Bone White Page 19

  It had been a couple months since she’d taken her first, secret step in learning her father’s trade. He’d only brought her here the one time, but she’d come back to this building. When she’d tried to do his work. On a smaller scale, but still. It had been just as messy as his, that was for sure. But, a harvest was still a harvest, and she would always remember her first. Took great pleasure in it. It had been good practice. Especially since her first attempt hadn’t gone as well. The cat had barely been seen since.

  But this wasn’t the time for reminiscing, either. Now was the time to continue her progression. To hunt down and harvest the boy. So she waved off the idea of looking in on her handiwork and concentrated instead on the other restroom door. The boy’s restroom. The decision ahead of her caused her heart rate to bump up just slightly. Should she open the door? See what or who was on the other side? Make sure the boy, or anyone else for that matter, wasn’t hiding in the tiny restroom?

  The prospects of what she might find had aroused her curiosity. But, she also noticed the red door hanging crooked at the end of the hallway, and for some reason, it intrigued her more. Something had happened there. And by the looks of things, it was something violent. The sound of rustling leaves travelled from the room down the hallway, and she was relatively certain that either windows or another door were allowing the early morning breeze to come through.

  The more she thought about it, if someone were hiding in the boy’s restroom, they weren’t going anywhere anyway. She could always come back. As she took the first steps down the shadowy hallway, she felt a flicker of pride in her growing investigative skills. They would most certainly serve her well in the future.

  The back room was empty, and by the looks of things, had been for awhile. There were no signs of anyone. No more bodies, dead or living. Nothing that told her anyone had come this way, except a few kicked up leaves on the floor. She stared at them, the path cutting through the room barely discernible. The chirping of birds drew her eyes along the track to the open doorway on the back wall, and it was then that she realized her assumptions had been correct. Someone had definitely come through here. Her heart rate bounced with excitement. She was surprising herself with how well she was figuring out clues to the boy’s whereabouts. So excited, in fact, that her anger had almost disappeared altogether. She even smiled. She was learning so much through this experience that she actually found herself grateful for the boys coming into her life and stirring things up. Maybe it was even a good thing.

  With a clucking sound, she wasted no more time. She skipped though the storage room and out the open doorway into the woods. The first thing she noticed was the flattened brush that led along the side of the building. When viewed as a whole, it formed yet another trail. Without hesitation, and with a newfound spring in her step, she followed it.

  Chapter 59

  I found the dirt path easier to navigate than the woods had been. And in the daylight, it was nothing like my struggles overnight. The well-worn passageway was more than a couple of feet wide with the grass trampled and all but gone. Henry had said it was mostly used by fisherman who parked their vehicles on the side of the road before cutting through the woods to the water.

  Whether it was the numbness that had set into my leg again, or the huge weight that had been lifted from my shoulders, I actually felt light on my feet as I trucked along the path. For the first time since the prop had busted on the boat yesterday, things were going well. I was out of the hell I’d found myself in at the church, I’d killed the man who’d been trying to kill me, and with a truck waiting at the end of this path to take me home, I was starting to feel better. Maybe even a little cocky. I’d looked death square in the eye and walked away a winner.

  The wind suddenly rustled through the trees tops, bringing with it a sound that not only froze my bold arrogance, but shattered it into tiny, jagged pieces. It came from behind me, back toward the beach. Part howl, part agonizing scream. Bordering on inhuman, but not entirely void of humanity.

  Crazed was more like it.

  And feminine.

  I stumbled, falling into a cluster of white wildflowers and ivy. I grabbed onto a low-hanging tree branch to help me get back to my feet. A shiver started at the base of my spine, then played up my back like fingers on a keyboard. It had to be the daughter. The only person it could be. I had forgotten all about her, but apparently, she hadn’t forgotten about me. She must have been searching for me, too, but had just found her father instead. Or at least what was left of him.

  My pace quickened and I tramped toward the road, pushing my ankle to its limits and then a little further. The limits threatened to push back. As I ambled along the dirt path, I navigated the occasional raised tree root or fallen branch closely. The pain shooting up my leg quickly became nothing short of agonizing torture. But I didn’t dare slow down. Even as the tears started to collect in the corners of my eyes, I pressed on. It was obvious that I had been wrong. Dead wrong. I was not yet safe. And my ordeal was far from over.

  Chapter 60

  The mass of pulp was hardly recognizable; still, she knew it was her father. Face down in a pool of his own leaking blood. Didn’t have to see his face. Just knew. She paced the ground beside the ruined body of the only family she had left, the butt end of the hatchet beating against her leg. The immediate throbbing quickly turned into a searing sting, but she didn’t mind the pain. Didn’t mind that it had cut through her pants leg and broken the skin, either. She used the pain for fuel. She was used to seeing blood, saw it all the time. Just not her father’s blood.

