Floater

by Gary Brandner

  As they drove down a deserted Main Street no other cars were moving in either direction. It was as though they were all alone on a ghostly highway.

  Roman snapped on the radio. Nothing but crackling static greeted them.

  “Damn storm,” he said. “It’s fouling up everything. That’s probably what jimmied the telephones, too.”

  “Maybe,” Lindy said.

  “What else?”

  Alec leaned forward from the back seat. “Could we stop talking about it now and just concentrate on getting us out of here?”

  Roman turned so his face was close to Alec’s. “Look, pal, only one of us can drive this car at a time, and that one is me. So give it a rest, okay?”

  Alec subsided, muttering to himself.

  Lindy sat straining forward, trying to see into the blackness ahead of them. A mist began to coat the windshield, cutting visibility even more.

  Roman turned on the wipers, but they only smeared a greasy double crescent across the outside of the glass, making things still worse.

  “Try the washer,” Alec said.

  Roman’s head snapped around. “Dammit, I’m not going to tell you again — ”

  “Will you two cut it out?” Lindy broke in. “All of us have frayed nerves. Let’s at least try to get along while we have to be in close quarters.”

  Roman poked at the button bearing the symbol for the windshield washer. Nothing happened. Repeated jabs brought no result. He swore under his breath and drove on.

  Neither of the men said anything for the next several minutes. Roman drove fiercely, rubbing at the windshield with the meaty part of one hand while he gripped the wheel with the other. Since the greasy mist was on the outside of the glass, his efforts had no effect.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Alec said suddenly.

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to drive us the hell out of here.”

  “Look over there.”

  Lindy and Roman turned in the direction Alec was pointing. There, through the misty gloom, was the familiar entrance with the gilt lettering on the door: Wolf River Inn.

  “You drove us in a damn circle,” Alec complained.

  “Like hell. I never turned once.”

  “Then there must be another Wolf River Inn,” Alec said with heavy sarcasm.

  “Maybe if you’d shut up and let me drive we’d get somewhere,” Roman growled.

  Alec let a breath escape through his teeth and moved over to a corner of the back seat.

  Lindy said nothing. She suddenly felt terribly cold.

  After five more minutes of strained driving, a pale glow appeared up ahead on their right. Roman slowed the car. Lindy rolled down her window, the better to see where they were.

  The pallid glow behind the glassed doors was chillingly familiar.

  “Oh … shit,” Roman said.

  Alec groaned softly.

  The gilt lettering, faint but legible, spelled out Wolf River Inn.

  CHAPTER 28

  “You’re driving in circles!” Alec shouted.

  “Like hell I am,” Roman yelled back. “You think you can do a better job, fine, get your ass up here.”

  He yanked the wheel over to steer the car to the curb. Abruptly it was jerked out of his hands and the car lurched back toward the center of the street.

  “What the hell!”

  “Now what are you doing?” Alec demanded.

  “I’m not doing a damn thing. The fucking car’s doing it all by itself.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  Lindy spoke up. “Shut up, Alec. Can’t you see the car’s out of control?”

  “What do you mean, out of control?”

  As though in answer to Alec’s question, the accelerator pedal sank to the floor without assistance from any human agency, and the car roared wildly into the misty night. Roman continued to struggle with the steering wheel and the other controls, but his efforts had no effect.

  “Shut off the engine.” Alec cried.

  “I’m trying, goddamn it!”

  Roman’s knuckles whitened as he tried to twist the ignition key, but it was frozen as though mounted in stone.

  Alec fought with the handle of the back door. “It’s locked,” he said. “I can’t even get out.”

  Lindy tried her own door. It too refused to budge.

  “We’re trapped in here!” Alec cried.

  Roman said, “Jump out at this speed and you’re a dead man anyway.”

  “What are we going to do?” Alec said. “We can’t just let a runaway car take us to … God knows where.”

