Dark Roads

by Chevy Stevens

  Wolf moved close to me, and I tugged him down. His huffing changed to a grumble as he stared at the truck, his ears shifting up and down as he listened. I tried to peer inside the cab but only got reflection off the windshield. I shimmied closer to the edge. Wolf crawled beside me.

  The truck door swung open. One leg stepped out, then a man. Vaughn.

  He looked behind him, studying the highway. I flattened myself on the rock—hoping he hadn’t seen the glint of sun on the lenses—and tugged Wolf’s head lower. Vaughn turned and walked along the edge of the ditch, then stopped, arm over his mouth. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it over his nose before walking down into the ditch, where he dropped to a crouch. The long grass hid him. I stared at the spot. What was he doing?

  He stayed low for a few moments, then stood and walked to the truck, where he pulled out his camera—and a pair of gloves. Back at the ditch, he disappeared again. I imagined the snap, snap. His camera filling with shots. He’d be zooming in, taking photos of every part of her.

  When he was finished, he climbed into the truck and closed the door but didn’t drive away. He must be waiting for the other cops, the coroner maybe. I waited with him.

  * * *

  The police were there for hours—three other cop cars and a coroner’s van. They slid white plastic suits over their clothes, but I recognized Thompson’s tall shape, his black hair. He was the only one not wearing sunglasses. I liked that I could see his eyes. He seemed more real. Not like the other uniforms. And he was staying back from the ditch, from Amber. Maybe he was thinking about all the times she’d served him. The smiles and laughs they’d exchanged.

  They put a tent up to block the scene from the highway and closed one of the lanes. People drove slowly as they passed by. I was sure they were taking photos and videos to share on social media. I was glad for the tent. I didn’t want anyone else seeing her. The sun was going down when a black minivan pulled up. The men went into the ditch with a stretcher and carried Amber out in a body bag. I stared at the shape, watched to make sure that they were gentle with her when they slid her into the hearse. How could Amber be inside that? How could such a beautiful, alive, laughing girl end up in black plastic? She’d be taken to the morgue. They would cut her open and collect evidence. She’d be returned to her family. I thought of her sister getting the news, and tears ran down my face. The cops stayed for a while longer. Her car was towed.

  The coroner left; Vaughn followed. Only one car remained. Thompson. He stood beside the driver’s door. Making notes on some sort of clipboard. Paperwork.

  I pressed in the memorized number on my phone, watched as Thompson pulled out his cell and looked down at the screen. His frown was clear through my binoculars.

  “Thompson here.”

  I lowered my voice and cupped my hand over the speaker. “I told you he was dangerous, but you didn’t listen to me.”

  A pause, silence. He looked up from his paperwork, staring down the highway. He turned around a couple of times, wondering if he was being watched. “Who is this?”

  “Did you even search for cameras?”

  “I couldn’t find any. Without more information, I can’t—”

  “I’m telling you—he has them. Maybe he circulates the cameras around.” I wanted to yell and scream, but he’d hear my voice on the ridge. Why hadn’t he checked more places? Why hadn’t he watched Vaughn to see if he took photos from across the lake? He could have stopped him.

  “Can we meet and talk about this?”

  “He knew Amber.”

  More silence. Thompson turned back toward the spot where I’d found Amber, his shadow long behind him. “What do you know about Amber?” His voice was low and cautious.

  “Everyone in town is talking about it.”

  “We haven’t released a statement yet.”

  “Amber’s car was towed. It was her. People aren’t stupid.”

  “Did you see her with someone?”

  “No, but Vaughn is always on that highway. He knew Shannon from the area, and Hailey was his niece. She’s missing, right? Now Amber. He eats in the diner all the time.” I thought about everything Vaughn had told me about the killer. He’d been talking about himself.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have?” For a moment I thought he didn’t believe me, but then I realized that his anger was frustration. There was something in him that did believe. Maybe he sensed something was off with Vaughn. Maybe he was investigating him.

  “I can’t say anything else.”

  “If you’re scared, we can get you protection.” How would that work? A foster home? Some sort of legal document? Vaughn could still find me.

