The only thing running through his mind was the belief that they would all end up here again. That some day they would be tossing dirt onto someone else's body and it would probably be some day soon. They would do this again and again until only one person remained, and there would be no one left to throw dirt on them when they finally passed too.
The last thing he wanted was to die, no matter how detached he felt right now, he was going to fight to stay alive. He didn't want to be that last person left standing; he found death a far preferable proposition than being the only one left standing.
The last shovelful of dirt fell onto the mound. With an air of finality, Carl tamped it down with the head of his shovel. The sound of the metal shovel tinging off of the rocks in the dirt finally brought John back into his own body. Claire and Freddie began to sob as Al stepped forward to recite a prayer over Jim's grave. They all stared at Peter's grave but it was Josh who finally stepped forward.
"Goodbye Mr. Dade," he murmured. "You were once a good teacher and I thank you for that."
John stared at the young man as he remained by the grave. In the end, none of them had liked Peter anymore, but Josh had been the one with a real connection to the man. Peter had been a link to his old life, a link now severed by Peter's death. John didn't know if the tears in Josh's eyes were because he grieved the loss of the man or if he grieved the loss of that connection. Either way, the tears in Josh's eyes were real, and he was grieving.
Guilt trickled through John; he turned his head away, unable to stand Josh's unhappiness any more. He stepped away from the grave just as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon. The crystal clear blue of the sky looked like such a promising sign but he felt numb as Rochelle climbed into the middle seat of the truck. John glanced back at the two graves before following her into the truck.
He hadn't seen the bag of Twizzlers in her hand when she'd gotten into the vehicle, but she held one out to him. "I can make you a straw," she offered.
Forcing a smile to his face, John shook his head and pulled one from the bag. "No straws, not today."
She stared sadly at him. "Are you going to be ok?"
"I'll be right as rain soon enough."
She gave him a look that clearly said she believed he'd lost his mind. "Who says that? And what does it even mean?"
John chuckled as he bit into his Twizzler. "My mom used to say it all the time. I think it meant all good, or something like that."
"Next time just say all good."
"Aye aye captain." She shot him a look as Carl climbed into the truck. The bandage wrapped around his head had a red stain on it but the blood was a dark rust color and John didn't see any fresh blood seeping into it. The bleeding had stopped but Carl's color still hadn't completely returned.
"Want me to drive?" John asked.
"No, I'll be fine," Carl answered.
Relief filled him, he would drive if Carl needed him to, but he preferred not to have to concentrate on anything right now. The sun cleared the horizon just as Carl started the truck and pulled out of the driveway. John found his gaze drawn back to the mounds of dirt now fading from view. They drove a couple of miles down the road before returning to the highway. His Twizzler forgotten, John sat back in the seat to watch the trees and rock walls of the mountains pass by.
He really had thought he'd feel worse about killing someone, and he was amazed to realize that what bothered him the most was that he didn't feel worse. Maybe if it had been someone other than Peter, but no, that wasn't the reason either. He didn't feel as if he were the most horrible form of life because he had done what was necessary. It didn't make it right but it also didn't make it wrong. It just made it life.
John inhaled deeply and took a bite of his licorice. Yep, life was a crapshoot and he felt as if he were just skirting the edges of rolling a snake eyes right now.
He was so busy staring out the passenger window that he didn't realize they were getting off the highway until they were in the middle of a winding exit ramp. Sitting up, he dropped his feet from where he had propped them against the dash. A four-lane road spread out before them, he wasn't sure if it was a highway or not as a set of stoplights appeared about fifty feet ahead. Another set of lights were a couple hundred feet past the first.
The poles from the first set of streetlights were lying across the road while the second set remained intact. Another road branched up to their left; two gas stations were across the street from each other at the top of the hill. Having no choice but to go up the hill, Carl took the left. A diner came into view as they cut through the parking lot and filling area of the first gas station. The door and windows of the gas station were still intact but John couldn't see much inside of the store.
"Where are we?" John asked.
"Monticello, or at least that's what the exit sign read," Carl answered. "These gas stations might be some good places to search if they're near the cabin. They don't look as if they've been broken into."
John nodded as they drove down a hill toward the other set of lights. They passed the diner, a pizza place, and a hotel all on their left before driving through the other set of lights and reconnecting with the main road once more.
John frowned as the trees on his right gave way and rows of barns were revealed. There were at least seven barns along the road; each one labeled with a black letter. Another row of barns stretched up the same hill on the other side of the first seven barns. As they drove onward an oval, dirt track came into view.
"What is this place?" Rochelle asked.
"If I have to guess I'd say a racetrack, horses," Carl expounded when they both gave him a questioning look.
But even as Carl answered, John spotted a grouping of the large animals standing on a grassy area close to the metal fence near the road. John closed his eyes and counted to five before opening them again. The horses were still there, their tails twitching in the summer day, and their heads bent to the green grass beneath their hooves.
"They're alive," he breathed.
