Dark Hollow (26 page)

We stood at the forest’s edge. Thin wisps of smoke floated between the trees like strands of gossamer. The wind increased, and above us the leaves hissed.

“Just the breeze,” Dale said. “Just the breeze making them hiss.”

“Of course it is,” Ramirez answered. “What else would it be?”

“Hopefully, Detective, you won’t find out.”

Pushing aside the branches, we stepped through the tree line and into the forest. Beneath the green canopy the moon was eclipsed, and darkness surrounded us like a shroud.

EIGHTEEN

The muted strains of the shepherd’s pipe floated through the forest, borne on the smoke. The music was no longer mesmerizing or haunting, but celebratory, full of life and frivolity. It still affected our libidos, but it hinted at something else, too, some indefinable base emotion, suppressed by years of evolution and civilized behavior, hibernating deep inside our gray matter.

Vines and roots snagged our feet, and briars and thorns drew blood, yet the undergrowth itself remained stationary. It wasn’t possessed, like the trees at the hollow’s core, but it was still a hindrance. The footpath would have been easier—and quicker—to take, but it had disappeared, swallowed up by the forest.

Just like our loved ones had been.

Though the fire was still miles from our location, the smoke soon grew thick enough to sting my eyes. I licked my parched lips. My mouth tasted like burned charcoal.

Big Steve dutifully led us onward. I had no doubt in my mind now that he was following Tara’s scent, because the direction he took us was the same general direction the music was coming from. I wondered if the forest itself would let us find her. I wondered what I’d find if we did.

The dog halted about a half mile into the woods, lifted hismuzzle, and howled. My pulse beat faster, and I looked around for Tara, squinting into the darkness. Then I smelled it, the stench strong enough to blot out the smoke.

Paul Legerski lay sprawled in front of us. Had we gone a few more feet we would have stepped on him. His head was missing, but I knew it was Paul. The body wore the same Winger T-shirt that Paul had worn, the same shirt I’d picked on him about countless times. Despite the absence of light I was close enough to make out the garish details. He’d been gored, just like Cory. The skin on his arms was gray and waxy, like fake fruit. The stump of his neck was filled with leaves and twigs. Insects crawled on his extremities, and I had no doubt they were burrowing through the rest of him as well.

I inched closer, but Detective Ramirez pulled me back.

“Don’t. This is a crime scene.”

He flipped open his cell phone and tried to make a call. While we waited Cliff and I lit cigarettes. The lighter’s flame showed us more details as to the state of Paul’s corpse. He’d clearly been here for several days. I was secretly glad when Cliff put the lighter away. Ramirez tried dialing again. His expression grew more frustrated.

“No signal.” He snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket. “There’s a cell phone tower right here in town. I don’t understand it.”

Uylik frowned. “My radio’s not working either.”

Dale shifted restlessly. “What now, Detective?”

“I know you gentlemen are anxious, but I’ll have to secure this crime scene. We can leave Officer Uylik here while we go on, but I’ll need to make some quick notes, document the scene and my observations. I’ll try to be quick. Meanwhile, please stay back, and keep the dog back, too. If you finish your cigarettes, don’t discard the butts anywhere in the vicinity.”

“Where’s his head?” Cliff asked, stunned.

Ignoring the question, Ramirez held his tie over his nose to block the smell and knelt beside the body. He pulled out a small penlight and began his examination, pausing to make observations in his notebook. Uylik hovered over him, watching.

The rest of us huddled close together. The wind whistled, rustling the leaves above us. The temperature had dropped, and our breath clouded the air. The pipe’s sporadic tune continued mocking us: first faint, then loud, and then drifting away again.

Big Steve pranced uneasily.

“Poor little guy.” Merle scratched the dog’s head. “He’s worried about his mommy.”

Cliff and I nodded. Dale gave no indication that he’d heard. Instead he stared off into the darkness, scowling. I assumed he was thinking about Claudine.

“Don’t worry,” I said as the music swelled again. “We’ll find them.”

He looked nervous.“We came through this spotwith the search party. I remember that white boulder over there.”

“Hard to tell in the dark,” I replied. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’m sure of it,” he insisted. “We passed that rock and that fallen log to our right. I remember thinking how pretty it was, all covered with moss.”

Merle stopped scratching Big Steve. “Yeah, I remember it, too. I thought about bouncing Seth Ferguson’s head off that boulder.”

Above us the branches creaked, rocked by the wind.

Cliff exhaled a plume of smoke. “So what? How’s that help us now?”

