Inside the Jeep there was no sound, no movement except for the water that rushed into the cab.
The stream of cold water brought Sean around. Groggily he twisted in his seat and scanned the situation. He was pinned between his seat and the steering wheel, his face was badly cut, and blood stung his eyes. Petra slumped over her shoulder belt, unconscious.
The Jeep sank as Sean shifted in his seat. The ice splintered and cracked all around them and freezing water bubbled to the surface. Water crept up over Sean’s knee. They were running out of time.
The roadway inside the covered bridge was blocked by the twisted vehicles, smoking and ticking in the semi-dark. Bishop shook himself, climbed out of the wrecked Bronco and took a look around. The pickup driver was hunched over his steering wheel: dead or alive he wasn’t moving. Bishop stepped to the torn section of the wall and looked down to the frozen river. The Jeep rested half in and half out of the water, but its nose sank fast. He could see movement inside the cab. Bishop turned and ran to the end of the bridge.
Sean reached for Petra and shook her shoulder. “Petra. Petra, honey, you need to get up.”
He brushed the hair from her face, and splashed water over her cheeks. She awoke with a start, looking dazed and confused.
“Sean? What?”
“We have to get out of here. Can you move?”
“I ... I think so,” she replied faintly.
“Roll down your window.” Petra did what she was told and soon she had the window all the way down.
“Okay, good. C’mon, let’s go.”
Petra lifted herself in her seat and squealed.
“What? What?”
“My ankle! Oh God!” she cried.
Sean looked down at her ankle. Her foot was nearly severed, pinned between two pieces of jagged metal.
“I’m caught. I’m caught,” she said.
“Okay. Okay. Hold on.”
The jeep sank lower. Petra screamed.
“It’s all right,” Sean said, touching her cheek. “It’s all right.” He tried to smile.
He knelt down in the foot well and tried to free her mutilated foot, to pry the metal pieces apart that held her.
“Try to pull your foot out,” he said as he held the metal pieces apart as far as he could, his hands bleeding from the effort.
“I can’t!” she screamed.
“You’ve got to! You’ve got to! Please, I know it hurts but pull. Pull!”
Petra yanked on her trapped foot, screaming as she pulled, but her foot wouldn’t budge. Tears streamed down her face. The water rose.
Sean looked for anything he could use to wedge apart the metal, but found only a handheld ice scraper. He took a deep breath and then dove under the surface.
The jeep sank faster now. Sean broke to the surface and tossed away the ice scraper. Six inches of space separated the water and the roof.
Sean and Petra were inches apart, they could feel each other’s breath. Sean’s mind raced; there’s got to be a way out. There has to be something he could use.
“Sean. Please,” Petra whispered. “Don’t leave me.”
Sean held her face in his hands and stared into her blue gray eyes that always reminded him of the sea after a storm. “I won’t. I’m not going to leave you.”
Sean kissed her and dove down into the water. His fingers were shredded by the shards of metal but he didn’t care, he could barely feel them anyway. He wrenched her foot mercilessly. He could hear her screams through the water.
Suddenly, the ice beneath the jeep broke free.
Bishop made it to the end of the bridge. With his pistol drawn, he scrambled down the bank to the river’s edge and started out across the ice toward the Jeep.
At twenty feet away, he stopped and aimed at the back of Petra’s head. Suddenly she turned, and for a moment they stared at each other. His pistol aimed and ready, his finger held over the trigger.
The Jeep shifted off the ledge and sank quickly through the dark. The black, freezing water rushed into the cab and filled Petra’s mouth, smothering her scream. In the next moment she was gone as they disappeared beneath the ice in a spray of water and black bubbles.
Underwater Sean continued to pull on her leg but it wouldn’t budge. He held her face in his hands, stared into her eyes. They held hands. Finally, she let him go. He held on as long as he could, his lungs burning from lack of oxygen. There was nothing he could do but slip past her through the window.
