Dark Mountain

by Richard Laymon

  “My God,” Julie muttered.

  Alice said, “I thought you promised to tone it down.”

  “I’m just telling what happened,” Flash said.

  “This didn’t happen,” she said.

  “Didn’t it? Ask Cliff next time he’s over.”

  “How come you never mentioned it?”

  “You know how you are about these things.”

  “Why’d you have to bring it up, then?”

  “The kids wanted a story.”

  “Mother of God.”

  “May I continue?”

  “You mean there’s more?”

  “I haven’t got to the good part yet.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud.”

  “Go on,” Nick said. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees. “What’d you do with the thing?”

  “I wanted to cut my line and get rid of it, but Dad said we had to keep it for the authorities. He told me to swing it over to him. He was sitting in the stern. I swung it over, and he grabbed the line and lowered the arm into the boat and cut the line. Then Cliff rowed us back to camp.

  “By the time we got there, most of the shock had worn off. We were all pretty excited, acting as if we’d landed a record-breaking muskie or something. We figured, you know, that it must be the arm of a Chopper victim. Dad put it in a grocery bag. He wanted to take it to the police right away. The nearest town was about an hour drive, though, and we had lots of good camping gear we didn’t want to leave behind while we went in. Cliff volunteered to stay and guard the stuff, but Dad wouldn’t let him. We finally decided to break camp and take everything with us. We figured, you know, we wouldn’t be too eager to stick around another day anyhow.

  “We didn’t bother making a campfire. I lit the Coleman lantern, and we kept it by the tent while we gathered up our things. We worked real fast, but it seemed to take forever. The car was parked about a hundred yards away. Dad left me and Cliff a couple of times while he carried stuff over. We didn’t much like it when he was gone. We kept looking over our shoulders at the bag with the arm.

  “Anyway, he was carrying the cooler and tackle box to the car and Cliff and I were busy folding the tent, our backs to the lake, when we heard this splashing sound behind us. Like somebody wading slowly out of the water. We leaped to our feet and spun around. And Jesus, there was a man coming at us!”

  Heather covered her eyes.

  “He was kind of stumbling along like he was drunk. He was just a dim shape in the darkness at first. When he got closer to the lantern, though, we could see him real well—too well. He was a skinny guy, about forty. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. His sneakers squished with each step. He was dripping from head to foot. The top of his head was split open like a broken watermelon, and his left arm was gone.

  “Right beside the lantern, he stopped and stared at us with these blank eyes. Then his mouth opened. He tried to say something, and about a gallon of water gushed out of his mouth like he was throwing up. When the water stopped pouring out, he said in this kind of choked, gurgling voice, ‘My arm. I want my arm.’

  “Cliff and I ran like hell, too scared even to scream. When we got back to the camp with Dad, the guy was gone.” Flash sighed. He tapped a length of ash off his cigar. “We followed his footprints to the edge of the lake. For a long time, we stared out over the water. We couldn’t see the guy, but we knew he was out there. Somewhere down below. In the dark, murky water. With his arm.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The struggle had left Ettie’s wrists and ankles raw, but the ropes binding her were as tight as they’d been when she started. Her blood made them slippery, but still she couldn’t pull free.

  Her only chance was to cut herself loose. Either that, or wait for Merle to release her. But he might not come back. If the signs had been right…Maybe it was already too late to save him. Or herself. Maybe this is how it would end, with Merle meeting his fate at the hands of the campers and Ettie starving to death, helpless in the cave.

  “No,” she said into the darkness.

  She would get loose. She had to!

  She knew, from rolling onto her side, that her sheath knife was gone. Merle must’ve taken it. But what about the Swiss Army knife they’d found among the gear of the dead campers? If he’d forgotten about it, the knife would be somewhere in the heap of equipment at the far end of the cave.

  Slowly, moaning as she strained with stiff muscles, she began to squirm forward. The journey seemed to take forever, but finally she was lying in the jumble of boots, plastic bags, backpacks, cook kits. She felt cloth against her cheek, nudged it aside, felt cool metal. The butane cylinder? She wondered if she might try to burn the ropes off, then quickly abandoned that idea; with her limited mobility, it would be far too risky. Maybe as a last resort.