“We were here in broad daylight,” Dale explained, “with a search party that included two members of the fire department trained in search-and-rescue operations. Why didn’t we find Paul’s body then? Seems like we would have stumbled across it.”

Big Steve growled at the darkness.

“One of the other volunteers could have missed it,” I suggested. “We were kind of spread out.”

“Why no turkey buzzards flying overhead?” Dale shivered, pulling his jacket tight around him. “Every time there’s something dead in the field or the woods, you see them circling. But we didn’t. Why not?”

“Maybe the body was hidden,” Merle said.

“Hidden by what?” Dale asked. “And if it was, then why show it to us now?”

Ramirez must have mistaken our hushed chatter for impatience. “Almost finished, gentlemen.”

The leaves rustled again. A pinecone plummeted to the ground, almost hitting Merle on the head. Big Steve growled again.

“It’s the hollow,” Dale whispered. “The trees are delaying us. It’s kept Paul’s body hidden all this time, but now it wanted to slow us down.”

The leaves continued rustling. All around us tree limbs groaned, reaching forward. The forest came alive.

Big Steve exploded, barking at the moving foliage.

“Oh, shit.” Cliff dropped his cigarette and reached for the chain saw.

“They set a trap,” Merle shouted. “They set a fucking trap!”

Ramirez and Uylik whirled around, their weapons drawn.

“What’s happening?” Ramirez yelled.

A maple tree lurched toward us. I glanced up—and screamed.

“Cliff—”

I tried to finish my warning, but it was too late. Even as Cliff’s fingers brushed against the chain saw, a massive oak limb, thick as a railroad tie, punched through his back and straight through his chest, impaling him. Ribs splintered like twigs, and there was an awful, wet sound. Cliff tried to scream, but could only gurgle as dark blood erupted from his mouth and nose. He reached for me, his eyes wide and frightened. I tried to grab his hand, but Big Steve pulled me away, jerking his leash. The dog was terrified, trying to flee. But even in the midst of the chaos I noticed he wasn’t running for home. He was determined to go deeper into the forest.

Tara!
The realization flashed through my mind.
Something’s happening to her. He can sense it.

The oak tree straightened its trunk, lifting Cliff high into the air. He dangled above our heads. His blood fell like rain. I blinked the droplets out of my eyes and tried hard to ignore the warm, salty taste as it splattered into my gaping mouth.

Detective Ramirez shouted something in Spanish.

Have we helped you with your belief now, Detective?
I thought.

Two more long limbs from the maple shot forward and grasped Dale’s arms, pinning them to his sides. As he struggled, a branch whipped forward and seized the chain saw. Merle made a grab for it, but more branches lashed across his hands and face, whipping him away from it. The maple tree flung the chain saw into the darkness, far beyond our reach.

Uylik shrieked. Amonstrous willow towered over him, pinning his body to the ground with its roots. Those same roots had punctured his legs, chest, and arms, and were draining him dry, his body deflating, the skin sagging and wrinkling like a prune. His eyes fell back in his head.

Detective Ramirez squeezed off three shots. The bullets slammed into the willow, gouging the wood, but had little effect. My ears rang. Ramirez hollered at me but I couldn’t understand what he said. The ringing also drowned out the shepherd’s pipe—and Cliff’s final, gurgling scream as another massive tree limb smashed his head open like a rotten pumpkin. His body went limp, still dangling in midair, an oak tree sprouting from his chest.

To the left Dale struggled with the maple tree. His arms were pinned tight against his body, and the tree limbs wrapped around him like a snake, slowly squeezing him to death. He struggled to breathe, and his face turned purple. His shotgun lay at his feet, fully loaded and completely useless.

Merle’s weapon boomed from my right as he and Ramirez opened fire on the oak tree that had murdered Cliff. Once again the tree shrugged off the detective’s bullets. But Merle’s silver-loaded shotgun shells had a much different effect. I don’t know if it was the spell we’d said over them, or the silver itself, or a combination of the two, but as the jewelry hit the bark the wood split open, belching smoke and sap. The tree’s scream was deafening. The crack in the wood widened, and more smoke poured through, thick and black—and alive. It moved with purpose, fleeing from its organic shell and soaring into the night sky. Then its screams faded.

