Death Trance

by R. D. Zimmerman

  “Just call me,” she said, patting her bag and heading off, “if anything comes up.”

  I watched her go, Toni whom I'd always wanted, probably always would. Toni with the lithe figure and energetic spirit. Spiraling downward in a vortex of worry, I slumped into a depressing and very boring twenty or thirty minutes.

  Finally my walkie-talkie came alive with her voice, now low and hushed, saying, “Alex, he's here.”

  I grabbed the little black box from the seat beside me, pressed the button, and asked, Dick Tracy-like, “Where?”

  “In the student lounge.” Then urgently, “He's getting up. I mean, he's leaving. He's talking to a couple of—wait. Yeah, he's leaving, heading toward the door on the parking-lot side of the room.”

  Pulse quickening, I said, “Great, just stay back. Don't let him see you. I'm in my car, so we're covered up here.”

  Within several minutes I saw him, his fleshy scalp making him nearly impossible to miss. He wore the same black leather coat, a few shiny chains hanging from it, and pants that were purposely torn around the knees and ass. I slid down in my seat, peered through the steering wheel, spotted him there, across and behind another car. I glanced at all the other cars as well. Any cops? Anyone following him undercover? Not that I could tell.

  Tyler went directly for the Duster, got in, revved it up to full growl, and quickly slammed it into reverse. This could be it, I thought. The meeting, the chance for the photos we wanted and needed. Or could he be heading home or off to a friend's to get high?

  “Toni?” I said into the transmitter. “Where are you?”

  “Across the lawn.”

  “He's pulling out. I'll follow him and give you directions.”

  “Great.”

  As soon as Tyler backed out and headed out of the lot, I had my Honda going. As soon as he turned onto the street, I was in gear. I checked one last time, saw no sign of any cops, and so I went flying out of there. We weren't going to lose him.

  “Toni, no sign of Jenkins or anyone else. Looks like we've got him on our own. Turn left out of the lot,” I walkied-talkied back to her. “I can see him. He's turning left on First Avenue.”

  “Okay, I'll be right behind you.”

  Her breath was heavy and fast. So I imagined her running to her car and jumping in. Soon she was radioing back that she was on her way and racing after us. Which was good, because I wasn't really sure how far these walkie-talkie transmitted, and Tyler wasn't wasting any time driving wherever he was going, which wasn't back home. His house was the other way, and he was bombing up First Avenue, right on Franklin, across the freeway, then left at my favorite Dairy Queen.

  “Toni,” I called, checking in the rearview mirror and pressing on the accelerator pedal, “he's heading onto the freeway. I think this is it.”

  First Tyler, then me, next Toni. We all went whizzing down the freeway ramp, onto the wide Highway 94, on toward St. Paul, going faster and faster. Soon I was absolutely certain no one else was tailing Tyler, so I knew we'd made the right choice. This was it, and after we crossed the Mississippi and entered St. Paul, I wondered if the Dragons had given up on the warehouse district of Minneapolis and were now gathering in the old warehouses on the edge of downtown St. Paul. But no, Tyler and his Duster went zooming along the curls of concrete, past the Cathedral of St. Paul, past the imposing state capitol, and on east.

  When we emerged on the other side of the city, Toni and her white rental leapfrogged past me.

  “How you doin’?” I said into my intercom.

  She flashed a thumbs-up, went zooming on, soon radioed back that she had Tyler in sight, not to worry. I dropped back and kept her in good view as we passed through dribbling suburbs and mind-numbing exurbs, as we went speeding past shopping malls and parking lots and cheap discount stores, which were reproducing on hill after hill. Finally, there were fields that were turning from mud brown to spring green with the first of the year's growth. I looked to the south, knew that in a few months it would be a near-unending sea of corn and soy. And I wondered, where was he leading us—to Wisconsin, which was less than twenty miles ahead, to a cabin on some remote lake nestled in the pines?

  About fifteen miles later, when we were just short of the broad St. Croix River that divided Minnesota and Wisconsin, Toni's voice came over the speaker.

  “He's getting off at this exit.”

