Grave Intent (29 page)

The sidewalk was empty, the night still, save
for the chirp of crickets. Lester crept forward, the .38 held out
in front of him. Wilson followed closely behind. The neighboring
houses stood dark and quiet, and Wilson wondered how the owners
could still be asleep after all the shouting and crashing and
gunshots.

Lester slipped past the threshold, and Wilson
drew in a sharp breath.

Like a strike of lightning in an unsuspecting
sky, the second dog appeared, leaping over the hedges for Lester.
Wilson shouted, but not before the animal had a chance to rip
Lester’s hand from his arm. The pistol clattered uselessly to the
concrete, and screams filled the night.

Something grabbed Wilson by the collar and
pulled. He flew back into the funeral home, stumbling and
grabbling, then finally landed on his side on the floor. Before he
had time to get on his feet again, the back door began to close.
Inch by horrifying inch it moved, giving him plenty of time to
witness the dog clamping its jaws around Lester’s throat and
ripping out his windpipe.

Plenty of time for the dog to look back at
Wilson.

Plenty of time for the animal to transform
into the old man with bare feet.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Ellie!” Michael shouted into the cell phone.
But once more, he heard no response. “Janet’s not dead,” he said
fiercely. “She’s not!” He threw the cell phone down on the seat,
then swerved the Cadillac to the right, out of the line of traffic
and into the construction zone. Horns blared from all directions,
but Michael ignored them and stomped the accelerator to the floor.
He had to get to a working phone fast.

The Cadillac shuddered and wheezed while the
speedometer needle crawled up to eighty. He held tight to the
steering wheel, fighting for control as the car began to careen
right then left atop grated pavement. Traffic cones thudded against
the fender, flying off in any given direction like giant orange
bullets. He had no idea what lay before him. A ten-foot drop into a
swamp? A concrete barricade? He needed a phone, and he needed to
get to his family, that’s all that mattered right now.

By the time Michael finally broke through the
construction area, his teeth were chattering. Frigid dread had
seeped into his bones. He tried focusing on the slick hard surface
of the road, the trees that refused to give him access to a faster,
shorter route, on the rain that had slowed to a steady drizzle.
None of the diversions worked for long. He kept picturing Ellie
alone with a dead mother—Janet lying cold and quiet in some dark
corner—his life never being the same again.

“No!” he shouted, and sat up straight,
leaning into the steering wheel. “Stop thinking like that. She’s
not dead, dammit!”

A sharp curve loomed directly ahead, and
Michael took his foot off the gas pedal for a second to steer into
it. Coming out of the curve, the sedan fishtailed into the
straightaway. When Michael regained control, he stomped for speed
again.

Moments later, he spotted a road sign that
read, PUCKET 2 MILES. He’d never been to Pucket, but figured any
town was better than the miles of trees ahead. Especially if
routing through that town allowed him to reach Carlton faster.

He turned off at the appropriate intersection
and discovered a U-Pack-It store five blocks farther.

Michael swerved into the store’s parking lot,
brakes squealing, and gritted his teeth until the Caddy slid to a
stop inches from a wide plate glass window. He shoved the gearshift
into park, jumped out of the car, and ran into the store.

A pimply faced man wearing an oversized red
tunic with the name BEN embroidered over a breast pocket, scowled
at him from behind the counter. The short stiff hairs of his crew
cut glistened with sweat.

“Lord, mister, you scared the bejesus out of
me!” the clerk said. “I thought for sure you was gonna plow right
through the front and park on up here ‘tween the chips and
dip.”

“Sorry,” Michael said. “Look, can I use your
phone? It’s an emergency.”

“’Mergency, huh? What happened? Accident I
bet. We get more fools than frogs on the road in this kinda
weather.” Ben pointed to the canopy outside. “Anyway, you can try
the phone out there. We’re not allowed to let anybody use the one
in here. Company regs and all that.”

Not wanting to waste any time arguing with
him about company policy versus human decency and the pittance of a
phone call, Michael reached into his back pocket for his wallet so
he could make change. The wallet wasn’t there. For a moment,
Michael stood puzzled, his hands searching rapidly through every
pocket he possessed. Then he remembered the soggy clothes he’d
stripped out of at home. He’d been so anxious to leave for Carlton,
he must have left his wallet in the suit pants.