Moments later Sean broke to the icy surface and scrambled up onto the ice. Out of breath, spitting up water, he looked up just in time to see Bishop kick him in the face and knock him unconscious.
Bishop dove into the freezing water. He swam easily with powerful strokes deeper and deeper into the dark. A small flashlight guided him to the wreck of Sean’s Jeep, resting on the riverbed. He swam until he could maneuver inside. The blade of his knife flashed.
The Jeep was empty.
19
Danaid’s only medical clinic was run out of the large Victorian home of Doctor Ronald Baron, a small elderly man with a full head of silver hair. A bulky gray cardigan, frayed at the cuffs, hung on his narrow frame as he stepped across the floorboards nearly without sound. He entered from the hall into a small room that looked more like a spare bedroom than a recovery room in some anonymous hospital ward.
To his right he found Violet Monroe, Kevin Berlin and Kelly Fike staring up anxiously at him from the long, deep couch that ran along one wall. The good doctor smiled warmly and moved to the cluster of wheezing and softly beeping machines that had been gathered around his patient. He adjusted the lines and cables, read the various readouts and then retreated from the room just as quietly as he had entered.
“When will he wake up?” Kevin asked. Dr. Baron stepped close to the boy. His little fingers clasped his fathers’. The doctor bent at the waist until they were eye to eye. “Your father’s very strong,” he whispered. “Very strong.” Smiling warmly, he stared into the boy’s red-rimmed eyes. “Have faith, boy.” Kevin nodded and managed a weak smile. Without another word, the doctor slipped silently out into the hall, passing Deputy Jordan Hanson as he came through the entrance hall.
Jordan’s wet boots squeaked over the worn green linoleum to Sean’s room, whose door hung halfway open. He eased himself inside and winced at the sight of Sean nearly buried under a pile of heating blankets. All that was visible were the tops of his shoulders, his right arm and his head. But that was enough. His face was a giant bruise, purple and black like a storm cloud with eyes and a mouth. The rest of his skin looked pale gray.
Kelly slipped into place beside him, her face red and her eyes bloodshot. Violet sat at the far end of the couch, running her fingers through Kevin’s hair as he lay asleep, his head in her lap. She gave Jordan a weak smile and then returned her stare to the middle distance around Sean.
“How’s he doing?” he whispered. Kelly nodded toward the hall and Jordan followed her out. After they closed the door behind them, they took a few steps away from the room along the walls covered with old black and white photographs of an early Danaid: the bridge, the cemetery, the mine. Photos Jordan had seen a hundred times throughout his history of ailments and broken bones.
“Oh, Jesus, Jordan, tell me what’s going on?” she whined. “What’s happening in this town?”
“I don’t know yet. How’s Sean?”
“Sean’s doing fine, apparently,” Kelly said. “Doc says he looks a hell of a lot worse than he is. Mild hypothermia.”
Kelly hooked a thumb down the darkened hall. “Harry Stemple, you know, from the dairy farm.” Jordan nodded. “He’s down there nursing one hell of a headache and a few cracked ribs. Doc says he’ll be fine in a couple of days. What about the guy driving the Bronco?”
“Gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Who knows? By the time I got there he was gone. I ran the plates. They were stolen off a mini-van in Denver,” he said.
“The Br
onco will probably end up being stolen too.”
“What’s going on, Jordan?” Kelly whispered.
Jordan shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. “People are missing. People I’ve known all my life are doing crazy things. Crazy. It doesn’t make any sense. What am I supposed to do?”
He was definitely not trained for this. Things were happening too fast. He took a breath and found it wasn’t enough. Kelly moved closer to him and slipped her hand into his.
“Something is happening here, Kelly, and I’m scared to death,” he whispered. “We have to get out of this town.”
Kelly stared into his eyes and asked, “Leave town? How?” “Why are you leaving?” Kevin asked.
Jordan and Kelly jumped when they saw Violet and Kevin standing in the hall behind them.
