A branch snapped behind us. Phillip jolted, finally taking notice of the creeping darkness. However, what lunged for us was not at all what I had anticipated. From out of nowhere, bright lights flashed into our eyes. “Don’t move!” a deep voice bellowed sternly. “Don’t you dare move.”
“Show your hands!” commanded another voice.
I wasn’t sure how we were supposed to show our hands without daring to move. Defying the orders of the first voice, I opted to slowly open my palms at my sides.
“We have Phillip Rosemann here!” shouted the deeper voice. Three officers rushed from inside the cabin to assess the catch, and we were surrounded. “You had been told, Rosemann, not to leave Lanford. What’re you doing this far north?”
“Looking for Ginger,” he barked, squinting into the light. “And you’re just slowing me down.”
“Bring them out front.”
We were escorted to separate ends of the front yard. Two officers began interrogating Phillip, while I was given to a young officer with a round gut that matched his round face. He kept his lips cocked to one side as he anxiously chewed a piece of gum. “You’re Ayden Dezelan, right?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Officer Barnes.”
“Hello.”
“How’d you get here?”
“Phillip drove me.”
“Did Mr. Rosemann bring you here against your will?”
“No.”
“Uh-huh. Well, we have a statement from a resident at your apartment building that says you were dragged, unconscious, across the parking lot by someone fitting the description of Mr. Rosemann and then placed into a vehicle with a license plate matching a vehicle owned by Mr. Rosemann.”
“That’s right,” I confirmed.
“Can you explain that?”
“I was really tired.”
“You were so tired, he had to drag you across the parking lot in order to get you into his vehicle?”
“Yes.”
Calling the look he gave me skeptical would’ve been an understatement. “I’m going to ask again. Were you held against your will by Phillip Rosemann at any time?”
“Against my will? No. I want to be here,” I affirmed.
“Uh-huh. OK. Do you know the whereabouts of Ginger Young?”
“Yes.”
“Is she on the premises?”
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“Ginger’s—in the woods.”
“Where in the woods?”
“Not these woods. I have a pretty good idea she’s in the woods behind my parents’ house.”
He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and briefly flipped through the pages. “And your parents’ house is in Lanford?”
“Yes. Well, actually no. On the outskirts. Between Lanford and Ruthsford. The woods there aren’t as big as these woods. Just a small patch of trees, really. I wish they were bigger. But farmland has taken a lot of the trees. And houses have too. It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“I mean, where are the deer and the owls supposed to live?”
He switched his wad of gum to the other side of his mouth. “How do you know Ms. Young is in those woods?”
“Because I saw her there.”
“When did you see her there?”
“This afternoon.”
“You were in the woods behind your parents’ house this afternoon?”
“No. Hey,” I said, pointing behind him, “look at those trees.” Dark, rolling clouds charged across the sky in the distance. And beneath them, the trees began taking a battering from the wind.
“I need you to focus, Mr. Dezelan. You just told me you saw Ginger Young this afternoon in the woods behind your parents’ house. Is that the truth or not?”
“Yes. It’s the truth.”
“How could you have seen her in those woods this afternoon without being there?”
“Because,” I pensively replied, “I saw her—in my dream.”
He leaned closer as if he had trouble hearing. “In your dream?”
“Yes,” I quietly confirmed.
He adjusted his cap and peered into my eyes as if he thought no one was at home inside my skull. He did his best to continue his questioning, pretending as if I hadn’t said anything unusual at all. “To your knowledge, did Mr. Rosemann have anything to do with the disappearance of Ginger Young?”
“No.” At least I didn’t think so.
“Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of Ginger Young?”
“No. All I know is she’s probably out there. In old Mr. Peterson’s woods.”
“Mr. Dezelan, do you know whether or not Ms. Young is alive?”
“She was when I saw her in my dream. But is she alive right now? Hard to say.”
He brushed his moustache with his finger. “All right. I need to call this in. And we’ll need to bring you and Mr. Rosemann into the station for further questioning.” He placed his hand on the back of my shoulder and led me to one of the squad cars. On our way across the yard, we passed Phillip.
