Rampike

by European P. Douglas

  “The trees are not white here,” Sam said stopping once again. Jarrod looked and saw this was true and then looked back to Sam. “This part mightn’t be infected yet.” Sam said this like it was hard to believe.

  “That’s good news isn’t it?” Jarrod said.

  “I suppose it’s one reason we are all still alive here, but at the same time it makes me wonder what happened to the phone lines then.” The thought came to Jarrod that it was most likely the same person who had screwed up his car, but he felt it better not to bring this up again. Instead, he walked on towards the lines.

  The snow was flat and even, no sign of any recent activity but it had been snowing on and off for days now and who knew how long it was taking for tracks to be covered. They arrived beside the pole and looked up and the snapped wire was hanging down about eight feet above them.

  “We better find the other part and see what it looks like,” Jarrod said looking around at the ground.

  “It’s been down a while so it’s most likely buried over there somewhere,” Sam pointed.

  The two men separated in a V-shape away from the pole to look for the downed wire. Jarrod leaned over and sifted snow with his hands while Sam used his feet to do the same.

  “Any luck over there?” Sam called after about a minute of searching.

  “Not...” Jarrod didn’t finish what he was about to say. His hand had very nearly come into contact with some snow that didn’t look the right colour. “Can you bring that flashlight over here?” he said not looking up but still focusing on the area in front of him.

  “What is it?” Sam asked trudging over. The light beam moved and wavered as he walked and once it fell over the marked snow and Jarrod saw the reddish hue he’d feared in the first place.

  “I think there’s some blood here,” he said as Sam came up beside him. He pointed and Sam shone the light on it.

  There was no mistaking it.

  “That’s blood alright,” Sam said, his back erect at once and his eyes and the light darting all around them.

  “Whose blood?” Jarrod asked.

  “Must be Alan’s,” Sam said after a moments thought.

  “You think he’s under the snow here?” Jarrod asked. Sam shone the light back on the ground.

  “I don’t think it’s deep enough,” Sam answered.

  “He could still be alive around here somewhere?” Jarrod suggested. Sam nodded in agreement.

  “Alan, you here?” Sam called out. They listened for any kind of response but there was none.

  Jarrod was suddenly rigid with fear; up to then he had merely been tense and somewhat amused by all he’d been hearing and seeing. He realised how little stock he’d been putting into what everyone was saying — it was just too fantastical to him. But now he was standing over blood, and what must have been quite a lot before it soaked into the snow and was covered with fresh fall.

  “We should go back to the tavern,” he said standing up and backing away from the blood. Sam looked at him and nodded but hesitated at the same time. “What is it?” Jarrod asked.

  “We should have a look for him,” Sam said. “He could be hurt close by and not able to answer us, like Susan had been.”

  Jarrod felt his common sense pulling him in the direction of the tavern and back to his wife, but his common decency prevailed and he nodded. It was the least they could do for this missing person whom he’d met only two days ago.

  “Don’t you have a gun?” Jarrod asked. Sam shook his head,

  “Not anymore; it got crushed along with my truck.” Jarrod had never been a gun owner and most likely wouldn’t know what to do with one if he had it, but he never wanted one more in his life than at this moment. His mind went back to how scared Ava had been when she saw something at the window, something he was sure now had been real. If only he’d listened to her, they wouldn't be in this town at all right now.

  “Let’s look quickly and get back to the tavern,” he said.

  “I don’t like this any more than you do,” Sam assured him.

  As Jarrod sifted roughly in the snow hoping to find Alan, his mind wandered to the terrifying pandemonium both Sam and Joe had described earlier. It was so unbelievable that at the time Jarrod had not formed any mental picture, but now it was all he could think of. Spindly tree limbs, thin yet strong like spiders legs invaded his mind and fear tickled every part of his body. So afraid now was of he of touching any plant life by accident, he spent as much time looking around him for this danger as he did at the ground for the dreaded shape of death beneath the snow drifts.

  “Over here!” Sam voice called, dull and yet somehow reverberating in Jarrod’s mind. He looked up and saw that Sam was only fifteen feet away. He was bent over with his light under one arm and both hands sifting snow to either side of a small divot he’d made. Jarrod’s feet didn’t want to take him over but his sense of duty overrode this feeling. He trudged over, doing his best not to imagine what he was going to see. “He’s dead,” Sam said standing back up and taking the flashlight in one hand to shine it back down. Jarrod looked through half-closed eyes and he was happy to see that all that was visible was Alan's face. He was stiff and possibly frozen and what blood there was had dried so much that almost all of the visceral power of it had been taken away.

  “What will we do with him?” Jarrod asked. Sam shrugged.

  “He’s probably best off where he is for now; the cold will keep him as well here as anywhere else.” Jarrod was happy to hear this but still curiosity got the better of him.

  “How do you think he died?” he asked. Sam shook his head,

  “I can guess,” he said. “But I think the proof of it is buried under the snow. I don’t imagine he’s in one piece under there.” Jarrod regretted asking at once and without warning a spew of vomit erupted from his throat and he was only barely able to direct it away from the body and Sam.

