The Nightmare Frontier

by Stephen Mark Rainey

  “Sorry about that. What the hell does that kid think he’s doing?”

  Debra, oblivious to the intimate contact, pointed to the speeding figure on the bike. “That looks like Zack Baird. One of Rodney’s friends.”

  Copeland started after the retreating cyclist, still numb from the shock of very nearly killing him. The boy must be doing fifty miles an hour, he thought. Even going downhill, he had to hit the accelerator to begin catching up.

  “Something’s wrong with him,” he said, watching the young man’s feet pumping the pedals furiously, his upper body hunched over the handlebars. “He looks like he’s in a panic.”

  “Be careful,” Debra said. “I don’t think he’s aware of anything around him.”

  As they slowly closed the distance, Debra leaned out the window and called, “Zack! Hold up! We’re here to help you!”

  At first, Zack paid the car behind him no mind whatsoever. Copeland maintained a safe tailing distance, in case the kid hit the brakes or turned unexpectedly, but the way his bike was hugging the center line, an oncoming car would surely take him out. Finally, though, Zack glanced back, as if registering the Lexus for the first time, and he gradually began to slow down, eventually coming to a stop on the side of the road—fortunately on a section straight enough for Copeland to pull over without posing a danger to traffic. But as soon as Zack stopped his bicycle, he began to waver unsteadily, and he awkwardly collapsed.

  Debra was out the door in an instant and kneeling over the boy. “Zack!” she said, placing a hand on one of his cheeks. “Zack, what’s wrong?”

  As Copeland joined her, she looked up at him with wide, alarmed eyes. “My God, what’s happened to him?”

  The lad’s face was frozen in a contorted rictus, his eyes bulging like white marbles, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His breath whooshed in and out in short, rapid bursts, and his fingers clenched and unclenched in an involuntary rhythm. The scream that was evidently trying to burst from his lungs remained stifled behind a trauma-induced wall.

  “This kid needs a doctor,” Copeland said, his mind snapping back to the Barrow house and Debra’s insistence that she had glimpsed something wrong, however fleetingly, on the property. “He’s in severe shock. He doesn’t look injured, does he?”

  “No,” she said, hurriedly checking over the boy’s arms and legs. “What on earth could have done this?”

  “The same thing that killed Rodney, I expect,” Copeland said grimly.

  “We don’t know that,” Debra objected, but her eyes indicated she believed exactly the same thing.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences like this,” he said, kneeling and placing his hands underneath Zack’s shoulders and lower back. “Let’s get him out of here.” He lifted the boy with little difficulty and carried him to the car; Debra opened the back door for him and Copeland gingerly laid Zack on the seat.

  “What about his bike?”

  “It’ll fit in the back.” He unlocked the trunk, picked up the fallen bicycle, and was just maneuvering it inside when Debra tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Look back there.”

  Copeland turned and peered in the direction she was pointing. For a moment, he saw nothing; then he realized that a patch of tall grass at the edge of the road appeared to be burning. Small flickers of orange light flashed in and out of the grass like roiling flames, but no smoke rose from the spot. After another few seconds, he could see that, no, it wasn’t a fire, but some kind of object—something that glowed and pulsated with the brilliance of fiery coals.

  It was moving toward them. Rapidly.

  Copeland’s first instinct was to go investigate, but Debra took hold of his arm and said in a quavering whisper, “Russ, I think that’s what Zack was running from.”

  The image of the boy’s terror-contorted face—and the sudden memory of Lynette telling him that Rodney had been burned—was all he needed to change his mind. He shoved the bike into the trunk and slammed it shut, but the handlebars kept the top from closing all the way. “Screw it,” he said, left the trunk open, and got back behind the wheel. Debra was in the back seat with Zack in an instant, and as he started the car, he twisted around to see if the thing was still behind him. It was. And it appeared to be moving faster now, though it remained indistinct behind the veil of grass. Throwing the Lexus into gear, Copeland hit the gas, and before he knew it, the car was pushing 60.

