Pitch Green

by The Brothers Washburn

  She studied the rundown mansion. No connection was ever found between Hughie’s disappearance and that huge structure other than proximity. But Camm felt sure they were connected.

  Large chimneys sprouted like cancerous growths from the body of the mansion. Its slate roof was the color of dead moss, and its stone bricks were a dirty jade under the soot and noxious vapors spewing from the nearby chemical plant.

  Camm’s father worked in that plant. It was Trona’s mainstay employer, but it reeked of sulfuric fumes, which were vented from the plant twenty-four hours a day, staining and stinking up everything from one end of the valley to the other.

  Camm looked away from the plant. She was here to study the mansion; she was sure it was somehow implicated in Hughie’s disappearance. It had been briefly searched the night Hughie disappeared seven years ago. When nothing was found, the authorities locked it up and no one had been inside since. But Camm longed to get in—there was a mystery to be solved somewhere in that mansion, and she was aching to solve it.

  Camm wished Cal would come here with her, so they could share what they knew about the mansion, discuss their feelings about what had happened to Hughie, and agree on some course of action together. Camm knew Cal was smarter than he let on, and she wanted to know what he thought of all this. But Cal wouldn’t come—he wouldn’t talk about it. He said if there was something he could do to bring Hughie back—or to find the person who took him—he would do it. Until then, he didn’t want to dwell on it.

  But how could he not? Camm could not keep herself from dwelling on it. She thought of all the other children who had disappeared from town. Something had been wrong in Trona for many years, but Hughie’s case was personal—she had been there. Someday, she’d get into that creepy old mansion, with or without permission, and search it herself. But not at night—not in the dark.

  She shivered, then promised herself that one day she would figure out the mansion’s connection with Hughie’s disappearance, and maybe the disappearance of the other children, too. A connection had to be there somewhere—somewhere inside that monstrosity. She clenched her jaw. When Camm made herself a promise, she always kept it.

  Looking back at the plant, Camm frowned. It stank tonight more than usual, like something dead. Somehow it smelled like the night Hughie disappeared. Suddenly rolling up her window, she nervously glanced around, but nothing moved. Shaking off a familiar sense of doom, she wondered if Cal’s juvenile practical joke was over and decided to drive to the graveyard to see. She pitied the poor joker who might try to scare her.

  At last, Cal saw the signal. A car parked directly in front of his box flashed its headlights. The light cut into his cramped prison through a crack in the lid like a shining blade with dust particles floating through it. It shone for an instant and was gone. All the cars in place, the guys waited to draw attention to the casket as Cal opened it.

  As the casket slowly creaked open, Cal could hear the guys saying to their dates, “Look, look, that old casket is opening up.” One of the girls began to whimper. Once the casket lid reached ninety degrees, it fell backward against the side of the box with a sharp WHACK. In his mind, Cal could see everyone in the cars jumping at the sudden, loud bang.

  Cal counted to five before slowly sitting up. He came to a rigid sitting position, his profile to the cars. A high, strained voice rose from one of the cars, “Let’s go. Let’s get out of here. Oh, please, let’s just go.”

  Cal forced himself not to smile, slowly turning his head until he faced the cars. More shrill voices begged to leave.

  At that moment, a car in front of him turned its lights on, and Cal raised his arms, holding his red-painted fingers in a claw-like position. He opened his mouth in a loud moan, letting some bright red gummy bear juice dribble through his lips like blood. His face was painted a sickly avocado green, and his jelled hair stood straight up, like spikes sticking out of his head.

  Other voices now pleaded to go. Even though everyone knew it was Cal, he looked so terrifying—like he was really dead. The demands to leave were becoming more earnest.

  A car roared to life with an abrupt screech of the starter. Cal lifted a leg out of the casket and stood stiffly. More cars started. He heard the sound of gears meshing and crunching. A car suddenly backed up, spraying dirt everywhere.

  Out of the casket, Cal walked stiff-legged toward the other cars, his arms stretched rigidly in front. Cal rolled his eyes back up into his head in an expression that could be either madness or relief, and let out an audible, “Ahhh,” releasing his inner demons at last.