“Uh . . . Ben,” Michael said, glancing at the
monogram again to make sure he got the man’s name right. “It seems
like I left my wallet back home. Could you just let me make one
quick call on your phone in here?”

Ben shook his head. “No can do. If my boss
shows up and you’re on it, he’d can me faster than tuna in a fish
plant.”

Hoping the clerk to be a man with a price,
Michael stripped off his watch, a Seiko his mother had given him
after he’d graduated from mortuary school. “Here,” he said, handing
the watch to Ben. “It’s not new, but it’s expensive, and it’s yours
if you’ll just let me use the phone.”

The clerk fingered the silver band and ran a
thumb over the crystal. He peered up at Michael. “How
expensive?”

“Probably worth two, two-fifty new.”

“Yeah?” Ben’s eyebrows arched with
appreciation.

“Yeah, and I bet a pawnshop might give you
fifty, maybe a hundred for it.”Michael didn’t have the slightest
idea what a pawnshop might offer for the Seiko, but as long as he
had the clerk’s attention, he figured it best to ride it for all it
was worth.

“I don’t know—” Ben pinched his chin
thoughtfully. He scanned the store as though making certain they
were alone, then nodded. “Okay, deal.” With a crooked grin, he
slipped the watch onto his wrist and held out his arm to admire
it.

Michael allowed Ben his second of glory, then
said, “Phone?”

“Oh, right.” The clerk stuck a hand beneath
the counter, pulled out a cordless, and handed it to him. “Make it
quick, though.”

Michael nodded. While punching in the number
to the cabin, he motioned with his chin to the street out front.
“You know if that road leads to Carlton? Or do I need to get back
on twenty-eight?”

Ben blew on the watch face, then rubbed it
against his tunic. “Stick to the one out front, that’s seven
fifty-four. Go left at the four-way. Carlton’s only ‘bout ninety
miles down. You’ll have a coupla red lights to deal with but
overall you’ll save ten miles of distance and better than an hour’s
time ‘cause twenty-eight’s got more construction fifteen miles or
so north of here.”

“Thanks.”Michael pressed the phone to his
ear, but heard nothing except Ben cooing behind the counter over
his new watch. He hung up and waited for the dial tone so he could
try again. The dial tone didn’t come. Michael’s chest suddenly grew
heavy, like it had become an inadequate dam trying to hold back
some monstrous tidal wave of pain and grief. He felt sure it would
burst at any second.

“Line still dead?” Ben asked.

“What—wait—” Michael balked. “You mean you
knew it was out all this time?”

Ben hid his left arm, with watch attached,
behind his back. “Well, yeah. What’d you expect in this weather?
From what I hear, phone service is out damn near to
Shreveport.”

The dam in Michael’s chest burst, and he
slammed a fist against the counter. “And you took the fucking watch
from me anyway?”

“Hey! Don’t even think about crankin’ it up,
mister,” Ben said, puffing out his narrow chest like a rooster
ready to spar. “For all I knew the phone could’ve been back in
service when you called whoever you called. It’s not my fault it
still ain’t workin’.”

“Hand it over,” Michael demanded. “Now!”

“No way. A deal’s a deal. You gave me the
watch, I gave you the phone. Fair swap.”

Torn between wanting to jump over the counter
and strangle the worm or getting to his family, Michael let out a
roar of frustration and kicked over a greeting card rack. He
barreled out of the store with Ben’s threat swelling up behind
him.

“ . . .out of here, you damn loony, or
else!”

Panting with fury, Michael jumped into the
sedan and without even looking for oncoming traffic, sent the car
into a backward spin out of the parking lot. The right bumper
clipped the side of a nearby trash bin. He ignored the crunch of
metal and redirected the Caddy left toward Carlton. After a quick
glance at the odometer so he could clock off ninety miles, Michael
floored the accelerator.

Although he managed to get the sedan up to
eighty-five, time and distance felt stagnant. Ben had warned him
about red lights, and true to his word, two appeared. Michael blew
past them as though they were starting lights on an Indianapolis
drag strip.

