The Shore (17 page)

Something hissed at her ankles. A spent wave sputtered across her shoes, plunging over the mud. Black foam seethed, and the sea wind circled at her back, sighing right through her heavy jacket.

Her teeth clicked together, and it seemed her brain began to work again: she became conscious of the muted grumble of the surf, of the grainy texture of the freezing mud into which her boots sank, of the way the wind would groan away, allowing snow to sink in shifting forays. She stared. A mosaic of movement—pillars of white seemed to topple as the creature emerged through veils of motion.

No!
She absorbed a fleeting impression of nakedness and hulking deformity.
Nothing can look like that.

It lurched across the beach.

She stepped back into the water, and the wind slashed.
Nothing!
Snow flew horizontally, blasting endlessly from sea and sky. With numb fingers, she brandished the nightstick.

Swirls of sudden crimson pulsed in airborne layers. In a smear of light and noise, the dunes blazed, and the bright splotch of the spotlight altered like an amoeba as it rushed across the beach, pursued by the blurring humps of the high beams. The horn blared steadily. The siren wailed.

“Kit!”

Light struck her. The club dropped from her numbed fingers, and she lashed with both hands.

“Hey, no!” He caught her. “It’s okay, Kit, it’s okay, babe, I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

“Run!” Her eyes tracked wildly as she shivered. “Get back in the jeep!” She flinched violently when his arm encircled her back. “It’s here! It’s right…!”

Waves of snow rolled over them as he guided her to the jeep. Remnants of beach fence dangled from the fender. He opened the passenger door for her, and she clung to him when he tried to let go. “…coming…saw it…”

“You’re okay now. Lock the door. Do you hear me? Lock it.” He pried her hands away and slammed the door.

She covered her face.

Moments later, he got in the other side, his shoulders heavily dusted with white. “I don’t see any sign of it.” She didn’t appear to be listening, just sat very still while her teeth chattered viciously. “What’s in here?” He reached for a thermos on the floor. “Coffee?”

After a moment, she trembled, barely getting the word out. “Cocoa.”

He poured some into the lid. “Here.” She shook her head with a jerky motion. “Come on.” He steadied her hands while she gulped it.

“How…?” She choked a little. “How did you get here?”

Taking the lid from her, he set it down. “I heard the alarm, found the jeep with the motor running. I just went tearing up and down the beach.” He rubbed her hands briskly, then poured more chocolate into the lid. “So you’ve seen it.”

She gulped hungrily at the cocoa. “A mask…some kind of costume.” By the interior light, she studied his face. He reached for her shoulder, then held something up, and she took it from him, wondering. “My jacket.” Between two fingers, she held a strip of shredded cloth.

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” She shook. “Nothing broken.”

“Why are you sitting like that? Where does it hurt? This side? Let’s get you home so I can look at your shoulder.”

“I can drive.”

“No, you just…” He shifted into first and swung the headlights toward the boardwalk. The jeep bounced. Snow completely layered the beach, and the tires spun.

“Slow down.” She leaned forward. “Can you see anything?”

“Kit?”

“Do you see any footprints?”

“You really are a cop, aren’t you?” He grunted with a sort of sad admiration, and the tires crunched slower.

“Are the wipers on high? Damn, I can’t see. What’s that over there?” She caught at his arm. “On the left. Can you…?”

“I can’t tell. It’s coming down so hard. Might be tracks.”

“They go over that way. No, the other…that’s it. Under the boards.”

“This isn’t such a hot idea. If we get stuck…” The jeep jerked over a mound. “I think I came through the fence right about here.” He eased them into a blot of shadow. Pillars leapt and dodged in the rushing glow, a row of cement columns vaulting. Almost no snow had found its way beneath the boardwalk, but a hill of sand rose steeply before them.

“What in hell…?” He hit the brakes. The headlights poured up the hill, its mountainous shadow concealing everything behind it. “This wasn’t here. I could swear it.”

“I lost my weapon,” she said quietly. “Do you have a gun?”

He nodded, staring straight ahead at the mound. “Who could have done this?”

“We have to check.” She unlocked her door.

He grabbed at her. “Kit!”

The door hung open, and she waded into the flood of the headlights, her shadow washing across the mound.