  The girls were crying; one pounded on her boyfriend’s arm yelling, “Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go.” Cal knew the guys were pleased with the results.

  The cars left one by one, throwing up gravel and dust in the rush to leave. Cal turned to the last car, which had had problems with its starter and was just beginning to back up. He could see the terrified look on the girl’s face. When the car shifted into drive, Cal finally realized this was Bob’s car, and Bob was supposed to give him a ride back home—three miles away.

  He dropped the zombie act and jogged toward the car. “Hey, Bob! Wait!” he yelled, waving both arms above his head. Seeing this, the girl in the car immediately went hysterical, screaming, “Go! Go! Go!” With his girlfriend wailing into his ear, Bob popped the clutch and burned rubber, fishtailing his car forward as it lost traction on the gravel.

  Cal ran faster, his green face showing anger, appearing all the more fearsome. As he neared the rear fender, the girl, looking over her shoulder, lost it. The screaming was now replaced with her mere stuttering sound of, “AAAAAH! AAAAAH!” Her eyes had grown to the size of silver dollars, her mouth a gaping wide hole.

  The car finally caught purchase, lurched forward and screeched out of the graveyard. Cal ran a few steps after it, then stopped to watch the taillights disappear down the road.

  When I catch Bob . . . ! Cal grumbled. This isn’t funny! He just left me out here to walk home. This is so not funny! I am going to use him for a punching bag. I am going to slug him . . . ! Cal scrunched up his face in fury as he yelled the last three words, “SO FREAKIN’ HARD!” slamming a fist into his other hand.

  Hearing the noise of machines leaving, it returned stealthily to see what was happening. All prey had left except for one human, who was on foot. These were the odds it liked.

  A lonely desert road led the way from the graveyard back into town, and clouds of dust still hung thickly in the air from the cars that had just gone flying away. The moon was full, allowing Cal to see the long deserted road ahead. He was going to nail that idiot for deserting him.

  Though the taillights had all disappeared, Cal figured he could walk down to Trona Road, then hitchhike from there to Pioneer Point, the northernmost neighborhood in the valley, where he lived, and where he would catch up with the others.

  Coughing at the dust, he waved his hand in front of his face in a fruitless attempt to clear the air. A vile stench permeated the area. Frustrated and thinking he was alone, he started singing an old Pere Ubu favorite at the top of his voice, “Life stinks. I’m seeing pink. I can’t wink. I can’t blink. I like the Kinks. I need a drink. I can’t think. I like the Kinks. Life stinks! . . . Life stinks! . . . Life stinks!”

  But Cal was not alone.

  As Camm approached the turnoff to the graveyard, she saw the cars leaving, headlights bouncing down the old road. When the first car reached Trona Road, the one and only main drag through town, it made a sharp left turn, going too fast. Spinning off the road, it stalled out facing the opposite direction. The cars that followed ignored it and, going slightly slower, also turned left, speeding toward Pioneer Point with the pedal to the metal. They were all headed to Trails End, a favorite teen hangout and the only thing in Trona that passed for a fast food joint.

  The last car stopped to check on the stalled car. Camm did not see Cal’s old Chevy Camaro go by. Expecting Cal to be in one of these last two cars, she parked n
ext to them and got out to find him. Inside each of the cars, she found a girl outraged and furious. One hid her face in her hands, apparently angry and embarrassed at the same time. The other punched her boyfriend in the arm, yelling, “Not funny! Not funny! Not funny!”

  Punch him harder, Camm thought. Such an immature joke.

  The boys looked uncomfortably at each other, not sure whether they should laugh or try to calm their dates.

  “Hey, guys, what’s happenin’? What did I miss?” Camm walked up to the cars, pretending ignorance.

  “It wasn’t funny,” one of the girls said, shooting her boyfriend an enraged glance. “The guys had Cal dress up all scary, like a zombie, and climb out of a coffin and come after us.” She punched her boyfriend again. “Not funny!”

