In Shadows

by Chandler McGrew

  With the water swirling all around it would be easy to wander off the narrow road and into the gully. If the tires slipped over the edge, she and Pierce would be in real trouble fast. The steering wheel gave a jerk, and she whipped it back, praying she hadn’t overcompensated, but the trusty little car just kept on huffing through the flood.

  Finally she could see the road again, rising gently ahead. But it looked more like a tributary than a dirt lane, and she wondered if the station wagon would be able to get enough of a grip on its slippery surface to climb to safety. She chanced a peek at Pierce, and her heart stopped.

  He had his head cocked at an unusual angle, and he was staring out into the night as though he could see. If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn he was listening to something.

  IMMY AND PACO trudged slowly down the muddy drive-way the car had exited. “You hear something, boss?” asked Paco meekly.

  Jimmy glared at him, wondering again if he wouldn’t be better off just shooting the little bastard right here and stashing the body in the trees. In a wilderness like this the asshole’s corpse might never be found.

  But he did hear something. And he didn’t think it was something that should be living in any forest. It sounded almost like some kind of crooning.

  “That’s the noise like what I heard at the old man’s house,” muttered Paco, nudging close enough to put his mouth to Jimmy’s ear.

  Jimmy backhanded him hard between the eyes, with his pistol this time, and Paco straightened, holding his head in both hands.

  “Quit fucking freaking out,” said Jimmy, shoving Paco down the driveway. “Move!”

  There were no lights on in the house, and Jimmy took only a moment to discern that there was no other car around before climbing up onto the front stoop, grateful to get out of the deluge at last.

  Paco knocked several times. Finally Jimmy nodded toward the door and Paco turned the knob.

  “It’s open,” said Paco.

  “Anybody home?” shouted Jimmy, but he was already sure the house was empty. He relaxed his grip on the pistol and entered the house.

  “See what’s around to eat,” he said, flipping the light switch ineffectually. “And look for some candles.”

  Finding the bathroom by feel, he jerked off his jacket and shirt, then stripped out of his pants and briefs, drying off and tossing the sodden towels onto the floor. It felt wonderful to be dry. He wrapped a fresh towel around his waist and hung another over his shoulder just as Paco showed up with a candle and a plate of sliced cheese and sardines.

  Jimmy took the plate into the small living room and plopped into the only chair, resting his pistol on the small table. He wolfed down the sharp cheese and gobbled the salty fish, rubbing his greasy hands onto the towel in his lap.

  Paco—still sopping—stood looking at him like a mute, and Jimmy shook his head.

  “Go dry off,” he said. “You stupid or what?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you was okay, boss.”

  Jimmy belched loudly and set the plate down beside his pistol, studying the room. Whoever lived in the dump was poor. There were a couple of pictures of scenery on the walls, but the frames looked to be plastic, and the artwork could have been bought at Wal-Mart. The carpet was clean but worn. The whole place reminded Jimmy too much of his childhood. He grabbed the candle and started exploring.

  There was a small hall closet containing an ancient vacuum and a bunch of cleaning products. The bath where Paco was still drying off. Then there was a small bedroom. The artwork on the walls there was different. Instead of cheap paintings there were framed reliefs that looked as though they’d been done by a kid. But maybe a kid with talent. They were all of the same woman’s face. The one above the bed was pretty good. The woman had high cheekbones and a wide smile. Jimmy crossed to the bedside table and lifted one of the large magazines with plain brown covers. Inside he discovered nothing but a series of embossed bumps.

  “Braille,” he muttered, tossing the magazine back onto the bed. So there was a blind kid living here, and his family had taken him somewhere else to wait out the storm. He glanced across the room at an old metal desk and a wooden worktable.

  Atop the desk sat another relief of some sort, and Jimmy studied it. Like the framed sculptures, there was no color and no shading. But it only took Jimmy a moment to decipher that it was a topographic map of the valley. The mountains on both sides had been constructed of modeling clay. Tiny plastic trees were stuck haphazardly into the landscape to denote forest. The highway and the river took up all of one end. Small plastic letters marked each of the little cabins along the one road. The house Jimmy and Paco had discovered read “Morin.” He searched up and down the road, finally finding a cabin marked “Pam & Ernie.” He knew from what Paco had told him that that had to be Jake Crowley’s cousin.

  So that was where he’d find Jake.

  Climbing the stairs to the loft bedroom, he was struck once again by the feeling of déjà vu. His own parents’ bedroom had looked much like this, even to the picture of Jesus over the bed. He crossed himself and spat onto the carpet.

  The clothes in the closet told him the woman lived alone with the boy. And she was small, probably well built. Jimmy felt slightly aroused. This was like touching a woman who didn’t want to be touched but couldn’t do anything about it, and he liked the feeling. He glanced over at the dresser and stopped.

  There were two small, gilt-framed photographs side by side. One showed a cute brunette woman standing beside a small boy with dark hair and eyes. But it was the other picture that held Jimmy’s attention. He lifted it up to the candle and examined it closely.

