Frantic

by Mike Dellosso

  The Buick didn’t look like much on the exterior, but under her hood she’d been fully restored and was ready to hum. Marny slid in behind the wheel and cranked the engine. It sprang to life without protest. Gripping the wheel with one hand, he hit the garage door opener with the other. “Here we go.”

  The door lifted and let the morning light in. Gary had gone back out the front door and was sprinting down the driveway to meet them, arms and legs going like crankshafts on a steam locomotive. Marny had seen this show before. He threw the car into gear and stomped on the accelerator. The tires spun on the concrete, let out a high-pitched squeal, and finally found purchase. The car lunged forward.

  Gary was there in no time, his face drawn up like a cinched burlap bag, murder in his eyes. He grabbed at the door handle as the car passed him, but missed and kicked the rear panel instead. Marny yanked the steering wheel to the left to avoid the pickup, and the car dipped off the driveway and into the side yard. Again the tires spun, unable to find their grip in the grass. His heart beat through his hands and into the wheel. In the back, William whimpered and began to cry.

  By the time they made it out of the yard and back onto the road, Gary was in his car and turning it around. The chase was on, but they had the advantage: Marny knew these roads like the lines of his palm.

  Chapter 24

  MARNY’S FOOT GOT a little heavier on the accelerator.

  He was a good two hundred yards down the road when he looked in the rearview mirror and saw Gary pull out of the yard. The front end of the Taurus bounced and swerved, then straightened and pointed right at them. The needle on the Buick’s speedometer climbed closer to seventy. Route 1 wasn’t far away, and from there Interstate 95 was only a short distance. Once on 95 they could head all the way down to Boston, then get 495 to Route 2 and take that to western Massachusetts. But first they had to shake Gary. Navigating the proper course didn’t matter if they didn’t lose the Taurus.

  Stepping on the brake and yanking the wheel hard to the right, Marny jumped onto Little Pond Road and accelerated. Little Pond was an unpaved lane that wound and curved like a snake through the pine forest. In the mirror he could only see maybe fifty feet behind them at one time and couldn’t tell how close Gary was, how much ground he had gained.

  Up ahead a quarter of a mile Bog Road split off to the left. Marny took it and kept his foot on the gas as much as possible. The road straightened out at one point and shot through the trees like a runway. On either side stood pools of shallow water over-populated by cattails and pondweed. It was along this stretch that Marny caught a glimpse of the Taurus closing fast. It was now only a hundred yards back. Marny wanted to floor it, see what kind of speed the Buick had, but a sharp right was coming up ahead and he had to slow. Immediately after the curve he turned right onto a paved road known to the locals as Devil’s Run because of the high number of fatalities recorded on it. No one knew the reason for the deaths. The road was not uncommonly treacherous or winding. There were no unmarked hairpin curves, no steep grades. It was not unlike any other rural road in Maine, save for the fact that it had claimed nine lives in the past year alone.

  Local folklore reported that a group of school children were murdered along this road back in the 1920s, and now the spirits of the deceased kids roamed the woods and wandered onto the roadway, causing accidents. Eyewitnesses who survived their encounters with the lost children said they appeared confused, panicky. But this was not something Marny wanted to dwell on. He had his own theory that because of the reputation of the road, inexperienced drivers preoccupied with visions of bodiless school kids causing gruesome and violent wrecks got distracted. Self-fulfilling prophecy at its worst.

  Another glance in the mirror told him he better not play it cautious; Gary was gaining again. In the backseat, Esther and William huddled together. Marny’s eyes met Esther’s, and in hers he found a weird mixture of fear and trust.

  “Can he do something?” Marny said.

  “Who?”

  “William.”

  Gary was only fifty yards behind them now. The Buick was built for comfort, not performance.

  Esther shook her head. “No. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Bummer.”

  The road curved to the left ahead, and beyond the bend a smaller paved road broke off to the left. Marny took it. He knew this road, lots of twists and turns and offshoots and driveways. This is where he would lose Gary.

