Grave Intent (34 page)

Headlights flashed along the nearby road, and
Michael dodged behind a pine tree. Moments later, an old white
pickup towing a skiff rolled by.

“Shit,” he muttered, frustrated that he’d
missed another opportunity for a ride. This new road had more
traffic than the previous one, which meant more chances to hitch.
But he could never tell if the oncoming vehicle was a police car or
not until it was too late.

Dropping his head, Michael moved along in a
half-jog, steering out of the underbrush and closer to the road. He
had to do something soon. If he kept traveling at this speed, it
would take him a week to get to the cabin.

From the west, the wind carried the sound of
a low, guttural engine to Michael’s ear. He stopped and listened,
debating whether or not to dodge back into hiding. The rumbling
soon grew louder, nearer, bringing with it unmistakable
recognition. Michael knew of only one engine that sounded like
that. A Harley Davidson. He knew policemen rode Harleys, but not
ones with the baffles tapped out of the muffler pipes. From the
sound of it, this one had been bored wide open for maximum
volume.

Michael stepped out into the road, his heart
racing. In the distance, he saw small yellow and green blinking
lights heading toward him. He squinted and crept back to the side
of the highway, perplexed.

Who in the hell decorates a Harley with
Christmas lights?
he thought.

He heard the gears shift down twice, then
twice more. The bike slowed, close enough now for Michael to make
out the large black tour bike and its driver. Both appeared doused
in luminous lemons and limes. Michael stuck out his thumb.

The biker pulled up alongside him, dressed in
jeans, black knee boots, and a worn out leather vest. Most of his
three hundred plus pounds oozed over the seat of the bike. He
pulled off a black, full-face helmet to reveal a chubby face, white
scraggly beard, and a handlebar mustache. A long salt-n-pepper
ponytail hung over his left shoulder, and he flicked it over to his
back.

“Hey, brother man, how goes it?” the biker
asked, sounding a little like Brando on helium.

“Long night,” Michael said. “Taking
riders?”

The biker cocked his head. “Don’t normally.
Alberta and me usually stick to ourselves.” He patted the gas tank
between his knees and grinned. “Berta here’s my baby. Sweetest
thing around. Anyway, I seen you standing out here lookin’ pretty
rough around the edges and thought I’d at least stop and make sure
you’re okay.”

“I’ve been better,” Michael said. “My car
broke down not far from here, and I’ve got to get to my wife and
daughter.”

“Yeah? Where they at?”

“Carlton.”

“Man,” The biker stroked his beard with a
finger and thumb. “Ways out, huh?”

“Afraid so.”

“Close to thirty, thirty-five miles I
think.”

Michael nodded.

“Wasn’t planning to head out that far. Just
up the road a bit to my woman’s house, then shut it down for the
night.”

“I’ll take any distance you’re offering,”
Michael said.

The biker seemed to ponder the issue for a
while longer, then said, “Like I told you, Berta and me don’t
normally take hitchers, but I’ll tell you what—” He stuck a hand
under his vest, and for a moment Michael was afraid he’d pull out a
gun or knife. Instead, the man pulled out a small book. “Know what
this is?”

Though Michael had never read through one
before, he’d seen enough bibles in churches to be able to spot one
ten miles away. He nodded.

“Yeah?” the biker said. “Cool. The Master
Dude and me just got hooked up about two weeks ago. Been flyin’
high with Him ever since. Saved me from the horse, snort, all that
bad shit, know what I mean? Anyways, if Jesus says go, we go.
Cool?”

Michael stared at him. Maybe stopping this
guy hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

The biker grinned. “Name’s Dango Reese by the
way.” He stuck out a hand.

Michael shook it. “Michael Savoy.”

“Okay, brother Mike.” Dango squared his
shoulders. “Let’s see where this old road leads tonight.” He closed
his eyes, flipped open the bible, and jabbed a finger at a random
passage. He peeked at it, then tilted the book to one side so the
colored lights from his bike glowed over the pages. Dango squinted
and read, “The perverse in heart are an abomination to the Lord,
but the blameless in their walk are His delight.” He frowned,
studying the page, and chewed on his hairy upper lip.