  “Sorry,” he said wiping his mouth.

  “No need to be; this is horrible,” Sam said and then turning away said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What about the phones?” Jarrod said; he felt a little better having vomited and some of his courage had come back. Sam stopped and looked around for a moment,

  “I suppose we should look; that is why we came out here after all.”

  Speaking nothing more they both went back to searching the snow for the cable. Jarrod’s mind was active now with the idea of finding some part of Alan's body, an arm or part of a leg dismembered and bloody in a way his face had not been. He wondered if perhaps there was a hand or some fingers beneath the first slushy blood stain he’d found. He shook his head hoping the thought would be rattled along with it and resumed his scan of the surface.

  The clouds shifted once more and Jarrod caught sight of what at first he thought was a thin shadow but when he looked again, he saw that it was a slight ridge in the snow. He moved towards it and as he drew nearer, he became more and more convinced it was the shape and size of the sought after phone line.

  His icy hands were numb as he plunged them in and sure enough, under a few inches of covering was the hard cable. He pulled at it looking for the looser end and the sow erupted along the length away from him towards the pole it was still attached to.

  “I got it!” he called out, letting it slacken and looking for the other end now. It came free and visible just as Sam arrived beside him. The end was frayed and twisted in every way you can think of. Jarrod looked from it, towards the pole it used to be attached to. He pulled it completely from the snow and walked towards the pole with the line hanging down. He didn’t come close.

  “Can you fix that?” Sam asked nodding to the mess in Jarrod’s hands.

  “Not quickly, but there’s another problem,” he answered.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s not all here; part of it must have been ripped off. This won’t reach far enough to connect with the other end, not by a long way.”

  “This was done purposely,” Sam said so
urly.

  “Just like my car,” Jarrod said, “and no tree did that.”

  “I think we’ve seen enough here, let’s get back to the others,” Sam said.

  Chapter 23

  “Nothing?” Jeff asked as Joe came back from the radio room.

  “Same as earlier; I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” Joe said, vexed at not seeing any possible problem he could attempt to remedy.

  “What are we going to do?” Jeff asked after a moment of silence between the two.

  “Hell if I know,” Joe said, and he regretted this honest outlet. “I suppose we get everyone together again, then I’ll go with that Jarrod kid to see about getting the phone lines back up.” He did his utmost to sound more professional with this last part. Jeff looked outside at the slow falling snow.

  “You imagine there’ll be any luck there?” he asked.

  “I can only hope so,” Joe answered.

  They were just about to leave the office when suddenly there was a loud crackle of white noise and for a moment what sounded like a warbling distant voice from the radio. Joe and Jeff stared at one another in disbelief and then rushed back inside. Joe sat down at the console and lifted the piece to his ear.

  “Hello, is anyone there?” The answer was static but Joe had heard the radio like this before and then suddenly it would come crystal clear in the middle of the message from whoever it might be on the other end. His heart was racing and he couldn't help but feel a smile coming over his face. “This is Joe Moorefield, Sheriff of Mercy, can you read me? Over.” The swirling static came back again, but it was diminishing by the second and very quickly it disappeared again. Joe tried again, switching through the channels as he did before but failing just the same. He set it back to the normal channel where the burst had just come from and leaned back in his chair. He thought for a moment and then said,

  “We need to be near this radio in case a message comes through,” he said. “Can you go back to the tavern and tell everyone to come over here.” Jeff looked around a moment and then answered,

  “No offense, Joe, but I think everyone would be more comfortable over in the tavern, especially Susan,” he said. “We only need one person to man the radio and I can stay here and do that while you go and organise the rest for whatever is coming next.”

  “I’ll come back, or send Sam over in a few minutes so you’re not alone for long,” Joe said heading for the door.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Jeff said. “Just don’t forget to let me know if everyone is skipping town.” The smile on his face was forced but even that was welcome to Joe as things stood.

  “We won’t forget you,” he said and then stepped out into the cold evening.

  No sooner had he done this though that he found himself suddenly on his guard. He heard the sounds of trudging through the snow and it was coming from across the road. Everyone else was in the tavern so this was unexpected. Joe pulled his gun and peered towards the buildings on the far side trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. It sounded like whatever it was making the noise was moving at a lope or jog and yet it didn’t have the rhythm of either beast or man that he knew.

  When he localised the sound at the front of Alan’s house, Joe aimed his gun towards the front door. There was a moment of joy when he thought perhaps it was Alan himself coming out from wherever he’d been but he wanted to be sure before calling out. Then he saw that there was more than one shape moving at that doorway and this didn’t make any sense to him at all. He cocked the gun and gripped it more firmly.

  “Who’s there?” he said wishing instantly he’d gotten Jeff to come out with his gun too but not wanting to call for him now and show any weakness to whoever was over there.

  “Take it easy, Joe,” the voice of Sam Brainard came back.

  “Who’s that with you?”

  “It’s me, Sheriff, Jarrod,” a nervous voice called out.

  “What in the hell are you two doing over there; I told you to stay in the tavern,” Joe asked vexed.

  “We know, but we wanted to see if we could get the phone lines back up quickly,” Sam said.

