Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (22 page)

She nodded again, struck too dumb by the harsh realities to
find more words. A large-mouth bass bumped belly-up against the sloping shore,
and a bit farther out she saw the feathery remains of a little blue heron.
There was nothing forgiving about this island. Death surrounded them. Waited
for them.

Her despair felt like a weight, and she could see Zach was
also taken in by it. Okay, she told herself, they were in a bad spot. But they
couldn't just give in.

"Then let's get started."

"What?" Zach sounded as though she'd awakened him
from a dream.

"Building a raft," she said.

"Why Miss Izzy, I do declare, you're the most
optimistic critter I've run into in a long time."

But somehow her optimism seemed to catch on, and they
returned to the cypress trees, where they put together a shaky plan. They
traded turns with the knife, with Liz cutting grass when Zach rested after
tearing off limbs. During one of Liz's rest periods, he suggested she read more
of her mother's journal in hopes of discovering some survival techniques.

She opened the book, realizing that reading it made her feel
closer to her mother and inspired her to go on, even though she was tired and
hungry and wanted to drain the water bottles in one long gulp.

"Says here a certain blue buttercup will purify
water," she informed Zach.

He lifted his head from his labor and arched his eyebrows.
"What does the flower look like?"

"Who knows?" she said, then lamely added, "We
might find some."

Wishing he'd lose that darkly cynical grin, she returned to
the book, quickly encountering a dramatic heading.

Defaits le fantome noir
.

Defeating the black phantom. Nothing she needed to know, but
she noticed it was poetry and decided to read it anyway. Zach was right. She
had to stop railing against her parents' convictions, and it probably wouldn't
hurt to know exactly what they were. Especially since Zach appeared to be
catching their infection.

The guardian can never lose faith in good, purity, and
beauty, though faith be not easy to come by in the face of the evil phantom, so
I copy this prayer to help her. If she recites it each time her faith begins to
wane, she can prevail.

Beneath this were some simple stanzas.

PRAYER OF PROTECTION

Power above, Power divine, I call to thee.

Shine your light upon my soul.

Wash over me a love so pure

My heart is cleansed of hate.

Glow, glow, bright opal, free your fire.

Illuminate the shadows. Pave my way.

Pave my way, pave my way,

So darkness does not fall upon this earth.

By the fire within the stone I pledge

To hold love fast in this dark place.

The stanza repeated two more times without much change. In
one, fear was substituted for hate. In the next one, sorrow was addressed. Liz
read on eagerly, surprised at how much the poetry touched her heart, though
she'd always been repelled by mysticism before. There was deep spiritual
significance here, and she could almost hear her mother reciting it in her
soft, gentle voice.

Zach's shadow fell across her and she looked up at him.

"This is so . . . oh, I don't know. Listen for a
second."

When she finished reading, he remained silent for a moment,
then told her it was a good thing she'd come across it. "You might need it
later."

"Don't," she said.

He scanned their barren surroundings. "In a place like
this, it's hard not to become a true believer."

"Believe what you want, Zach." She closed the book
and climbed to her feet. "I plan to believe we'll get out of here."

"Good a thing as any, I guess." He handed over his
knife and sat on the tarp to take his rest. Liz headed for the weeds, telling
herself they would get out of here. They would.

Noon arrived. Zach finished cutting off another branch,
added it to a pile of not much more than a dozen, then gave the knife back to
Liz. Once more, she searched for clumps of suitable grass. Her task wasn't
going smoothly either. Much of the time, the grass simply crumbled, and so far
she'd cut barely enough to tie three branches together.

Gnats worried her neck and arms as she bent over another
clump, this one looking a little greener than the rest.

"Izzy," someone called.

She looked at Zach, but he was lying on the tarp, an arm
over his eyes.

"Izzy!"

She turned toward the mountain and saw a figure there.

"Zach," she yelled. "Maddie's here!"

A smile coming to his face, Zach bounced to his feet.

"Maddie!" he called.

The woman came rushing forward. "Izzy! Zacharie! Come
quick. Your papa."