  Debra cradled Zack’s head in her lap. “He’s frigid. And I’m still shaking.”

  “Is the hospital still out on Hawthorne Road? That’s a long way from here.”

  “Yes. But Zack lives much closer. Let’s get him home to his parents. Legally, it’s the better thing to do. Anyway, they’ll need to know what happened.”

  “I wish I knew what happened.”

  “I tell you this—we may have saved this boy’s life. I don’t know what that was back there, but it sure looked like it was deliberately coming after him—or us.”

  “Direct me to his house, and if we have to, we can go with them to the hospital. Agreed?”

  She nodded. “All right. We’ll take a left on Cheat Mountain, and then it’s just a short distance. I hope they’re home. Zack’s brother Tom is in my class; he should be there, at least.”

  Following Debra’s directions, Copeland drove at high speed to the Baird house, where they found, to his relief, two cars in the gravel driveway and lights on in the windows. Darkness was falling quickly now, and the temperature had dropped to sub-comfortable. He parked behind a weathered white Oldsmobile Cutlass, got out, and went to the door while Debra remained in the back seat with Zack.

  He knocked hard several times before the curtains of the adjacent window fluttered to reveal someone peeking out. Finally, the door opened just a crack. “May I help you?” came a coarse female voice.

  “Are you Mrs. Baird? My name is Russ Copeland. I’m Rodney Lawson’s uncle. Ms. Harrington and I found Zack up on Yew Line Road. He needs a doctor.”

  The door flew wide to reveal a short, tawny-haired woman in her mid thirties, her face paling at the sight of Debra cradling her son’s head. “Oh my God!” the woman cried, tears immediately bursting from her eyes. “What have you done to my boy? What have you done to him?”

  She ran quickly to the car, fell to her knees, and gently wrapped her arms around her son’s head, her chest heaving with sobs. Copeland said softly, “Mrs. Baird, we found him this way. You need to get him to the hospital.”

  To his surprise, the woman turned to him and glared furiously. Then she spat, “Mister, if you’ve done anything to hurt my Zack, I’ll shoot you. I’ll shoot you in the fucking head.”

  Chapter 5

  “Never let it be said that country folk are friendlier than city folk,” Copeland said, tipping his glass of scotch of his lips. “I’ve had warmer welcomes in the projects.”

  Debra nodded in agreement, pouring herself a snifter of brandy from the decanter on Lynette’s sideboard. “To say she was distraught is an understatement. But I doubt she would have actually done anything rash.”

  The grizzled, rather portly sheriff stared at Copeland with poorly concealed disdain. “Emma Baird’s a bit high-strung at the best of times, but under the circumstances, it’s easy to understand why she might overreact. You’re not wanting to swear out a complaint against her, are you?”

  “Good lord no,” Copeland said. “Not against her. But we did feel it was best to advise you of the situation. That boy could have died if we hadn’t found him. If nothing else, a car might have run over him.”

  Sheriff Grayson’s expression softened a little. “Well, you did the right thing. His mama got him to the hospital straight away and word is he’ll be all right. I’ll be able to talk to him in the morning, and maybe then we’ll find out what’s going on.”

  Lynette was sitting on the couch, her face a pale mask of apprehension. “Whatever killed Rodney is still out there. Sheriff, you’ll have to keep people away from that road.”


  “Well, ma’am, I can put out an advisory and increase patrols on Yew Line, but I can’t just close down the road.”

  “I guess that would put undue hardship on the Barrows, wouldn’t it?” Copeland said, giving his drink another liberal taste. Debra threw him a sharp glance.

  “What was it you say you saw?” Grayson growled irritably. “Something ‘low to the ground and lit up like it was on fire’? That doesn’t sound like any of the Barrows to me, Mr. Copeland.”

  “No, but a brutal killing—plus one narrowly avoided—so close to their property might warrant at least a little looking around. Just my opinion.”