“Yes. But I didn’t hurt him!” Phillip argued. When I saw his feet start to shuffle, I knew they had whipped him into a mighty panic. Sure enough, seconds later, he broke from the officers and bolted for the cabin. A brawny officer charged after him. He slammed Phillip to the ground and used his weight to subdue him. “I don’t care if you believe me! Just go look for her! Please!” he wailed as another officer assisted in handcuffing his wrists.
The sight of poor Phillip tackled and handcuffed made me sick to my stomach. He had come so close to finding her only to have his mission squelched. It wasn’t clear if they were going to send anyone to search for Ginger in the woods or not. Yet even if they were, they had ruined everything. It should’ve been Phillip and me searching those woods together. Not some cops. We didn’t need their help. It wasn’t fair we wouldn’t be the ones to find her.
After shoving me into the back of the squad car, Officer Barnes radioed the station. I peered through the window to the burly officer who had handcuffed Phillip. He had stepped away from the others and stood several yards into the field, his attention held by the trees in the distance. There was something peculiar about the way they thrashed, the way their limbs violently bent and snapped. Suddenly, several of the tallest trees disappeared from the horizon as if removed by a giant eraser. With the commotion surrounding the cabin, the two of us were the only ones aware that something alarmingly powerful was out there mangling and devouring trees. Then—it showed itself. Bursting into the organic landscape from another world, the spinning coil of metal leapt over the treetops. It touched down in the field and barreled toward the tiny cabin.
Jarred out of his frozen amazement, the officer turned to the cabin. He cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed his terrible warning: “Tornado!” The wind, however, easily stole his voice. He ran toward the cabin for cover, but the metal beast quickly closed the distance on him. It had set its sights, and he didn’t stand a chance. The spinning blade effortlessly sliced through his flesh and bones. His body was swiftly divided into pieces, which were flung every which way. His head landed in the lilac bushes. With a loud thud, a chunk of his torso slammed onto the hood of the squad car I was stuck inside of.
Startled, Officer Barnes rushed outside and reflexively drew his gun. While attempting to process the sight of the mutilated torso, he failed to sense the tornado whirring directly overhead. When he finally looked above to the otherworldly cyclone, his jaw went slack in disbelief. His screams were quickly muted as the tornado lowered itself. First, it plucked off his head. Then, it sucked him into its body, where he was effectively pureed. His liquefied body sprayed over the gravel driveway and covered the squad car in a layer of red mucus and pulverized bone. Through the gore-tinted windows, the world suddenly appeared a dull shade of red.
The still-hungry tornado began chewing on the squad car. A shower of dazzling sparks flowed over the wind
shield as the twister drilled into the hood. Behind the mesh divider, I was trapped. I tugged on the locked door. “Get me outta here!” I pounded the glass. “Phillip!” But Phillip was still in custody of the remaining officers, who huddled near the cabin, too afraid to approach the tornado.
Halfway across the field, two more metallic cyclones dropped from the sky, crisscrossing as they charged toward the cabin. I only caught a glimpse of their terrifying approach, however, as the car began to spin. With the car rotating faster and faster, I gripped the armrest to keep my head from hitting the ceiling. Just when I thought the turbulent ride couldn’t get any more nauseating, I was flung across the field. After spiraling through the air, the car crashed and rolled until it settled on its side. The tornado chased after the vehicle like a cat after an injured bird. It pounced back onto the car and began grinding it into the soil. A series of loud pops rang out as the windows shattered.
Slammed against the driver’s side door, I grasped the seat belt and hoisted myself between the ground I was being crushed into and the deadly metal drilling above. The tornado churned aggressively, intent on completely destroying the vehicle. It crushed the interior while simultaneously working like a vacuum to suck up the wreckage. The airbags released and immediately ruptured, sending a flurry of white powder up the tornado’s shaft.