Michael swept a nervous hand through his hair
and looked down the road. He needed a ride, not a bible lesson.

“Ah, okay, I get it now,” Dango said, a smile
easing onto his face. “See, you’re walkin’, and it says right here,
in their walk
, so that’s gotta mean since you’re walkin’
it’s cool. You’re, uh—” He glanced at the passage again. “His
delight—blameless.”

Confused, Michael asked, “So does that mean
you’ll give me a lift?”

“Damn straight,” Dango said with a grin. He
closed the bible and stuck it back under his vest. “Hey, you
hungry? There’s an all-nighter not far from here. We could grab a
bite before heading out.”

“If you don’t mind, can we just go? This deal
with my wife and daughter—it’s an emergency. I really need to get
there as fast as I can.”

The big man’s face sobered. “Well, hell, why
didn’t you say so?” He reached in his tour pack and pulled out a
helmet. “Here, put this on. There’s a mike in the base. We can talk
while we ride.”

Relieved that Dango hadn’t started a game of
twenty questions about his stated emergency, Michael pulled on the
helmet. He heard a loud screech, then Dango’s voice boom in his
right ear.

“Ever ride one of these?” Dango asked, his
helmet now back on his head. He turned around and slapped the
sloped-back passenger seat on the bike.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “In college.”

“Cool. Then you should remember the rules.
Hang on, lean when I lean, and don’t mess with the driver.”

“Got it.” Michael straddled the designated
seat, then locked his fingers around the pack bracket behind
him.

Dango revved up the engine. “Okay, brother
Mike, you ready to . . . race the sun?”

Michael jerked his head up, startled by the
man’s words. “What did you say?”

“Huh?” Dango looked back at him. “I just
asked if you were ready to roll. What’s up?”

“I thought . . . n-nothing. Sorry, nothing,”
Michael said, and settled back in the seat.

“You’re not gonna wig on me or anything, are
you?”

“No, really, I just thought . . . I didn’t
hear what you said, that’s all. Please, can we go?”

Dango eyed him for a moment through the face
shield, then turned back and heeled the Harley into first.

They rolled in silence for a while, and
Michael wished he had the throttle so he could give the big bike
more juice. He kept peering over Dango’s shoulder to check the
speedometer. Even at seventy, it still felt like they were barely
moving.

Finally, Dango’s voice boomed into Michael’s
helmet again. “I feel you gettin’ antsy back there, brother man.
You need to chill, okay? I’ll push her up in a bit. Just gotta get
past some of this wind trash right now.” As if to make his point,
Dango leaned left, then right, detouring around a fallen tree
branch.

Michael tried to hold steady, but his body
felt electrically charged, ready to take off on its own. His whole
focus so far had been to get to Ellie and Janet. Now that he was
closer than ever, he worried about what he’d find when he reached
them. They were his life. Even thinking about having to live
without one or the other drained something vital out of him.

Dango, keeping true to his word, eventually
pushed Alberta up to ninety. Sharp wind gusts cut through Michael’s
wet clothes and pierced his face shield. He shivered, cold, and too
aware of the surrounding odors—damp pine, dirt, mown grass. It was
the scent of cemeteries, of freshly dug graves.

“Hey, brother Mike,” Dango said. “You ever
hear the story in the bible about that dude with long hair like
mine? Think his name was Simpson or Samson, don’t remember right
off. But anyways, he got this chick pissed off at him and—”

By the time they reached Carlton, Michael
felt he’d been given an abridged version of a revised Old
Testament. Although the constant jabber had been irritating, it had
at least kept his mind occupied, and for that he’d been grateful.
Now, he wanted Dango to shut up. His wife and daughter were no more
than a mile away, and he needed every one of his senses sharp and
ready.

“Next right,” Michael said into the helmet
mike, and pointed to an upcoming road. He could hardly see now.
Tears clouded his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was actually in
Carlton. Yesterday seemed like an eternity away, and it felt like
he’d spent that long trying to get here.

Dango leaned the big bike into the turn.

With a shaking hand, Michael pointed ahead to
the graveled road that led to the cabin. “First left.”