  I snatched the walkie-talkie from the seat, said, “Okay. After he exits, whichever way he turns, you go the opposite. I'll pick him up then.”

  “Very good.”

  Way in the distance I saw Toni slow and steer her car up the long exit, up the lane that led to a road that crossed via a bridge over the highway. I couldn't, however, see Tyler's car, so I pressed on the accelerator, readied myself to leap into position.

  “He's turning right,” relayed Toni, “so I'm going left. Still no sign of Jenkins or anyone?”

  “Nope. They must be hot in pursuit of something else.”

  I sped up the exit ramp, then turned south, hurried now for fear that I might lose Tyler. But I didn't. In about a quarter of a mile I saw his car emerge from a dip in the road and follow the swell of a hill.

  “Got him in sight,” I radioed back.

  “Good. I just turned around, so I'll catch up with you in a second.”

  I drove on, closing in on Tyler only slightly. I didn't want to get too close, so I let him disappear around the corners, over the ridges, watched him reappear around the bends, after the hills. We sailed on, past immaculate farms with close-cropped grass and red barns, past plaster deer in front yards and shiny silos. Tony bleeped in, told me she had me in sight. I looked back, spotted her only for a moment. And wasn't all this, she continued, beautiful? Yeah, it was. This was the real heartland. Rich soil, plenty of sun and water. A quarter of the world's grain was produced within an expansive radius around the Twin Cities, from Illinois on up into Canada, and it was easy to see how and why.

  Suddenly a vision hit me like a powerful wave that knocked me off my feet, and I saw trees, thick bunches of them, and a line of water. I caught my breath, tried to keep focused on the blue Duster. Yes, there it was. Rising over a hill, up past another farm. Several miles later he slowed and turned off this larger road, headed east toward the St. Croix River. According to plan, I drove straight on, leaving him behind as if I weren't the least bit interested.

  As she turned after him, Toni advised, “I think I'm pretty easy for him to spot back here. I'm taking it slow.”

  About a quarter of a mile past the road Tyler and Toni were now going down, I spun the car around, raced after them. It wasn't long before I was heading east behind them, before I caught a glimpse of Toni's white car. And it wasn't long before Tyler made another move.

  “He's turning south again,” came Toni's voice.

  “Careful,” I countered. “He's got to be getting close.”

  The St. Croix was just up ahead, which meant he couldn't go much farther. So the river was his destination, which made a lot of sense. The St. Croix was a national scenic waterway, development along it extremely restricted. Purposely frozen in time to protect the environment, it was fairly desolate along the banks, dotted here and there with small cabins built fifty and more years earlier. A deserted spot along the St. Croix, then, would be the logical meeting place for the Dragons. A near-ideal spot for lunar-eclipse festivities, a heavily wooded area where they could conduct their activities without notice.

  Proving my premonitions correct, Toni's voice suddenly broke over the receiver. “Alex, he's turning down a dirt lane. I can't go down it, he'll notice me, so I'm going right on past.”

  Up ahead I saw a cloud of dust rise from a field. Tyler. I couldn't see the car, but the jet of grime he left in his trail rose thick and high. As my Honda roared past the road, I glanced down it, saw a lone mailbox. So this wasn't a public road but a private drive, one that likely led down to a cabin.

  Toni relayed, “Alex, I turned down the next road—it's
by a big oak.”

  “Be right there.”

  I glanced in my rearview mirror, saw a speck of a car emerge behind me. Another of the Dragons, or had we been set up, had we been followed? And by whom, the police? My heart fluttered at the possibility, but then as I drove on, the car disappeared. I slowed, glanced back, saw another cloud of dust rise from the fields. Yes, it was another Dragon driving down there. So we had been right. This would be a full-blown meeting.

  Up ahead I saw the large oak, the white car, Toni. She was standing beneath the tree, by her car, peering through her lens, a long one, back at the road Tyler had cut down. I turned in and pulled up behind Toni.

  “Can you see anything?” I asked, climbing out.

  “It looks like they're parking their cars right before that line of trees,” she said, unmoving. “At least that's where all the dirt stops flying.”