“In case, you know, in case Sean needs to go to Braden,” Jordan replied. “Someplace a little more high tech.”
“Oh, well, Doc Baron says he should be fine,” Violet said.
“I know, I just like to plan for the worst.”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t get any worse. I don’t think I can handle worse,” she said. “I’m taking Kevin home. He’s going to need his rest.”
“I want to stay,” Kevin said.
“I know you do, Honey, but you need to get some sleep. Your daddy’s gonna be fine. And we’ll be back in the morning.” Kevin broke away from Violet and ran back to his father’s side. He bent close to his ear and whispered, “I love you, dad.”
“You want me to drive you home?” Jordan asked, as he watched Violet pull on her coat.
“No thank you,” she replied. “Looks like you could use some rest yourself.”
Jordan nodded, too tired for anything more than that.
Violet touched his cheek and smiled and said that they would be back in the morning. Kelly agreed to go back to the station and sleep there until Jordan came to relieve her in the morning. Jordan watched them pull away from the front door of the clinic and waved as the trio disappeared slowly into the darkness. As soon as they left, Jordan dropped down into the couch. After two minutes of head bobbing, he was asleep.
20
Jessica Walters raised her head and winced. She had fallen asleep at her desk again, leaving her neck and shoulders feeling like they had rusted in place. She stretched and rolled her head around on her thin neck to work out the kinks and then scanned the last few paragraphs of her essay.
She was nearly done, but when she picked up her pen she felt her eyelids droop and her stomach growl. She needed food. Right now. She slipped into her Winnie the Pooh slippers, left her room and headed for the stairs.
The kitchen was dark, except for the night-light over the stove. And it was there that she found what she was looking for, her mother’s freshly baked apple pie. They had had it for dessert but there were still a few pieces left. Jessica grabbed a fork from the utensil drawer and dug in.
As she ate she gazed out into the black and white emptiness of their backyard through the window over the stove. Snow blew in ragged funnels and white clouds, and for a moment she didn’t realize what she was looking at. She set her fork down and stared. Out in the backyard, just beyond the reach of the floodlights, stood—someone. A woman? Jessica couldn’t tell. But someone was out there.
Jessica spun away from the window and ran upstairs.
Her parents’ room was dark, but she found her father’s shoulder and shook it. “Daddy! Daddy!” she whispered. But it was Jessica’s mother, Ruth, who woke up. She snapped on the bedside lamp, a worried look already pinching her features.
“What’s wrong, Jess?”
“There’s a woman outside,” she replied.
“Go back to bed, honey,” Billy mumbled through his pillow. “Just a dream.”
“What woman?” asked Ruth.
Jessica shook her head. “I don’t know. She’s just standing there.”
Ruth shook Billy awake, rolling him over onto his back.
“What?” he hissed, wincing as the lamplight stabbed at his eyes. “What woman?”
“Go check,” Ruth said. “Please?”
Billy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to get his wife to come into focus. “Are you serious?” He could tell by her look that she was, and with a heavy sigh he swung his legs out from under the covers and turned to his daughter.
“Show me.”
A minute later, Jessica, Billy and Ruth were huddled against the window over the stove, peering out into the backyard. It was a woman all right, wearing a red t-shirt by the looks of it, dark hair plastered to her scalp, thin and white, looking like she was frozen solid standing out there in the cold.
“Call Sean,” Ruth said nervously. “I don’t like this.”
Billy shuffled to the back door and pulled his coat down off its peg.
“Where’re you going?” asked Ruth.
“Out to see,” Billy replied. “She could be hurt.”
Ruth peered through the window again at the woman standing motionless in the snow. “Looks stoned, or crazy. Or both.”
Billy pulled on his toque and his gloves and stepped out into
the storm.
From the kitchen window Ruth watched her husband strip off his coat and wrap it around the woman.
“Jess, give me the phone.”
“Who’re you callin’?”
“Never mind. Just give me the phone.”