  He took each turn barely slowing, just on the edge of out-of-control. The car’s tires did their best to grip and hold the asphalt, but more than once he felt them slip. He wondered if each turn would be their last, if the tires would finally give up and allow the car to careen off the road and play pinball with the pines.

  But despite the ferocity with which Marny drove, despite the myriad of roads, both paved and unpaved, Gary stayed with him.

  Marny had one last idea, one final hope for shaking Gary for good. Passing on the next road, he hit the accelerator and the Buick’s engine whined. Up ahead was a left that would lead them to Route 69, and that would lead them to Interstate 95. He needed to get to where people were, other vehicles, witnesses.

  The road came up quick, and he almost missed it. The brakes moaned and the car slid on some loose gravel, but it held. Not far behind them, Gary came around the corner faster than Marny did, and the Taurus slid to the shoulder and onto some loose ground. Marny had to keep his eyes on the road ahead, but when he checked the mirror the Taurus was back on the road and moving forward again. Marny had managed to put a little more distance between them.

  A mile down the road, 69 branched to the right, and Marny took it at nearly the same speed. Once on the open road the accelerator hit the floor and the speedometer pushed eighty. He hoped dearly that one of Maine’s finest was waiting along the shoulder for someone just like him, a frantic gas station attendant in a classic car literally running for his life. This would certainly be a welcome time to see some flashing lights.

  Seconds later Gary’s Taurus appeared, fishtailed, and started after them. He wasn’t giving up. William’s words—he won’t stop until he gets what he wants—screamed through Marny’s head. This could turn into a test of fuel efficiency; whoever ran out of gas first was the big loser. For the first time since jumping into the Buick and leaving ruts in Mr. Condon’s yard, Marny checked the fuel gauge. Three quarters of a tank. He knew the Taurus had more because he’d just filled it himself the day before. Unless Gary had gone on an excursion overnight, it would be barely below full. If it came to fuel levels, they were the losers. He had to come up with another solution, a way to even the odds.

  Marny kept the accelerator down, occasionally lifting it to cruise around slight bends. At last he saw the sign he was waiting for—Junction I-95. Less than a mile.

  He took the ramp at full speed, nearly putting the Buick on two wheels. Esther let out a little scream from the backseat, then apologized.

  When Marny hit 95 the road was clear and free. This stretch was never very populated.

  Something bumped them from behind.

  Chapter 25

  THE VOICE WAS in Gary’s head again.

  It was loud, so loud, in fact, that it drowned out the sound of the engine and the noise of the tires on the road.

  The boy is the reason you were put on this earth; he is your purpose for existing. You must protect him. You must. You MUST.

  There was nothing Gary could do to silence it. At these speeds he had to keep both hands on the wheel. His foot shook on the accelerator but managed to hold it down. The Taurus may have seen its better days, but it still performed well. The way it had handled the back roads was impressive, but, of course, much of that had to do with Gary’s driving ability. But the voice was not interested in his earthly gifts and talents. It was interested in only one thing—the anointed one.

  This is your calling. Nothing else matters. Your life is not your own; it is the Lord’s, and this is what the Lord requires of you. Do not f
ail Him.

  Gary gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The car responded well and pushed forward.

  Sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes. It burned, blurring his vision. He took one hand off the wheel and wiped at his eyes, lost control of the car for a fraction of a second, and swerved left. He yanked the wheel back. The car jerked and pulled right and almost skidded off the shoulder of the road. At the speed he was going, almost ninety, even the slightest sudden movement could throw the vehicle out of control. Heart in his throat, Gary managed to regain control, but with the near miss a series of images skipped through his mind.

  A large man in a black suit, towering over him. He holds the Holy Bible against his chest. His narrowed eyes are a piercing green, his snow-white hair is combed straight back. Thin lips, angular jaw. He is the image of holiness.