  “I doesn’t look like we’ve got any choice,” Lindy said, as levelly as she could manage.

  Alec’s voice took on an edge of hysteria. “It’s going to kill us. This crazy car is going to kill us.”

  Roman turned in the seat and slapped him hard on the side of the head.

  Alec rubbed his jaw. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Somebody had to,” Roman said. “You were losing it.” He turned back and clamped his hands on the steering wheel, though he no longer fought to control it, and stared stoically ahead.

  Lindy wrapped her arms around herself and tried to relax as the car careered on through the darkness.

  The lights of the town, dimly seen through the mist, were soon left behind. Dark shapes of trees and bushes alongside the road swayed and danced as a wind picked up. The growl of thunder could be heard even above the roar of the engine.

  A few miles beyond the last lights of the town the steering wheel spun suddenly and violently to the right, tearing itself from Roman’s reflexive grasp. With a screech of rubber the Monte Carlo went into a long sideways slide and seemed in immediate danger of rolling.

  Lindy was thrown hard against Roman, who was forced against the door on the driver’s side. Alec fell all the way across the back seat.

  At the moment when it seemed the car had to tip, it was righted and plunged straight ahead into what looked like impenetrable brush at the roadside. The three people inside braced themselves for the impending crash.

  But there was no crash.

  The car burst through the barrier of brush and plunged ahead on a faint, weed-grown double-rutted trail that was barely discernible under the headlights.

  “Where are we?” Alec said in a choked voice.

  “Don’t you recognize it?” Roman said.

  “How can I recognize anything at night in the woods?”

  “I know what it is,” Lindy said. “It’s the old road to the Wolfpack cabin.”

  The three of them held on to anything they could as the car bumped and jounced along the old rutted road. Roots and boulders banged off the underside of the Monte Carlo. Red warning lights on the dash blinked on as the oil pressure dropped and the temperature rose dangerously. Steam spurted back from under the hood, making the visibility even worse as it obscured the windshield. Trees loomed in their path and jumped out of the way as the car jerked from side to side, steered by an unseen hand. Brush slashed against the sides of the car. Tree branches banged on the roof.

  After an endless nightmare ride, the Monte Carlo jolted to a stop. In the sudden silence, steam hissed from the ruptured radiator and a steady leak of some fluid splashed on the ground under the car.

  Lindy was the first to try her door handle. It worked. The door swung open with a protest of tortured metal.

  She stepped out unsteadily onto the spongy ground. Roman followed, then Alec. They could feel the damp chill of the nearby lake. In the glow of the headlights they could see the broken, listing shell of what had been the Wolfpack party cabin dead ahead.

  “We can’t stay here,” Alec said.

  “We can’t do anything else,” Lindy told him. “Even if we were able to control the car, look at it. It’s not going anywhere now.”

  The Monte Carlo settled slowly as a front tire went flat. Steam spilled from under the sprung hood and beneath the car. The headlights dimmed perceptibly.

 
Lindy looked toward the sky. No stars were visible under the heavy cloud cover. A momentary flash of lightning off to the north lit the trees with a ghostly silver glow. A moment later came the thunder.

  “We’re going to need some kind of light,” she said.

  “I’ve got a flashlight in my suitcase,” Roman said.

  They opened the trunk and retrieved their bags. Roman found the heavy-duty flashlight in his and led the way toward the cabin.

  The ragged ends of wires hanging down from terminals under the eaves told them immediately that the electricity that had once come from power lines to the road was no more.

  Heavy brush had overgrown the path leading from the cabin to the lake. An untidy pile of wood leaned against one wall, with the blade of a rusty ax still biting into the end of a log.

  The glass from the cabin windows was gone, the door was unhinged, roof shingles littered the ground. Roman kicked debris — cans, papers, soiled clothing — out of the way as they entered.

  “Looks like bums and teenagers have been using this place for a dumping ground.”