  “You don’t know for a fact that the boy was ever in real danger. He was out of his head, that’s all we know. Maybe in the morning I’ll find out something new.”

  “I hope so,” Debra said in a placating tone. “Unless you have any objections, tomorrow I’ll ask my father—Principal Martin—to broadcast to the school that Yew Line Road, and especially the woods out there, ought to be avoided. Other than Malachi Barrow, no students live out that way.”

  Grayson put on his most thoughtful face, but it quickly slipped into an ambivalent scowl. “Well, if you feel it’ll do some good, I’m all for it, but in my experience, you tell kids not to do something, that’s exactly what they’ll do.”

  “With Rodney dead, that may not be an issue.” Realizing she might have spoken too bluntly, Debra cast an abashed look at Lynette, who gave no sign of being affronted.

  “Who’s to say the Barrows might not have seen something odd up there,” Copeland said, determined to press the issue. “I just don’t see the harm in asking.” He felt sorely tempted to mention Levi Barrow’s recent, unwelcome visitations, but as Debra had warned him, Grayson left nothing to the imagination when it came to that family. For all practical purposes, it was untouchable.

  “Tell you what, Mr. Copeland. I’ll ride out that way and see what I can see. And I’ll warn Amos and them that they might want to be extra vigilant for a few days—just to be safe. Would that meet with your approval, sir?”

  “I’m sure that’s a very nice way of showing you care.”

  Grayson sighed crossly, and then glanced at Lynette. “Mr. Copeland, I feel badly for your sister—and Mrs. Baird too. I sure don’t want anyone else to have to go through such an ordeal. If something is wrong around here, I intend to sort it out.”

  Copeland nodded, aware that he had pushed the sheriff about as far as he could. “Well. I’m glad Zack Baird is going to recover. Maybe he’ll offer you some useful information.”

  “I appreciate what you did for him. I know his mama does too. She just didn’t quite grasp what was going on at the time.”

  “I understand.”

  “Then I’ll bid you folks a good evening. You have my number.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” Lynette said with a polite smile, but Copeland could see that it was forced. He walked with the older man to the door and saw him out without saying a word. Then he rejoined the two women in the living room.

  “I get the feeling he’s out of his league if he has to do more than write speeding tickets.”

  Debra gazed at him, half amused. “You barely pulled your punches.”

  “Just wanted to see his reaction. What does it take to get the state police involved here?”

  “Either the sheriff or the county district attorney has to call them in,” Debra told him. “One’s about as likely as the other.”

  “Is the D.A. another Barrow cousin twice removed?”

  “Drinking buddy.”

  Copeland raised his glass of scotch. “What a shock.”

  Debra smiled wryly, finished her brandy, and said to Lynette. “Tomorrow is going to be a long, stressful day. I’d better say goodnight too.”

  Lynette rose and gave her friend a quick hug. “Thanks for coming over. You probably did save that kid’s life today.”

  Debra shook her head wearily. “If only we knew what was out there. Or whether that thing we saw was really after him at all. I keep going over and over it, and I just can’t figure it out.”

  Copeland downed the last of his drink. “I hope our illustrious protector and servant is as good as his word and no one else comes to harm.”

  Both Lynette and Debra went silent for a moment, sobered by the thought. Then, with a weak smile, Debra started for the door.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Copeland said.

  “It’s a hundred feet at most, and I do it all by my lonesome most every night,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I really think I might better, under the circumstances.”

  She sighed with mock exasperation. “Come along then, if it’ll make you feel useful.”

  “Back in a few,” he said to Lynette, then headed out into the cool night with Debra. Clouds had sneaked in during the past few hours and smothered the moon, leaving the landscape drenched in heavy darkness. As he walked beside the attractive young woman, he could not deny a vague but persistent feeling of nervousness; whether it was due to her exhilarating presence or something else altogether, he wasn’t sure.

  “You impressed me today,” he said. “You were very cool in a bad situation.”