  The packs, she knew, were empty. Merle had dumped out their contents the day he’d brought them in. So the knife had to be lying loose here, someplace.

  She continued to search, using her face to push away invisible objects, exploring some with her tongue. She bit and dragged aside soft fabric, a button between her teeth. She lowered her face where it had been, and felt a metallic tube against her lips. She ran her tongue up the ribbed surface. The tube bulged at one end. A flashlight? She rolled it, and felt the switch against her cheek. A flashlight.

  They’d used it only once, testing it when it came tumbling from the pack two days before. Its beam had been dusky yellow, the batteries weak, and she’d told Merle they should save it for an emergency. After that, she’d forgotten all about it.

  Ettie pushed the switch with her chin. The dim beam spilled out, revealing a rumpled pair of jeans. Gripping the flashlight in her teeth, she struggled to her knees. She turned her head slowly, shining the beam over the packs, a sweatshirt, tennis shoes, a collapsible plastic water bucket, foil and cellophane packets of food, a Primus stove, a wallet, a first-aid kit. Her mouth, stretched wide to hold the flashlight, ached badly. She could breathe only through her nose. She felt as if she were suffocating. She gagged, and her eyes teared, but she kept her bite on the metal.

  The red plastic handle of the knife was nowhere to be seen.

  Inching forward, she crept into the heap. Her left knee nudged a hard object hidden under a flannel shirt. She pushed the shirt aside, and tucked her chin down to shine the light at her knees. The murky yellow beam fell on a hatchet.

  Relief swept through Ettie. She forced her mouth open wide, and let the flashlight drop. It hit the granite floor with a dull thud. The cave went dark.

  Ettie writhed and twisted until her fingers found the hatchet. Gripping the blunt end of its head, she pressed the cutting edge between her wrists and began to saw the rope.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Nick shoved aside a sawed-off stump and a rock that had been used as seats at the campfire. Then he spread out his ground cloth. He opened the straps, keeping his rubber mat in a tight roll.

  “Are we sleeping out?” Julie asked.

  He looked over his shoulder. She was approaching from between two of the tents, a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste in her hand, her water bottle clamped under one arm. “Don’t you want to?” he asked.

  “What about the rain?”

  He held out his open hands. “What rain?”

  Julie smiled. Her sun-burnished face glowed copper in the firelight. “I’m game if you are,” she said. Grinning, she turned away. Nick watched her stride toward the far tent and crouch over her pack. When she vanished inside the tent, he finished arranging his sleeping bag.

  His parents were down by the shore with the twins, washing and brushing teeth. He went to his pack, took out his shorts and T-shirt, and crawled into their tent. His shorts felt cool when he put them on, as if they were still damp from swimming. He knew the sun had dried them, though, and his T-shirt had the same moist feel against his skin. Shivering, he hurried outside, stuffed his clothing into his pack, and rushed to his sleeping bag. His teeth chattered as he tugge
d off his untied boots and his socks. He put them at the head of his bag, and scurried into it. The slippery fabric was cold at first. Slowly, it filled with warmth. By the time Julie came out of her tent, he’d stopped shaking.

  “You look cozy,” she said.

  “I am. Sort of.”

  She spread her poncho on the ground beside him, rolled out her foam rubber mat, and tugged open the drawstrings of her stuff bag. The sleeping bag bloomed as if inflating when she pulled it free. On her knees, facing Nick, she bent over to spread it out. He watched the way her hair, hanging from under the edges of her hood, brushed against her cheeks like wisps of gold in the firelight.

  “You sleeping out?” Scott called. He appeared from behind one of the tents, Karen and Benny at his sides.

  “Sure,” Julie said. “It’s not gonna rain.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  When they were gone, Julie unzipped her sleeping bag, crawled in, and pulled the zipper up to her shoulder. She rolled onto her side. She pillowed her head on her bent arm, and smiled at Nick.

  “We’ll wait till they’re all in their tents,” he whispered. “Then we’ll run around yelling, ‘My arm! Where’s my arm?’”

  She laughed softly. “Forget it. I’m not moving a muscle till the sun comes up.”

