by James Bierce
"Jake..." she whispers, pointing at the writing. "Is that blood?"
He walks closer to the message, shining his light on one of the letters. "No, it looks like its just paint."
"Who do you think they're talking about? Who's coming?"
"It was probably just some kids or something, trying to scare people."
"Well, it worked."
Jake shines his light down the hallway in front of them, then sniffs the air. "Do you smell that?"
"Its horrible."
"Yeah, it smells like something dead."
Jake starts down the long hallway at the end of the room, the smell becoming stronger with every step, and he wonders to himself what they might find if they venture farther into the building. Beth follows closely behind, but keeps her gun down at her side, with her finger off of the trigger. About halfway down the hall, Jake stops at a heavy steel door with a single small window in it. Beside the door is a sign that reads 'Armory'. As he reaches for the handle, Beth grabs his arm.
"Did you hear that?"
"No, I didn't hear anything."
"It sounded like crying."
"Like a baby?"
"No, someone older."
He takes his hand away from the door and they both listen closely, and then it happens again, this time sounding more like a low-pitched moaning coming from farther down the hallway.
"Did you hear it?" she asks.
"Yeah, I heard it."
"Are we gonna check it out?"
Jake shines the flashlight through the small window in the door, revealing once again, a completely ransacked room. The only things still left inside are a couple of cardboard boxes — most likely case evidence with no real value to them.
"Shit, the armory is cleaned out — someone beat us to it."
"Hon, what about the sound?" She can tell by the look on his face that he has no intention of finding the source of it. Part of her can't blame him, they could be walking directly into a trap — but another part of her is disappointed in him for being so uncaring. "If someone is in trouble, we can't just leave them..."
Jake, obviously not thrilled about checking on the noise, starts walking down the hallway toward the sound — which is getting more intense by the minute. "Stay behind me, and don't say anything unless its absolutely necessary."
The farther down the corridor they walk, the louder the voice becomes. As far they can tell, its coming from only one person, although its impossible to tell whether its a man or a woman. Sometimes it sounds desperate, like they're pleading for help. Other times, however, the sounds turn more sinister, like the devil himself has been confined somewhere in the building.
Jake stops and turns toward a door beside him, then motions for Beth to stand back while he listens to whatever is happening on the other side. Beth backs up about ten feet, then watches down both directions of the hall while Jake shines his flashlight through the small window of the door. She sees a sign next to it that reads... "Holding cells".
After watching through the window for a couple of minutes, Jake turns around and faces Beth, his face pale white, like every ounce of blood has been washed away.
"What's wrong?" she asks him.
"There's... there's someone inside."
"Are you gonna let them out?"
He shakes his head slowly, breaking eye contact with her. "No."
"Why not?"
After no response, she starts to walk toward the door to see for herself what's on the other side, but he grabs hold of her before she reaches the window.
"Don't look inside."
"What's in there?"
As the words leave her mouth, she can hear the sound of laughter from the room beyond — an evil low-pitched howl that sends shivers up her spine.
Jake begins to answer her, but the crackle from the radio interrupts him.
"How is it coming over there?" asks Larry over the radio.
"Yeah, there's nothing here. We're about to leave the building." Jake answers.
"I thought you already left..."
"No, why?"
"I just saw someone in the parking lot a few seconds ago."
Jake and Beth exchange glances, fear and worry covering their faces as he whispers into the radio. "Larry, don't radio us again unless its an emergency — I don't want anyone hearing it."
"Okay, got it. Be careful."
Jake puts the radio back into his pocket and turns toward the entrance where they came in, his pistol once again aimed directly in front of him. This time, however, he has his flashlight turned off, leaving only a dim glow from the main office area down the hall.
"Keep your light off." he whispers.
Just as they begin moving down the hall again, they feel a cold draft of air move past them, and then the faint sound of a door closing in front of them, followed by footsteps walking through loose papers and trash.
"I know you guys are in here!" shouts the voice of a man. "You might as well come out and show your faces." The footsteps stop, leaving the building quiet once again.
Jake places his index finger to his lips, motioning for Beth to keep quiet.
"I saw your boat in the bay. That's an awfully nice looking boat..."
Jake leans over and whispers quietly into Beth's ear... "Wait here for just a minute."
Before she has a chance to respond, he heads down the hallway, carefully stepping around anything on the floor that might make a sound. About twenty feet forward he catches a glimpse of something, the silhouette of a rifle barrel against the bright white color of papers scattered on the floor. Another step and he can clearly see the man holding it. Even better, its obvious from the man's face that he doesn't see Jake standing in the shadows — at least not yet anyway.
Looking almost directly at Jake for a moment, the man sits down on a large wooden desk and begins looking over the framed photographs on top of it. He looks to be in his early to mid thirties, dressed in blue jeans and a bright orange hunting vest. Not exactly what Jake expected to see. "I just wanna talk, that's all..." says the man, who once again is looking around the room, his voice loud enough for the whole station to hear.