  The boy is there too. He’s in his wheelchair facing the man. The man holds the Bible in the air with his left hand and puts his right hand on the boy’s head. When he speaks his voice resonates in a rich baritone.

  “And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare a way for Him. To give His people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God, by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace.”

  The memories didn’t last long, barely seconds, but they were enough to bring tears to Gary’s eyes. He feared the minister, but at the same time he respected him. His words were words of truth. Gary knew that. He was called to protect the boy, God’s anointed, the prophet of the Most High.

  Gary gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed on the accelerator. The Taurus sped onward until its bumper met the rear of the vehicle in front of him.

  Chapter 26

  THE BUICK LURCHED forward, and Marny’s seat belt reflexively tightened against his chest.

  In the rearview mirror the grill of the Taurus and the bull behind the wheel closed in again.

  The bumpers met and the Buick jerked, tires skidding.

  Marny put the accelerator on the floor and changed lanes without using the turn signal. They were at speeds nearing a hundred, and he felt like even the slightest alteration of course could send them into an out-of-control tailspin and topple the car end over end.

  Gary followed into the left lane and closed in again.

  Marny tried to keep his eyes both on the road ahead and on the mirror. Another bump like the ones before, especially at these speeds, and the outcome could be very bad. Right before the front bumper of the Taurus met the rear one of the Buick, Marny switched lanes again. In the side mirror he saw Gary slap the steering wheel and change lanes as well.

  Ahead, no more than a quarter mile, was a handful of slower moving cars. Marny gained on them quickly, and with one hand on the wheel and the other on the horn—and with Gary on his tail—he navigated through the crowd, swerving, dodging. He thought maybe the moving obstacles would throw Gary off his course and put some distance between them, but his hopes were dashed when he checked the mirror and found Gary still behind, keeping pace.

  Marny had to shake him; they couldn’t keep this up much longer.

  They passed a sign indicating that the exit for Route 1 was a mile ahead, and an idea hit Marny. It was a long shot, but quite possibly their only hope.

  He glanced in the mirror at the backseat. “You two have your seat belts on?”

  “You think we wouldn’t?” Esther said.

  “Make sure they’re snug. And hang on.”

  Behind them Gary was still playing his tailgating game. Marny moved to the right lane and stepped on the gas. The speedometer pushed a hundred and five as the sign stating Route 1 was only a half mile ahead whizzed by in a green blur.

  Marny could see the exit ramp on their side and the entrance ramp on the opposite side of the road. A pack of oncoming traffic was approaching on the other side heading northbound. A big rig and maybe five or six cars. He had only one chance at this, and it had to happen now. If he missed, it would be the end.

  “Hold on,” he said. “And you may want to close your eyes.”

  Just as the Taurus lunged forward again, Marny yanked the wheel to the left and hit the brakes, not hard enough to lock the tires but firm enough to grind the brake pads. But he didn’t stop at the left lane; he let the Buick cruise into the median, moving at a forty-five degree angle to the roadway. They bounced along, tires slipping in the grass, hit the dip in the middle of the median, and came out on the other side.

  Now they were traveling against traffic, and the big rig and his buddies were bearing down fast. The on-ramp was across the pavement.

  Marny nearly stood on the gas pedal and hit the ramp just as the rig, air horn screaming, passed. Then it was to the brake again. The Buick screeched and slid and finally slowed. Fortunately, no one was coming the other way on the ramp, or they both would have been scrap metal.

  He pulled the car to the shoulder and got off the ramp and onto Route 1 going south.

  A check in the mirror brought relief, and he noticed he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled. Gary was nowhere in sight. William’s face was buried in Esther’s shoulder, and she still had her eyes shut tight.

  Marny wanted to stop, to settle his frantic heart, to let his breathing slow and swallow the bile in his throat, but they had to keep going, to get as far away from Interstate 95 as possible. He’d have to find another way to exit Maine and head for Massachusetts.