  “Unless it rains?” Nick asked.

  “If it rains, I think I’ll murder you.”

  “Hope you two’ve got your Mae Wests on,” Dad said, coming back from the shore.

  “You’re gonna drown,” Rose informed them.

  “You people have no confidence,” Nick said.

  “I’ll move in with the girls,” Mom said. “If the rain starts, young man, you hightail it into your father’s tent.”

  “Fine,” he said.

  At last, everyone vanished into tents. Nick lay on his side, staring at Julie’s face a yard away. She was looking at him, too. He wished there was more light.

  “You ought to wear a hat when you sleep,” Julie said.

  “I burrow down.”

  “You’re not burrowed now.”

  “If I burrow, I can’t look at you.” He could hardly believe he’d said that. But he was glad. As the silence stretched out, he felt his heart beating fast. His stomach was fluttery.

  Julie moved her sleeping bag closer. “How’s that?” she whispered.

  His throat felt tight. He nodded. “Great,” he managed. Julie’s face was dim in the faint, shimmering glow of firelight, her eyes glistening. He felt the warmth of her breath through the cold air. “Do you know what?” he whispered. His thundering heart felt as if it might explode.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I…” He backed down. He couldn’t say it.

  “What?”

  “I’ve never known a girl like you.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not very…I like you an awful lot, Julie.”

  “I like you an awful lot, too.”

  “You do?” He felt a trembling warmth spread through him.

  “Yeah, I do. I…hell…”

  “What?” he asked.

  Her lower lip curled in. She clamped it between her teeth. Then she let the lip go, and sighed. “I think,” she whispered, “that maybe I love you.”

  The words stunned Nick. He went breathless and dizzy. He felt like shouting with joy, like weeping. He said, “Jesus.”

  “The name’s Julie.”

  “God, Julie. You really…”

  “Really.”

  “Oh, Julie,” he whispered. “Julie, I love you.” He pressed his mouth gently to her parted lips.

  Scott stared at the slanting dark walls of the tent above him, and listened to the sounds of Benny’s breathing. He didn’t think the boy was asleep yet. As he waited, he stroked the sweatshirt spread over his chest and belly. He imagined Karen wearing only her sweatpants.

  “Dad?” Benny asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Do you think it was true?” The boy sounded nervous. “About the guy and his arm?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “He said it was true.”

  “It’s not. Dead people do not get up and wander around.”

  “Have you ever heard of zombies?”

  “I think so,” Scott said, smiling in the darkness.

  “They’re dead people who get brought back to life with voodoo. They’re supposed to really exist. You know, like in Haiti? I’ve read about ’em.”

  “You oughta be reading The Hardy Boys instead of all that weird junk.”

  “You don’t think there are zombies?”

  “I sincerely doubt it.”

  “What about witches and vampires and werewolves and ghosts?”

  He wrapped his arms around the soft sweatshirt. “It’s awfully late, Benny. Can’t we pick up this conversation in the morning?”

  “If you want,” he said. He sounded disappointed.

  Scott sighed. “I just think it’s all people’s imaginations. Stuff they made up to frighten each other, like Karen’s story about Doreen and Audrey, or Flash’s about the guy and the arm. Just stories.”

  “I don’t know,” Benny said.

  “Well, it’s just my opinion. I haven’t read a hundred books on the subject the way you have. But I’ve been around for thirty-eight years and my life’s been relatively free of things that go bump in the night. If there are ghoulies and ghosties out there, they’ve been minding their own business. I haven’t lost any sleep over them—until now.”

  “I guess you want me to be quiet.”

  “We have a lot of hiking to do tomorrow.”

  “I’m not very sleepy.”

  Terrific. “Try to think about something pleasant,” Scott said.

  “Okay. I’ll try. Good night.”

  “’Night, Benny.” He heard the boy sigh and roll over. Turning onto his side, he eased the sweatshirt up against his face. He wondered if Karen was cold without it. No, the sleeping bag would keep her warm. And soon he would be with her. If Benny ever fell asleep.

  Karen wondered if he would come to night. Maybe not. He might be worried about the weather. If he came and it started raining, Julie would catch them. That’d be an embarrassment for everyone.

