Finally, she let her stomach loosen. Her cramps subsided. She needed to get home, slip into her jammies, and sip on some chamomile tea. But first, another visit to Trojan. Only this time, she’d do the intimidating.
TWELVE
April believed Highway 30 to be a bona fide deathtrap. In that remote stretch between Rainier and Columbia City, it only had two lanes, near non-existent shoulders, and only a painted double line for a divider. Add to that the deceptive curves, the straight stretches where aggressive drivers tried to pass, and it would have been bad enough, even in good weather. In the middle of a winter storm, it made for a lethal cocktail.
At least the pavement had been cleared by those giant, orange, roaring machines. She passed one at a turnout. It made her feel good to see the plows around, their yellow lights flashing, a heavy rumble as they motored by. No way could that thing in the snow get past them. Safety in numbers, she thought.
She smiled a little, both hands on the wheel, eyes straight ahead, comforted by the thought of getting back to civilization. She liked the country, but only for a visit. The quiet made her nervous, like nature had some kind of secret to keep. The drive, though, would be slow. She could tell. Thirty miles an hour worked out fine. Anything faster, and her Neon started to fishtail. The first time it happened, she nearly had a heart attack. The second time, she became annoyed.
The thermometer in her dash read 28 degrees, though to her it felt much colder out. Her heater didn’t work so well, which meant the defrost didn’t work so well, periodically forcing her to wipe layer after layer of her own condensed breath off the foggy windshield.
The road straightened and she finally saw ahead a couple miles. Headlights in the distance, slicing through foggy, snowy maelstroms which danced across a freshly-plowed highway. Wind whipped the flakes into a tempestuous ballet, skipping and skimming, filling the air with a thick white mist. That, along with her clouded windows, made it difficult to see much of anything except for the solid line on the right shoulder. If all else failed, she thought, always keep to the solid line on the right shoulder.
She wiped her windshield for about the hundredth time and nearly peed her pants at the sight of the Trojan Park sign.
That’s my turn! Shit!
Too late.
She tried to stop anyway. To her surprise, the Neon came to complete a halt without sliding. Luckily, not many people were stupid enough to be on the road. The only other vehicle she could see still had a long way to go before reaching her.
With a breath to boost her self-confidence, she turned the wheel and directed her car into the park grounds. As she passed the large willows framing the main drive, she spotted the black helicopter. She’d caught it just as it began to warm up, roaring like a mechanical T-Rex. The rotors loped in a lazy circle at first, then spun faster and faster, becoming a blur.
She reached the parking lot near the landing pad and found Strawn with a small group of men. She stopped her car, threw open her door, and marched straight up to him before better judgment could talk her down.
Strawn chatted, shaking hands, saying his goodbye’s. He saw April and turned away. Then he looked at her again, his eyes wider, but not too wide. He masked his surprise well.
“Well, what have we here?” he spoke over the high-pitched whine of the turbines. “You’ve come back. And to what do we owe this unexpected visit?”
His fake sophistication made her cramps flare.
“First off, Strawn, you can shove the bullshit right where the sun doesn’t shine.”
The man’s face contorted with a seething. It made her recoil inside. Not on the outside. This time she wouldn’t be intimidated by his clenched jaw or his steely stare. She wouldn’t be scared by his subordinates, either, though they were trying hard with their fake grins, masking their inner, more sinister motives.
“That’s a bit rude,” Strawn’s smile returned, though the anger in his expression didn’t diminish. “And I’d say a bit unsophisticated, even for a reporter.”
The men chuckled. Armstrong and McCullah each flanked their boss. They closed in, forming a wall, glaring, waiting for what she had to say with acute interest.
Her knees buckled, though she caught herself from toppling into a pile of slush. Either she was exhausted or scared. Or both. The old adrenal gland must have been running on fumes. Still, she had to do what she came there to do.