  Camm glanced back and forth between the two cars. “So, where is the old zombie now? Is he in one of the other cars?”

  Bob, the driver of the last car, looked sheepish and mumbled, “Uh, no. Cal’s still back there. We left him at the graveyard.”

  “You left him out there?” Camm said in disbelief. “Is there anyone still there to bring him back? Does he have his car?”

  The other girl, through her sobs, said, “No. And, he’s not getting into THIS car.” A look of anger overtook her face as she glanced back up the road toward the graveyard. “He can walk!”

  Camm rolled her eyes. “I guess I’ll go get him.” She couldn’t help but feel a little justified, and decided not to hurry.

  Intently, it followed its prey, a solitary human. Its hunger for human meat was overpowering. All it had to do now was close in quietly and take it from behind when it wasn’t looking.

  Cal wandered down the road in no particular hurry. He was over being angry at Bob, who was a year younger. But he was still going to punch him when he saw him. His football coach had told him repeatedly that he had lots of talent, but lacked intensity. His coach was always screaming, “Get mad! Get MAD!” But Cal liked people too much to stay mad for long. He could think of only a few times in his life when he was truly angry, and those memories scared him. He knew he was capable of uncool things when he let his anger take control.

  Cal stepped to the side of the road to take a leak. As he stood there relieving himself, he could see the lights from the Trona chemical plant. Those lights never went out. The plant was always running, twenty-four seven. It did not stop on Sundays, or any holidays. Even when there was a strike, the plant managers always found ways to keep it going.

  Whew! Cal shook his head as a sulfur-laden wind blew over him. The plant was especially stinky tonight. It usually smelled like sulfur, but tonight there was a particularly bad smell, an underlying smell, worse than sulfur, worse than rotten eggs. Cal couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was somewhere between rotting road kill and a chemistry lab experiment gone wrong.

  He grimaced. No wonder Trona is such a small town. Who would want to live anywhere near that smell? Cal shook himself and zipped up, starting again down the desert road.

  “Life stinks! I can’t think! The plant stinks! . . .”

  Then, for no reason, Cal stopped singing and looked behind him. He couldn’t see anything, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Starting once more down the road, he again stopped to whirl around. He still couldn’t see or hear anything, but he felt he was being followed. Wondering about that overwhelming rotting smell, he bent down by the side of the road to pick up a smooth, rounded rock about the size of a grapefruit.

  Glancing nervously about, he began to jog down the road. As he ran, he heard a rustling in the sagebrush behind. Was that the wind? He ran faster, fighting a rising sense of panic.

  Suddenly, he saw headlights bouncing up the road toward him. Someone was coming back for him. Relieved, he ran even faster toward the lights. As he neared the car, he recognized the sound of Camm’s Bug. That V4 Volkswagen engine was impossible to mistake.

  When the car reached him, he stepped over to the driver’s side, panting. Camm rolled down the window. “Hey, sailor, want a ride?” She did a double take. “I like your spiked hair.”

  Cal smirked in spite of himself. “Can you believe those turds? They all just left me out here to walk back.”

  “Well, can you blame them, Cal? Some of the girls were in tears. You’re not very popular right now.”

  “Were they really?” Cal’s voice held a tinge of pride.

  Camm rolled her eyes. “You’re the dumbest zombie I ever met. Now, get in the car, you big ol’ red-butted baboon.”

  Cal retorted, “Oh yeah? You are the baboon’s big red butt.” It was a game they played, making up demeaning names to call each other. They had been doing it since they were little children, but it was no longer an insult. It was now a bonding ritual, which they shared in private between themselves and with no one else.

  Camm smiled, but then peered intently through the windshield. “Look, Cal. There are some red glowing eyes over there.”

  Cal turned to look where she was pointing. About twenty yards away, partially hidden by some large mesquite bushes, a pair of crimson eyes reflected the light from the Bug. For just a second, they were there, and then they were gone.

  “Probably a coyote,” Cal said and hurried back up the road, looking for the eyes. “It had to be a coyote, and a big one at that. Nothing else would stand so high off the ground.”