“Kit, get back.” He clambered out. “You’re hurt.” Around them, in the light’s periphery, a curtain of snow defined the edges of the boardwalk.

The mound heaved.

“Get away from it!” Sand cascaded down the sides, and he leveled the revolver. “Kit!” Near the bottom, something squirmed.

She stepped closer, and a shout clogged in her chest.

A black hand scratched up out of the dirt; crusted fingers clutched, fluttering.

“Lord.” He shoved the gun under his coat then threw himself at the hill. Sand flew, as he furiously dug.

“I don’t understand.” She began to help him. “What kind of dream is this?” It felt like digging in powdered ice. “What kind of nightmare?”

The arm moved, then a torso wobbled beneath them. Darkened sand clumped thickly on the naked chest, crevices of white flesh showing through black rivulets. The throat gulped, headlights turning the smears of blood a deep purple.

With a fierce tug, Steve yanked the slender body up out of the dirt and into a sitting position. Mist swirled around clotted flesh.

“Is it on fire?”

He stooped, hefting the body up against his chest. “Steam from the wounds.” He grunted as he rose. “Get the car door.”

“Where are his clothes?” Liquid still oozed black from the head, mingling with the grit that clung to the neck, streaking down the chest to the rib cage. “I…don’t…understand. How did he…?” Legs dangled. Splotches caked on the calves, completely covering one foot.

“Kit! Move!”

She threw the doors open and shoved the seat back, then clambered in and pulled the body in by the shoulder. The white legs looked so long, but the body weighed surprisingly little. Darkness still leaked from gashes on the shoulder and the chest, and clots of sand rained from the sticky mass of the hair and face.

He squeezed in behind them. “My God.”

“You know him?” she asked. Through the clinging thickness, the sheen of brown curls resembled bubbles in a pool of oil.

“Where’s the nearest hospital?” They secured him with bungee cords, one across his chest and the other around his legs. “Can you stop the bleeding on his head? Is there a blanket?” He tore off his coat and threw it over the pale form, then scrambled behind the wheel.

The tires whined, but the jeep didn’t move. He gunned it again, until it lunged forward. She steadied herself against the roll bar, and he jerked the steering wheel sharply, plowing through a fence. She gasped as they plunged down a steep embankment, bouncing onto a narrow street.

“That way! No! Go right! Just follow it out to the highway.”

He leaned forward, twisted the heat up as far as it would go. “He’s in shock. We’ve got to get him warm.”

“Straight ahead here.” She coughed, pain and cold seizing her chest. “Who is he? How did he get there?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer, just concentrated on driving. “You know how he got there,” he said at last. Jerking at the wheel, he floored the gas pedal, and the jeep veered through highway slush.

“Look out!” They swerved into the far lane. “His pulse is so weak I can barely…”

No other lights moved. The engine droned, and the wipers squealed, and only a few thick flakes plunged straight down, heavy and wet. In a quiet monotone, she directed him to the medical center two towns away. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “It’s the Lonzo kid, isn’t it? You can barely see his face under all the blood. Dear God.” They seemed to crawl, yet the jeep slipped at every turn, the tires spinning with a sharp whir.

Wind whistled at the gaps in the windows, and the steering wheel fought him. “Like an animal burying its meat,” he muttered.

“Don’t.”

“You saw it.”

“Please.” They seemed to catch up with the retreating blizzard now, and their headlights glinted from the flurry, creating a heavy curtain that billowed around them. Windshield wipers left a curving trail of frost on the glass.

Icicles made the highway overpass look like some fanged maw. On the highway ahead, a behemoth growled, and the snowplow lumbered past them, the orbs of its headlights gleaming with malevolence.

The fluorescent glare reflected off wired glass; beyond the window lay blank fog. “But I thought you were going home today?” Steve tried to smile, his attention wandering uneasily around the room. “No?” Rapid tapping began at the hospital window, and suddenly raindrops the size of quarters splattered on the glass. “Well, you look a lot better than you did yesterday.”

“He sure does.” Kit stared at her leather boots, mottled with slush. “Got some color coming back and everything. I mean, that night in the jeep, I didn’t even recognize you. Oh, listen, here are the clothes you wanted. Steve, uh, I mean, Barry went and picked them up at your place. Was there anything else you needed?”