“You listen and you listen good,” she cleared her throat and tensed her stomach. “I just came from a neighborhood close to here,” she pointed. They kept their eyes on her. “Jack Falls Road. I’m sure you know it. If you don’t, you will soon.”
“Miss, where are you going with this?” Strawn gestured to the helicopter, now powering down. The pilot must have seen there was a delay. “I’ve got a schedule to keep!”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said. “You’d like nothing better than to fly away and forget anything’s happened here. Well, you won’t be able to, Strawn. You may have weaseled your way out of a federal investigation, and bribed and extorted your way off the news, but there’s one reporter you couldn’t fool. I know, Strawn. I know there was a containment breach. You wanna know how I know? Because I’ve seen it.”
Strawn’s men looked at each other, then at their boss. Strawn pushed up his lower lip. His eyes went to the sky, along with his brow, shaking his head in a playful way. He seemed to be taking the news well. A little too well.
“Miss Murray. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry for that,” he turned to each of his underlings. “We’re sorry. Right, boys?”
“I don’t wanna hear it!” she snapped. “It’s not good enough. Not even close. Do you realize what’s going on? Something’s out there, something in the snow, turning it black like ink. You wanna know the real kicker? It’s attacking kids. The damned thing took a kid’s foot right off!”
Strawn’s expression didn’t change. He shifted his weight and tilted his head, saying not a word. The wind mixed with the churning helicopter blades, whipping the wintry flakes in twists and twirls. April felt the chill, but didn’t allow herself to shiver.
“You have nothing to say?” she looked each man in the eyes. “You don’t want to deny it?”
Strawn worked his jaw, licking his front teeth under closed lips. It looked like he wanted to take a bite right out of her.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he finally said.
“A contamination breach, dammit! A radiation leak from your spent fuel rods! And in that valley, your goddam radiation mixed with some sort of evil entity and made it even more evil, even more deadly. Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on!”
Strawn exhaled menacingly. “If you could only hear yourself right now. Do you realize just how utterly insane you sound?”
Armstrong chuckled. McCullah didn’t. He stood firm on the icy asphalt, his eyes like daggers. April remained fixed on Strawn.
“I think you’ve been reading too many cheap fiction novels. Fuel rods don’t leak just like that. Even if they did, there’s no way it could reach that valley.”
“How do you know?” April raised her hands. “Have you performed any tests? Where’s the data? You’ve never provided even one shred of proof there hasn’t been a contamination as a result of the earthquake last May.”
Strawn replied quickly. “And you can’t provide a shred of proof there has been a leak.”
“Yes I can! That black pool of ooze down there! You want proof of whether or not your radiation is dangerous? Go to the hospital. Ask Dexter Bowen. He’ll tell you. Damned thing ate his foot!”
“Is that right?” McCullah broke his silence. “And what hospital would that be?”
“Longview’s a small city,” April looked at him. “It wouldn’t be hard to…wait a minute,” she turned to Strawn. “You guys do believe this, don’t you? You guys are going to do something to silence Dexter,” she gulped. Her mind spun faster than a cyclone. “Wait a minute. You want to
silence me, too, don’t you?”
“Now hold on, Miss Murray,” Strawn glared at McCullah then flashed April a friendly look. “Don’t take Mr. McCullah too seriously. He obviously doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”
“You misunderstood me,” McCullah tried to smile. April could tell the expression was foreign to him. His frown lines rejected it. “All I meant was that we should send him some flowers or something. Lift the kid’s spirits. You know, wish him a speedy recovery.”
April eyed him up and down. She didn’t buy it for a second.
“That’s right,” Strawn nodded. “We always hate to hear about accidents like that. Don’t you, Miss Murray?”
She didn’t answer. The sense McCullah gave her carried her to a cold place where she felt vulnerable and isolated, and not just physically or geographically, though that remote stretch of highway might as well have been Siberia.
The freezing temperature intensified the men’s icy stares. She couldn’t stop herself from shivering now. She saw maliciousness in their eyes as they sent little nonverbal messages back and forth to one another.
