by North, Geoff
Angela did so. They were a mile out of Odin Lake by the time she’d finished. “What do you make of it?” Caitlan asked.
“I don’t know. It could be nothing… maybe someone’s idea of a joke. The grammar and spelling is terrible, as if they haven’t learned to read and write all that well.”
Amanda spoke up. “Sounds more to me like they can read and write just fine, but English isn’t normal to them.”
“Bingo, kid,” Caitlan said. “English isn’t their first language. That leads me to suspect whoever wrote it is likely legit.”
Angela nodded. “Okay, I can buy that, but it doesn’t answer where the message came from.”
“You’ve been breathing in too much cold air. It’s obvious. They’re telling us to come to Cuba… the author of that text is Spanish.”
“Five minutes ago we were preparing to drive a few hundred miles south, and that seemed monumental. Now you’re suggesting we travel thousands mile further, all the way to the tip of Florida… on the advice of some mysterious message you pulled onto your phone from God only knows where. Good luck trying to talk Hayden and Fred into that plan.”
Caitlan sped up on the road, punching through a ten-inch high snow drift, “I’ll get them to see things my way, unless you have any better ideas.”
Put a knife in this fat bitch’s neck. How’s that for an idea? Then murder the children.
Caitlan was staring at her. “Well?”
“No… but I’ll think on it.”
That’s my girl.
Chapter 5
Fiona stood under the cold shower for ten minutes—five minutes longer than she usually allowed after one of her outings. She hadn’t killed anything today, but she was boiling hot inside all the same and she needed to cool off. Fiona finally smacked down on the shower lever and the flow of water gurgled to a stop. She took her time drying off and dressing into clean clothes. She combed the black hair that had grown out for the last six months straight back, slowly pressing the stiff bristles into her scalp until it hurt. She stared at her reflection in the mirror as she did this, searching in her dark, unblinking eyes for an alternative to what she had planned.
“They don’t deserve compassion. They don’t deserve a second chance.” Fiona talked to herself all the time. She talked constantly when she was alone because she preferred her own company over anyone else’s. “They thought I was stupid, that I didn’t know what was going on right under my very nose.”
Things had been good between her and Grace. Fiona could’ve gotten along just fine without the woman’s company, but there had been times when she appreciated having someone else around. All that had turned to shit when they found Pig and Weasel. Disposing of Pig within the first few hours was a no-brainer to either of them, but she should’ve never let Grace talk her into keeping Weasel around. He was more dangerous than Pig in the long run.
“Lying little bastard.” She pictured the two of them snuggling together on the mattress they sometimes shared after group sex—how they whispered sweet little words back and forth. How they plotted. “Backstabbing whore.” Fiona leaned towards the mirror, close enough for the glass to steam over from the breath escaping her flaring nostrils. “No compassion. No second chances.”
She reached into the trash container next to the sinks and pulled out the crowbar she’d stowed in there the night before. Fiona went to the door and pushed on the surface to see how tightly it had been jammed on the other side. It didn’t budge. Something thick had been braced into the handle, a piece of two-by- four perhaps. She drove the crowbar end beneath the upper hinge plate on the door frame. It went in a full inch. She pushed forward ferociously and the entire thing popped out, breaking two of the screws off at their heads along the way. The bottom hinge plate was tougher to get at, but Fiona finally managed to remove it after two minutes of stabbing, twisting, and pulling. She yanked the door far enough away from the frame to squeeze through.
Fiona dropped the bar to the floor. It made a loud echoing clatter down the hallway. She saw the two-foot long chunk of two-by-six wedged into the door handle. “Did they really think that would keep me locked away?” Grace and Weasel hadn’t intended to keep her incapacitated for long, Fiona knew this, but seeing the wood in the handle was still ridiculous all the same.