  “If you don’t figure out a way to catch him, another girl will die.”

  I slid the phone into my pocket. Hours later, Thompson was still in his car, guarding the crime scene. The cops would be back. Maybe someone from the city. Forensics experts. But they wouldn’t find anything. Vaughn had been the first to arrive on the scene. He’d spent time alone with her body. Just like he had with Shannon. Anything left in the dark was gone by now.

  Wolf and I slipped down the side of the ridge and into the woods.

  CHAPTER 13

  I hid the bike under a tree, protected by draping branches, then checked the sky, listened for helicopters, the hum of drones. It had only been a week. The media could still be around. I brought my head back down. Too fast. The trees spun. I crouched, took sips of my water.

  Wolf sat in front of me. Staring.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll do better. It’s the heat.” He’d woken me the last few nights with an anxious whine, pressed his body overtop mine, and licked my face while I sobbed. Each morning, he forced me out of bed, forced me to the river, forced me to keep fishing. I brought all the letters I’d written to Amber down to the shore, read them out loud, pausing over and over when I lost my breath, until I’d made it to the end. Then I ripped them into tiny pieces and let them fall like confetti on top of the water, watched the current take them away from me too.

  I stood up, slowly, and walked the trail. Wolf trotted ahead. When we reached the wire fence around Jonny’s farm, I found the hidden spot where I could lift the bottom section. Wolf slid under first and waited for me on the other side, his ears flicking. I crawled after him.

  Jonny was working on his dirt bike in front of his shop. T-shirt, board shorts, and a backward baseball cap. He was wearing his earbuds and singing along to the chorus, humming parts. I recognized the tune. “Counting Stars” by OneRepublic. Our favorite group. For a moment I could almost pretend it was last summer and we were working on our bikes together. We’d argue over what wrench to use, the lyrics to the song. I’d make up my own and belt them out.

  Lately Jonny been, Jonny been winning races

  Dreaming about all the bikes he’ll get for free

  I found a pebble, warm and smooth in my palm, and lifted my arm to toss it at Jonny, but then his front door opened, and a girl stepped out with two mugs in her hand. Long, black, sleep-tousled hair and one of Jonny’s T-shirts stopping at her thighs. Naked legs. Naked everything else probably too. Kristin Hampstead. She graduated this year with Jonny. Since when had they been together? He never said anything about her. Maybe she was a friend and crashed for the night.

  She stopped in front of Jonny, and he got to his feet with a smile as he took the earbuds out. She passed him a mug, turned her face up to his. He kissed her. It went on for a while, his hand drifting down her lower back, then even lower. Definitely not just friends.

  Wolf looked at me.

  “Good question,” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t want to watch them making out, but I couldn’t leave. I pursed my lips and gave a shrill whistle. Three in a row. Jonny broke the kiss and turned his head, glanced into the woods. I drifted into the shadow of a tree. He said something to Kristin, with another short kiss, and she walked inside—hips swaying as she took the steps. Jonny watched until the door closed, then
went behind his workshop.

  Wolf and I crept out of the woods, moving from tree to tree. We met Jonny near the woodpile, around the corner of the shop, where any view of us was blocked from the road and the house. Jonny was standing in the shade. Wolf bounced over to greet him first, then I caught up. We hugged. He smelled like gasoline from his bike, fresh-cut firewood.

  “Hailey.” He pulled away, face tense and eyes worried. “I have to tell you something.” He was still holding the coffee mug, down by his leg, his fingertips around the rim like he’d forgotten he was carrying it. I reached out, took it from his hand, and swallowed a big gulp.

  “I know about Amber. I’m the one who found her.”

  “Ah, shit.” He was frozen for a few beats, emotions flashing across his face. Shock, horror, confusion, then sympathy. He grabbed me for another hug, tighter this time, jostling the coffee mug in my hand and splashing my leg. I let him hold me for a moment, my body stiff, but I was too close to tears. I pulled away.

  “It was Vaughn. I know it was.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He was the first at the scene.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “He had photos of her on his computer. I saw her tattoo.”