  She ran the fingers of her free hand through her thin hair over and over before eventually gripping onto what was there. The sight of the brutality waged against her father made her want to scream again. Scream and scream and never stop screaming until the anger was gone and her heart was empty. However long that took. With a guttural sound that came from somewhere deep within, she gave the fistful of hair a sharp tug, coming away with some of it between her fingers. Her heart was pounding, and her nerves were sizzling as if she was on fire. Perspiration enveloped her entire body, yet it failed to douse the flames that were burning her insides. She breathed heavily through her nose. Had to. Her clenched lips wouldn’t allow air to pass.

  Part of her wanted to cry. Cry, cry, cry the way she had for her mother. But, she couldn’t give in to it yet. The tears couldn’t come. Couldn’t get through the rage that was swiftly consuming her, forcing all other emotions aside. There would be time for tears, but that time was later. Not now. Right now, she had to compose herself. Right now, there was work to do.

  Now more than ever.

  Her wild eyes searched the empty beach, then the lake. But there was no sign of the boy. Someone had done this to her father. Done it, and simply walked away like it was no big deal. It had to be the boy. Who else would have done it? No one. But, where was he? There were no boats that she could see, and no activity at all on the water. No sounds even. The morning air around her couldn’t have been more still and quiet as she scanned the nearby trees. Where could he have gone? Then, finally, something caught her eye. And what she saw made her smile through the rage growing inside her. Something cutting through the thick mass of evergreens. Something that made the sun shine even brighter.

  It was another path.

  Chapter 61

  The rust-colored Ford waited on the graveled side of the road, pulled to the right just enough for vehicles to get past. Though, from what I’d learned of the area yesterday, it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way even if it was parked in the middle of the road. I didn’t know if this was the same road Garrett and I had walked after beaching the boat, but it might as well be. And lord knows, we didn’t see one car the whole time.

  If we had…

  The pickup itself was relatively new, and shone as if it had just been waxed. The morning mist had all burnt off, and the sun was catching the chrome grill enough to blind me if I looked right at it. Still, it was beautiful and I looked any
way. It was a sight for sore eyes. The first non-decrepit thing I had seen in days. I couldn’t help but smile through my labored breaths, and wipe away the tears that had been leaving trails down my face. Set against the green wooded backdrop, the truck stuck out like a sore thumb. In a good way.

  Garrett was a truck guy and would have fallen in love.

  I barely managed to scramble my way up the steep embankment and onto the gravel roadside. I didn’t even bother to look for traffic before I went around the front and over to the driver’s side door. I could hear my mother’s voice scolding me like a child, telling me to look both ways next time. My mother. My throat tightened at the very thought of her, and I realized that no matter how old a guy was, or how tough, when things go bad, we always want our mother.

  In my rush to get as far away as possible, as soon as possible, I yanked too hard on the door handle and just about broke my wrist. It rose up slightly before coming to an abrupt stop. There was no disengaging sound, no rewarding click of the door opening. Shaking off the sting in my wrist, I jerked on the handle a couple of more times with my other hand, but got the same response.

  The truck was locked.

  Damn it! Why hadn’t I thought about that? Why hadn’t I checked Henry’s pockets for the keys before walking all this way? I looked back in the direction I’d just come, back toward an abandoned snack shop, a Good Samaritan’s dead body, and the killer I had killed with my own hands. And therein laid the answer to the question. I hadn’t thought to check for the fucking keys, because I’ve never been through something like this! I was flying by the seat of my fucking pants, that’s why!

  Fuck!

  My heart started pounding its cadence in my ears again. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t had a heart attack yet. My blood pressure had to be through the roof at this point, and I actually thought I could feel it swelling my brain. But that would be just my luck. After all I’d been through, all the narrow escapes, for me to drop dead beside this fucking truck on the side of the fucking road.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  I wanted to let out a scream of my own. Just get it all out. But a voice told me it would be a very bad idea. It sounded like Garrett’s voice, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe Becca’s, I don’t know.

  I emerged from my inner tantrum and knew what I had to do – go back to the snack shop and get Henry’s keys. But, she was there, I reminded myself. And she was probably looking for me. But it was either that, or leave the truck behind and wander along the deserted road where she might also be searching for me.

  I’d just looked across the hood toward the path I’d arrived on when the Ford’s windshield exploded. Instinctively, I ducked at the first sound of breaking glass. I stayed down only long enough to hear the last of the shards tinkling onto the metal hood. When I rose back up, what I saw was way more ominous than a simple rock, or anything else I would have imagined if I’d been given three guesses.

  The long wooden handle of a hatchet was sticking in the air, the iron head embedded deep in the glass. On the other side of the orange painted hood, stood the girl. His daughter. Her hands were wrapped around the handle of the hatchet, knuckles white as bone. Desperation and wrath twisted her features into something beyond ugly. Fury narrowed her eyes.

  Frozen like an electric current had a grip on my muscles, I could only stand there watching as the girl struggled to pull the hatchet back out of the windshield. After a few hard tugs, she was cocked and reloaded.

  Then she came at me.

  I was slow to move, as if just coming out of a deep slumber. Even as she came around the front end of the truck, I just stood there, unable to make a decision. My mind was a blank slate. It wasn’t until she cried out sharply as she lunged forward that I finally snapped out of it and started sorting through my limited list of options. I would never outrun her, that was for sure. And there was nowhere to hide. Ultimately, the decision became very simple. It came down to one option, and only one option.