  I peered across the field, saw a blackish-green band of trees. That made sense, their parking up there.

  “It's a really sharp drop-off down to the river,” I said.

  I'd been to a party once on the Wisconsin side of the St. Croix, and I remembered parking above, then hiking down the steep bluffs to a cabin. So Tyler and his fellow Dragons were leaving their vehicles in some clearing and descending into their black nirvana.

  Suddenly my head began to pound and my vision crackled with flashes of light. I leaned against Toni's car, put my hand to my forehead. Shit. I closed my eyes. What was it, the start of a mega migraine? A sense of things soon to come?

  “Alex, perhaps we should break here. We can—”

  No, there was no going back, no stopping. We'd pushed too far, were too close. Had to go all the way. I shook my head, beat back the sensation of fear and pain, opened my eyes.

  Toni turned to me, said, “So what do we do, sneak down there somehow?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, “I think if we go down this road, then we can cut across—probably on foot.”

  Yes, that was how we'd do it, I thought, staring past Toni and down this dirt road. All the way to the end, then to the left. There'd be a place there where we could leave the car. Then the woods. In my mind's eye I already saw the place waiting, lurking down there. I knew we shouldn't do it, press on like this, that we'd be better off turning back. But I couldn't stop the inevitable, and besides there was much too much to learn.

  Chapter 17

  We left my car parked up on the road, pulled it off to the side by the burgeoning cornfield, got into Toni's rental car, and headed down toward the river. Down the dirt road, which was slightly pitted and grew narrower and narrower.

  Farther along, surrounded by a bunch of huge oaks and pines, was farm central. Nice white house—clapboard, of course. Nice barn—red, of course. And a shiny aluminum silo. Very prosperous with a clean green yard, no visible trash or dumpy, abandoned cars.

  “Is this the end?” asked Toni as the road turned into a single lane.

  “Just keep driving,” I said.

  We came alongside the farmhouse, a dog barked, came running out. A woman was hanging sheets out on a line. She turned. I waved. She nodded.

  Just when it seemed the road would end in a wall of lilacs, there was a break. A small lane that led on and probably serviced a row of cabins down on the river. Toni steered toward the opening, and the small road dipped out of the light, leading us down through more cornfields, along some old fences, and toward a wall of trees. That would be the top of the bluff, I thought.

  And it was. When we reached the trees, the dirt drive led to the left and continued on through a dense forest. Soon the road went across a small clearing—a place for cars—and to the right there was a little shed with two narrow rails leading downhill.

  “The bluff's too steep for a road,” I said, “so a lot of these cabins have trams leading down.”

  “Sounds romantic.”

  I nodded. Probably was. Little cabins and little trams. We passed two or three more until the road ended in a circular clearing of sorts. A turnaround. From here we'd have to continue on foot. Toni brought the car to a stop; we got out.

  I pointed to some electrical wires that continued into the woods and said, “Those should lead us where we want to go. Tyler probably parked over there in the next clearing.”

  Toni swung her camera bag over her shoulder, and we started off, tromping through tall grass, around small bushes. As we progressed, the woods thickened and became even more tangled, and the late spring light slipped fainter. It was approaching the end of the day. I glanced at my watch. The moon would soon rise, the eclipse soon occur, and we needed to find this group and take pictures while there was still enough light.

  We passed down and through a small ravine, up into a grove of birches, by some pines. That was when I first heard them, the Dragons. One or two of them, anyway. Talking deeply, not loudly. I couldn't tell what they were saying, and slowing, I held out my hand and hunkered down, then made my way behind a bush. Toni, the camera now hanging by a strap around her neck, moved in right next to me.

  She whispered, raised her hand, said, “There.”

  Yes. Two figures. No, three. All of them guys. Youngish. Tallish. They wore jeans, black and torn, and T-shirts, equally worn. One was a skinhead, the other two were scruffy. Or, rather, hard. Guys who went to biker bars—or maybe that was a stereotype. Whatever. I just knew they weren't the kind I'd associate with in the city, let alone out here in some deserted forest.