  The woman was hardly more than a teenager, and the young man who had his arm around her shoulder also had dark hair and eyes. He was a lot younger than the man Jimmy knew. But there was no mistaking the face.

  It was Jake Crowley.

  “I’ll be fucked,” he whispered, smiling.

  S JAKE STARTED THE CAR and the headlights flashed along the house, his breath caught in his throat. Water ran between the trees in sheets, as though the mountains were becoming one giant sluice.

  He gunned the car down the drive, fighting for control in the muck. Just as he turned onto the valley road the rear wheels broke free, and the back end of the car lurched into the narrow drainage ditch and struck a tree. He pounced on the pedal, and the car jerked out of the trough with a grinding screech and a deep rumbling complaint.

  As he negotiated sharp curves and washouts, the car swallowed water, and the engine began to chug. He knew he had to slow down, that he was beginning to panic, but he had the sense that something was gaining on him, and the feeling wouldn’t go away. The crimson shadows behind the car were as frightening as the flooded road ahead, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off the rearview mirror.

  He pulled up short in front of yet another wide washout, barely able to make out the other side through the rain. The flood frothed, as though it weren’t passing over flat road, but winding around boulders and debris. He thought of the thing out there, somewhere, and against his will images of his mother’s death filled his mind.

  He was only ten at the time, but he had been allowed to play outside by himself until well after dark. There seemed nothing for a child to fear way up there at the head of the valley, as long as he stayed away from the swimming hole. The cliff over the deepest pool was high enough that even his dad would not leap off it. And the water—though clear and cold—swirled and eddied with secret, dangerous currents that carried the little stream all the way through the valley and into the mighty Androscoggin far below.

  That evening his dad had asked him if he wanted to run to Albert’s on some errand after dinner. But Jake had chosen to return to constructing a secret fort out of broken branches and boards he’d scrounged from behind the house.

  Gradually a strange whispering through the branches had caught his attention. But there was no breeze, and he stood, searching the moonlit forest for the source.
Following it back to the clearing behind the house, he had realized that the sound was coming from inside. A shadow had passed across the windows, and the noise increased, until it became a roar, and Jake shivered.

  When his mother screamed, he stood frozen for a moment longer, before his legs had started carrying him of their own accord toward the sound of her voice.

  Images of his mother—both before and after—blasted his mind. Images of the shadow . . .

  Run away, Jake.

  As he stared across the roiling water, the hair on the back of his neck began to tickle, and instead of his mother, he pictured Mandi, and his heart stopped. He ached to rush to her and Pierce, to bring them back to safety. But was that what he was doing? Or was he bringing more danger to their doorstep? Would it be better to turn around and leave them to their own chances in the storm rather than have them close to him? A tickling in his gut told him no. Whatever was coming, whatever was loose in the valley—whether he was the cause of it or simply one more victim of the Crowley curse—he could not go back without them. He eased the car out into the water, surprised by the power of the current rocking the vehicle. As he gave the car a little more gas he felt the stream flushing around the sides of the sedan, creating a bow wave like a tramp steamer.

  When he reached the other side of the washout he glanced back again. For just an instant he thought he saw something large and dark moving along the road. Then all the shadows flowed together inside the wall of rain, and he drove on.

  Mandi slammed her hand against the wheel so hard a sharp pain shot up her arm all the way to her shoulder. Pierce jerked, turning in her direction with a questioning expression.

  She took his hand, signing as calmly as she could. We’re going to have to walk.

  Why?

  Water in the engine. When I open the door it’s going to come inside.

  Deep?

  She peered out at the water lapping at the bottom of her window. Yes. But we’ll be able to stand up. I won’t let you go.

  He shook his head, and she understood why. It would be terrifying enough for her, climbing out into the flood. But at least she could see by the submerged headlights and the occasional lightning flash. How much more terrible would it be for him, feeling the current clutching at him, trying to drag him away into some dark horror that he could hardly imagine?

  We have to, she signed.

  He signed so fast she could barely decipher it. Too deep. I’m scared.

  She steadied his hand over hers before signing back. I’m scared, too. Love me?

  He nodded.

  Trust me?

  A slower nod.

  No choice. We have to go. We’ll die if we stay here.

  There, she hadn’t lied to him.

  He took a long breath, letting it out, nodding slowly.

  She exhaled in rhythm with him. She couldn’t believe the water wasn’t already inside. But the little car had good tight doors and windows. She withdrew her hand from Pierce’s and studied the flow, trying to decide whether to climb out on his side or her own. She was downstream. Her door should be easier to open, and the car would protect them from some of the current. But either way, if Pierce got out of her grasp he’d be as helpless as a newborn bird in the dark forest. He couldn’t even call out for help. The thought of him drifting away from her in that angry flood tore at her heart, and she knew she’d drown before she’d let that happen.

  Pierce found her hand and signed again. How deep?

  She sighed. Up to your waist. It’ll come in when I open the door.

  He clenched his jaw but offered no further comment.

  The water was going to be cold. It was already chilling the inside of the car, and she wondered how long the lights would continue to shine beneath the flow before the battery died or something shorted out.

