Bad Moon (Kat Campbell Mysteries) (37 page)

Charlie peered at her from over Eric’s shoulder. His eyes were like currants, dark and emotionless. “Yes.”

Kat’s fourth step set off another round of bridge noises. It wasn’t going to hold them much longer. A few feet ahead of her was the gap she fell through on Wednesday. She remembered the feel of the surrounding boards as she slipped between them, the coldness on her foot as it hit the water.

“What about the other boys?” she asked Charlie. “Why did you kill them?”

“I didn’t plan to kill Dennis. It just happened.”

“How?”

“He had a model rocket,” Charlie said, as if that explained everything. “He showed it off at school the day
Apollo 12
landed. I wanted it. We met in the park after school and I took it.”

A quick shiver rushed up Kat’s spine as she thought of James, safe and sound in Glenn Stewart’s house. Her son had done the same thing, only over something as silly as a school lunch. She recalled Jocelyn Miller’s words:
Kids don’t understand the consequences of their actions.

“He followed me home,” Charlie continued. “He kept demanding the rocket back. We fought in the backyard. I hit him with it. Hard. I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted him to let me keep the rocket.”

“And the others?” Kat asked. “Were they accidents?”

“They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Except for Dwight. He had it coming.”

Kat didn’t ask why he only killed during moon landings. The answer was clear. He chose them because the first moon landing was the moment when Charlie Olmstead died and Kevin Brewster was born. Each Apollo mission after that was a chance for him to re-create that night, to kill off another child just as he had been killed.

“Did you know Eric was still alive?”

“I assumed he was,” Charlie said. “I just didn’t know where to find him.”

“But when you found out he was in Perry Hollow, you needed to come back and finish what you started in 1969?”

Charlie offered a cruel smile. “Something like that, yeah.”

“I’m not going to let that happen.”

Kat took another step. Charlie reacted by tightening his arm around Eric’s neck and slamming him against the railing. The wood there broke free, snapping like a twig. Chunks of it fell into the creek and began their quick slide toward the top of Sunset Falls.

All that movement made the bridge tilt noticeably, its support beams creaking under the strain. Eric and Charlie remained standing, although barely. Clutching each other, they teetered on the edge of the bridge, bodies swaying to keep their balance.

Kat ran toward them, gun still raised. When she reached the gap in the bridge, she leaped over it, landing hard on the plank next to it.

It broke immediately upon impact.

She yelped, a blast of surprise that echoed off the trees on the other end of the bridge. Her arms flew outward as she dropped through the newly expanded gap. The Glock escaped her grip, landing on the bridge, and sliding in Charlie’s direction.

Kat caught herself midfall, legs dangling beneath the bridge, feet once again swishing through the water. From her new vantage point, she could see the gun sitting a few feet away. Then she saw a pair of hands pick it up and point it at her head.

The hands belonged to Charlie. He now had her Glock. And he was going to kill her.

*

Eric saw everything and understood none of it. The action appeared to him in quick flashes that left no time for comprehension. First there was the railing, splintering apart at his hips. Then water, viewed from above, rushing under the bridge. When Charlie’s arm left his neck and traveled to his shoulder, it left Eric not knowing if he was trying to toss him into the drink or keep him out of it. He saw Kat running. Then she was falling, letting go of the gun. Soon Charlie was scooping it up, aiming it at her, trigger finger twitching.

Now Eric needed to stop him. It was the only thing he understood.

“Don’t hurt her!” he yelled. “I’m the one you want.”

Charlie whipped the gun away from Kat and aimed it at his chest. Eric raised his hands.

“You want to kill me? Fine. But let her go. Please.”

He didn’t think about what he was saying. There was no noticeable transmission from brain to tongue. Eric just wanted to keep Kat safe, and the only way he knew how was to use the very things he made his living with—words.

“She’s done nothing to you,” he said. “She was only helping me try to find you. That’s all.”

Charlie looked at him with a mix of panic and despair. Eric imagined he had the same look on his face when he realized Dennis Kepner was dead. Maybe after he killed all of the boys.

“I just want things to be the way they were,” he said. “When I lived here. Before you were born. I was so happy then.”