From the bed, Tully stared vacantly. A broad bandage hid his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, trembling. “I know you want me to remember.” Purplish bruises bloomed from his left temple to his jaw, accentuating both the pallor and the blotches beneath his eyes.

“It’s the concussion,” Kit began. “I’m sure in a few days…”

He shook his head—a barely perceptible motion—then grimaced. “A thing. That’s all I remember. The thing I always knew was there. When I was a little kid. In the closet. Under the bed.”

“How did you know?” Steve leaned forward.

“Steve, don’t.”

“You’re with the police now?” Tully looked him over with dull curiosity. “And you have a different name.” His face seemed dead flesh pulled taut. All his gawky charm had been stripped away, and his body seemed entirely composed of fragile points. “It picked me up. Like a doll.”

She edged closer, pressed his hand. “It’s all right.”

Slowly, painfully, he pulled his hand away. “It carried me.” His stare pivoted from her to the wet dimness beyond the window. “I fought.” The eyes alone seemed alive as they twitched with wild suffering. “I kicked, screamed.”

“Listen,” Steve began, “you don’t have to…” “I knew…what it wanted was worse than anything…any nightmare.” The noise in his chest might have been the ghost of a laugh. “I guess monsters are like that.” He held a bandaged hand over his face. “What do I do now?” A sob shook him. “Knowing it’s real? You tell me. How do I go on?”

Havoc unfurled in the sky. They stared through the glass walls of the hospital lobby, and Steve gave a bewildered grunt.

“Some storm.” Grimly, she shook her head. “It’s funny. He’s someone else I used to be friends with. But I haven’t seen him at all since I came back. Never called him. Nothing. He does seem a bit better, doesn’t he?” They watched rain beat the fog to the ground. “Don’t you think so?” Without turning, she examined the reflection of his face in the glimmering glass.

“They say he’s well enough to leave,” he told her, haltingly. “Doesn’t want to go…talks about signing himself into the psych ward.” He pushed at the door, and damp wind stirred his hair. “Might be the best thing.”

Fog still drifted low near the entrance.

“You don’t believe that,” she said, following him out. The snow had begun to melt, then freeze again: it was like walking on wet glass. As they slipped through the parking lot, rain settled heavily. Brittle tracings of snow still crusted the canvas roof of the jeep. “What do you think, should we put the top down?” The steam from her mouth mingled with the mist as she clambered in the passenger side. “That was a joke,” she explained. Behind them, the hospital entrance deliquesced into a smear of light, and the snow on the ground looked soaked and dangerous. “God, I’m freezing.”

“Yeah?” Droplets beaded his leather jacket. “It’s warmer than it’s been in weeks.” He revved the engine, then let it idle while the windshield defogged.

“That’s not saying much.” Turning one glove inside out, she wiped it across her window. “You sure you don’t mind driving?” She peered through the clear spot at the growing puddles. “My shoulder’s still bothering me a little.”

He clicked on the headlights, backed into a river of slush.

“You’re silent again.” She bit her lip, combed fingers through her damp hair. The box on the backseat held the new revolver she’d bought that morning, and an awareness of its presence obsessed her, seemed to fill the jeep. “We’re not doing too well, are we?” Billowing rain swept around them as the jeep pulled out, and the headlights sifted through alternating layers of vapor and water. “I mean, there’s been no sign of anyone at the apartment. No sign of them period.” Mist clung thickly to the ground and the splattering water mingled with it, but soon rain slashed down and broke it into drifting fragments that settled into the streams at the edge of the road. “Maybe it’s time we call the authorities, don’t you think?” she asked. “Maybe it’s time. He could get away if we don’t. Couldn’t he?”

“It.”

“What?”

“It could. Get away.”

The jeep swayed slowly, and water sheeted up behind them. As the engine thrummed, she fancied they were falling, plummeting back to Edgeharbor. Usually, she expected some sense of release whenever she left the town limits behind her, but today she’d experienced no lightening of tension, and it occurred to her that perhaps such respite no longer existed for her. Tires crunched over a crust of ice in the dirt-scaled snow. Patches of rubber from the tires of some passing eighteen-wheeler littered the road like the fallen scales of a dinosaur.