As the man looks back at the entrance, Jake aims his gun right at the man's chest and fires a round. Instantly the man crumples to the floor and lets the rifle fall from his grip. Jake can hear Beth crying behind him, but instead of looking back, he keeps his eye on his target as he slowly makes his way toward him. When he reaches him, he bends down and grabs the rifle, then he turns the man over and searches his clothing for any other weapons. All he finds, however, is a pocket knife and two boxes of .22 ammo.
"You... shot... me..." the man says with some struggle.
"Are there any others with you?" Jake asks, his voice steady and calm.
"No..."
"Do you live in that house across the road?"
The man nods.
"Do you have any other weapons in there? Maybe some of the stuff from the armory?"
He shakes his head and coughs slightly, a small trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. "The police... they ran off with it weeks ago..."
Jake turns around and sees Beth standing behind him, her eyes still filled with tears. "What did you want with our boat?" he asks the man.
"Nothing... I swear... I was just making conversation..."
Jake stands up and turns to Beth. "Lets get back to the boat, there's nothing here."
"What about him?"
"I think I punctured his lung."
She looks down at the man, whose breathing is becoming labored and noisy.
"Go on ahead, I'll be right be right behind you." Jake tells her.
"What are you gonna do?"
"I can't leave him like this, its not right." He places his pistol in his pocket, along with the man's knife, then cocks the rifle.
Beth is in shock at her husband's behavior. Not in a million years did she think he was capable of something so callous. "Jake, this isn't right..."
"What
was I supposed to do? Hand over the boat?"
"You can't just kill him though..."
Jake looks at the man again. He looks terrified, and its obvious that he's in an incredible amount of pain. Part of him is still worried that the moment they leave the room, this guy will find some sort of weapon to use against them, or at the very least send a distress call to someone close by. Deep down he knows that Beth is right though, as much as the line between good and evil seems to be blurred lately, something about this does seem wrong. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the knife he took from the man, then opens it and lays it down on the man's lap.
Still holding onto the rifle, he leaves the man and walks out of the building and into the bright sunlight, Beth following closely behind with their nearly empty duffel bag. The peaceful scenery outside contrasts sharply with the horror inside the police station — that is until he looks at the farm house across the road. Standing on the porch roof, struggling to pull the ladder back up, is a young woman and a boy that can't be any older than about ten. Behind them is a girl, a few years younger than the boy. Jake can only assume that they're the family of the man he just shot. He knows what Beth must be thinking of him, although he knows she won't say anything. Part of him feels horrible for the pain that he might have caused, and for the mental anguish that he's instilled in his wife. Another part of him though, the part that enjoyed pulling the trigger, really doesn't give a shit.
With their fuel tanks near the three-quarters mark, and the town of Dungeness fading behind them, Larry steers the boat toward the Pacific, riding the outgoing tide into the west. They couldn't ask for better weather — the sun is bright in the sky, with only a few clouds lingering to the north — and the wind has stopped blowing down the strait from the Pacific, giving the water an unusually smooth appearance. Visibility is also high, which they have mixed feelings about. On one hand, it should make it easier to spot Sean while there's still some distance between them — but it also leaves them in the open, unprotected from anyone else, Sean or otherwise.
Halfway to Neah Bay, hopefully their last stop on their journey before they reach Astoria, Beth joins Larry in the pilothouse, keeping her eyes toward the southern shore for any sign of life.
"What time do you think we'll get there?" she asks.
"Around four or five hopefully, it all depends on whether this current holds up."
"Is there a fence around the marina in Neah Bay?"
"Not that I remember."
"Maybe we should spend the night away from town, just to be safe..."
"I wouldn't mind some more fuel before we head south. Neah Bay has a decent fueling station."
"I'd be willing to bet they also have no power."
"Those places always have a generator ready, we'll get it somehow."
As much as she disagrees with docking for the night, Beth knows that she has no choice but to trust him. She used to hate arguing with her brother when they were younger — his opinion always seemed to differ from hers on a fairly regular basis, to the point where it was oftentimes suspicious. Today though, when so much is on the line, she feels incredibly appreciative that she can lean on him for support.
"So what exactly is the plan for the next few days?" she asks, hoping to put her mind at ease with some clarity.
"We'll spend tonight in the bay, then we'll make our way to Astoria tomorrow."
"How long should that take?"
"All day. We'll probably have to spend the night anchored just outside the bar, then tackle it in the daylight just before high tide."
"Why just before?"
"Our best chance of getting through is when the tide can carry us, and when the water is at its highest level. Otherwise we'd sit there all day trying to run against the flow of the river. Trust me, that's not a lot of fun."
The eastern shores of the Strait of Juan de Fuca are dotted with cities and towns both big and small, but as you move west toward the ocean, the towns begin to disappear, and large checkered patches of forest take their place. The timber companies log the land in sections, giving the landscape a look reminiscent of a quilt. Some of these sections are newly cut areas almost completely void of anything but stumps and fireweed, while others are full of towering trees ready to be harvested when the price of lumber is right. Its a sight that often goes unnoticed by the longtime residents of the area. Their eyes have grown used to it over the years, accepting it as a way of life in the northwest.
