“I was going to hike up to Lovers’ Peak,” said Wake, gently rubbing the dog’s ears, the animal’s eyes rolling with pleasure. “Can you give me directions?”
“No problem,” said Rusty. “I can give you a map too. If you’re worried about running into what got a piece of Max, you can put your mind at ease. We got plenty of bears, but they stay away from humans. Just make plenty of noise when you walk, and they’ll head in the opposite direction.” He gently helped the dog down from the table.
Wake watched as Max limped away to the corner of the deck, found a spot in the sun, and sat in the very center of it, the very brightest part.
I turned the corner, afraid of what the flashlight’s beam might reveal. A roughly painted symbol of a torch glowed in the light. Behind it, hidden by a rock, sat a battered metal trunk. It was here for a reason, packed with supplies: batteries, flares, ammo. Things you need to make it through the darkness of the night. Something left behind by a fellow traveler, someone who knew what I knew, and more.
CHAPTER 9
A HALF HOUR later, Barry and Wake pulled up in front of a rundown A-frame with a roughhewn porch. No other cabins nearby, just the surrounding forest. High up in a fir tree overlooking the cabin, a trio of ravens silently watched them get out of the car, heads cocked as though discussing something.
“What’s their problem?” said Barry, pointing at the huge birds, their feathers glossy black in the sunshine.
“All part of the beauty and wonder of nature,” said Wake, his voice light but his thoughts heavy. Last night it seemed like every attack of the Taken was preceded by those damn birds squawking.
He grabbed his bags out of the back of the car and started up the steps to the cabin. Rusty had given him a key, but the cabin was unlocked. Wake pushed open the door, kicked his boots on the welcome mat before entering. The place smelled faintly of burnt pine and crisp bacon. The cabin was clean, clean enough anyway. A sagging sofa in the living room, a kitchen table and two chairs downstairs. The remains of a fire were in the fireplace, a few singed logs and ashes. Wake trudged upstairs, Barry following him. At the peak of the A-frame were a couple of double beds, sheets and blankets neatly folded on them. A plaque on the wall read TREAT MOTHER NATURE WITH LOVE in burned-in letters.
Barry sneezed at the top of the stairs. “I hate nature.”
Wake went into the small bathroom, removed the bandage from his forehead. The wound wasn’t too bad. He touched it gently, winced. He started the shower, walked out while the water got warm.
Barry was downstairs now, complaining about what the dust was doing to his allergies.
After taking a shower, Wake changed into clean clothes, applied a fresh bandage, and lay down on the unmade bed. He tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn’t turn off. It never did. He turned over, playing and replaying things, trying to make sense of what had happened at Bird Leg Cabin. He lay on his side, hearing Barry banging around in the kitchen. The bed was too soft. How could anybody be expected to sleep in that? He tucked the pillow under his head, breathing slowly as the day spooled out, the late afternoon sun leaking through the curtains. He yawned…
He dreamed of Alice. They were walking along a street in a strange city, the sun shining down on them. They were holding hands, Alice laughing, dragging him along to someplace she wouldn’t tell him. He was happy to be with her, always happy when they were together, but he didn’t like where they were or where they were going. The buildings were falling apart, the windows of the apartments filthy. Alice didn’t seem to mind, though, skipping ahead of him when he lagged behind, beckoning, calling him a fraidy-cat. No cars on the streets, no taxis, which bothered him too, and there was trash everywhere, old newspapers billowing down the sidewalks. He snatched a paper as it tumbled past, the pages brittle and yellowing, the words in a foreign language, a language he didn’t recognize at all. Alice… Alice had kept walking, too far ahead for comfort. He chased after her, but she eluded him effortlessly, her feet dancing over the cracked pavement so that he couldn’t keep up. She was singing something, some old song, a familiar old song… He ran full speed after her, trying to keep up, but getting farther and farther behind. She looked back at him as she danced away, the wind carrying her song… and he finally recognized it now. It wasn’t a song. There were no words. It was the sound… the sound of someone typing, someone frantically typing.
