This Deep Panic

by Lisa Stowe

  Being alone out here on a normal day was scary and intimidating. There were so many things that could go wrong. If she didn’t know how to fix something, if she was injured or sick, she could easily die. Death was close in the mountains, a shadow always in the back of her mind. Nature in all its glory didn’t care anything about the little speck of humanity on its flank. She knew this. She’d lived with that underlying fear for a long time.

  She’d seen it up close when her infant son died.

  In some ways she welcomed the day-to-day fear. It made her pause and think before doing something. It made her remember to take the rifle with her when she went out the door. To make sure Bird was within calling range. To make sure firewood was cut and dry before winter, that the food cache was full.

  But she’d also had Devon there, even if he wasn’t especially useful. He was terrible at chopping firewood. He threw up every time she gutted a fish. Yet he had been a warm body next to her in the deep night that said she wasn’t completely, totally, alone.

  But then, she’d lost the baby, that tiny life, after only being in her arms a few hours. And she’d realized even with Devon there, she was alone. The fear had been stronger in those weeks right after she’d lost that part of her. The sense of isolation had been overwhelming.

  But now, Devon was truly gone. There was no one to lean on. No one who would believe a grizzly bear had come to her rescue. No one to believe a head sat out there in the thickening rain. And she couldn’t face all of it alone. The low-grade fear slowly rolled over into terror.

  So she’d leave. Pack up and head out now, so that she would be well down the trail before dark. If there was still a trail to follow. If not, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d bushwhacked through the forest. She could make it through the devastated mountains. She could make it to Jumpoff Ridge that led to Index.

  Eventually she’d find people. She wouldn’t be alone to face whatever this monster was, this thing disgorged by the earthquake.

  She wouldn’t be alone.

  Anya took a box of shells out of a drawer and dropped them next to the rifle. Her breath caught. She sank onto the bed, making the old mattress sag and the box tip, spilling the shells.

  She wouldn’t be alone. But she’d be running away. Leaving behind the strange little boy.

  She’d already lost the child of her blood and bone. Could she leave a boy alone out here? If it was too dangerous for her, what would it be like for a child?

  Anya leaned her elbows on her knees, burying her fingers in her hair. Was the boy even real? Was she going insane? She probed her scalp, pressing so hard her head ached. Maybe during the earthquake she’d been hit with something.

  She stood and crossed the room, throwing open the door. Cool, damp air eddied in around her. She looked across the clearing and into the shadows under the trees.

  “Two choices,” she said.

  Bird came up beside her and leaned into her hip. She rested a hand on the warmth of his head.

  “We go now. Get out of here. Find people.”

  She would be exposed out there in the woods. Alone and with no secure shelter.

  “Or we stay in case that little boy comes back. In case he needs us.”

  She would have shelter but she would be alone to face whatever the hell was going on.

  And didn’t that little boy have a huge grizzly bear to take care of him?

  Anya slowly walked back to her bed. She scooped up the fallen shells and put them back in the box. And then put the box back in its drawer.

  She swiped tears from her cheeks and blew out a heavy breath of resignation. She couldn’t leave her child, or the bear’s child. She crossed the room once more, calling to Bird. She’d have to figure out a way to barricade the door and windows before nightfall.

  Bird came in from the small deck and Anya reached for the handle to pull the door tight against the woods, the unknown, the cold. But then she held her palm to the door, stopping its momentum as she stared out into the rain.

  The head was gone.

  10

  The Willys Jeep survived a teenager driving it over a ripped landscape. The engine idled roughly but still ran. The young people, along with Sharon, stood outside in the rain, lined up along the side of the jeep, watching the end of the city below them. Bea sobbed behind hands pressed over her mouth. Randall stood frozen, staring at the jeep, refusing to see. Connor was silent, tears washing into the rain coursing over his face. Tessa was strong and silent, a plump girl with her chin up, facing the death of strangers as if the only way to honor their passing was by holding her horror in. Her hands shook, even clenched in tight fists.