She didn’t run to the garage, she walked. There was no need to rush, no need to worry. The garage’s overhead door had been left open, wind and drifting snow was rushing in. The cavernous bay had turned cold. That pissed Fiona off. It would require extra fuel to heat the large space again—fuel Fiona could hardly spare. She dressed back up into the parka and ski pants she’d left on the concrete floor twenty minutes earlier. She reached into an interior pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lighter.
Fiona lit one and inhaled two heavy drags before retrieving the rifle hidden beneath one of the work tables along the wall. She walked outside, the cigarette dangling from one corner of her mouth, and began to survey the bleak, grey horizon south of the Odessa Mine facility. It didn’t take long to spot them. They were huddled around the ATV less than a quarter mile down the main road. Fiona held the rifle up and peered through the telescopic lens for a better look.
Grace was sitting on the seat, huddled forward and staring down into the gas tank. Weasel was pacing around her, gesturing with his arms, kicking at the tires, and moving his stupid lips. “Calling me all kinds of horrible names, aren’t you? Cursing and swearing at your bad luck. Wondering why the thing broke down… Stupid little Weasel. Backstabbing whore.”
Fiona spat the cigarette out and took aim at the little red tail light. She pulled the trigger and the plastic exploded in a puff of pink. Grace jumped off of the seat as if it were on fire. Weasel stumbled backwards and fell on his ass into a dirty snowdrift. Fiona fired again, taking out one of the rear-view mirrors. Weasel scurried deeper into the snow. Grace stood a few feet away from the ATV, her arms crossed over her chest, her head sunk down.
“Smart girl. You know there’s no sense running.”
Fiona began walking towards them, firing a few more shots and taking out non-vital parts of the vehicle. It could be fixed. She had poured sugar into the gas container Weasel had re-filled the tank with. The tank could be emptied of spoiled gasoline. The lines could be flushed. Weasel started to run when she was a hundred yards away. Fiona fired three more bullets in his direction. They thumped into hard snow around him. Weasel kept running, through the ditch and out into a barren grey field. She didn’t have to shoot him. He would die soon enough out there all on his own in the cold. Nice and slow.
Grace shouted out after Louie, but made no attempt to chase after him. She remained standing by the ATV, knowing full well there was no escape now that Fiona was fully aware of their treachery. She wouldn’t even try.
Fiona kept the gun trained on the back of her head anyway as she approached. “I’m disappointed in you… thought we had a good thing going here.”
Tears were streaming down Grace’s cheeks. “Please, I didn’t want to do it his way. I wanted to tell you… We fell in love, I don’t know how… it just happened.”
“Love in a world like this,” Fiona said condescendingly. “How sweet, how fucking special.”
“I can come back—we can forget he was ever here. It can be like it was. Please, give me another chance.”
“No second chances. They were the first men we came across, and you fell for him. How could I ever trust you again? Why would I even want to?” She placed the end of the gun barrel into the soft flesh of Grace’s throat.” No, this is over, honey. But don’t worry, I wouldn’t let you freeze to death out here with your boyfriend. I’m not that cruel. You can come back inside where it’s nice and warm.”
“Thank you… Thank you for understanding. It’s a big place—plenty of room for me to find someplace else to stay and keep out of your way.”
Grace went to hug her, but Fiona pushed her away with the gun. “Yeah, it’s a big place alright, tons of room for
you. Let’s go find a spot.”
The taller woman cast one last mournful glance out at Louie scuttling through the snow. He didn’t look back, he just continued to run, stumbling, tripping in the deeper snow, and picking himself back up. She began walking back towards the Odessa.
“Not so fast, darling,” Fiona said. “You’ve got to put back what you took.” She indicated the stalled ATV. “It will be tough going, but you should be able to push it all the way back to the garage in neutral.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
It took Grace over an hour to push the vehicle back. Fiona never helped. She followed the struggling woman, the rifle now slung behind her back. She smoked three more cigarettes along the way.
“There’s lots of room in the refining section,” Grace said once they were back inside. “I won’t be in your way. You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Oh, there will be space where you’re going,” Fiona said, stripping off the parka and ski pants a second time. “But it sure as hell isn’t in the refining section… or any other fucking area above ground.”