Liz's hand involuntarily clutched the pill bottle through
the denim of her overalls. "His heart gave out." It wasn't a
question. She'd known it, known it all along.

Maddie shook her head. "No, no," she gasped
breathlessly. "He gone after Ankouer, and he sure to fall to
la maladie
malefique
. Help him, Izzy. You be the only one who can."

Maddie extended her hand, and Liz grabbed it, forgetting in
the moment how much she despised this woman.

"What's going on?" Zach yelled out as he crossed
the distance between them.

"Papa," Liz explained. And then she was running
with Maddie, running toward the center of the island, toward the mountain. Soon
they reached a speckled rock wall, and Maddie veered around it, leading Liz
into a sandy, sheltered alcove that was backed by a towering butte. Crates
overflowing with supplies were stacked along the rocky wall, and an open bedroll
lay on the ground. Otherwise the alcove was empty.

"Where's my father?" Liz demanded of Maddie.

The woman pointed to a spot high on the butte. "Up
there. He go in the cave where Ankouer live."

Rugged outcroppings slanted across the face of the butte, and
as Liz moved her eyes skyward, she encountered a large, dark hole in the
speckled surface. Just then Zach entered the alcove. He asked about her father.

"Maddie says he's in that cave."

He stared wordlessly up at the entrance, then scanned the
clearing, taking in the provisions, the bedroll, and Maddie's well-kept
appearance. Liz had the definite impression that this was the investigator's
eye at work. He put on a sudden lazy smile, but she saw a telltale narrowing of
his eyes as he turned toward Maddie.

"How did you get here?"

Maddie assumed an expression that implied he'd asked a very
stupid question. She shrugged. "Rowed out."

"You rowed out? In a pirogue?"

"You saying I'm lying?"

"I'm saying it's unlikely."

"You city Cajuns. Just cause the bayou hate you, don't
mean it ain't friend to us who love it."

"Stop it, you two!" Liz ordered. "Papa's up
there and we have to bring him out."

"Your father's a grown man, Liz," Zach countered.
"Why are you always trying to save him?"

She wasn't sure of the answer herself. "His heart . .
."

"Right, and he forgot his pills. For all you know, he
has another bottle. Hard as it is to take, he has managed without you all these
years." She saw him glance longingly toward a crate where a loaf of French
bread in a paper wrapper jutted out enticingly. She felt her stomach rumble.

"You must not talk of leaving him be, no," Maddie
interjected. "Dangers are in there.
Le fantome noir
."

Liz saw a barely noticeable tightening in Zach's jaw at
Maddie's crazy claim. He looked again at the cave, then back to the bread, then
at the cave. "We haven't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. How about
waiting? If your pa went in, he'll come out."

"No! No!" Maddie cried. "He is in mortal
danger!"

"Was he having chest pains?" Liz asked.

"Yes, bad pain," Maddie replied eagerly.
"Very bad."

"How about his medicine? Does he have some?"
Maddie shook her head. "No, he forget it at the cabin."

Liz knew with absolute certainty that the woman had a hidden
agenda, and didn't trust her answers. But in her pocket was her father's pills.
If he didn't indeed have another supply, he was at risk while climbing through
an airless cave.

"Go ahead and eat, Zach. I'll get him. Maddie, do you
have a flashlight or something?"

"Frank took—"

Zach interrupted. "You can't go in there alone. I won't
let you."

"—the flashlight," Maddie finished.

"You won't let me?" Liz asked.

"No."

"But there be candles," Maddie continued, as if
Zach and Liz's conversation didn't exist.

"See," Zach said. "Candles. You especially
can't go in with a candle. What if it went out?"

"She gotta go, Zach. Her daddy need her."

"If it goes out, I'll relight it," Liz asserted.
"Now where are they?"

Assuming she'd find them in the crate, Liz headed in that
direction. Maddie and Zach flanked her, each yammering their concerns, and by
the time she had matches and several stick candles in hand, Zach had found
something else to delay her.

"He's got a lantern, Liz. At least take the
lantern."

"It run outta fuel," Maddie informed them,
"and we ain't refilled it yet."