Ahead of them, other tires had rutted the wet snow, but gray ice already filled the curving furrows, making their slow progress even more arduous. Isolated objects stood out in the haze. A boulder. A call box. Then a bank of trees pressed close, coalescing into a single mass. A minivan growled by, and gouts of slush hit their salt-streaked windshield. Cursing, Steve braked as the roads merged. They waited for an opening, listening to the slush-clogged sounds of traffic. It would have been a natural moment for him to look at her.

Particles of ice clotted on the windshield, and he stared through them at smudges of light, swirls of motion. Finally, they shot forward. “Turn here,” she said.

“I see it.” Melting snow clogged the old highway, and mottled water lashed up at the windows. Suddenly, the rain sluiced down in blinding sheets, and the windshield wipers splashed ineffectually. “Going to have to pull over.”

Water hissed up from the tires. An expanse of gray spread onto a field, submerging the rest area. This pool bled into an ocean that seemed to roll from the surrounding pines, smeared with green and carrying a primeval scent of moss and mud and twisted roots. “Christ.” They passed other cars on the shoulder, and he chose a spot, braked. The leaden swirl soaked rapidly through snow at the side of the road, until beer cans and other debris bloomed. Slush hung heavily in the nearer trees, meshed in the webbing of needles, bowing the branches, a diamond casing of ice on the boughs. The windshield wipers slapped loudly, and the interior of the vehicle began to seem like a small cave.

“Have you ever seen fog on the beach?” she asked him softly. “It looks like the end of the world. Especially at night. You can’t tell where the land ends and the sea begins.”

After a time, the downpour slowed to a drizzle, and a car passed, then another. Without speaking, he started the jeep.

She bit her lip. “When we get back to town…” The jeep surged to one side. “If we get back to town…”

“No cracks about my driving.” Finally, his glance veered to her, and he tried to smile. “You’re going to tell the authorities finally, right? You’ve been threatening to all day. Go ahead, if you feel you need to. But do you really think it’s such a good idea?”

“I’ve seen it now.” The glittering curve of their headlights preceded them along the road. “Whatever it is. It’s not a game anymore.”

“Nobody was ever playing games, Kit.” He turned to her, fully taking in her appearance: the soaked ringlets, clinging to her skull like a cap, the tense intelligence of her eyes. “Nobody.” He returned his full attention to the road. “Besides, I thought you’d decided it was just some guy in a mask?” A casino bus swerved at them, spraying water on all sides, and she gasped as he jerked the wheel. “Try to relax,” he said.

“Just shut up and drive.” The tires hummed wetly over the asphalt. “So this is what it feels like to want something again,” she said. “All right. I want something. I want to hope for something and work for something, and I hadn’t even realized I’d let go of all that. Until I met you.”

Rain shuddered on the roof.

“Steve, please? We need to talk.” Suddenly, she couldn’t look at him. Rivulets snaked across the glass, and she forced herself to watch the drowned forest. “I hate this.” Pines sagged, bunching together against the freezing drizzle, the thinner branches vibrating until the trees seemed to shiver, the whole forest twitching. Moments later, the woods thinned, and the first drab buildings rose. “What are we going to do?”

The slick road ranged into town without apparent strategy. Sometimes it swerved to avoid rocky outcroppings; sometimes it plowed straight through boulders that reared like ancient sentinels. From the first steep rise, she glimpsed the gray hump of the sea; then the streets of Edgeharbor engulfed them. The road climbed so that they seemed to be level with the upper stories of the houses they passed, and the windows of those houses reflected the stony havoc of the sky. “Steve, I’m scared.” The clouds looked solid, mountainous, like the contours of some frost-covered shore they had no hope of reaching. “I’ve never been so scared. I think something awful is about to happen, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“You could have been killed.” He spoke with considered finality, turning onto the road to the marina.

“Steve…”

“No more.” The jeep slowed. All around them, gulls screamed and wheeled, their bodies the color of the winter sky. They settled on rooftops and posts, until shrieking in outrage, they simply raised their wings to the wind and lifted again.

He pulled into the carport, close beside the Volkswagen, and they hurried to the stairs through a chilling veil of drizzle. A sudden gust slapped hard at her, and she clutched the rail as he caught her about the waist. For an instant, she turned toward the sea. “Jesus.”

Foam rolled across the edge of the dock.

Above them at the kitchen windows, the cat stared through wavering glass.