Bitter Cold (6 page)

ELEVEN

SHE FIGURED OUT WHY they called it Jack Falls Road. On one shoulder, the embankment gave way to a steep drop-off of at least a hundred feet. Scary enough she had to navigate it during a steady blizzard. On top of that, the sun had gone down, and her headlights only reflected the whiteout back into her face. She turned the lights off and hugged the inside lane, the one with a nice, tall, snow-covered berm she could bump into harmlessly in the event of a spinout.

She came around a blind corner and noticed a dark patch in the middle of her path. Her heart jumped into her throat. She slammed on the brakes, cranking the wheel, trying to stay ahead of her car’s movements as it slid toward the pitch-black stain.

She felt stupid for even thinking about leaving Jeff’s house. No time for questioning herself now, though, as her Neon screeched to a halt. Her head banged against the windshield and she screamed. The thought of that hideous thing sliding its black tentacles over her skin made her cry out involuntarily. She held her mouth, not wanting to betray her location in case it could hear.

She rolled down the window and peered out. Then she stood on her seat and pulled herself up to the roof, stepping on the doorframe. She had to sweep a thick layer of slush before she felt confident enough to even consider a leap to safety. But she knew she had no time.

Three, two, one… JUMP!
She sprang as hard as she could. Her boots slipped, forcing her right leg out and putting her on a completely different trajectory than she’d hoped. Instead of hurdling over the blackness, she fell straight down, rolling over the back fender and landing near the rear wheel.

Horrified, she didn’t move. She swallowed and heard the hollow gulp inside her head. She kept her face forward, away from the black blemish lurking in the snow mere inches from her. Then she let her gaze wander to the right.

In peripheral vision, she saw the murky area. It seemed to lie still, as if waiting for her to fall into the trap. She pulled away, using her elbows as fulcrums, holding her breath, keeping her stunted groans to herself. Finally, at a good distance, she stood, though finding traction in the icy pavement proved difficult.

She stepped back. The dark snow just sat there, motionless, not at all like before, when it seemed so willing to chase after that boy on the motorcycle. Now it looked sluggish. Maybe it had a plan to lure her in by playing dead.

Headlights from the top of a mountainous driveway startled her. A neighbor had the bright idea of actually driving in the arctic storm. Someone beside her, of course. She hurried to the well-shoveled, gravel drive.

A forest green Land Rover with tinted windows met her at the bottom, deep bass thumping, signaling the presence of teenagers. When the window rolled down and a puff of pot smoke rolled out, she knew her hunch was spot on. A boy wearing a loose stocking cap stared at her. He didn’t even look old enough to drive. He leaned his head out and let his eyes slide down April’s thighs, then up to her breasts.

“You havin’ troubles?” he asked, still staring at her chest.

She wanted to slap him, but she still couldn’t stop the mental image of that creature, prowling, ready to attack them at any moment.

“Listen to me,” she said. “There’s something in the snow. It’s already hurt one kid, and it tried to get me, too. Down there in the road.”

“Who is it?” a teenage girl leaned over the driver’s lap and glared. April realized she knew these kids. It was Amy and her friends, the ones from Dead Man’s Dump. “It’s you,” the girl must have recognized her, too. “Can’t you drive? Get that piece of crap out of the way.”

April slapped her thigh. “I’m not kidding around! Something’s down there!” she pointed to the road.

“Where?” asked the driver, peering through the windshield. “I don’t see anything.”

“Neither do I,” added Amy. “What’s wrong with you, lady? Why are you guys making this shit up?”

“This isn’t a joke, goddammit!” she raised her voice. “That thing down there can kill! If it can take off a kid’s foot, then I know it can do worse!”

“What the hell are you talking about, lady!” Amy shouted at the same volume.

“I’m talking about that black thing in the road. Right under my car. Don’t tell me you can’t see it.”

“You’re fuckin’ nuts, you know that?” answered Amy. “There’s nothing under your car. My dad salts the driveway. It’s just the pavement, that’s all. Asphalt.”

April blinked, tilting her head and staring closer. A few steps nearer gave her a better view, allowing her to recognize the rough, rocky texture of the road’s bare surface. Black asphalt. Her stomach felt afire with cramps again.

She heard a round of laughter from the Land Rover as the power window rolled back up. All four tires spun in unison, sending the vehicle sideways on the frosty, hard surface before it grabbed traction and righted itself, maneuvering past the Neon and down Jack Fall’s toward Highway 30.

Looking at the naked blacktop, April could see how someone else in her circumstance might have made the exact same mistake. The pavement was dark, a stark contrast to the immaculate whiteness surrounding it.

Just to be sure, she approached her vehicle cautiously, tiptoeing to the edge of the snow, where the tarmac began to peek through. With one foot, she probed, pressing once, then again. Then, with her full weight, she stepped down. No black pool enveloping her boot, no toes bitten off by a hungry monster, creeping under the ice.

TWELVE

April believed Highway 30 to be a bona fide deathtrap. In that remote stretch between Rainier and Columbia City, it only had two lanes, near non-existent shoulders, and only a painted double line for a divider. Add to that the deceptive curves, the straight stretches where aggressive drivers tried to pass, and it would have been bad enough, even in good weather. In the middle of a winter storm, it made for a lethal cocktail.