Carl slowed the vehicle as they approached the gate; he pulled in at the last second and parked the truck in front of the closed and locked gates before the little guard booth. The dirt track on their left and had a few more horses walking around the middle of it, munching on more grass. John opened his door and stepped out of the truck. Afraid they might disappear like a mirage, he cautiously approached the fence and slid his fingers through the cool metal links. He could hear the others approaching but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the animals.
There had been so many dead horses while they'd been traveling that he'd become convinced they would never see one alive again. Even with the locked gates, there was a sense of freedom to the animals that kept his gaze riveted on them.
"Should we open the gates to let them out?" Rochelle asked.
"They've made it this long, maybe these gates are what has kept them alive," Carl said.
"Maybe we could use them to get around. I can ride."
"They're not those kind of horses," Al told her. John turned his head to look at him, he hadn't heard him approach but there was a smile on his lined face and a twinkle in his eyes as he studied the track. "They're Standardbreds, harness horses."
"So they can't be ridden?" Rochelle inquired.
"They probably could if you broke them to a saddle, but right now I wouldn't recommend trying to jump onto their backs. They probably wouldn't appreciate it much."
"Oh," the word was filled with disappointment as Rochelle looped her fingers through the fence beside his.
"Maybe one day kid," John said. "We'll get you a horse, maybe even one of these, but we'll have to make sure you have a helmet."
"That would be nice," she whispered.
"I used to come to this track years ago to make some bets and drink some beers." Al's voice held a touch of nostalgia as he stepped closer to the fence. "There was a driver here; he used to sing to the horses, you could hear him clear across the track even with a grands
tand full of people. I always bet on him just because of that singing. It wasn't in tune, it wasn't good, but it always made me smile. I made some good money off of him over the years. Those were some fun times."
"Sounds like it," Mary Ellen murmured.
"Well," Al said as he stepped away from the fence. "We're almost to the cabin. We should get going if we're going to make it by sunset."
Al turned away from the fence but John and Rochelle remained behind, staring at the barns and horses. He was nervous that if he turned away and left here the horses would all vanish or be in some kind of freaky mound if they ever returned here. "I'll get you one," John promised her. "First chance I get."
"You don't have to do that."
"Yes, I do. Come on; let's get to our new home."
He rested his hand on her shoulder and pulled her away from the fence. Climbing back in the truck, he slammed the door and watched as they drove past old buildings, two trailer parks, a few apparently empty businesses and lots of trees. Most of the houses fell away as they climbed up a large hill and then back down before making a turn. John had no idea how they were going to get back out of the winding roads as they continued to make turn after turn. He didn't feel as if they were going overly far from the main road but it was such a convoluted path that he lost track of it.
Trees pressed closer against the road, he spotted small streams and mossy banks next to the drop off beside the truck. More than a few times they had to drive around debris blocking the road. Once they were forced to stop, pick up a small oak and carry it out of the way, but they were also forced to double back and find another way twice. The sun was beginning to set, and John was beginning to think they were never going to make it, when the car pulled into a small alcove on the side of the road that he never would have seen.
Trees and thorny vines hung over what appeared to have been a driveway. It wasn't until he'd gotten out and approached the others that he spotted the gate blocking the road. Standing beside the car, he looked in on Victor. The boy remained motionless in the backseat with his head bent down. John's stomach churned as he stared at the child. That medicine had to work; Victor had to wake up. Something good had to come out of the disaster that had unfolded in Victor's house. There had to be a reason he had killed a man, but then that outcome had probably been inevitable with Peter. If they had made it here with Peter still alive a lot more damage could have been done. It would have been easy enough for Peter to lead some people into the woods and simply never return with them.
John turned away from the child and back to the gate. He assumed the triangle shaped gate had once been the color of metal but now it was covered with rust and sagging at the end. The post it was attached to didn't have as much rust on it, and remained solidly upright.
Al walked up to the gate and grabbed hold of a box attached to the ten-foot long chain wrapped around the gate and pole three times. Al typed in a code that opened the box and pulled out the key hidden within. He slid the key into the lock inside the box and the bulky padlock popped open.
"Is the property fenced in all the way around?" Nancy asked.
"No, this gate was just to discourage people from driving their vehicles or four wheelers down the road. There are seven other cabins around this lake and they're all like this. There's not much to steal from them, and it's enough of a walk to my cabin to deter anyone just looking to party for the night. There was also a security system and cameras."
He pointed to a sign nailed to a tree that John hadn't noticed until now. It read, This property is monitored by video surveillance. Trespassers will be prosecuted. "Never had a problem here," Al continued as he pulled the chain free.
Hinges squeaked as Al walked the gate open. He pulled out another piece of chain attached to a tree and latched the gate open. John stared down the rutted dirt road. Years of neglect had allowed the woods to creep in to reclaim the land that had been taken from them. This was about the time in a horror movie when he would start yelling at the morons on screen not to go down there. Now, he was one of those morons.