  Click Click, click, click. Toni's camera whirled and snapped, freeze-framing these guys on film. None of them could have been Liz]s mysterious second boyfriend —they were all too young—but I understood what Toni was doing. Getting them all down on film. Or as many as possible. Photos of these three guys could turn out to be proof of some sort. Especially if she could get their faces. Last time we'd seen them, they'd all had masks on, but for now at least their faces were bare and exposed.

  They came to the edge of the bluff and slipped over the top. Toni and I scanned the woods, trying to see if there were others on their way, if we could see Rob Tyler, and most important, if there were any guards stationed about. That was what concerned me the most. Dragons posted throughout the woods, ready to warn of intruders. But there were none, at least none that we could see, and Toni nudged me, nodded downhill.

  As we slid and scrambled downward—bracing ourselves on tree trunks, grabbing on to bushes to keep from slipping—I kept checking, and we pushed on. We'd gone about a hundred feet, and then all of a sudden, beyond the trees and fresh greenery of the woods, there was this big dark band of river about a half-mile wide. The St. Croix. I caught a glimpse of the Wisconsin side, saw that over there the bluffs were still washed with the last of the setting sun.

  In front of me, Toni held out her hand. I quietly moved up behind her, peered into the woods, through the gray light, and saw tongues of flames licking at the intruding darkness. A bonfire.

  I whispered, “Is there still enough light for pictures?”

  Toni nodded. “Just barely, but we need to get a little closer.”

  The blood that started rushing through my veins foretold of impending problems. I paid this future sense or trance sense no attention, however, and Toni and I started creeping across, angling our way down and closer to the gathering. We hadn't gone far when I saw the first of them moving around the fire, shirts now off, faces now masked. There were two or three, then all of a sudden there were perhaps a couple of dozen. Certainly one of them was Tyler. Had to be. The question, though, was whether the older men were at this meeting, too.

  I slid behind a tree, tried to imagine what it was they would do, how their cult would honor the lunar eclipse. A fire, obviously, but what else? Had they kept the young blond woman alive, would she perhaps be sacrificed tonight? Suddenly I realized how foolish we were. There was definitely no way to signal for help way out here.

  A man's whoop split the silence of the woods. Toni crouched down and moved closer, slipping behind a tree, lifting her camera
, focusing, and then snapping and clicking away. Employing the telephoto, she was within range to get good enough pictures, but that wasn't the problem. It was the trees. We had to get closer so that there wouldn't be so many branches and trunks blocking the way. And the nearer we got, the more of the Dragons we could see. Their activities, too. A bunch was pacing around the fire, circling the flames, grumbling and chanting, deep voices, words rolling in rhythm.

  I inched downward, over, and that's when I first saw one of the older guys. Face masked, of course, and chest covered with gray hair. I glanced back, motioned to Toni, who strained to see, then spotted him, too. But she was uphill from me, and needed to be closer, so she kept down low and scurried nearer yet. The light was slipping fast now, there were only moments for Toni to snap the pictures.

  I saw some movement down below the bonfire, right down on the river banks. Following my curiosity, I edged downhill, spotted a boat and a couple of guys standing by it. No, there weren't two but three men; one of them kind of heavy and of medium height. Could this be the second of the older men we'd seen the other night? Bent over, I moved forward, my feet silently treading the fallen leaves, and I saw that the boat was actually a canoe and that it seemed to be filled with wood. A pyre to be lighted and launched out on the river? If so, I only hoped there wouldn't be a corpse riding on top of it. And who was that on the bank above the canoe? That scraggly guy? Was that Tyler, now wearing a mask?

  Toni had to get them all on film, but as I turned toward her, I froze. Shit, oh shit. There was one of them up there, a Dragon, shirtless, face cloaked, making his way in an arch through the woods. So they were checking the area, and this guy was looping around and, yes, he'd spotted Toni. He was coming up behind her, stalking Toni, who was completely unaware because she was absorbed in taking pictures. I was watching him, he was watching her, she was snapping the Dragons. Click, click, click.