  Camm let her Bug roll slowly forward up the road, keeping Cal in the headlights as he searched the bushes ahead of her.

  Turning back, Cal shook his head. “Whatever it was, it’s gone. You should see the footprints. That was one big coyote. I’m coming back tomorrow with my .22 to track it down.” As he circled around to the passenger side of the car, Camm looked at his hand. “What’s the big rock for?”

  Cal had forgotten he even had it. “Oh, I just thought it was a cool rock.” He tossed it away and climbed into the car.

  Camm made a face and said nothing more.

  It kept low to the ground as it moved away from the intense lights—it did not like bright lights. It did not like lights at all and needed very little to see. Extinguishing lights was within its power, but finding solitary prey was preferable. Though it moved in a crouching position, it moved very fast, keeping under cover in the sagebrush. In very little time, it had managed to circle around to a side street on another edge of town.

  It could smell animal and human scents everywhere. Being lazy, it usually ate cats, dogs, jackrabbits, and coyotes. But tonight, it wanted human meat. It knew the difference between stale and fresh scents, and it caught a fresh one. Nearby, a small human played outside. Crouching even lower, it moved almost on its belly as it crept patiently toward the scent.

  Drawing near a wooden fence, it saw its prey through the narrow board slats. Slime hung like spinach from its teeth as it anticipated the kill. Its muscles tensed. Watching a small human male, it assumed the attack position outside the fence. A large female yelled something as she went inside the house.

  It would have to move quickly—one jump, with a fast clamping bite on the back of the neck, then another jump back over the fence and away. Its tail twitched. The boy ran toward the house, then stopped, and ran back to get a small toy. It was prepared to pounce. Ready . . . Ready

  . . . Jump!

  That night the desert wind covered the animal tracks Cal had wanted to follow, and a desperate call was made to the local sheriff’s station. Little Joey McKay, age five, had disappeared from his own backyard. The only gate to the yard had been securely padlocked, and the only other way in or out of the yard was through the house. Except for Joey’s mom, no one had been home. His dad had been working the night shift at the plant. The only clue left behind was Joey’s toy truck, which was smeared with smelly green pond scum and found lying on the other side of the fence, outside the yard.

  Another child was gone from Trona, without a trace.

  II

  As Camm entered the house, she was hit full in the face by the warm, sweet smell of freshly
baked bread. She loved the smell and taste of her mother’s bread. Just arriving home from school, she was hungry, and the scent made her mouth water. She hurried toward the kitchen to cut herself a large, thick slice. She could almost see the butter melting into liquid and soaking into the bread. She didn’t need honey or jam on it when it was hot and fresh from the oven. It was heaven.

  Her mother met her in the hallway before she made it to the kitchen. Camm could instantly tell something was wrong. Her mother’s lips were pulled tight into two thin red lines, her eyebrows arched in a slightly panicked expression. Camm stopped short. “Mom, what’s up?”

  Taking Camm by the arm, her mother directed her into the dining room. “There is someone here to see you.”

  As Camm stepped in, she saw a woman standing by the dinner table. Tall, with an athletic build, she was dressed in a plain, yet fashionable blue pantsuit with a man’s white shirt open at the collar. She looked both official and comfortable.

  Probably in her early thirties, the woman’s long brown hair was parted in the middle and pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. Her eyes were set too close together, but her straight nose and full lips gave her face a strong, smart look. She was almost pretty and smiled warmly at Camm.

  “Camm,” her mom said with urgency in her voice, “this is Agent Allen from the FBI.” There was a tinge of emphasis on the “FBI,” as if to say, Oh my goodness, it is the FBI!

  The agent extended her hand. “Hello, Camm. I’m Special Agent Linda Allen.” Her badge was plainly visible on her belt clip, and as she reached toward Camm, her jacket flapped open just enough to expose her shoulder holster and pistol.

  Camm took her hand and received a firm, get-down-to-business handshake. Agent Allen briskly gestured with her other hand to sit. “I would like to talk with you about the disappearance of children from this community.”

  “Do you want me to stay?” Camm’s mother hovered uneasily.