the man who killed your friends—what did he look like?” Ron asked.
Zack could remember the image as if the killer was still staring him in the eyes.
“He was wearing dark clothes,” Zack said slowly. “A black bandana covered his face. He had at least one gun and a hunting knife.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“He said he would hunt us. If we could get out of the park or survive until dawn, he said he would let us go.”
There was a pause as each person contemplated the situation. The wind whistled through the trees, mingling with the sound of the distant creek. After seeing his flashlight under the tree, Zack bent down and picked it up.
He was first to break the silence.
“We have to keep moving. We have to stay ahead of him.”
“Three people would be easier to spot than two,” Ron whispered.
Beth looked shocked. “We can’t leave him by himself.”
“I can help you navigate the park,” Zack said. “I know the outdoors. No matter how skilled this person is, there’s no way he can find everyone in a park this size. Together maybe we can find some help.” He saw that Ron was wearing a watch. “What time is it?”
“It’s a few minutes after midnight. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.”
“Then come on,” Zack said. He led them away from the trees, where the light was brighter. “Let’s go this way,” he added. “I think we’re close to Shatter Creek Trail.”
A Sound In The Dark Page 8