I knew if I stayed wedged where I was, I’d soon be shredded and vacuumed up with the rest of the debris. So I made a desperate move. Using all my strength, I began clawing my way up the back seat, determined to escape through the blown-out rear window. With the car spinning, it wasn’t easy. I was dizzy. Nauseous. But little by little, I climbed my way up—and miraculously out of—the whirling car. Outside, I gripped the window’s edge for dear life. It was like being on a demented Tilt-A-Whirl. Blood rushed to my feet as I spun in dizzying rotations, with hot sparks spraying over my body. When it became clear no moment would be any less dangerous than another to disembark, I let go and was hurled into the field.
I lifted my throbbing head just in time to see the car crumpled like a piece of paper and then sliced into thousands of flying pieces. I tried to stand but vomited at once. Queasy, I limped toward the cabin. The field was scarred with zigzagging trails of overturned earth. While the tornado that had eaten the car began drilling into another police cruiser, the other two were busy hunting the scrambling, screaming officers. One of the tornados chased two of them into the woods behind the cabin. It sliced through the thick trees, pursuing them relentlessly.
I dodged my way through the pandemonium and crept around the backside of the cabin. It was there I found Phillip. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he cowered on his knees, pressing himself as tightly as he could against the cabin’s foundation. “You’re alive,” he said upon seeing me.
“So are you,” I said, relieved.
“It chased me back here. I was sure it’d kill me. But then it took off after one of the cops.” The awful sound of metal buzzing was in the air all around us. “We have to get out of here. We have to get my keys.”
I cupped my hand beneath Phillip’s elbow and helped him stand. We cautiously made our way to the side of the cabin and hid behind the porch. The tornado out front had already destroyed the second cruiser and was enjoying the third. It flung the vehicle across the field, chased after it, and then tossed it in another direction. Each time the car slammed down sounded like a small explosion. “Let’s hope that thing doesn’t get bored with that cop car anytime soon,” said Phillip as he eyed his pickup.
All we had to do was slip inside the cabin, grab the keys, and bolt for the truck. The distance to the door seemed short enough, so I decided to go for it. Phillip, however, ordered me down as soon as I started climbing the railing. “Wait. Over there,” he said and nodded to the other side of the yard. I jumped down and peered around the side of the porch.
Across the yard, the third tornado had one of the officers pinned on his back. It had twisted his shirt right off him. He let out low moans as the metal tip penetrated his chest. Upon drawing blood, the twister let up. The man slid backward in a panicked attempt to escape. But the playful twister pinned him once more. His moans turned into screams of agony as it burrowed deeper into his chest, punishing him for his disobedience.
“It’s OK,” I said. “It’s busy with him. I think I can make it.”
“I’m going too,” Phillip declared.
“Phillip . . .” I motioned to his handcuffs.
“All right then,” he relented. “The keys are on a hook in the kitchen. Be quick. And be careful.”
Feeling as brave as I had when I burst through the grove of metal trees to save Ginger, I alone crawled onto the porch. Slowly, I stood erect. Yet as I rose, the tornado pinning the officer rose as well. It had noticed me, was curious what I was up to. It spun in midair, hesitant, deciding which of us to pulverize. Spotting me on the porch, the gored man stood. He wobbled, clutching his wounded chest before limping toward the cabin. His limp turned into a feeble run as he desperately sought safety. The tornado whirred with fury, prompting me to dash for the door. I heard the weight of the heavy metal drop to the earth behind me. It roared across the yard as I flung open the door and raced for the kitchen. The officer, not far behind, entered with his breastbone exposed, looking more dazed than in pain. He scurried past me and hid in the back bedroom.
I grabbed the keys off the hook and clutched them tightly just before the tornado ripped into the front bedroom. The entire structure shifted off its foundation. The roof caved. The floor sloped. I dove behind the counter for shelter from the flying wreckage. With the bedroom obliterated, the metallic monster tore through the bathroom. It sounded like a thousand circular saws buzzing at once as it chewed through wood, pipes, and porcelain. It then charged into the second bedroom. This room it demolished with purpose and precision, spinning the tip of its funnel into each corner. There was no mistaking when it had gotten what it was after: a blunt scream rang out before a thick fountain of blood sprayed into the hall.