  Then the car gave a sickening lurch, and she felt the tires lose their purchase on the submerged road. The station wagon lurched like a drunk as the stream lifted it and carried them into the trees.

  Pierce grabbed her arm, reaching for her hand again, but Mandi was spinning the steering wheel and kicking the brakes as though she still had some kind of control over their destiny.

  MILLION TINY ARTILLERY SHELLS OF RAIN exploded in the flood as Jake stared at the churning water stretching away as far as his headlights shone. The last washout had nearly killed the car, and now the engine huffed and coughed for air. He raced it, the car shaking as the waterlogged cylinders screwed up the firing rhythm.

  He tapped the wheel nervously. He knew that if he tried crossing this last overflow the car would stall and probably be washed away into the trees, but he might be able to make it across on foot. Snagging the flashlight from the glove box, he climbed out of the car.

  This is not a bright idea. This is definitely not bright.

  But he tested the water anyway, letting his foot settle to the bottom. The icy liquid stung his ankles like needles.

  Another step, up to his knees, the force of the water surprising him. Off to his left a movement caught his eye, and he swung the flashlight just in time to see a small pine tree come crashing through the woods and across the road in front of him. Its roots had been cleansed of soil and debris by the rain, and they reached raking wooden talons toward him in passing. When the tree was gone he trudged ahead. The stinging became an icy burn as the water reached mid-thigh.

  He battled through the current, his arms spread wide for balance as the water reached for his waist, wondering how strong the batteries were in the flashlight.

  Mandi struggled to control her rising panic as Pierce clutched the armrest on his door, his face ashen in the glow of the interior light. Miraculously the headlights continued to shine through the swirling water around them like the lights of Nemo’s Nautilus, illuminating the flooded forest in eerie golden waves. The car bumped from tree to tree as it drifted through the woods, but as the forest thickened there was less and less room for the little station wagon. Finally the water backed up behind the vehicle, surging and shoving until the car was tightly wedged between two bent evergreens. The flood rushed over the rear window and around the sides of the car.

  Mandi took three deep breaths before catching Pierce’s hand. We’re all right.

  He turned to her, his lips tight. Where are we? he signed.

  Caught in the trees.

  What now?

  That was the same question she’d been asking herself over and over.

  We’re all right for now. Maybe the water will go down.

  Staring into the rain, she knew that was the first lie she’d told him, and she could tell he didn’t really believe her. She withdrew her hand from his, and rubbed the sweat on her pants.

  Jake climbed wearily out of the water. He was soaked to the skin, and his shoes creaked with every step—reminding him again of his run on the Galveston beach—as he continued down the road, hoping there were no more washouts between him and Mandi’s house. But he’d barely made it a hundred yards before he rounded a curve and came upon an even wider flood. He was still winded from his last struggle with the current. If he went back now he was pretty sure he could make it to the car. If he tried to cross here and got carried into the trees he’d drown.

  He stomped around for a minute, eyes down, trying to think. Mandi’s place was situated on fairly high ground. She and Pierce should be safe there. If they stayed in the house. But what if a flash flood ran down the valley? What if she panicked and tried to get Pierce out? Suddenly he was absolutely certain that Mandi and Pierce did need him. He stood with the toes of his shoes in the water staring into the wall of rain. It was almost as far back to the car as it was to Mandi’s now, anyway.

  “Oh, hell!” he said, starting across.

  But this washout was deeper. Before he made it twenty feet the water was up to his waist, and it was all he could do to keep his footing against the current. He clung to the flashlight as though it were a lifeline, holding it tenaciously above the clutching flood. Just when he h
ad decided that he had to turn back after all, a sound louder than the rushing water caused him to jerk to the right, and his feet lifted off the road’s surface. He had no choice but to lean back and let the water carry him into the trees. He grabbed the first limb that passed, letting the current lock him into the tree’s embrace. In the distance he heard the sound again.

  It was a car horn.

  Mandi’s hand shook on the wheel. She blasted the horn again, even though she knew that it was a waste of time and that Pierce would feel the vibration, that he would sense her panic. But he sat stoically, gripping the armrest in both hands, his jaw tight.

  Water flowed two inches above the bottom of the tightly closed windows. The headlights still continued to work, and the thought of them failing, leaving her as blind as Pierce, was terrifying. But water now covered the floorboard, and she could hear it sssing through a million tiny openings.

  They had to get outside before the car sank, but she had no idea what they would do once they got there. If she opened a window or a door she was afraid the car would flood and be dragged under the water before she could get Pierce out. Even if they did manage to escape the car she had no idea how she could get Pierce to safety.

  In desperation she pounded the horn again, but she knew no one was going to hear.

  Jake realized that if he let go of the tree he could drift with the current toward the sound of the honking horn. It would be easy to get lost or knocked unconscious in the trees and submerged bracken. But he thought he saw light in the direction of the noise. It terrified him to think that it might be Mandi and Pierce in the car. But whoever was honking was in big trouble.