Returning to the truck, he slid into the passenger seat. He grabbed hold of the handle above his head and braced his foot on the dash as Carl carefully drove the truck down the road. They were barely doing five miles per hour and yet they were still jostled and bumped in their seats. John's teeth chattered, over their heads, low hanging branches and vines scratched across the roof of the truck. The sound of the scraping made him think of skeletons, hanging down from the trees in order to drag their bony fingers over the metal roof. The clacking of thicker vines and branches on the roof became their maniacal laughter as they drove deeper into the skeleton's lair. He was convinced the skeletons were taunting them, and biding their time, until they emerged from the vehicle.
Shuddering at the thought, he cursed his over active imagination as he tried to shut out the image of the dead above them. Try as he might though, the image lingered and the bouncing of the struts over the ruts became the skeleton's teeth as they chattered in eager anticipation of getting their hands on their prey within.
John had become half convinced he was never going to get out of this truck again when the woods gave way. They drove into a cleared area about a quarter of a mile wide, with a small cabin sitting in the middle. On his right hand side, a lake emerged from around a boulder. The blue water shimmered red, yellow, and orange in the fading rays of the sun. In the fading light, he spotted four other cabins surrounding the lake but the closest one looked to be at least half a mile away.
The car pulled up beside the cabin and Carl parked next to them. He didn't think there really were skeletons hunting them but John still hesitated before opening the truck door. The scent of water, algae, and fish hit him as soon as he stepped out of the vehicle; he inhaled deeply as he savored in the scent. It was so refreshing that he could picture himself throwing out a fishing line and sitting on one of the boulders surrounding the lake like he had so many times over the years. His father would be there with him and maybe they would talk, but he knew most of the day would be spent in companionable silence as they tossed back the fish they caught and drank beers. It was all so clear in his mind that he briefly saw his father there amongst the boulders, grinning at him, and waving for him to come and join him.
Before he could become lost to the image, and the sorrow it brought, he turned away to study the cabin. It was only one story with a large porch that took up the entire front of the building. The wood of the porch sagged a little but the boards were all still in place. Four windows in the front overlooked the lake and two more on the side faced them; all of them had been boarded over with large pieces of plywood. A large, upright propane tank sat on the side of the house. Numerous rust spots had broken through the white paint coating the tank.
"It's empty," Al said when he caught John eyeing the tank. "I made sure to have it emptied out when I knew I wouldn't be coming back for awhile, if ever again. I also had the windows boarded up."
Carl rubbed at his chin as he nodded. "Good idea."
"Well, let's go check out our new home," Riley said as she stepped up beside them. "It doesn't look as if anyone has broken into it but I'd still like to check the outside before trying the door."
"So would I," Carl agreed.
John followed them around the building but all the boards remained intact and the concrete foundation had no windows in it. "There's no basement," Al explained as they walked. "It's just a slab. There was electricity, cable and a working bathroom but I also had the water turned off. I'm not sure we'll be able to get it back on or that the pipes have even survived."
"It still sounds like a little bit of heaven to me," Mary Ellen said.
John slapped at his neck as he felt a stab there. He pulled his hand away to reveal the smooshed mosquito and his blood. "Of course they would survive," he muttered and wiped his hands on his jeans.
They stopped at the front steps and stood staring at the cabin. "Well there's only one place left to check," Carl sai
d. He pulled his gun free before cautiously approaching the front door.
John didn't know if he was ready to see what was inside. He was terrified that they would open that door and find something monstrous waiting to eat them or that the ceiling would have collapsed. They had come so far, lost so much, all he wanted was a chance to stop and relax, even if it was only for a few days.
CHAPTER 14
Mary Ellen,
The musty smell of the cabin was the first thing that hit her as soon as the door opened; the second thing to almost hit her was a raccoon that would have run into her leg if she hadn't jumped out of the way in time. The animal grunted its displeasure all the way down the steps as Nancy and Donald scurried to get out of its way.
"Well if that was still alive inside then I don't think any of our not so friendly neighbors are," Carl said.
He kept his gun in front of him as he pushed the door back with the tip of his boot and entered the dim cabin. Mary Ellen tried to peer over his shoulder but Carl's back blocked her view of the cabin. John, Xander, and Riley filtered in ahead of her; Al stayed by her side as they stepped into the shadowed interior.
Riley and Xander clicked on their flashlights and shone them around the large room they'd all entered. Inside the cabin, the smell of must, wild animal and the potent ammonia scent of urine caused her eyes to water. It would take awhile to get the cabin aired out but it was one of the best places she'd seen in awhile.
The gray linoleum floor beneath her feet was speckled with shades of green and blue throughout it. The corners of the floor had peeled up in some spots but the rest of it was in relatively good condition. Dark wood paneling was revealed by the beams of the flashlights bouncing over the walls. Antlers hung on the walls, along with a deer head, and a bear. Mary Ellen looked hastily away from the unseeing black eyes staring at her from the animal heads. It felt as if those eyes followed her around the room as she walked. She'd had enough of rooms filled with dead animals and planned to take these ones down.
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