  The gray shadows had left the jeep. Sharon watched them disintegrate in the wind and rain like the fog they resembled. Ghost fog that wafted on currents of air flowing downhill toward what had been Sultan.

  Sharon had imagined the flood of the Wallace River. A big wave that would overflow the banks and maybe take out the bridge. Maybe businesses and homes near the river. Definitely a big chunk of highway.

  She hadn’t pictured Sultan gone.

  She hadn’t pictured floodwaters following the highway, swamping east toward Startup and west toward Monroe.

  She and the kids stood on their hill and watched an up-swelling of water higher than single story houses take everything in its path. The big berm the railroad had built to protect their tracks from the river on the other side simply slowed the flow from the dam a little before it kept going, shoving the tracks to the Skykomish River. All those cars that had been fighting to get out of town were now underwater. And not just flooded. They’d been picked up and thrown, tossed into piles against the barriers of railroad berm, bridge abutments, debris from the quake.

  Some people down there were alive. Hanging on to whatever they could find. But most simply floated. At least, those who had been able to get out of vehicles or buildings. Sharon knew many more were still held underwater, and would be for a long, long time.

  Even worse were those who fought to climb debris and get higher than the water. Some people made it. Some didn’t. Some helped each other. Some killed those in their way. She saw people kicked, shoved back into the floodwaters, ruthlessly pulled down to make room for someone else to climb. Human decency, compassion, and empathy were now the minority. Now it was survival of the fittest. Or the most ruthless.

  And there was no rescue coming.

  “We have to help.”

  Sharon looked over at Bea, standing next to her. “How, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we could get down there by the water’s edge and try to reach people.”

  Sharon touched her arm lightly but the girl only glanced at her before going back to staring fixedly at the carnage below.

  “Okay Bea. Listen to me. There’s no way to get back down there. Look at the road we came up. It’s gone. Look at how deep the water is. How fast it’s still flowing.”

  “She’s right,” Connor said, his voice flat and emotionless with shock. He gripped the edge of the jeep’s wheel well as if needing something solid. “If we try to go back there we’ll die.”

  “But…my mom and dad.” Bea’s knees gave out and she sank to the mud. “We live over on Gohr Road. They might have been home.”

  Sharon rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the hell below.

  Those shadows were reforming everywhere. Going underwater where cars and bodies were. Entwining around the people who floated. Slipping inside those who struggled. And then easing back out, leaving the person no longer struggling.

  It was a feeding frenzy.

  “It’s so foggy,” Randall said. He was pale, and his voice was almost dreamy with shock.

  She saw the gray shadows spreading out over the surface of the choppy water. Inching back toward the base of the hill they were on. Starting back toward them.

  “You kids need to get out of here.” Sharon took a step away from the jeep. “There will be back roads sti
ll open if you stay up high. But you need to go.”

  “Go?” Tessa asked. “Go where, exactly?”

  “Wherever your boyfriend went,” Sharon said, her voice tight. “Just get out of here now.”

  Connor stared at Sharon then grabbed Bea’s arm, hauling her to her feet. He jerked open the passenger door and shoved Tessa toward it then grabbed Randall.

  “What’s going on?” Randall asked, shaking. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Connor said. “But we’re getting the hell out of here.”

  Sharon ignored them, stepping forward to the edge of the hill where she could see better. There was arguing behind her and the jeep’s engine revved.

  The shadows were in human shape again. And halfway up the hill. Only a few were coming though. The rest were still feeding. Sharon took another step forward, stumbling as her heels sank into the saturated ground.

  “Come on,” she whispered. “Come back to me.”

  An arm came around her waist, jerking her off her feet and knocking the air out of her. Connor pulled her back to the jeep.

  “No.” Sharon tugged against Connor’s grip. “I’m not going.”

  “Neither am I!” Bea shouted, climbing over Tessa to get out of the Jeep. “I’m going to do something!”