  “Functioning under pressure is second nature,” she said. “Look at what I have to do every day.”

  “Tough, is it?”

  “Sometimes.”

  As they passed the thick pines that separated the houses, Copeland could not help but peer into the impenetrable shadows beneath them. Just before they reached her front door, he asked, “What was it you thought you saw at the Barrow place? A building, you said?”

  She stopped and gazed at the featureless sky for a moment. “I don’t know. I saw something. I wish I could explain it. For maybe two seconds, it looked like there was a big stone tower or something. Tall as can be—even higher than the mountains. I’ve tried attributing it to a reflection on the windows, a cloud, smoke…anything. It’s just so plainly impossible. But I’ve got two very good eyes, and I’m not willing to write it off as hallucination.”

  “Whatever that was chasing Zack, that was no hallucination. And it was after him.”

  “I expect you’re right.”

  “Thanks for coming with me today. I really appreciate it.”

  She smiled wanly. “Now I’m not so sure I should have.”

  “You were right where you supposed to be at the time. At least for that kid’s sake.”

  She unlocked her door, then turned and gave him a long appraising look. “That’s not bad. Not bad at all. Well, Russ. I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

  “I guess you will.”

  She left him with an alluringly sweet smile and closed herself inside. He remained where he stood for a moment, taking in the brief, aromatic draft that had escaped before the door swung shut.

  One lovely lady.

  He started back across the yard for Lynette’s front door, but as he passed what he had come to think of as the great pine barrier, on a whim, he detoured around the side of her house and made his way to the small back yard. Despite the darkness, something—perhaps the simple desire to acquaint himself with his surroundings—drew him to explore. As he carefully picked his steps, he began to make out the shape of the steep, densely wooded ridge that pressed claustrophobically close to the left side of the house. To the right, beyond Debra’s fenced back yard, the land opened up, and he vaguely discerned a broad meadow that stretched toward another long ridge, perhaps two miles distant. The Barrow house lay somewhere beyond that rambling hump, he knew. Not a single light intruded upon the nighttime landscape, which appeared as desolate and primeval as when Indians were the only ones who could have beheld it.

  No, he was mistaken. Atop the ridge, he detected a brief flicker; probably a car out on Yew Line Road. But a moment later, he saw it again, slowly creeping through the darkness, and he realized it was too dim, too irregular to be a moving vehicle. For perhaps five minutes, it meandered across the ebony backdrop, sometimes winking o
ut for a few seconds, only to reappear somewhere else on the ridge. It was obviously not traveling on the road. Finally, it disappeared, as if swallowed by the dense forest. Quite unexpectedly, Copeland found himself heaving a sigh of relief. The atmosphere out here felt outright eerie.

  When he went back indoors, Lynette was in the kitchen smoking a cigarette. She gave him a sardonic smile and asked, “Been kissing on Debra all this time?”

  “You know better than that,” he said, feeling his face flushing. “I was just out looking around the house.”

  “For what?”

  “Anything unusual.”

  “And did you find anything?”

  His immediate inclination was to mention the light on the ridge, but then he thought better of it. “Just a very dark night. Was hoping to see some stars, but it’s gotten cloudy.”

  “You like her, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “She’s okay.”

  “You act like a schoolboy around her.”

  “I can’t help it. She’s a teacher.”

  “So am I.”

  “Remind me to bring you an apple.”

  Lynette had retired early, and Copeland sat in his room with his laptop, going over some email from the office. No major problems there, at least; he could ill-afford headaches on both the personal and professional fronts.

  Now and again, his eyes wandered toward the window that faced Debra’s house, but he could see no sign of life beyond the pine barrier. Lynette had readily noticed his attraction to her friend, and he only hoped he exhibited a little more class than a smitten adolescent. He had not interacted closely with a woman, other than the insane ex-wife, since before their marriage, and the requisite social skills had perhaps gotten rustier than he liked to admit.