Wake jerked away, his heart about to burst inside him. It was dark outside, but the lights were on in the cabin. He wanted to close his eyes, try to get back to the dream, see if he could catch up with Alice.
“You okay, Al?”
Wake saw Barry seated on the bed opposite him. “I’m… I’m fine.”
“You snore, Al. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“Yeah.” Wake’s heart still pounded, his clothes felt soaked with sweat. “Alice used to tell me that.”
“Oh,” said Barry, suddenly downcast. “Sorry about that. I… I’ve been thinking.” He sneezed, wiped his nose. “I think you should call the police, let them meet the kidnapper. That’s what they’re paid to do.”
Wake checked the wound on his forehead in the mirror. It didn’t look too bad.
“I got a client, Al, former FBI agent,” said Barry. “He’s a lousy writer, but I could give him a call.”
Wake picked up the revolver on the nightstand, made sure it was loaded. “I’m handling it.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” said Barry, still sitting on the bed. “You got a knot on your head, a gun in your hand, and you’re talking crazy. Don’t get me wrong, Al, it’s a good story, but when you start confusing fiction with reality… you could be looking at real problems. Men-in-white-coats kind of problems.”
Wake checked his watch. It was after eleven. He should be leaving soon. At the Visitor Center, Rusty had told him that Lovers’ Peak was at the end of the nature trail. Keep your eyes on the radio antennae, Mr. Wake, it’s right below that. He wasn’t sure how long it was going to take to walk there in the dark, but he wanted to get there before the kidnapper. He started down the stairs.
“That’s it?” said Barry, jumping off the bed and following him down the stairs into the main room. “You’re not going to say anything?”
“There’s nothing to say.” Wake grabbed his jacket. “No hard feelings either. If I were you, I’d think I was nuts too.”
He could see that Barry was clearly scared for him, but there was nothing he could do to put his mind at ease. Nothing he could do to put his own mind at ease either. He had to just go forward. It was like writing a novel, one chapter at a time, without thinking about the obstacles or problems, without letting himself get distracted, without thinking of how it might end, without wondering if the good guys won or the good guys lost, because if you thought about all those things you’d be overwhelmed. No, like writing a book, the only way to get Alice back was to just move forward. “I’m doing what I have to do, that’s all.”
“It doesn’t matter what anybody says to you, does it?” Barry sneezed. “Alan Wake is going to do exactly what Alan Wake wants.”
“I don’t have a choice, Barry. Not if I want to find Alice.”
Barry slowly nodded his head. “I get it.” He suddenly dashed into the kitchen. “Let me make you a peanut butter sandwich before you go. I went back to the Visitor Center for supplies while you slept. You look like you haven’t eaten a thing in days.”
Wake watched Barry pull jars of peanut butter and jelly out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter. He grabbed a loaf of bread, pulled a knife out of a drawer. “If you’re going out to hunt dragons, you should at least do it on a full stomach, that’s what my mother always said.”
“I’m not hunting dragons, Barry.”
Barry slathered peanut butter on three pieces of bread, added glops of grape jelly. He piled it all together, then sliced it diagonally with the knife, just the way his mother used to.
“I haven’t had a triple-decker PBJ since I was in sixth grade,” said Wake,
starting in on one half of the sandwich. “Good,” he said, chewing noisily. He was ravenous. “Very good.”
Barry poured him a glass of milk. “Drink this before your mouth sticks together. I don’t want to have to Heimlich you.”
“I don’t think that works with peanut butter.” Wake finished the PBJ, licked his fingers clean. “Don’t look so upset. I’m going to be fine.”
“Why should I be upset?” said Barry, voice rising. “You’re my best friend, Al, and, at best, you’ve got some kind of concussion, and you’re hiking off into the night to meet with a man who may have kidnapped your wife. At worst, you’re meeting a kidnapper by yourself, no cops, no backup, while dodging maniacs swinging axes at your head. That about sum things up?”
Wake hefted the revolver. “You forgot the part about me being armed and dangerous.”
“I talked to your buddy, Rusty the Ranger, when I went back to the lodge,” said Barry. “He said some campers have gone missing in the last couple days. He tell you that?”