  They pushed their way inside, and Roman aimed the flashlight around the big downstairs party room. Trash littered the floor. Cobwebs hung thick on the beamed ceiling. Gray-green fungus crept down the walls.

  Small unseen animals skittered away from the light.

  “What a mess,” Alec said.

  “Looks like nobody’s used it in the last twenty years,” Roman said. “Except for the transients and kids.”

  “That figures,” Lindy said. “Didn’t Mr. Hartman close it up right after … after the last Halloween Ball?”

  “Offered it for sale, if I remember,” Roman said. “Never could find a buyer.”

  “At least the fireplace still looks operative,” Alec said. “If that wood outside is dry enough, we can build a fire and get warm.”

  “What for?” Roman said. “You don’t think we’re staying here?”

  “I think we have to,” Lindy said. “At least until daylight.”

  “Not me,” Roman said.

  Lindy faced him. “I wouldn’t want to try to find my way back to the road through the woods. Not on a night like this.”

  “There’s enough of a trail to follow,” Roman said. “I can’t see just sitting here waiting for … for whatever he’s planned for us.”

  “Whatever who’s planned for us?” Alec said.

  Roman whirled on him. “Why don’t we cut out the bullshit. Frazier Nunley, that’s who. He’s the only one who could be behind all this.”

  “Frazier Nunley is dead.”

  “You think you’re telling me something? I was there with you right out on that lake the morning we found him. While you were puking over the side I was looking him right in the face. Hell yes, he’s dead. But he’s doing this. Don’t ask me how, but he’s doing it.”

  “That’s crazy. I’m not saying this isn’t connected with what happed to Frazier, but he’s dead.” Alec put an icy emphasis on the word. “It could be somebody acting in his place. A relative or something. Leaving messages for us, sending over that toy clown.”

  Lindy said, “Alec, no earthly power took control of that car and brought us out here.”

  “If that’s so, I don’t want to think about what it might be,” Alec said.

  “Then if we’re all agreed, let’s get out of here,” Roman said.

  “We haven’t agreed to anything,” Lindy said. “I think Alec’s right about building a fire, and I think we ought to look around and see if there’s some way we can get some light. Didn’t there used to be kerosene lamps kept in the closet under the stairs for emergencies?”

  “That was twenty years ago,” Roman protested.

  “So? It can’t hurt to look.”

  With Roman shining the flashlight beam ahead of her, Lindy crossed the trash-strewn floor to the door that led into the triangular storage space under the stairs. The rusty hasp gave with a protesting shriek, and Lindy pulled open the stubborn door. She brushed aside a thick spiderweb and stepped inside.

  Roman came up behind her and played the light around the filthy interior. No lamps were in sight, but Lindy found a crumbling cardboard box that contained a dozen candles.

  “Let there be light,” she said, holding the package up triumphantly.

  “All right, all right, come on out of there,” Roman said.

  A blaze of lightning outside made the many cracks and chinks in the wooden walls stand out in stark blue-white. Thunder boomed seconds later.

  “Looks like that sonofabitching storm is going to finally break,” Roman said. “I wish it would hit us and get it over with.”

  With Alec and Lindy doing most of the work, a roaring fire was built in the fireplace, and candles were placed around the room to push back the encroaching darkness. Roman sat on a sagging cot and watched them glumly.

  Wood smoke rolled out of the fireplace and filled the room, exiting through the broken windows.

  Roman coughed. “Can’t you do something about that smoke?”

  “The flue’s clogged,” Alec told him.

  “Maybe if you’d help us we could ream it out or something,” Lindy said.

  “The hell with it,” Roman said. “I’m not staying here. That’s what he wants us to do. You can stay if you want, but I’m getting out.”

  He started for the door.

  “Don’t do it, Roman,” Lindy said. “If we split up we’re easier prey.”

  “Ah, let him go,” Alec said. “He’s no good to us here.”