At least the pavement had been cleared by those giant, orange, roaring machines. She passed one at a turnout. It made her feel good to see the plows around, their yellow lights flashing, a heavy rumble as they motored by. No way could that thing in the snow get past them. Safety in numbers, she thought.

She smiled a little, both hands on the wheel, eyes straight ahead, comforted by the thought of getting back to civilization. She liked the country, but only for a visit. The quiet made her nervous, like nature had some kind of secret to keep. The drive, though, would be slow. She could tell. Thirty miles an hour worked out fine. Anything faster, and her Neon started to fishtail. The first time it happened, she nearly had a heart attack. The second time, she became annoyed.

The thermometer in her dash read 28 degrees, though to her it felt much colder out. Her heater didn’t work so well, which meant the defrost didn’t work so well, periodically forcing her to wipe layer after layer of her own condensed breath off the foggy windshield.

The road straightened and she finally saw ahead a couple miles. Headlights in the distance, slicing through foggy, snowy maelstroms which danced across a freshly-plowed highway. Wind whipped the flakes into a tempestuous ballet, skipping and skimming, filling the air with a thick white mist. That, along with her clouded windows, made it difficult to see much of anything except for the solid line on the right shoulder. If all else failed, she thought, always keep to the solid line on the right shoulder.

She wiped her windshield for about the hundredth time and nearly peed her pants at the sight of the Trojan Park sign.

That’s my turn! Shit!

Too late.

She tried to stop anyway. To her surprise, the Neon came to complete a halt without sliding. Luckily, not many people were stupid enough to be on the road. The only other vehicle she could see still had a long way to go before reaching her.

With a breath to boost her self-confidence, she turned the wheel and directed her car into the park grounds. As she passed the large willows framing the main drive, she spotted the black helicopter. She’d caught it just as it began to warm up, roaring like a mechanical T-Rex. The rotors loped in a lazy circle at first, then spun faster and faster, becoming a blur.

She reached the parking lot near the landing pad and found Strawn with a small group of men. She stopped her car, threw open her door, and marched straight up to him before better judgment could talk her down.

Strawn chatted, shaking hands, saying his goodbye’s. He saw April and turned away. Then he looked at her again, his eyes wider, but not too wide. He masked his surprise well.

“Well, what have we here?” he spoke over the high-pitched whine of the turbines. “You’ve come back. And to what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

His fake sophistication made her cramps flare.

“First off, Strawn, you can shove the bullshit right where the sun doesn’t shine.”

The man’s face contorted with a seething. It made her recoil inside. Not on the outside. This time she wouldn’t be intimidated by his clenched jaw or his steely stare. She wouldn’t be scared by his subordinates, either, though they were trying hard with their fake grins, masking their inner, more sinister motives.

“That’s a bit rude,” Strawn’s smile returned, though the anger in his expression didn’t diminish. “And I’d say a bit unsophisticated, even for a reporter.”

The men chuckled. Armstrong and McCullah each flanked their boss. They closed in, forming a wall, glaring, waiting for what she had to say with acute interest.

Her knees buckled, though she caught herself from toppling into a pile of slush. Either she was exhausted or scared. Or both. The old adrenal gland must have been running on fumes. Still, she had to do what she came there to do.

“You listen and you listen good,” she cleared her throat and tensed her stomach. “I just came from a neighborhood close to here,” she pointed. They kept their eyes on her. “Jack Falls Road. I’m sure you know it. If you don’t, you will soon.”

“Miss, where are you going with this?” Strawn gestured to the helicopter, now powering down. The pilot must have seen there was a delay. “I’ve got a schedule to keep!”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said. “You’d like nothing better than to fly away and forget anything’s happened here. Well, you won’t be able to, Strawn. You may have weaseled your way out of a federal investigation, and bribed and extorted your way off the news, but there’s one reporter you couldn’t fool. I know, Strawn. I know there was a containment breach. You wanna know how I know? Because I’ve seen it.”

Strawn’s men looked at each other, then at their boss. Strawn pushed up his lower lip. His eyes went to the sky, along with his brow, shaking his head in a playful way. He seemed to be taking the news well. A little too well.

“Miss Murray. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry for that,” he turned to each of his underlings. “We’re sorry. Right, boys?”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” she snapped. “It’s not good enough. Not even close. Do you realize what’s going on? Something’s out there, something in the snow, turning it black like ink. You wanna know the real kicker? It’s attacking kids. The damned thing took a kid’s foot right off!”

Strawn’s expression didn’t change. He shifted his weight and tilted his head, saying not a word. The wind mixed with the churning helicopter blades, whipping the wintry flakes in twists and twirls. April felt the chill, but didn’t allow herself to shiver.

“You have nothing to say?” she looked each man in the eyes. “You don’t want to deny it?”

Strawn worked his jaw, licking his front teeth under closed lips. It looked like he wanted to take a bite right out of her.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he finally said.