A look of fear spread across Grace’s face as she realized what the woman had planned for her. Fiona was surprised she hadn’t already figured it out.
“Please, anything but that,” Grace began to cry again. Snot bubbled uncontrollably from one of her nostrils. “Don’t send me down there.”
“Tons of room, girl. You’ll manage just fine. And since you like falling in love with asshole men maybe you’ll come across the biggest asshole man of them all down there. Piggy’s been all alone for a long time. I bet he’s just full of loving.”
Grace continued to beg and plead in the elevator. The cage dropped half a mile down. Fiona didn’t utter a word. Grace finally stopped blubbering and listened to the rattles and rumbles for another two minutes before the lift thudded to a halt at the bottom. Fiona slid the iron grate door open and shoved Grace onto her knees to the rough rock floor. Everything was in blackness, save for where Fiona shone her flashlight beam.
She trained it on Grace’s terrified face. “I’m not completely heartless. You can survive. There’s still bottled water and food throughout the tunnels.” Everything went dark as she snapped the small light off. Grace heard something clatter onto the ground next to her. “There… you can have the flashlight. It’s got eight or nine hours of juice left in the batteries—lots of time for you to adjust to what life is going to be like down here.”
“Please,” Grace whispered a final time. “Let me come back up, let me show you how much I love you.”
“Afraid not, girl. Say hi to Piggy for me if he’s still alive.”
Grace heard the iron grate door lock back into place. She listened to the elevator ascend away from her, clunking, thumping, and twanging along its mile-long steel cable. She was all alone now. Louie had run off without her, saving his own skin. Fiona was right about him. He was a weasel.
A backstabbing weasel. And look where loving him has brought you.
She felt along the ground, finding the flashlight. She tried turning it on, but nothing happened. A fresh wave of panic spread out from the center of Grace’s chest into her gut and throat. She wiggled it in her hand, felt the heavy batteries within wobble back and forth slightly. Nothing.
“No,” she croaked. Those eight or nine hours of promised light was all she had left in the world. It wasn’t much time, but it would’ve been enough to figure out a way to kill herself—to find something down here to hang herself with, or something sharp enough to slit her wrists.
Grace Sutter had worked at the Odessa Mine for two years before the world went to war, but she had never once been underground. She had been employed in the processing mill, helping to refine the raw ore into exportable product. Grace was terrified of dark, enclosed spaces. And nothing got darker and more enclosed than this. Her worst nightmare had come true, and she’d brought it upon herself.
She smacked the butt-end of the flashlight against the ground, and a beam of yellow-white shot up into the stalactites hanging forty feet over her head. “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered into the rocky shadows.
Grace swung the narrow light down the wall, finding the empty elevator shaft. She crawled towards it and climbed up off her knees along the bars of the safety door set in the rock wall before it. Grace shone the flashlight inside and saw the emergency escape ladder bolted into the far wall of the shaft. She followed the iron rungs up with her light until its range faded into blackness a hundred or so yards above. It would be a long, terrifying climb if she could get to the ladder. But she couldn’t get to the ladder. Fiona had secured the door shut from the other side with a heavy-duty padlock.
Back to Plan A—finding something to end her misery a little quicker. Grace crept around the cavernous mine entry room, casting light over broken down machinery and lifeless power tools. There were no discarded ropes or extension cords to hang herself from. And even if there had been, there was no place to secure it—unless she could find a way to climb the vertical rock walls and tie up to one of the stalactites above. Ending her life would be difficult.
She sat up against the cold shell of an arc welder and drew her knees up into her chest. She stuck the flashlight between her legs and stared ahead into a black hole set in the far rock wall. That’s where the tunnels begin, she thought. It was where Fiona had brought Carl eleven months earlier, and Roy a few weeks after. There’s water and food somewhere down there. Fiona said there was plenty. Grace wasn’t hungry, but the claustrophobic fear had made her awful thirsty. She still planned on ending her life, but she saw no need in suffering before then.