  Jonny was silent now, his face pale.

  “He knew where to find her body in the ditch, and he took more photos of her—he didn’t even call it in right way. She was just lying there in the heat—” I broke off, remembering how he’d crouched beside her lifeless body. Tears filled my eyes, rolled down my cheeks, dropped from my chin. “The birds had been pecking at her, Jonny. He strangled her with her own shirt.”

  “Oh, man.” Jonny reached for my hand. “I’m so sorry, Hailey.”

  I lifted my other arm, wiped my face in the crook of my elbow, and took a few shuddering breaths. “I called Thompson. I think he believed me. I don’t know.”

  “Jesus. What if Vaughn finds you?”

  “I didn’t give my name. I saw what he did to her body, Jonny. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I feel so fucked up.” Jonny squeezed my hand, trying to comfort me, but nothing could. Nothing could ever fix this feeling. Vaughn had seen me with Amber. I’d put her on his radar. He couldn’t take his anger out on me, and then he found her. “I want to kill him.”

  “Whoa.” He gripped both my shoulders, looked into my eyes. “Don’t do anything crazy. Let Thompson handle it, okay? They’re still investigating.”

  “Did you hear something?”

  “I got pulled in for questioning after they found Amber.”

  “I knew he was going to try to pin this on you.”

  “People saw me at the party. They saw me in my tent in the morning. It’s fine.”

  I scanned the yard, took a few breaths. It was hot behind the workshop, the morning sun bouncing off the metal. I wanted to be back in my peaceful woods, at the cool river.

  “Why’s Kristin here?”

  “She was scared last night. A lot of the girls are freaking out. It’s just a hookup.”

  I’d never had a hookup. I’d never had sex. Amber and I had only spent five perfect hours together alone. The sum total of our relationship, but it had felt like so much more. My chest tightened, ribs pulling together as though my spine were a seam that someone had sewn closed.

  A noise, the front door opening. Jonny froze. I reached for Wolf’s bandanna.

  “Jonny?” Kristin. She’d come looking for him.

  “Yeah, one sec!” He wrapped his arms around me—a quick, painful, bone-crushing hug. “Are you going to be okay?” he whispered into my ear. “You could stay in the shop?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll come back next week.”

  “You better, or I’ll go looking.” He released me, scratched Wolf’s neck, then disappeared around the corner, calling out to Kristin, “Want breakfast?”

  I watched from the shadows as he walked back to his house. Maybe Kristin would be good for him. They’d eat, then spend the day together. They could start dating and get married one day. Jonny could have kids. A regular life. I wanted that for him. He deserved to be happy.

  None of those things were for me.

  * * *

  I insulated the cabin walls and under the floor, shoving in handfuls of grass, pieces of bark, branches, leaves, and pine needles to fill the gaps. I found a cave nearby for a root cellar, rolled a rock in front, rigged with a pole and a rope so I could drag it away when needed. Jonny canned dill pickles, tomatoes, peaches, and fish. He watched grocery sales and stocked up on dried goods. I told him he’d make a good wife someday. He told me I would make a bad husband.

  One of Dad’s books suggested building a second base camp, a pit in the ground, to store survival items—water, dry food, things for starting a fire, and weapons. I chose one of the rifles and a Buck knife. That way, if someone found the cabin, I could run away.

  I planned escape routes—over the rocks to the north, down to the river, or through the valley in the east. If there was a logging road where I could be trapped, I found another. I added bear bangers to the trip lines—when the line was tugged, it would pull the slide on the trigger, and release the banger. The gunshot sound would echo for miles. I looked for areas where I could make booby traps to catch anyone sneaking too close to the cabin, but I kept hitting rocks and roots and had to start over.

  I didn’t go near the deep pools in the lower section of the river—where I knew the local men liked to fish—but I tracked back to where they parked their trucks and carefully raided their gear, taking things they might not notice missing right away. I found rope, lures, and fishing net. Sometimes food, like bags of chips, chocolate bars, or a sandwich from a cooler. Each free meal meant my supplies would last longer.