“A contamination breach, dammit! A radiation leak from your spent fuel rods! And in that valley, your goddam radiation mixed with some sort of evil entity and made it even more evil, even more deadly. Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on!”

Strawn exhaled menacingly. “If you could only hear yourself right now. Do you realize just how utterly insane you sound?”

Armstrong chuckled. McCullah didn’t. He stood firm on the icy asphalt, his eyes like daggers. April remained fixed on Strawn.

“I think you’ve been reading too many cheap fiction novels. Fuel rods don’t leak just like that. Even if they did, there’s no way it could reach that valley.”

“How do you know?” April raised her hands. “Have you performed any tests? Where’s the data? You’ve never provided even one shred of proof there hasn’t been a contamination as a result of the earthquake last May.”

Strawn replied quickly. “And you can’t provide a shred of proof there
has
been a leak.”

“Yes I can! That black pool of ooze down there! You want proof of whether or not your radiation is dangerous? Go to the hospital. Ask Dexter Bowen. He’ll tell you. Damned thing ate his foot!”

“Is that right?” McCullah broke his silence. “And what hospital would that be?”

“Longview’s a small city,” April looked at him. “It wouldn’t be hard to…wait a minute,” she turned to Strawn. “You guys
do
believe this, don’t you? You guys are going to do something to silence Dexter,” she gulped. Her mind spun faster than a cyclone. “Wait a minute. You want to silence me, too, don’t you?”

“Now hold on, Miss Murray,” Strawn glared at McCullah then flashed April a friendly look. “Don’t take Mr. McCullah too seriously. He obviously doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“You misunderstood me,” McCullah tried to smile. April could tell the expression was foreign to him. His frown lines rejected it. “All I meant was that we should send him some flowers or something. Lift the kid’s spirits. You know, wish him a speedy recovery.”

April eyed him up and down. She didn’t buy it for a second.

“That’s right,” Strawn nodded. “We always hate to hear about accidents like that. Don’t you, Miss Murray?”

She didn’t answer. The sense McCullah gave her carried her to a cold place where she felt vulnerable and isolated, and not just physically or geographically, though that remote stretch of highway might as well have been Siberia.

The freezing temperature intensified the men’s icy stares. She couldn’t stop herself from shivering now. She saw maliciousness in their eyes as they sent little nonverbal messages back and forth to one another.

“How could you be so goddam arrogant?” she forced through the lump in her throat. “Did you actually think you’d get away with this? I’ll tell you one thing. As long as there’s still breath in my body, and as long as I can put pen to paper, I’ll never give up on this. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Something told her to stop.
Stop talking! Turn and go!

Until that moment, April hadn’t feared for her life. She just didn’t think Strawn had it in him to hurt her. But right then, she realized she’d made a mistake. She had to leave, and leave now.

“Oh shit, you know what?” she looked at her wristwatch, trembling. “I forgot how late I am. I’ve got to go, guys. Really. It’s been fun but…”

Strawn snatched her arm. “Leaving so soon?”

Her jaw dropped. In one split second, she pictured Strawn telling his underlings:
watch for a moment. Wait and watch for when I decide whether the girl lives or dies. When that moment comes, you’ll see my signal. If she lives, it’ll be a subtle wave of my hand. If she dies, it’s a glance and a nod. Got that? A glance and a nod.

Her fight-or-flight reflex kicked in and she twisted from Strawn’s grip. Then she lifted her leg and kneed him square in the balls. He groaned and doubled over, though she only saw it from the corner of her eye while darting to her car. She heard footsteps in the frosty ground behind her. They stopped when she reached the Neon and yanked open the door, its hinges cracking with ice.

She threw herself inside and fumbled for the key, cursing at herself for not reaching for it sooner. She’d actually practiced this exact sort of thing. As a female journalist, she knew she’d need such a skill. And every time she’d gone over the drill, she’d made sure to have her ignition key in hand, ready for the getaway. She rooted in her pockets some more and found the damned thing, then, in record time, had the Neon running and moving.

She took off quickly, though not so fast as to lose traction and reel out of control. In her rearview mirror, she spotted the men hustling toward the administration building. She could tell Strawn by his limp.

A bend in the road made her lose sight of the NWP men. Blistering wind sent wisps of flakes skittering across the icy ground, showering her windshield with a steady white spray. The Neon’s wipers at full blast couldn’t keep up with the frozen deluge, reducing her visibility even further.

Up ahead, the road widened, signaling the junction with Highway 30. She glanced in the mirror again. Her heart sank into her intestines. Behind her, coming around the curve, two bright, bluish halogen bulbs sliced through the blizzard. She recognized the white NWP truck. It blended in with the wintry backdrop, yet clearly she saw the outline of the double cab and emergency light mounted on top.

At the intersection, she wanted to head home to Portland. Then she thought again. All of the sudden, staying at Jeff’s house sounded more appealing than ever. A short drive and she’d be safe and off the road, sitting by a warm woodstove, maybe sipping some nice Bordeaux or, hell, even a beer if he had one. She didn’t care. She just wanted to get off that gloomy, frozen highway. So she turned right instead of left, toward the northbound lane, heading for Jack Falls Road.