  But he’d whispered, “See you later,” when he kissed her good night. He obviously planned to take the chance. He could’ve changed his mind, though.

  It was still early. He couldn’t leave his tent until Benny was asleep. He had to worry about Julie and Nick, too. Give all of them time to conk out.

  Might be a long wait.

  One of her shoulders was cold. She slid down deeper into the bag, the slick fabric making whispery sounds against her skin. She crossed her ankles, folded her hands on her belly, stared up into the darkness, and smiled. Scott would be in for a pleasant surprise when he found her already naked.

  If he comes.

  He’ll come, she told herself. Oh, yes.

  She wished she could sleep. Though every muscle ached from lugging her pack up that awful trail, she wasn’t the least bit tired. She was wide awake and eager, trembling slightly.

  At last, she heard a soft crushing sound behind the tent. It was barely audible over the noise of the wind. It might have been nothing more than a pine cone falling to the ground, but it might have been a footstep. She let out a shaky breath, and listened. For a few moments, she heard only the wind rushing through the trees and mountain gaps. Then came another quiet crunch. She was sure this time that it was a footfall.

  He’s being very cautious, she thought. Maybe he’s not certain Julie’s asleep.

  With a shaky hand, Karen unzipped the side of her sleeping bag.

  The footsteps stopped at the front of the tent. She heard the rustle of the flap being eased aside. Shutting her eyes, she waited. Her heart was pounding hard. She lay motionless, breathing deeply, trying to feign sleep.

  He was inside now. She could hear him crawling along the tent floor, coming slowly closer. He st
opped beside her.

  He smelled bad. Like sweat and urine.

  Her eyes flew open. The face above her was a dim, grinning blur in the darkness and it didn’t belong to Scott. She opened her mouth to scream. A hand slapped across it. The other hand swept down. Something crashed against the side of her head.

  Scott propped himself up on one elbow, and stared at the dark bulk of Benny’s sleeping bag. He listened carefully. The boy was breathing in a slow, steady rhythm.

  Finally.

  He opened his sleeping bag, and felt the cold slide over his skin. He sat up. He folded Karen’s sweatshirt and tucked it under one arm. As he started to rise, he heard a soft tapping sound on the taut wall of the tent. Then another. Suddenly, the tent was being pattered by a thousand raindrops.

  He muttered, “Shit,” lay down again, and zipped himself into his bag.

  “Ohhhh crap!” Julie wailed.

  Nick’s eyes fluttered open. He wrinkled up his face as raindrops smacked it.

  Julie kissed him quickly on the mouth. “Better inflate your Mae West,” she said.

  Then they were both scurrying out of their sleeping bags. Julie shoved her feet into her boots. The rain soaked through the back of her warm-up jacket as she gathered up her bag. “Oh, damn damn damn damn!” she cried.

  Nick grinned at her.

  She snatched her rubber pad off the poncho, and raced for her tent. The flaps weren’t zipped. She lunged inside, flopped forward, and landed on the soft heap of her sleeping bag.

  There was a startled grunt.

  “Sorry,” she gasped, and raised her face. Beside her, near enough to touch, was a bare rump. The legs were wedged between another pair of legs.

  He’s screwing Karen! The thought hit her like a punch in the stomach, knocking her breath out. She shoved herself off the bag and crawled backward. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Let…” Then she saw his face. She screamed and wrenched her hand free. She flung herself away, falling through the tent flaps. Rain splashed her face. She started to squirm away. The flaps flew open and a naked man dived out, a huge knife in one hand. He landed on Julie, slamming her flat on the ground. He clutched her throat, holding her down while he pushed himself up and straddled her hips. He plunged the knife into the earth by her face. He yanked the neck of her jacket, found the zipper, and tugged it down. She bucked with pain and screamed again as a rough hand squeezed her breast. The hand went away. It jerked at her pants. She felt the wet ground under her buttocks. Then he had both her arms pinned down and he was heavy on her and shoving his knees between her legs to force them apart and his mouth was on her, mashing her lips. She heard a yell, and his head snapped back as a bare foot shot past her eyes.