The very northwestern tip of the Olympic Peninsula is named Cape Flattery, a point of land that's been disastrous to ships over the years. On the ocean side of the cape is Tatoosh Island, which sits less than a mile offshore in the Pacific Ocean, and is little more than a rock with a lighthouse in the middle of it. On the inland side of the cape is Neah Bay, a small Native American fishing village sheltered by the relatively calm waters of the strait. This is the first time Beth has ever been to the town, and as they approach its marina, she's beginning to regret never seeing it in its original state.
In better times the place may have looked perfectly fine, but today a portion of it lies in ruin, burned by a fire that apparently spread throughout most of the town. Many of the damaged buildings are covered in black char, and small wisps of smoke are still rolling from the timbers that are left standing. Fewer than fifty structures are still there, most of them near the water.
The sun is still visible in the sky as Larry guides the boat into a space at the fueling dock in the marina, giving them an opportunity to carefully examine the streets before shutting down the engine for the night.
"Would you recognize Sean's boat?" Beth asks Larry, who in turn looks over the three or four dozen boats moored around them.
"Yeah, I don't see it here. Hopefully he moved on weeks ago."
Beth zips up her coat, freezing despite the thick sweater she has on underneath her parka. She can already feel the wind coming off the ice-cold waters of the sea beyond.
"I'm gonna check out the store before we start searching for the generator. You never know, they might actually be open." says Larry, already climbing onto the pier after tying the boat to the dock.
Beth jumps overboard right behind him. "I'm coming with you." Still walking away, she turns to Jake. "Keep an eye out for Sean."
"Wait a minute, we have no idea what the hell happened here. If anyone goes it should be me..." Jake protests.
Beth stops and faces him. "I need to get off this boat." She holds up her revolver. "I'll be careful."
Jake frowns, disgusted at the idea of them walking into the unknown without him. After what happened in Dungeness, he has serious doubts about his wife's trust in him — and he can't really blame her. In the previous world, what he did would've been considered murder. The fact that he's shown no remorse, or felt any for that matter, he realizes is a cause for concern.
When Larry and Beth finally finish climbing the hill into town and reach the store, they find that its door is already open, saving them the trouble of breaking in. Even though there doesn't appear to be any damage inside, the place reeks of smoke and burned plastics. There's another smell too, something that's oddly familiar to Beth, but she can't quite place it.
They start walking the aisles, looking for anything they might be able to use on their journey to Oregon.
"Do you see any food?" asks Larry.
"No, there's not much of anything left." Then she stops and begins to load something into her pockets.
"What did you find?"
"Deodorant."
"We're supposed to be looking for necessities..."
"Trust me, this is. We've been on the water for too long."
As he begins to shake his head in disbelief, they hear something outside. A crashing sound. Both of them take their guns out of their pockets and creep toward the front window.
"Maybe its Jake." Beth whispers.
Larry pulls out a radio from his other pocket, then speaks quietly into it. "Jake, are you still on the boat?"
H
e waits a few seconds, then... "Yeah, I'm still here. Why?"
"We heard something outside the store. I'm gonna check it out."
"I'm headed that way."
"Stay where you're at, I've got this. I need you to watch my boat."
After a few seconds of silence, Jake answers back in a voice that doesn't sound thrilled. "Be careful, and keep your radio handy."
"Affirmative." He puts the radio back in his pocket, then peeks through the window to the street out front. It looks empty. With his gun in his hand, he turns the doorknob and slowly opens the door, taking a final look around before stepping out onto the sidewalk. Then he hears it again.
"Its coming from the next building." says Beth, startling him. He had no idea she'd followed him outside.
"Fuck, don't sneak up like that! I thought you were staying inside." he silently screams.
She shrugs in a somewhat apologetic way, following Larry as they make their way to the building next door — which looks to be a house with only an alley separating the two. As they walk past it, Beth notices a window in the house facing the alley.
"We might be able to get a look inside through that window." she tells him, already walking toward it.
"Its over my head, how are we supposed to see anything?" he whispers.
"Give me a boost."
"Why don't we just look through the front windows?"
"Because its dark in this alley. They won't be able to see us."
"Alright, but be quiet."
He bends down on one knee, then lifts her up on his shoulders, putting her at a perfect height in front of the window.
"Its the kitchen." she whispers down to him. "There's someone sitting under the table... It looks like a boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen."
"What is he doing?"
"He's just sitting there, staring at the cabinets. He looks like he's in a trance or something."
The teenager suddenly goes wild, pulling at his hair and clothes, and biting at the back of his hand. When he finally lets go of his hand, blood starts streaming down his arm and onto the floor. He reaches up and lifts the table, then lets it come crashing down under its own weight. Beth ducks her head below the window as he thrashes around the room, throwing objects and screaming at the top of his lungs.