  “You can open your eyes now.” His voice was hoarse.

  Esther opened her eyes slowly and looked behind them. “You lost him?”

  “I think. For now. We gotta keep moving, though.”

  “I think I wet myself.”

  He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours he smiled. “Thank you.”

  Her eyes met his in the mirror. “For wetting myself? Or not wetting myself?”

  “You were praying, weren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

  “So thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Up ahead a road branched to the left and headed for the coast. Marny took it. “You okay, William?”

  He nodded. “That was pretty scary, Marnin.”

  “You’re the king of understatement, buddy.” He felt like a million pounds had been lifted from his chest.

  “Did your father teach you to drive?” William said.

  Marny laughed. “No. My mother.”

  “Did she teach you to drive like that?”

  “No. She was a much better driver than me. She taught me to drive the right way.”

  “So where did you learn to drive like that?”

  It was the most Marny had heard William talk since they’d met. It was nice to hear his voice. “That, William, was my own doing. Don’t ever drive like that when you get older.”

  “I won’t. Thank you for getting us away from Gary.”

  Chapter 27

  MAINE IS A vast expanse of forest and wilderness, wild land untamed by mankind.

  It took Marny nearly two hours to get out of the state. He stuck to secondary roads tucked into the coastline to avoid running into Gary. He had no doubt Gary hadn’t given up the chase that easily, that he was patrolling Interstate 95 and maybe Route 1 waiting for his prey to show up. He didn’t know where Marny was going, or at least Marny presumed he didn’t, and that was to their advantage. Esther and William both slept. Their night under the stars coupled with the near-death experience of losing Gary had proved too much for them, and they’d finally given in to sleep.

  They hit New Hampshire around ten o’clock, and Marny’s grumbling stomach told him it was time to stop for food. He got back on Route 1 and pulled into a fast-food joint just outside Portsmouth.

 
Esther stirred in the backseat. “Where are we?”

  “Breakfast stop. New Hampshire.” He pulled up to the drive-through speaker. “You hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  “Then we stopped at the right place. What do you want? They’re still serving breakfast.”

  She gave him her order and one for William, and he passed it along to the voice. Esther climbed into the front seat, and minutes later they were on the road, headed west to Monroe Bridge, Massachusetts.

  “How long do you think it will take to get there?” Esther said.

  “Couple hours, give or take.”

  William still slept. Esther said she didn’t want to wake him, he’d eat when he was ready. Right now he needed sleep more than sustenance.

  Marny was quiet for a few minutes, going over all that had taken place in the past day. Part of him regretted ever getting involved. If he’d left that piece of paper lying on the lot at the garage, or if he’d merely read it, crumpled it, and thrown it away, Mr. Condon and Pete would still be alive, and so would Mr. Tuttle. And he wouldn’t be on the run from some crazed monster with a hunger for violence and death. His curse had caught up with him again, and this time it had attitude … and a name: Gary.

  “So are you going to give me the whole story now?” he said.

  Esther lifted her eyebrows. “The story?”

  “Yeah, what’s going on here. You, William, Gary. William’s gift or whatever it is. Faith. I think I deserve to know what I’ve gotten myself into, don’t you?”

  She turned to the side window, then straight ahead. “I suppose you do. Do you want the Twilight version or the Dracula one?”

  “William’s a vampire?”

  She laughed. “Not that I’m aware of, though I’m sure there are things about him even I don’t know. I mean do you want the sanitized version or the dirty one?”

  “How ’bout the one that’s going to tell me the truth.”

  “That would be the dirty one.” She paused, as if collecting her thoughts or sorting through the memories or a little of both. “My father was my best friend. He was a dad then, and we did everything together. Like I told you before, he used to call me Squirt. We laughed a lot together. He told me once that from the day he found out my mom was pregnant he wanted a daughter, and the day I was born was the happiest of his life. He was content with one daughter he could dote on.