  Sharon twisted free of Connor and pushed Bea back. “No you’re not, you idiot! You’re going.”

  “If you’re staying, I’m staying!”

  Tessa jumped down from the jeep. “Me, too!”

  “You damn idiots!” Sharon caught Tessa’s arm. “Get back in the jeep. Don’t you see what’s coming for you?”

  Tessa paused, looking where Sharon pointed. “I don’t see anything but those people dying.”

  “Not down there,” Sharon said. “Coming up the hill. Almost here.”

  Bea, a few feet away, turned back to them. “Aren’t any of you going to help?” Tears coursed down her face. “Are you just going to let them all die?”

  “I’m with you,” Randall called.

  Tessa struggled against Sharon’s grip but couldn’t pull loose.

  “Bea, get back here,” Sharon yelled.

  But the girl was already at the edge of the hill, Randall right behind her.

  Connor came up to Sharon as Bea slipped in the mud and half-ran, half-staggered down the hill. Randall, a little more sure-footed, followed her. About a quarter of the way down, the pair stumbled and both fell.

  The shadows floated over the two almost gently. Moving slow as if fog on the merest breath of a breeze. Bea stiffened, coming up on her knees. Her head was thrown back, mouth open in a scream that had to have torn her vocal cords.

  Randall was almost back to his feet but then was thrown face down into the ground. Sharon, unable to move, watched as tendrils moved around him, flipping him over, racing for his mouth and his ears, sinking inside him. He convulsed, back arching upward.

  Even where Sharon stood at the top of the hill, she heard his spine break.

  Tessa screamed.

  “What’s happening?” Connor shouted, grabbing on to Tessa’s other arm. “What the hell is happening?”

  Bea and Randall were jerked downhill a couple feet as if pulled. Blood ran from the boy’s eyes like thick tears. His fingers dug into the ground as if trying to pull himself back up the hill. But the rest of his body could no longer move.

  Bea screamed again, but the sound was muffled. Her mouth too full of shadow. Her throat bulged obscenely. And then the girl’s stomach expanded, moved, like a parody of pregnancy.

  Sharon had seen enough. She turned Tessa and shoved her at Connor. “Will you now get the hell out of here?”

  Connor’s eyes were wide and full of panic. His breathing came fast and shallow. But he dragged Tessa toward the jeep, both of them stumbling. Sharon didn’t know which one held up the other. She ran after them and shoved them into the Jeep.

  “Get out of here.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” Connor asked, his fingers, blue with shock, fumbling as he tried to put the jeep in gear.

  “Didn’t you see the shadows?” Sharon asked.

  “What shadows? I saw fog. Just fog.” Tessa said. “What’s happening?”

  “There’s no time. Just get the hell out of here and don’t stop until you’re far away.” Sharon stepped back. “And stay away from that fog.”

  “Please,” Tessa said, tears filling her eyes, sobs filling her throat. “Please don’t leave us.”

  Sharon looked at the kids in their McDonald’s uniforms. Not kids. Young adults. But terrified and traumatized and looking to her, as the representative of adulthood, to save them.

  She wasn’t their parent. She wasn’t their savior. She was a dying middle-aged woman who wanted death to come fast, on her terms.

  There was movement in the trees above them. She turned and saw a large raven soar out of the woods. It was so black its feathers looked coated in an oily sheen. It flew overhead silently, but the kids lifted their heads to watch the bird.

  The raven circled overhead, came lower, and landed on the roof of the Willys. It cocked its head to one side, the black eye looking right at Sharon. It stretched its wings, flapped a little, and then settled back on the roof. The dark eyes reminded Sharon of the old woman who’d talked to her before the flood. The old woman with no fear.

  She reached for the door of the jeep to shut it on the kids. But the raven lifted into the air, dropped fast toward her, and pecked her hand. She jerked back as a bead of blood welled up. The raven stroked air with its broad wings and came down to ground behind her. It cocked its head again, studying her, and hopped forward. She saw her blood on the tip of its beak.