"I don't want to wait," Liz objected. "The
candles will do. It's not a very big mountain. The cave can't be that deep since
there's nothing but marsh underneath."

"No, Liz, you aren't going," he replied firmly,
closing his hand around one of the candles in her hand. Although she held on
stubbornly, it slid from her grasp. "I'll do it instead."

* * *

As it turned out, Liz so relentlessly insisted on coming
along, that Zach agreed, winning only a single victory. She'd wait outside and
wouldn't enter unless he called for help. Maddie weaseled out by crossing
herself several times and claiming fear of
le fantome
, and she had long
since fallen from sight hidden by the natural barrier of rock to their left
that blocked all view of the lower trail and the campsite.

He wished his pride permitted him to do the same. He'd just
committed to hiking through a black tall of unknown geography with only candle
light to guide him. Who knew what was in there? Lizards, maybe. Rats? Spiders?

Jesus, don't let there be spiders
. He'd come away
teaching from head to toe after his nightmare, and all through the day he
plucked imaginary strands of web off his body. Please, no spiders.

He'd be better off without this train of thought, so he lit
a cigarette. It didn't help his breathing on the steep trail any, but it sure
helped his nerves. A sip of Smirnoff's couldn't hurt either, and he reached for
his flask, pausing a fraction of a second to check Liz's reaction.

She didn't blink an eye, and he figured she was winded, too.
The first part of the climb she'd talked nonstop, trying to convince him to let
her go inside with him, but had fallen into silence about halfway up.

He uncapped the flask, taking a slow drink, his first for
the day. Recognizing that alcohol caused dehydration, he eased up. But Frank
had a good stock of water, and shoring up his courage was a better idea than
going in the cave quivering like a coward. If there was anything he hated more
than spiders, it was cowardice.

They rounded a large boulder on their right and met up with
the mouth of the cave. That was exactly what it looked like, too. A mouth,
round, gaping, waiting to swallow him.

One more sip of vodka and he'd be off. He lingered with it,
letting it sting his mouth pleasantly before swallowing, then recapped the
bottle and put it away.

Liz put her hand on his arm, handing him her father's pill
bottle. "Thanks for doing this."

"My pleasure.'

She smiled, said, "Liar," then kissed him briefly
on the mouth.

"I take it you've forgiven me."

"Oh, Zach, I'll always forgive you."

"Remember that,
cher
."

Then he took a couple of candles from her, shoved one in his
pants pocket along with the vial, and lit the other. As he entered the cave, he
had two simultaneous hopes. That he didn't run into spiders. And that Frank
Deveraux had an irrefutable explanation for the card case and fabric scrap Zach
had found behind his house.

Water dripped on his head and arms from the low ceiling.
Rusty, mineral-laden stuff that looked like blood drops in the flickering
candlelight. The tunnel began veering off soon after he entered, and became as
small and narrow as an enclosed viaduct, forcing him to stoop. The flame
reflected off moist walls, only to be absorbed by dryer craggy areas thick with
webs.

The fire quivered from the trembling of his hand, and he
hesitated. Sunlight still filtered dimly through the opening, the way out was
only a turn away. But Liz would just take the candle and go in his place.

Continue. He really had no other choice.

Pebbles crunched beneath his feet, the sound grating on his
frayed nerve endings, and the flame in his hand provided only marginal relief
because it revealed the heaps of bones cluttering the recesses in the walls. A
stench emanated from one of the spots, a stomach-turning combination of rotting
flesh and gasoline. When he got closer, he saw the scorched mask of a raccoon.
He stumbled back, trying very hard to convince himself it was a coincidence.
Ignoring the slime, he moved to the opposite wall of the cave and eased his way
around the dead creature.

Ankouer wasn't very good to his servants, he thought. Used
them, sucked their essence to sustain himself, then allowed them to crumble to
dust. Was there no end to his need?

For a moment, these thoughts consumed him, and when he
realized where they led, he halted them with a shock. That whispered legend
meant to scare children into obedience had no credence even though everything
around him, every event they'd endured, said it did.