  Stand and fight.

  The hatchet blade began its arc. Catching the silver glint out of the corner of my eye, I jumped backward just as the toe of the blade clipped the front of my t-shirt. I felt a breeze cut across my stomach, as I heard the hatchet embed itself, this time in the truck’s side door. The razor-like blade drove a thin black slot into the pristine orange metal. Hobbling forward, I grabbed for the girl’s arm, intending to separate her from the wooden handle. I’d break the arm if I had to. But, the sheet metal of the truck’s door hadn’t collapsed around the blade like the windshield’s shatter-proof laminate coating. The small ax separated itself from the door panel on her first attempt.

  I followed through with my lunge, throwing all my weight behind it, and speared her in the chest with my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her like a linebacker making a textbook tackle. With my feet out from under me, the force of the blow sent us both hurtling toward the ground. All I could do at that point was hold on and make sure I pulled her down with me.

  We hit the jagged gravel together, the impact forcing the air from my lungs. I gasped for the elusive breath as the blunt end of the hatchet banged off the back of my head, cracking against my skull. My grip on her loosened and we rolled apart. Stunned, I could barely get to my knees, fighting for every breath as I tried to orient myself. The girl, however, recovered faster than I did and scrambled to her feet before I could even get off all fours.

  As the hatchet appeared against the light blue sky high above her head, a second tribal cry rose from her throat. Needing no further motivation, I dropped to my left and rolled away from her a half second before the hatchet made its downward arc. Once again, the blade failed to find its intended target, and the force of her swing momentarily threw her off balance. With her back turned, I pulled myself up, using the truck’s polished bumper for support. Though technically on my feet, I was still doubled over with my hands on my knees, sucking air into my lungs in repeated gulps.

  The low rumble came from somewhere behind me. It took a second for my oxygen-deprived mind to interpret the sound. A truck. And by the sounds of it, a very large truck. The mechanical growl grew louder, leaving only a matter of seconds before the truck thundered past. I needed to get the driver’s attention. But the Ford was between us and the oncoming semi. Unless the driver just happened to look in his rearview mirror after he passed, he’d undoubtedly continue right on down the road, unaware that I was in the middle of a fight for my life. And that was unacceptable.

  The girl’s back was still to me and I watched her stumble as she tried to regain her footing. She must not have escaped the tumble unscathed, either. She was hurt. Dazed. With that knowledge in my back pocket, I seized the moment. Pushing off the hood of the Ford, I lunged at the girl, mindful of the hatchet this time. Coming up behind her just as she was about to turn around, I grabbed ahold of her dingy sweatshirt with one hand and a handful of dirty blond hair with the other. A scream escaped her. From pain, from rage, I didn’t know which. And I didn’t care. It took everything I had, every ounce of my diminished strength, but I was able to spin her in the direction of the road.

  The harsh squeal of rubber against asphalt rang out as the driver saw the two of us. With white smoke erupting from the wheels, he braked hard, but the cement load it carried was too much for the truck to stop quickly. And when I used the very last of my remaining energy to shove the girl into its path, the front end with its stout bulldog emblem lifted her off her feet. She stuck there, plastered onto the grill for almost twenty feet until her body fell to the road as the truck slowed. With the last of its momentum, the rig rolled its large front tire over her, crushing the last bit of life from her body.

  With my hands returning to my knees, the Earth began to shift on its axis. What was on my left went to the right. Right to the left. The ground buckled under my feet, and I staggered, trying to balance on a sheet of asphalt that waved in the wind. In the distance, I heard the labored creak of a door opening and someone yelling out. The voice came to me from
the deep recesses of a tunnel. I stumbled backward until my back banged hard into the Ford, then I slid down against the tire and onto the rough gravel.

  As I sat on the side of the road, resting against a damaged Ford truck, my mind drifted in and out. At times it was in the present, sometimes it was in the past and somewhere far, far off. In the sky above me, the trio of vultures that I’d seen the week before were back, circling gracefully overhead in their “wait and see” formation. They coasted effortlessly on the wind, and part of me longed to be that free. Gliding through the air. Out of reach. Bringing bad omens to others, while feeling none of the fear myself. Then, as suddenly as I’d seen them, the vultures were gone, and I was left to wonder if they had even been there in the first place.

  I cocked my head just slightly and, out of the corner of my eye, I could just see the crumpled body of a girl lying underneath the truck. Lifeless. Beside the truck, a man bent with hands on knees, vomit spilling onto the asphalt.

  And then a funny thing happened. Slowly, very slowly, the tension that had been gripping my shoulders and neck loosened. My body went limp without the support, and the rough gravel rose to meet my shoulder and arm. My eyes fought for closure, whatever the outcome. And this time, I let them. I finally welcomed sleep. I wasn’t about to fight it. Not anymore. I was done fighting.

  It wasn’t long until a creeping blackness engulfed me, and my breathing slowed until only short gasps were coming out. The last thing I remembered was the sensation of someone shaking my shoulder, asking me questions.