  She reached again for the door. The raven spread its wings and moved toward her again.

  She didn’t understand what was happening. All she wanted to do was walk down that hill and join Bea in death. But instead she sighed heavily, giving in to the raven, whose fixed gaze seemed to command her.

  “Okay.” She didn’t know if she was capitulating to the raven or the kids. “I’ll go with you. But not for long, got it? I can’t save you.”

  Tessa swiped tears away with the back of her hand. “Thank you.”

  The raven silently lifted into the air, circling back to the forest. The kids watched it go without comment. And in the grand scheme of things, Sharon imagined that a raven landing on their jeep was probably almost normal in their day of horror. She heaved out a heavy sigh that made her nerves tingle in something almost like pain. All those killer cells in her body sucking in oxygen to continue their work.

  And then she climbed back into the Jeep.

  11

  What little light had managed to come through the rain was leaching away. Long shadows reached out from the tree line as the day ended. Anya shivered, as much from the cool air on sweat-soaked clothes as from fear. She struggled to hold a board in place over a window and nail it one-handed. It didn’t help that she kept feeling eyes on her. Kept staring out the window at the darkening forest, waiting for one of those shadows to move, to step into the clearing.

  Bird lay in the open doorway, also staring intently out into the woods. That didn’t help her deep unease either. But at least his hackles weren’t up.

  The board slipped and hit the floor, just missing her hiking boot. She threw the hammer after it.

  “You fucker!” She wasn’t sure if she cussed the board, or the non-existent Devon, who should have been there.

  One more window and the cabin would be barricaded. She’d made a mistake at first, boarding a window from the outside. But then it had dawned on her that whatever this creature was, it might be able to rip a board off, nailed or not. And so she’d switched to inside. She wasn’t sure it would make any difference, but it felt more secure.

  Anya picked the board back up, held it in place with her elbow and forearm, and seated a nail.

  She had a huge stack of firewood inside the house. Enough to last a long night. She had a kettle of
elk stew simmering on the wood stove. Something hot and filling after a day of fear and tension and work. She had the rifle cleaned, loaded, and within reach. Fresh batteries in her headlamp. She wasn’t sure what the night would bring, but either way it was going to be long, lonely, and scary.

  The last nail sank into wood and Anya put the hammer on the table. She pulled on a rain poncho and followed that with her backpack. But then she just stood there, holding the straps.

  She had to go into the woods. There was no way around it. That morning she’d made the decision to stay rather than leaving the boy out there alone. Which meant she now couldn’t just barricade herself in for the night without making some attempt to find him. And yet the thought of going into the forest alone terrified her.

  She lifted the rifle.

  “We’ll make one attempt,” she told Bird. “We won’t go far. Then we’ll lock ourselves in. Okay?”

  Bird stood and woofed once. When she took a step toward the door, he went out on the deck as if to lead the way.

  Anya tugged up the hood on the poncho and crossed the clearing, circling around the spot where the head had been, even though rain had washed away the blood. Her heart raced the closer to the trees she got. What if that thing was out there, waiting? She swallowed. The fear made her queasy, made her muscles liquid.

  Bird looked back at her, head tilted to one side. Still no hackles.

  Okay then. She pulled in a deep breath and followed her dog into the trees. As they passed the young yew, she reached out to touch the bark.

  “We’ll be right back,” she said under her breath.

  Rain pattered on leaves and dripped from moss that hung from tree branches. The thick forest floor was spongy with water. High overhead, the tops of Douglas fir and Alaska cedar bent in a wind that didn’t reach her where she stood. The air was that unique scent of the forest, of wet decomposing plant material and tree resin.

  Anya walked slowly, trying to resist the urge to plaster herself against a huge tree and not move. She scanned the woods around her, eyes shifting from forest to her dog, and back. She looked for movement, for raising hackles. She knew she should call for the boy because the likelihood of stumbling across him was miniscule. But she couldn’t bring herself to make noise, to attract the attention of anything that might be out there.