  With October came the rains, and they never seemed to stop. Gray Shawl Mountain was living up to its name. The woods were dark from the low-lying clouds, the fog that floated through the trees. My clothes were always soaked and hanging by the stove. The cabin smelled like wet fur and smoke. Damp surrounded me. I carried armfuls of wood inside to dry by the fire, and every day I scavenged for more. I ran out of propane and had to cook on top of the woodstove.

  I blocked my cabin from view with branches and fallen trees, forming a perimeter wall, but the wind swept it all away. Then I ran out of rope to tie the branches together. A cedar tree blew down near my dirt bike and crashed so hard the earth shook. Wolf ran off in a panic and I chased after him. Branches cracked over my head, trees swayed, and lightning flashed across the sky. When a bolt hit a tree near the river, Wolf came back—running straight at me. We hid in the cabin, under the blankets, as the world howled around us. In the morning I inspected the damage. Parts of my roof had blown away and rain had flooded the latrine.

  I buried my cans and garbage in a deep pit so that no animal could dig them up. The roof sprang a leak and ruined my baking flour. My hands were always blistered. I dyed my hair twice, hacked at it with scissors. I couldn’t swim in the river, so I warmed water on the stove and took sponge baths, then wiped the mud off Wolf, combing out his snarled fur while he grumbled.

  Each time I saw Jonny, he said, “I hate you being up there alone.”

  “I have Wolf.” I told him everything was fine. He couldn’t know that I wanted to struggle. I wanted it to be hard. I had to exhaust myself chopping wood, hiking miles along the river, and foraging for food. I had to stay focused on keeping me and Wolf alive. Otherwise, I’d think about what Vaughn had done to Amber. Then I’d want to do something about it.

  CHAPTER 14

  November. Trees turned red and yellow and dropped their leaves. Frost pushed up through the dirt. The days were shorter, our long walks hindered by time and weather. I wore Dad’s bulky goose-down coat and my wool-lined boots. Even inside the cabin I had to wear layers of flannel and thermal underwear. We slept with two sleeping bags and kept the stove burning.

  The woods were thick with hunters. Shots rang out in the distance. I kept Wolf close to me, ca
lling him back the moment he wandered off. Dad used to go on long hunting trips, solo or with friends, and come back smelling like woodsmoke and beer. I was thinking of him now as Wolf and I made our way back from the river with trout hanging from my pack. I’d gutted them on shore. Two were mine, the third was Wolf’s. He’d grown bored with crayfish and had learned that if he stood near the currents, he could catch a leaping fish straight out of the white water.

  Dad would’ve been impressed. I could see him giving Wolf a hearty pat on his side, roughhousing with him, and calling him a good boy. It hurt, imagining what could’ve been.

  Wolf stopped, his body rigid and his ears swiveling back and forth, his nose lifted, huffing the air. He was trying to pick up the scent of something. We took a few more steps and he paused again, looking over his shoulder. I followed his gaze, saw nothing.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  He stayed focused on the trail. The hackles around his neck and down his spine lifted, while a low growl rumbled deep in his throat.

  I slid the safety off on my rifle, kept it by my side with my finger resting on the trigger, and stared into the woods. The birds had gone quiet and the very air seemed to have changed. Was it a deer hunter? An animal? We had gone farther down the river today. It wouldn’t be easy to run back to the cabin. The small hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

  After a few beats, Wolf turned his head around and we kept walking, but he was tense, and stopped to listen a few times. I held my rifle tighter. Wolf stopped again, sniffing the ground at the side of the trail. I crouched. Paw prints. Big pads, with no claws showing. A cougar. Full-grown. It had followed our trail down to the river, but where was it now?

  I stood, put the rifle to my shoulder, and looked around, scanning the trees, the shadows. Cougars aren’t like black bears, who usually run off at the sight of humans. Or grizzlies, who rush thundering through the bush with a roar. Cougars stalk their prey or even lie in wait. You didn’t get much notice before they attacked. I might be able to fend it off with my knife, if the gun was knocked clear of my hand, but one swipe from a two-hundred-pound cougar could kill Wolf.