“You still can be,” Eric told him. “You can live here with Dad. I’ll go away. It will be like I was never born. You just need to let Kat go.”

He prayed that Charlie would believe him. That he wouldn’t realize there would be no happy ending once they stepped off that bridge.

If that ever happened. Eric wasn’t sure it would. Charlie seemed torn, moving the gun between him and Kat, who still clung to the bridge in an attempt to keep herself from slipping into the water.

“Let me help her up,” Eric said. “I’ll help her up, put her on land, and then it’ll be just you and me. Then you can finish what you started all those years ago. I’ll be gone and you’ll be happy.”

Charlie thought it over, still aiming the gun at Kat. Then Eric. Then back again. Finally, he settled on Eric, pointing the Glock at his heart. Eric knew he was too close to miss. The bullet would tear through his chest like a rocket. If he was lucky, he’d die instantly. If he wasn’t, then he’d go slowly, bleeding out on this godforsaken bridge.

Eric pleaded with him. “Let her go first. If you’re going to do it, let Kat go.”

As he spoke, a deep rumble rose to his left. It came from the cul-de-sac, the sound of an engine cutting through the wall of trees along the creek. Eric knew the sound. It was his dad’s rig, roaring toward them. Charlie heard it, too, and faced the noise.

Eric took advantage of the distraction and ran forward, tackling Charlie. Caught by surprise, Charlie flew backward, gun spiraling from his fingers and skittering across the bridge. Then they tumbled together, falling to the bridge’s surface.

Their landing jarred the entire span, which seemed to spring to life, shaking in all directions. Lying on top of Charlie, Eric felt the bridge tilt wildly to the left. Then it listed right, making them slide with it.

Beneath them, a support beam buckled under the pressure. Eric heard it snap—a panic-inducing
crack
that briefly blocked out all other sounds. The truck. The falls. Kat’s labored breathing as she managed to climb back onto the bridge.

Then, just as Eric feared it would, the bridge began to collapse all around them.

Nick held on tight as the truck made a left turn onto the cul-de-sac. They were going so fast and Ken had jerked the wheel so sharply that Nick thought the truck would tip over. He felt his side of the vehicle lift off the road, rising with the turn. But they made it through unscathed, the truck settling back down on all tires. Once out of the turn, Ken jacked up the speed again, shooting like a bullet down the cul-de-sac.

Looking out the windows, Nick saw they were zipping past Ken’s old house. In front of Glenn Stewart’s place, he spotted James standing next to a man with a smooth patch of skin where an eye should have been.

Seeing the rig, the man pointed to the path at the end of the cul-de-sac. Ken nodded and stepped on the gas pedal.

“Brace yourself,” he said.

Nick shrank in his seat, covering his face with his arms. Even then, he could see they were approaching the wall of trees at a furious pace. The only clear spot was the meager path that led to the bridge and the stream. That’s what Ken was aiming for, and Nick had no clue if they were going to make it.

The bounce over the curb threw him up from his seat. He hovered a fraction of a second before being yanked back by the seat belt. In front of him, branches slapped the windshield as the truck rushed through the trees. One—as thick and strong as a Louisville Slugger—shattered the glass, splintering it until it resembled a spiderweb made of ice. To Nick’s right, a tree took out the side mirror before scraping along the door.

Ken slammed on the brakes as the trees cleared. The truck skidded forward, knocking against one tree and then another, before coming to a stop at the edge of the bridge.

Only the bridge, Nick saw, was gone.

What remained of it was now breaking apart in the creek. He saw Kat on her hands and knees, holding on as the bridge floor rocked on the water’s surface. Just beyond her, Eric and Charlie Olmstead lay next to each other, trying to do the same.

Charlie managed to stand, somehow keeping his balance. Eric couldn’t. He tried to get up, reaching out to his brother for balance. Charlie shrugged him off before pushing him away. Eric rolled across the bridge and fell off the side that faced the falls. Then he vanished, disappearing under the water.

“Eric! No!”

Ken unsnapped his seat belt, threw open the door, and jumped out. Nick did the same, climbing out as fast as he could. When he was on land, he saw Ken run to the edge of the creek, about to dive in.

Someone else beat him to it.

Glenn Stewart had skipped the path and headed straight through the trees. As he moved, he shouted instructions to Ken.