  “Did you?” Joe asked, no longer caring so much that they hadn’t listened to him.

  “No luck; they’re beyond repair,” Sam said walking out of the shade of the house with Jarrod close on his heels.

  “That’s a pity,” Joe said shaking his head. “Jeff is inside at the radio but it‘s not working yet either.”

  Sam and Jarrod were looking at one another now in a way that told Joe something else was up. He looked to Sam, knowing him the better with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

  “We found Alan,” Sam said. “He’s dead.”

  “How?” Joe asked.

  “We’re not sure; he’s mostly buried and frozen in the snow but there’s blood about the place so it wasn’t a heart attack.” The cynicism in Sam’s voice surprised Joe for a moment but then he recalled what kind of day the man had been through and it didn’t seem so odd. There were many more questions Joe could ask about how long they thought the body was there, what wounds could he have based on the amount of blood, but he knew these were pointless. They would only be answered when he went to see for himself.

  “Let’s just get everyone back inside the tavern,” he said as he walked that way. Joe knew they would look at one other, perhaps confused by his not going directly to see the body but everything was different now. Under normal circumstances — if there was such a thing where a dead body was concerned — Joe would have gone straight to the scene to make sure it was closed off and any evidence could be preserved. That wasn’t going to make any difference tonight; he could feel that in his bones. It was possible he would find something out at the scene, but considering what he’d seen and heard so far it didn’t seem likely. What needed to happen was for everyone to try to get out of town. As the certainty of this came to him, he wondered why he hadn’t already tried to do this. What would sitting in Mercy waiting for an attack succeed in doing for anyone?

  “You don’t want to go to Alan’s body?” Jarrod asked timidly.

  “It won’t do any good,” Joe said turning to the two men. “We all know what’s going on here is impossible to understand. We need to try to get out of town, all of us.”

  “How?” Sam asked.

  “On foot is the only way, down through the hills,” Joe said.

  “On foot!” Jarrod cried.

  “What makes you think walking through the trees is going to be any different to trying to leave by the road?”

  Joe didn’t have any answer to this but even if he had, he never had time to give it. Gunshots echoed from far off over the crest of the mountain. The three men looked at one another and Joe fumbled through his pockets for his car keys.

  “That’s Mouse,” he said. “Go inside and get Jeff and then go to the tavern and get everyone ready to leave when I get back.” Joe stopped a moment and then went on, “If I’m not back in forty-five minutes get started without me. I’ll follow on.”

  “Where do you expect us to go?” Sam asked.

  “Pass by the old mine shaft and then down through the old miners huts and keep going as far as you can. I’ll find you.”

  “Where are you going?” Jarrod asked.

  “I’ve got to go and see what trouble Mouse has found for himself.”

  “Why don’t I come with you?” Sam offered but Joe shook his head at this idea.

  “I want as many of you together as possible,” he said.

  He left the men standing there and got into his jeep and sped off up the mountain. He guessed Mouse had gone to where Joe had seen the trees close off the road earlier in search of what he thought was Maul. Though he thought the worst about what might be going on there, Joe guiltily found himself hoping that perhaps it had been Maul all along and that Mouse had managed to put an end to it once and for all.

  At the top of the mountain, Joe got a brief glimpse of the land below to the south and to his astonishment it
looked like the larger town of Centrepoint, some twenty miles away, was completely ablaze.

  “What in hell is going on in the world tonight?” he asked aloud. It looked like the whole town was alight. The smoke was thick in the air like storm clouds even from this distance away. The view was fleeting however, and the jeep dropped down the other side and below the tree line once more.

  Joe could see what turned out to be the crushed husk of Mouse Allen’s truck for a long time before he knew what it was. A black misshapen lump in the centre of the road presented in his view for a full minute before he was close enough to make out anything that resembled a vehicle part. Had Mouse been firing his gun from within the truck or outside Joe thought as he pulled to a halt, his jeep lights beaming on the mangled corpse of the truck.

  It was an incredible sight to see the vehicle so completely demolished and this was the first time he understood how lucky Sam had been to escape. He also had some idea now of what he’d escaped himself. It was too hard not to ask himself what he thought he was doing driving back out here after what happened earlier.

  Joe pushed himself from the car before his courage failed him. Whatever else was going on it was still his duty to see what had happened to Mouse and try to save him if he could. His gun was in his hand before he knew he’d drawn it and the spindling fear and sense that he was being watched returned like nausea to his stomach. Walking to the shell of the truck, he decided against calling out to Mouse. He kept his eyes on the trees on either side of the road waiting for any movement to set himself to running back to the jeep.

  He felt the crunch of broken glass beneath his boots just before the loud crack of a larger shard punctured the surrounding silence. His eyes darted around waiting for his noise to be the signal for all hell to break loose. The moment of terror ran longer than expected and it was clear nothing had occurred as a result of the sound. The trees, limbs and snow all around looked no different or disturbed that it had a few moments ago. A voice in his head was saying, ‘Just go back; get out of here. What good do you think you can do?’ but to his credit Joe did his best to drown it out.