Shouting, Ramirez and Merle turned their attentions to the willow. They didn’t notice the maple attacking Dale, and couldn’t hear me above the gunfire. Dragging Big Steve with me, I swung the baseball bat at the maple. The sharpened silver dollar sank into the trunk, embedding itself in the wood. The tree shuddered, then split apart. Again, writhing tendrils of black smoke erupted from the wound. Enraged, the shadowy form flew away. The coiling tree branches went limp, and Dale gasped for breath.

“You okay?”

Coughing, Dale nodded.

Merle, Big Steve, and I stood back-to-back, forming a half circle while warily watching the rest of the forest for signs of movement. Ramirez, mopping blood from his forehead with his handkerchief, ran over to Uylik’s side.

“Officer down,” he moaned. “Oh, shit, officer down!”We didn’t know how to respond, so we said nothing.

“I think that’s it,” Merle panted after a moment. “The rest aren’t moving.”

I peered into the darkness. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Merle dropped the shotgun and bent over, hyperventilating. “Jesus…”

I glanced over at Cliff, and then threw up all over my shoes. Big Steve scampered out of the way.

“What the fuck is going on?” Ramirez’s eyes were wide, scared. “What was this?”

Ignoring him, I retched again. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, butmy body didn’t care. Big Steve kept his distance.

Dale called out, struggling to free himself from the branches. “Hey, guys, a little help?”

Merle grabbed the clinging flora and ripped it aside, and Dale collapsed to the ground. Merle helped him up. The two leaned against each other, resting.

Cliff’s mangled form still hung suspended from the tree, a human scarecrow. His bowels had loosened in death, dripping down the legs of his pants. My breath caught in my throat and I turned away, closing my eyes. I didn’t want to see him like this. I wanted to remember Cliff riding around on his Harley, cigarette dangling from his mouth, always ready with a wisecrack—not as the leaking bag of meat dangling over our heads.

Dale and Merle shuffled over. Dale hugged me. Merle looked up at our friend and sighed.

“Oh, Cliff…”

Ramirez lashed out, kicking a pile of leaves. “What the fuck was this? I’ve got a man down—a cop!”

Merle’s face darkened. “Fuck you, Ramirez. In case you haven’t noticed, we lost a friend, too.”

“But what happened? The trees…”

I stepped toward him. “I’m sorry. To be honest, we weren’t sure if this would happen again. We thought maybe we’d taken care of them earlier.”

“Taken care of what?”

“The trees act as guardians,” Dale explained. “They protect Hylinus.”

“What in God’s name are we up against?”

“Hell,” I said simply. “You wanted help with your beliefs. Well, this is it. The devil is out there, complete with horns and cloven feet. Hear those pipes? He’s calling us to the dance.”

Ramirez stared at me, unable to speak.

Dale bent over and picked something up off the ground beneath Cliff’s body—his lighter and cigarettes. Dale shook four out of the pack and handed one to each of us.

Ramirez shook his head. “No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

I frowned. “You did at my house. I remember. They were unfiltered.”

He shook his head. “I faked it to win your confidence. The truth is, I don’t smoke.”

“Then I suggest you start,” Dale advised him. “This is serious white magic here. Not smoking could be hazardous to your health.”

Merle took the lighter from Dale and lit his. “Didn’t help Cliff much.”

We stood in a circle and smoked our friend’s cigarettes. Ramirez refused to light his. Instead he tucked it in his shirt pocket. While we said good-bye to Cliff, he closed Uylik’s eyes.

“He had a wife and three kids,” the detective murmured. “One of his kids has multiple sclerosis. How are we going to explain this to them?”

We didn’t answer. Merle pulled more shotgun shells from his pockets and reloaded. Dale retrieved his weapon.

I took another drag off my cigarette. The smell of wood smoke grew stronger. The woods seemed brighter, too. I searched for the source of illumination and noticed an orange glow coming from between the trees to our left, perhaps a football field’s length away.

“Is it me,” I said, “or is that fire getting closer?”

The music grew louder and clearer, mixing with the sound of drumming. Then came voices and laughter. Women’s voices.

Barking, Big Steve sprang forward, almost jerking the leash out of my hands. I had time to grab the baseball batbefore he dragged me forward. I had no choice but to follow, lest he wrench free of the leash and take off on his own. Dropping their smokes, Merle and Dale scrambled for their weapons and ran after us.

“Wait,” Ramirez called. “We can’t just leave them!”

Ignoring him, we ran on, letting Big Steve guide us. He made a beeline for the orange glow. We darted between trees and stumbled over roots and stones. The underbrush tore our skin, but we pushed on, oblivious. I resisted the urge to call out for Tara, and noticed that the dog had grown silent too.