“How could you be so goddam arrogant?” she forced through the lump in her throat. “Did you actually think you’d get away with this? I’ll tell you one thing. As long as there’s still breath in my body, and as long as I can put pen to paper, I’ll never give up on this. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what I have to do.”
Something told her to stop. Stop talking! Turn and go!
Until that moment, April hadn’t feared for her life. She just didn’t think Strawn had it in him to hurt her. But right then, she realized she’d made a mistake. She had to leave, and leave now.
“Oh shit, you know what?” she looked at her wristwatch, trembling. “I forgot how late I am. I’ve got to go, guys. Really. It’s been fun but…”
Strawn snatched her arm. “Leaving so soon?”
Her jaw dropped. In one split second, she pictured Strawn telling his underlings: watch for a moment. Wait and watch for when I decide whether the girl lives or dies. When that moment comes, you’ll see my signal. If she lives, it’ll be a subtle wave of my hand. If she dies, it’s a glance and a nod. Got that? A glance and a nod.
Her fight-or-flight reflex kicked in and she twisted from Strawn’s grip. Then she lifted her leg and kneed him square in the balls. He groaned and doubled over, though she only saw it from the corner of her eye while darting to her car. She heard footsteps in the frosty ground behind her. They stopped when she reached the Neon and yanked open the door, its hinges cracking with ice.
She threw herself inside and fumbled for the key, cursing at herself for not reaching for it sooner. She’d actually practiced this exact sort of thing. As a female journalist, she knew she’d need such a skill. And every time she’d gone over the drill, she’d made sure to have her ignition key in hand, ready for the getaway. She rooted in her pockets some more and found the damned thing, then, in record time, had the Neon running and moving.
She took off quickly, though not so fast as to lose traction and reel out of control. In her rearview mirror, she spotted the men hustling toward the administration building. She could tell Strawn by his limp.
A bend in the road made her lose sight of the NWP men. Blistering wind sent wisps of flakes skittering across the icy ground, showering her windshield with a steady white spray. The Neon’s wipers at full blast couldn’t keep up with the frozen deluge, reducing her visibility even further.
Up ahead, the road widened, signaling the junction with Highway 30. She glanced in the mirror again. Her heart sank into her intestines. Behind her, coming around the curve, two bright, bluish halogen bulbs sliced through the blizzard. She recognized the white NWP truck. It blended in with the wintry backdrop, yet clearly she saw the outline of the double cab and emergency light mounted on top.
At the intersection, she wanted to head home to Portland. Then she thought again. All of the sudden, staying at Jeff’s house sounded more appealing than ever. A short drive and she’d be safe and off the road, sitting by a warm woodstove, maybe sipping some nice Bordeaux or, hell, even a beer if he had one. She didn’t care. She just wanted to get off that gloomy, frozen highway. So she turned right instead of left, toward the northbound lane, heading for Jack Falls Road.
SHE PULLED OUT OF Trojan Park and noticed movement on the other side of the highway, shifting shadows in the trees. Nervous energy coursed through her veins. She couldn’t tell…was it black snow? The interplay between dark and light looked exactly the same. Soon, though, brightness prevailed over shadow as headlights appeared up ahead in the oncoming lane. Other lights, too. A dozen orange bulbs outlined the silhouetted exterior of what looked like an eighteen-wheeler.
She eased off the gas, glancing at the mirror and keeping her head forward. The NWP truck had disappeared. She guessed maybe Strawn and his men had come to their senses and decided to not murder her, after all. Giggling, she realized right then how crazy it sounded. Maybe she’d let her imagination get the best of her. She had to laugh at herself, creeping into the thoroughfare while maintaining a close watch on that big rig headed her direction.
SLAM!
Her car jerked forward. The seatbelt locked millimeters before her nose smashed against the windshield. Her collarbone burned where the safety belt dug in. It hurt her neck to look up. She did anyway, searching for a sign of what hit her. Nothing. The impact skewed the rearview mirror, and even when she readjusted it, she saw only empty road behind her.