  Roman reversed his direction and came back to stand nose to nose with Alec. “You’re a pretty big talker now, aren’t you? Hot-shot New Yorker. Well, listen, buddy, to me you’re still a worthless little ass-kisser who couldn’t do a damn thing on his own. You got anything you want to settle with me, let’s do it here and now.”

  Alec held up his hands. “Look, I didn’t mean anything. I’m upset. We’re all upset. I don’t want any trouble with you.”

  “Now, that sounds like the Alec I remember. Lots of big talk, but pure chickenshit if anybody called him on it.” Roman turned to Lindy. “Sure you don’t want to come with me? This chickenshit little creep isn’t going to be much help if you need it.”

  “I’m staying,” Lindy said. “I wish you would too.”

  “No way,” said Roman. “See you sometime. Maybe.” He pushed the broken door aside and went out.

  • • •

  Roman paused in the weakened glow of the Monte Carlo’s headlights and looked back toward the cabin. A capricious wind snatched the wood smoke that spilled from the windows and whirled it up and away. The flickering candles inside grew ghostly shadows on the walls. He felt terribly alone.

  “You had your chance,” he said softly to the cabin and the people inside, then he turned toward the woods.

  The wind played tricks with the brush and the trees ahead of him, turning them into ogres waiting for him to enter their world. Roman hesitated. He walked back to the house and grabbed the handle of the rusty ax. He levered the blade from the log where it was sunk and hefted the ax. It felt good. With the flashlight in one hand and the ax in the other, he started down the weeded ruts that had once been the cabin road.

  The lightning flashes came closer together as Roman made his way along the faded path. Thunder crashed in his ears, branches clutched at him like bony fingers.

  Keeping the pool of light steady on the path before him, and the ax held comfortably by the throat, he plodded on. He could not judge the distance they had come into the woods, so wild had been the ride. He tried to remember his high-school days, the laughing, happy trips he had made to the cabin. It hadn’t seemed far from the main road back then. But all distances are shorter when you’re young.

  The figure appeared so suddenly in front of him that Roman stumbled and almost fell. He dropped the flashlight and had to scramble in the weeds alongside the road to retrieve it. When he had it back he righted himself and took a step backward, brandishing th
e ax and steadying the flashlight on the figure standing in his path.

  It was a woman. A woman he recognized. It took him a moment to place her. She smiled at him, holding out her hands innocently.

  The blond waitress from the Wolf River Inn. The one who had brought the floating clown.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I know what’s being done to you,” she said. “I know who’s behind it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I can help you. I can get you out of here safely.”

  He looked back toward the cabin.

  “Just you,” she said, reading his thoughts. “I can’t help the others.”

  “What’s going on, anyway?” he said. “How can you help?”

  The woman came closer, moving lightly over the rutted path. “There isn’t time to explain everything now. We have to hurry. Will you come with me?”

  “Come where?”

  She was standing immediately in front of him now. Inexplicably, Roman felt himself getting a hard-on.

  The waitress reached out and touched him. “Trust me,” she said.

  Lightning blasted the scene, and he looked down into her soft, pleading smile.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  CHAPTER 29

  The weather was clear all the way from Los Angeles. With favorable tail winds Brendan made excellent time. The fuel load he carried gave him a range of 1,790 miles, which might have been just enough to get him to his destination, but rather than chance going dry somewhere over Wisconsin, he stopped once to refuel at Omaha.

  He got airborne again in less than thirty minutes, and brought the Cessna 310 in for a landing at Nut Tree Field in New London, Wisconsin, at just after eight o’clock Saturday evening. The small, privately operated strip was the closest field he could find to Wolf River.

  There was still enough daylight when he came down so that the field’s lack of landing lights was no problem. The sky was beginning to darken in the east, but to the west the sun still rode dark red on the horizon.

  As Brendan taxied to a stop, a stringbean of a man in overalls strolled toward him from the small hanger. Brendan was out of the plane standing on the tarmac when he got there.