“No, he didn’t tell me.” Wake felt a lump of ice form inside him, the cold spreading. He tucked extra ammunition in his jacket. Extra batteries for the flashlight too. “Wouldn’t matter if he did.”
“He said there’s places back in the woods where the locals have set out bear traps,” said Barry. “They’re not supposed to, but they do it anyway. The traps are hard to see in the daylight, almost impossible to see at night. He thinks that may be what happened to the missing campers.”
Wake thought of the hunter last night in the logging camp, the man writhing in the sawdust as he begged Stucky for his life. He remembered the sound of the ax chunking into the hunter’s chest, and Stucky’s gleeful voice as he did it, jabbering on about cabin deposits and no cancellations. There had been ravens in the trees, screeching as Stucky chopped away at the hunter, as though urging him on. Not a half hour later and the hunter was coming after Wake, his chest erupting as he tried to kill him, the hunter a Taken now, just like Stucky. “I hope that’s what happened to them.”
“You hope so?”
“I’d rather they were holed up with a broken leg than the alternative.”
“Those Taken guys?”
Wake nodded.
Barry sneezed.
“Bless you,” said Wake.
“This place is trying to kill me.” Barry noisily blew his nose. “I got such a migraine you wouldn’t believe.” He rubbed his temples. “I bet there’s mold in here, spores, poison ivy, God knows what.”
“Take care of yourself.” Wake started to leave, the wood floor creaking with every step. “Make sure you keep the door locked and the lights on.”
Barry picked up his red parka from the sofa. “Not so fast, kemosabe, I’ve decided to come with you.”
“You’re staying here.”
“What? Now you’re telling me where I can go and can’t go?” blustered Barry. “I’m not scared of the woods, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You scared of the woods? Heaven forbid.”
“I’m not,” insisted Barry. “I ride subways, pal, any time of the day or night. I get off at stops where the cops have to travel in pairs. I eat pushcart hotdogs, foot-longs too, with sauerkraut and piccalilli. I’m not scared of anything.”
“You’re a braver man than I am, but I need you to stay here,” Wake said quietly. “The kidnapper said if he saw anyone else with me that he’d kill Alice. Besides, if something happens to me… if I don’t come back, I need you to call Sheriff Breaker and tell her what happened.”
“I’m not going to have to make any call.” Barry hugged him. “You’ll bring Alice back, I know you will.”
“Does this mean we’re going steady or something?”
Barry let his hand go. “Real funny.” He pulled out his keys. “Here, take the car.”
“I’ll be going through the woods. Only way to get to Lovers’ Peak.”
Barry put the keys back in his pocket. “You go on your little nature hike, wiseguy, I’ll be fine. Alone. Here’s Barry, alone in the woods, stuck in a dusty old cabin straight from a horror movie. With a toilet that doesn’t work all that well, by the way.”
Wake opened the door. Flicked on the flashlight to make sure it worked. “See you later. Remember what I said about keeping all the lights on.”
“Sure, Al, I’ll hold down the fort until you come back,” called Barry, flipping on more lights. “Or until I get sliced and diced by some guy with a chainsaw. There’s editors in New York who’d get a big laugh out of that! Barry Wheeler puree. That’d make their day!”
Wake heard Barry lock the door behind him as he stepped down from the porch. He glanced back at the lights inside, then headed off into the darkness.
Sheriff Sarah Breaker trusted her gut, and her gut said that FBI Agent Nightingale was an asshole. He felt wrong, and it wasn’t just the smell of stale booze. It was the way he flashed his badge, pulling rank, and the look in his eyes when he wanted answers. Where was Alan Wake? What was this about a car crash? Where was his wife? And most importantly, why did she let Wake go? He wouldn’t answer her questions. “Federal business” was all he would say.