Jessica pulled the cordless phone from the cradle mounted on the wall and handed it to her mother as she watched her father guide the woman back through the blowing snow to the house.
“Ruth! Ruth!”
Ruth appeared at the back door, one hand holding her robe closed at her throat, the other holding the phone to her ear.
“Jesus Christ, is that Petra?” she said as she stared at the woman her husband held tight.
Billy nodded frantically. “Call Sean. Get him over here.”
“I am,” she replied. “There’s no answer.”
“We gotta get her out of these clothes.”
“There’s clean ones in the laundry room,” Ruth said. “C’mon, honey.” Ruth took Petra by the shoulders and led her through the kitchen to the small laundry room. Jessica watched as her mother baby-stepped Petra behind the door. Ruth caught Jessica’s eye as the door closed and gave her daughter a little “it’ll be all right” wink and a smile.
Billy dialed again, as he squeezed the phone in his huge fist. He looked scared and nervous. He was wide awake now, that was for sure.
“What can I do, Dad?”
Billy hung up and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed.
“Umm, could you run a bath for her, honey?” asked Billy. “Not too hot, okay. She’ll be up in a minute.”
“Okay.”
Jessica took the stairs two at a time. Soon, Billy heard the water pipes rattle and shake as Jessica filled the tub. Billy dialed Sean again and listened to the phone ring. Finally, after the tenth ring he stabbed the disconnect button and started opening drawers and looking into cabinets.
Piles of neatly folded laundry were arranged on a small card table. Ruth found a pair of jeans, a bulky woolen sweater and some underwear. She held up a pair of her jeans to Petra’s narrow waist and said, “You’re gonna need a belt, honey.” She tried to smile, but Petra’s eyes never flickered. Ruth’s smile died on her lips.
“C’mon, let’s get you out of these clothes.”
Ruth rolled up the stained t-shirt and slipped it over Petra’s head. She then circled to the front and rolled it down over her arms. Petra never moved. Standing there alone with Petra in the small narrow laundry room made Ruth more than a little uncomfortable, and not just because she was naked. Petra’s lips were parted, her blue gray eyes stared vacantly ahead, but her chest didn’t move. It was quiet in the laundry room, the only sound the distant rattle of the water pipes and Billy rummaging around in the next room. Ruth stepped closer to Petra and listened. She had her ear
nearly pressed to Petra’s cold lips.
Petra wasn’t breathing.
“Where’s the goddamn phonebook?” Billy yelled through the door. “Ruth? Ruth?”
Ruth jumped and made a wide circle around Petra to the laundry room door where she peered out.
Billy stepped to the crack and whispered, “I need the phonebook, I’m gonna call Doc Baron. Where is it?”
“It’s in the hall, in the china cabinet.”
“Well, why would it be there?”
“’Cause that’s where it is,” Ruth said, and slammed the door.
Petra hadn’t moved, but something was different. Ruth tiptoed closer, studying her. Something was wrong. Petra was trembling. Her entire body shivered.
“Oh, God,” Ruth whispered. Petra wasn’t shivering, wasn’t trembling. Her skin was moving. On its own. Her pale gray skin darkened as swirls and symbols of black rose to the surface. It began at her fingertips.
“Billy,” Ruth whispered.
The strange markings swept up over Petra’s hands, reaching up her arms.
“Billy.”
Black tendrils swept over her arms and chest, broke across her face and pooled in her blue-gray eyes, smothering their color with black. For one breathless moment, Ruth saw the rest of her life in Petra’s obsidian eyes.
And for the first time, Petra looked at Ruth and smiled. It was then that Ruth began to scream.
21
Bishop stood under the showerhead for a very long time, letting the hot water run over his neck and down his back. His hands were pressed to the tile wall, his eyes closed. Behind his eyes the past and present were cut together to play in a vengeful loop in his head: his wife asleep in the sun, her skin warm, the colour of caramel; Petra standing in the kitchen, her long, thin legs sliding up into the hem of her t-shirt.
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