37
Summer’s Peak
When the deafening roar went silent, I crept out from my hiding place. The cabin had been sliced in half. The rooms on the other side of the living area no longer existed. A new roof had formed that slanted dramatically toward the exposed foundation and resealed the gap. The front door was wedged shut, partially crushed beneath the weight of the buckling walls.
I had assumed I was trapped, yet I felt a breeze from the back of the cabin. I followed the airflow, climbing over fallen boards, chunks of plaster, and a severed pipe gushing water across the carpet. It led to an opening created by a stubborn wall that refused to give in to the weight of the ceiling. I poked my head out only to find my escape route blocked. It was nearly silent as it spun, rotating just above the cement foundation. Only a light whoosh could be heard as the coiled blade swirled through the night air. That’s how it breathed, I reasoned—by constantly rotating. I retreated back into the dilapidated cabin. Truly trapped.
As I cowered like a scared rabbit, the front door began to heave. Finally, it burst open, and Phillip literally fell into the cabin. His hands still secured behind his back, he had used his shoulders to ram the door. “Are you all right!” he shouted.
“Still alive,” I affirmed, stepping out of the darkness to help him to his feet.
“What about the cop?”
“Dead. They’re all dead,” I assumed.
“Did you get the keys?”
I had to open my fist and look. “Yeah.” I had been clenching them so tightly, they had dug into my palm.
“All right. Let’s go!”
“Not yet,” I said. I tugged his sleeve and led him to the opening at the back of the cabin. I gestured ominously to the tornado purring over the cement slab.
“Jesus,” he whispered, in awe of seeing it up close. “I saw two of them take off into the sky. I thought they had all gone.” As if to join our conversation, the tornado lurched forward, biting at the collapsing r
oof. “We need to leave out the front door. Right now. And get in the truck as fast as we can,” Phillip insisted.
“No.” To his surprise, I refused. I had a thought. The tornados were from my dream. Yes, my dream had warned of their arrival. But there was something else. Somehow, I knew they had a deeper purpose beyond the death and mayhem they had brought to the cabin that night. I grabbed Phillip by the shoulders. Gently, I pushed him backward toward the tornado.
“What the fuck, Ayden!”
The tornado thrust forward several feet, eager to meet Phillip. He pushed against me, but I wouldn’t relent. “Trust me,” I said, my hands trembling as I offered him to the metal monster.
“Jesus Christ!”
I placed him as close as I could without allowing the beast’s sharp coils to slice him. Then I stepped back, praying my instinct hadn’t been a colossal misjudgment. There Phillip stood, apparently trusting me. Or simply too afraid to move. His hair was tussled by the slight wind the tornado created. He closed his eyes and breathed short, nervous breaths. His forehead and upper lip perspired. His lips were slightly apart, quivering. The way they jittered, it looked as if he was talking to himself. Or praying. The tornado leaned closer.
“Lift your arms,” I instructed from a safe distance. He opened his blue eyes and looked to me. Afraid and looking bewildered with himself for trusting me, he slowly raised his shackled wrists. He held them apart, keeping the chain linking the cuffs taut. With a small eruption of sparks, the tornado easily sliced through the chain without so much as nicking his skin—and Phillip was free. He swung his arms forward and quickly leapt to my side.
The tornado lifted straight into the sky, taking chunks of the roof with it. I ran through the opening and gazed upward, marveling at the twirling creature as it ascended into the vast darkness. I tingled all over from the rush of the exhilarating encounter.
With the tornados gone, it felt as though we were free to leave. Yet the hum of the spinning metal was slowly replaced by a different sort of hum. I listened closely, parsing it out until I discovered this new hum was composed of a cacophony of overlapping, low groans. I couldn’t see them. But I imagined them watching from behind the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to step into the yard. And sure enough—lured by the gruesome slayings, energized by the smell of terror that wafted in the air—the small yet lethal beings trotted out from the woods. Shadows of their wide horns and pointy fingertips stretched across the yard, allowing them to appear colossal.
Where the Cats Will Not Follow Page 23