Five miles—six.

With every passing mile, the road seemed to
take on a new hazard. Sharp curves, thick tree branches strewn
across the road from the recent storm, deep puddles filling worn
tire tracks. Twice Michael felt the sedan threaten to slip out from
under him, wanting to hydroplane into the nearest pasture. He
gritted his teeth and held on, pushing the sedan faster. He passed
cars like they were parked on a sales lot.

Only when he reached a twenty-mile count on
the odometer did Michael feel some sense of accomplishment.
Seventy more to go
, he thought.
Almost there.
Almost
—

Ahead, a yellow sign warned of a sharp right
turn, and Michael let off the accelerator and tapped the brakes.
The road seemed to disappear a hundred feet ahead, so he worked the
brakes harder to slow even more.

While crawling into the curve, the Cadillac’s
headlights suddenly flashed over a patch of blue. Startled, Michael
slammed on the brakes, and the car slid another ten feet, close
enough for him to make out the back end of a blue Oldsmobile rising
over the curve’s embankment. The right rear wheel spun lazily, and
a thin blanket of steam rose from below, forcing its way up through
the drizzle.

Michael hesitated, his foot itching on the
brake pedal. He wanted to ignore what he saw and keep heading
toward his family. But what if someone was in that car and hurt? He
let off the brake, barely touched the accelerator, and his
conscience pressed—what if you’re the only hope that person has
right now?

“Fuck.” Michael crept onto the left shoulder,
training the headlights as close to the embankment as possible. He
switched the lights to bright, slapped the gearshift into park, and
hurried out of the car.

As soon as he peered down into the four-foot
drop, he spotted her. Thirtyish, small framed, dark brown hair,
blood spilled over the right shoulder of a white, wet blouse. The
driver’s door hung open at an awkward angle, and more than half her
body dangled through the opening. The only thing that seemed to
keep her from falling into the pool of water below was her blouse
sleeve, which had snagged around a door handle. From where he
stood, her eyes appeared closed, her face peaceful. He slid down
the steep embankment, already fearing her dead.

Grasping at handfuls of grass, Michael
struggled to slow his descent. He managed to land on his feet, but
in ankle-deep water that immediately filled his shoes.

He waded toward her.“Ma’am?”

Drizzle fell onto her face and soaked her
blouse until it was nothing more than a translucent film over her
bra. She didn’t stir.

“Ma’am?” Reaching her, Michael pressed two
fingers against her carotid and felt for a pulse. Weak, but at
least she had one. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth and
out both ears.

Knowing better than to move her lest he
exacerbate the injuries, Michael stripped off his jacket and
quickly set up a makeshift tent with it to keep the rain off her
face. He stood up, whipped drenched hair away from his forehead,
and peered over the embankment.
Now what?
he thought. He was
desperate to get to Carlton, but couldn’t just leave this injured
woman. And there was no way for him to call for help without cell
service. The only thing he could think of was driving back to the
U-Pack-It. Maybe he could find help there.

Michael squatted, soaking the seat of his
pants, and lifted a corner of the jacket. “Ma’am, if you can hear
me, I’m going for help. I—”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered open, and her
lips parted like she meant to say something. Michael leaned closer
and heard her moan more than say, “Don’t.” She grimaced and dabbed
the corner of her mouth with the tip of a blood-coated tongue. Her
left arm twitched, and for a moment Michael thought she meant to
sit up.

He touched the top of her head gently. “Try
not to move. You need—”

The sound of tires swishing through water
puddles brought Michael to his feet. He peered over the embankment
and saw headlights traveling southbound a few hundred feet
away.

“Don’t move,” he called down to her, then
scrambled, slipped, slid, and pulled his way up the side of the
curve’s wall.

When Michael reached the side of the highway,
he held both arms over his head and waved, signaling for the
oncoming vehicle to stop. A dark-colored pickup truck veered closer
to the centerline of the road and bypassed Michael like he was road
kill.

“Hey! Stop!” Michael shouted at the
taillights, which quickly disappeared around the bend. Cursing,
Michael jabbed the air with a fist, wishing it would connect with
the driver’s face.