“Find something for us to grab on to. Form a chain and stretch it out over the water. I’ll get Eric.”

Then, once he reached the water’s edge, he dove in.

*

Tumbling underwater, Eric knew he was about to die. He tried to fight the current and break the surface, but the water was too strong. The pull of the falls kept him under, tugging him along the bottom of the creek. Somersaulting in the depths, he felt rocks scrape his back, his face, his hands.

He saw the remnants of the bridge drifting away from him. Pilings crisscrossed in the water. Beams jutted out of it. Then they were gone, torn from his vision as he was flipped over once again.

He shut his eyes before feeling another impact with the creek bed. The force of the blow knocked the air out of him and snapped his mouth open. Water filled his throat, choking him. The pressure in his lungs was immediate, like a pair of hands inside his chest pushing outward.

I’m dying,
he thought.

He knew it without a doubt. If drowning didn’t kill him, the drop over the falls would. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

Just when he had settled on the plummet from the falls—it was quicker, he reasoned, with less agony—something entered the water to his right.

Or his left.

He was so confused he couldn’t tell.

Eric also didn’t know what the thing sinking next to him was. When he opened his eyes, he saw only pebbles studding the bottom of the creek. Then the bridge, now even farther away. Then a face.

Glenn Stewart’s face. Coming toward him.

His neighbor stretched out his arms, grasping at Eric’s shirt. He caught the collar and tugged Eric toward him. Soon their heads were above the surface. Eric opened his mouth and vomited out the swill that had collected there. Then he inhaled—a blessed, full-bodied breath that calmed his inflamed lungs.

Glenn still had a firm grip on his arm and was pulling him to shore. Looking to his left, Eric saw the mouth of the falls about ten yards away, still trying to yank him toward it. The current was strong, but Glenn was stronger. He climbed to his feet, trudging to land and dragging Eric with him.

His father was on the bank, lying on his stomach. In his hand was Nick Donnelly’s cane, which he thrust over the water. Holding on to his legs was Nick himself. When Glenn grabbed the cane, the other two pulled, forming a human chain whose only goal was to get Eric out of the water and away from the falls.

Reaching shore, Eric collapsed in the mud and coughed up more water. Ken lay next to him, and he wrapped his arms around him. It was the first time he had hugged his father in years, maybe decades. It felt good.

Flat on his back, Eric looked at those around him. There was his dad, of course. And Glenn Stewart, having saved his life a second time. Nick, however, was gone.

Eric sat up in time to see him scurrying along the bank to the remains of the bridge. His gaze swept across the creek to the pile of wood slowly breaking apart in the middle of it. Kat was still there, trying to gain her balance on a patch of the bridge that had broken free.

With her was Charlie, crouched on the other side.

“Kat,” Eric said. “We need to help Kat.”

*

The bridge had become a raft. And not a sturdy one, either. Roughly ten square feet, it rocked unsteadily, water sloshing across its surface. Kat rose to a half crouch, bending her legs and keeping her balance with her hands. Across from her, Charlie Olmstead was getting into the same position. The Glock sat between them.

When Charlie lunged for the gun, Kat did the same.

They connected in the center of the raft, Charlie pushing her backward. Kat fell, the planks of the bridge hard against her back. Her head hung over the water, hair swirling in the current. When Charlie charged again, she twisted on to her side and curled into a ball as he kicked her in the stomach.

The pain was excruciating. Centered at her abdomen, it spread outward like wildfire, consuming her whole body. When Charlie kicked her again, it hurt so bad that it blacked out her thoughts. Everything going through her head vanished, replaced by pain.

She was vaguely aware of Nick and Eric nearby, the pair of them trying to reach her. It was impossible. She and Charlie were in the middle of the creek, too far to reach without diving in. And that was risky.

Too risky.

Yet they still tried. Eric scrambled out to one of the shattered beams. He wrapped his legs around it while grasping at another one a few feet away. He couldn’t reach it.

But Charlie saw the attempt, and it stopped him from landing a third blow to Kat’s stomach. He paused, with his leg reared back. It wasn’t long—a mere blip of a second—but it was enough time to let Kat grab his leg and pull it out from under him.