CHAPTER 10
WAKE SAW THE dim lights of the Visitor Center through the trees as he walked up the path from the cabin. He glanced at his watch. The path to Lovers’ Peak was at the end of the nature trail that started behind the Visitor Center; he still had plenty of time before he met with the kidnapper. Ravens cawed in the darkness, and he felt a sharp pain lance through his head, as though the birds were screeching inside his skull. Then the ground started rolling under him, a tremor at first, building until it was so powerful that Wake had to hang on to a tree to stay upright, hanging on so tightly that his cheek was scraped raw. The lights at the Visitor Center flickered, and then went dark.
His phone rang. “H-hello?”
“Al!” Barry’s voice crackled from the phone. “Did… feel that?”
“Yeah,” said Wake, still dizzy, feeling like he had to throw up. “Stay where you are.”
“What?” shouted Barry. “…can’t hear… breaking up.”
“I said…” The phone went dead. Wake was tempted to go back to the cabin, not wanting to risk being in the woods when the next quake hit, or an aftershock. Then the screaming began from the Visitor Center, and Wake knew he couldn’t go back. He ran toward the sound, kicking up gravel in his haste. Wake had his revolver out, his flashlight too.
The road opened out to a scene of total destruction. A wrecked car rolled slowly down the road, car alarm blaring. Rusty’s Jeep had crashed into the front of Visitor Center, slamming halfway through one window, hood crumpled, the engine still racing. Downed power cables swayed over the parking lot, sparks arcing in the night. The ELDERWOOD NATIONAL PARK VISITOR CENTER sign was splintered, hanging at an angle. The phone booth out front seemed to have exploded, the receiver embedded into the side of the building. The screams were weaker now, more of a whimper coming from inside.
Wake followed the beam of the flashlight, walked slowly into the Visitor Center, feet crunching on broken glass with every step. He checked behind him, kept moving. The skull of Buck-Toothed Charlie, the mastodon skeleton on display in the lobby, had fallen free of the rest of him, the gigantic curved tusks gleaming in the dim light. The map stand had been upended, shelves knocked down. Souvenirs and postcards lay scattered everywhere. The air inside stank of rotten meat, as though something had drowned and after being picked over by crabs and other scuttling things, had finally washed ashore.
“Hello!” shouted Wake. “Anybody here?”
“H-help,” someone called from farther inside. “Please…”
Wake moved closer. There. A man sat against the windows along the back wall of the café, his head slumped forward. Wake hurried toward him, shining the flashlight on the man’s face.
The man held up one hand, shielding his eyes from the light. Blood was splashed across the windows behind him, more blood soaking his
green uniform. His fingers twitched toward the pistol that lay beside him. “Mr. W-Wake?”
“Rusty?” Wake bent down beside the park ranger. The stain on Rusty’s jacket was growing, spreading out. “What happened?”
“The whole place started shaking…” Rusty held his midsection with both hands, blood oozing between the fingers. “I thought it was an earthquake, but then… then my car started up with no one in it. What… what’s going on, Mr. Wake?”
Wake tried his phone again. No signal. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”
“This logger came at me with an ax,” wailed Rusty, his broken leg twisted under him at an impossible angle. “He just started swinging. I shot him, Mr. Wake. First time I ever used my gun in the line of duty… but it didn’t do any good.” His lower lip trembled. “How can that be?”
Wake heard movement outside, shined his flashlight through the windows. There was nobody there. Just the darkness. That was enough.
“What good’s a gun when they won’t die?” Rusty pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket, held it out. The manuscript page was soggy with blood. “I don’t understand, Mr. Wake. Everything that happened… it’s just the way it was on this page I found.”
Wake flattened out the manuscript page, the type smeared from the blood, but Rusty’s name was clear.
Rusty did his best, but… Taken… unfazed by… The Taken’s ax sheared… ranger screamed.
“I’m afraid… afraid the logger’s coming back, Mr. Wake.”
“Where’s the first-aid kit?” said Wake.
“Put the lights on, Mr. Wake. Please?”
“I can’t, Rusty, the power lines are all down. But I’ve got a flashlight and extra batteries. We’re going to be okay. Just tell me where the first-aid kit is so I can patch you up.”
“Patch me up?” Rusty laughed and blood poured from his mouth. “Sure… you do that.” He waved toward the front of the Visitor Center. “Manager’s office. On the wall.”
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