In front, though, the headlights of the fast-approaching freight truck blinded her. She slammed her foot on the gas pedal, spinning her front tires, but going nowhere. The trucker sounded his horn so rapidly it seemed like one continuous tone. As the blinding glare from the semi washed over her face, she pressed hard on the accelerator.
When the truck got close enough for her to read FREIGHTLINER on the grill, her studded tires dug in, propelling the car forward. Combined with some quick maneuvering by the semi, the vehicles avoided what would have been a devastating head-on.
Still blaring its horn, the eighteen-wheeler swerved, straddling the center line as it continued on its southbound course. Finally, April allowed herself to breathe, realizing she’d been going without oxygen for the last minute and a half. Her pulse lumbered in her ears, throbbing inside her temples like a rock drummer, John Bonham hammering his famous solo from Moby Dick. She could almost hear the snare, bass, roto-toms, bass, snare-bass-snare.
She took another deep breath, trying to calm her erratic heart. She twisted in her seat, craning to find the pickup. It had to be the NWP truck that rear-ended her, but she couldn’t see it.
A burst of brightness turned the interior of her car from night to day. Before she had time to react, a shock from the side sent the Neon into a tailspin. She looked back and recognized the corporate pickup from its silhouette.
Her mind tried to put together what had just happened. The truck didn’t allow her the time. It sideswiped into her rear fender, denting the sheet metal.
The Neon did a half circle and pointed into the ditch. Momentum took it over the side, and down a steep embankment. The fall would have been much more devastating if not for the mounds of snow. Still, it packed a punch. The vertical terrain pitched her forward. The car’s rear upended and flipped over the front, sending it onto its top. Upside down, hanging from her seatbelt, she saw white everywhere. The air, dusty with iridescent flakes, hung in silence. Her head complained of pain, a throbbing somewhere she couldn’t quite place. She tasted blood. For a few moments, she couldn’t remember anything as she blinked away shards of shattered glass.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch
The sound of boots in the compacted frost brought it all flooding back to her. She realized those men from NWP meant to kill her. Pure and simple. It couldn’t have been an accident. The driver of that pickup knew exactly what he was doing, and now was coming to finish the job.
She reached for the seatbelt
release and pressed the button. It wouldn’t budge.
Crunch, crunch
She saw boots. Looked expensive. Impeccable brown leather with silver fox fur lining. They stopped on the passenger side. She played dead. A face peered in. She recognized the gray-tipped hair. McCullah.
“Yoo-hoo,” he sang. Sick bastard. “You awake in there?”
She stayed quiet and motionless, blood filling her head.
“Little lady? You okay?”
More crunching. Another set of boots.
“You sure she’s dead?” as soon as he spoke, she knew it was Armstrong.
“No. I’m not sure.”
“Then what are we gonna do?”
“I’m going to strangle her fucking neck,” McCullah sounded winded. “As soon as I can get to her.”
Her pulse raced. She struggled with her seatbelt again, fighting for her life. Pressing as hard as she could, she gave it a yank. The lock clicked loose. She fell against the ceiling on her shoulders, hitting the dome light with her forehead.
“She’s alive! Hurry!”
She used her feet to clear away the remaining bits of broken glass around the window frame, then pulled herself onto the frigid tundra. Without gloves, her hands burned in the cold.
She crept only a few feet, then tumbled end over end, landing at the bottom of the hill against a thin, flexible sapling. It cushioned the blow. She didn’t wait to see if they’d come after her. After the first few steps on her knees, she managed to get to her feet. Her head throbbed. She had to run, knowing her only chance was to make it back to Jeff’s house. It had to be close. The lights from the homes on Jack Falls Road twinkled on the hillside.
“Goddammit! Get back here!” McCullah’s command only made her sprint faster into the heart of the canyon. It grew even darker and quieter. The lights from the houses disappeared behind the steep ridge.
Bitter Cold Page 6