A bottle of water, a tin of something to eat. A last meal. The flashlight flickered. Maybe she didn’t have as much time as she thought. Grace stood back up and headed for the big black hole in the wall.
Chapter 6
Louie was genuinely sorry he had left Grace to face Fiona’s wrath alone. He had used the woman. He had screwed her—he’d screwed both women actually—and he had gotten inside her head with his lies. Louie had worked on Grace Sutter’s fragile emotions over the last half year, carving out a place inside her heart where he could squeeze in. He never really loved Grace—his own heart had been broken too many times to allow any woman that close ever again—but he did care what happened to her. If he’d cared just a fraction more, he may have never run off without her.
But Louie had run off without her. He had been backstabbing and abandoning people for years. Roy was a big fat asshole, but he had given Louie a chance. He had helped him along by allowing Louie to remain in his psychotic, rampaging presence for weeks. Louie had thanked him for all of that by disassociating him in a split second of self-preserving thought.
Louie was preparing to begin the process all over again. He had seen the car moving down the highway from the middle of the snow-covered field. He’d waved his arms frantically in the air, hoping the traveler—or travelers—inside would spot him, and pull over to the side to offer assistance. The car hadn’t slowed. It had motored out of sight. The driver may have decided he didn’t want to be bothered with some stranger’s plight, or perhaps he’d never seen Louie at all.
He’d staggered out from the field and onto the highway, his feet half-frozen and growing numb, and jogged down the road in pursuit. Louie was brilliant when it came to screwing people over, but he wasn’t too bright when it came to looking after himself. He hadn’t even considered warmer clothes before fleeing from Odessa with Grace. He was wearing worn running shoes instead of thick, insulated winter boots. Instead of heavy mitts, he’d chosen a pair of leather work gloves because they were less bulky. The coat he wore was a light fall variety of jacket, and he wasn’t wearing anything on the top of his head.
Louie had been on the run for less than an hour, but he was freezing to death from exposure. His only hope was to stay on the highway and pray to whatever God he had never believed in that the car would pull over somewhere further ahead.
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His prayers were answered ten minutes later.
It was a white mini-van, and it was still idling on the shoulder of the highway. The angle it was parked at suggested the driver had pulled over in a hurry. Maybe they had seen him, and were deciding whether or not to turn around.
He hobbled towards the vehicle in considerable discomfort. The passenger door hung open. Louie could see two forms huddled down in the ditch. A man was crouching over a woman on her hands and knees, his hand on her back, rubbing the fabric of her coat up and down, offering comfort. The woman made a horrible retching sound as Louie came up behind them. A pink patch of snow was sprayed with fresh droplets of blood.
“Is she okay?” Louie asked. Judging from the amount she had already vomited it was obvious the woman was dying, but he had no other way of introducing himself.
The man’s head jerked up quickly. He hadn’t heard Louie approach over the sound of puking. “My wife… she isn’t feeling well.”
No shit. “Anything I can do to help?”
“She’s dehydrated really bad. He pointed at the van. “There’s water in the front seat.”
“No problem, I’ll get it.” Louie climbed up out of the ditch, following the bloody tracks the two strangers had made exiting the van. The asshole hadn’t even asked if Louie was alright. Can’t he see I’m freezing my fucking balls off?
He went to the open door and looked in. The vehicle wasn’t much to look at from the outside—a boring, basic family van with rusting side panels caked in dry mud and ice—but the inside managed to take Louie’s breath away. Every square inch, not including the front seats, was crammed with junk. Garbage bags and suitcases were packed all the way up to the roof. Louie couldn’t even see the back window. Other items were shoved between the cracks—books and newspapers, dirty boots and overcoats, space heaters and coffee makers. There were tool boxes, so filled with crap, they could no longer be latched shut. Every other little area had been sealed off with empty bottles, bags of snack food, and crumpled up balls of product wrappings.