Dango slowed the bike, but instead of leaning
into the next turn, he came to a complete stop. “Sorry, but I’ve
gotta stop here, brother.” He pointed to the road Michael wanted
him to take. “Alberta’s finicky. She has a tendency to slide out
from under me in gravel. And you see that fog rollin’ in down
there?” He waggled a finger toward a dense wall of white a few
hundred feet away. “That means wet gravel. Alberta’ll lay it down
for sure.”

Michael slid off the bike and quickly pulled
off the helmet. “Here’s fine. Thanks for the ride. I’d offer you
money, but—”

“I don’t need your money, just your prayers.”
Dango said, his voice sounding strange through his face shield. He
took the extra helmet from Michael, looped the strap of it around
one of the handlebars, then revved up the bike. “I’ll pray for you,
too, brother man.” He pointed up. “’Cause the Master Dude’s telling
me you’re gonna need it.”

Before Michael could say anything, Dango
roared off in a whirl of twinkling lights. Michael stared after him
for only a second before taking off for the long graveled
drive.

Now that he was on his feet again, every
muscle in Michael’s body screamed in protest. Every bone felt like
it wanted to crumble with his next step. He ran faster, wiping
everything out of his mind but the need to get to the cabin. He was
so close he could smell it.

Ahead, fog draped over the road like a heavy
blanket of snow. Michael barreled toward it, and it wasn’t until he
was fifty feet closer that he realized something was wrong. From
here, the blanket of white didn’t look like regular swamp fog.
There were no translucent wisps. It seemed solid, like someone had
painted the air or literally put up a wall. Lowering his head
slightly, Michael balled his hands into fists and ran even faster.
He didn’t care if the goddamn thing was a solid slab of white
concrete. He wasn’t going to stop now, not this close.

Twenty feet—ten.

With a shout of fury, Michael charged through
the wall, and the world around him disappeared.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The animal sounded more feral than ever, yet
it still hadn’t attacked. Perplexed, Janet opened her eyes, careful
not to move her body. She listened to the snaps and growls of ever
increasing rage and the whimpers of fearful expectation from the
two girls beneath her. What was the animal doing? What was it
waiting for?

Janet lifted her head cautiously, chanced a
look over her shoulder, then did a double-take.

The dog was spinning in place, snapping at
the air as if it had gone mad, as if its rage had been redirected
to someone or something Janet couldn’t see. Seemingly oblivious to
them now, its eyes rolled wildly from stark white to maniacal
black. The hair on its massive shoulders and back had bristled into
thick black needles, and its breath plumed with every snort.

Sensing this to be their last hope for
escape, Janet turned back to the girls and rapidly untied the
shoelace from around Ellie’s wrist. She didn’t trust her knee. If
it gave out again while Ellie was still tethered to her, both of
them would be trapped. This way her daughter at least had a
chance.

Ellie stared up at her with terror-stricken,
questioning eyes.

“Listen carefully,” Janet whispered, keeping
her voice so low she could barely hear herself speak. “When I count
to three, I want the two of you to run as fast as you can out the
kitchen door and to the van, understand?”

Ellie remained mute while Heather shook her
head, tears flowing.

“Y-y-you’re not coming?” Heather asked.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Janet said,
hoping it was the truth. She glanced back at the dog, found it
still in a twirling frenzy, then signaled for the girls to get
ready.

Janet rolled away from her daughter and
niece. “One,” she said, then sat up. “Two.”

The dog’s head suddenly snapped in their
direction, its eyes no longer lost to some unseen enemy.

“Christ, three!” Janet shouted, and thrust
herself upright, shifting as much of her weight as she could to her
good leg. She screamed through the pain, “R-r-run, girls! Now! Go!”
Janet hobbled after them, refusing to look back at the beast. She
didn’t want to see death coming.

Janet’s heart seemed to go on hiatus until
she dove through the kitchen door into the still night air. She
landed on her side in wet grass with a loud, “uumph!”

Small, nervous hands clutched her arm. “Too
dark . . . no car . . .can’t see!”

Disoriented and gasping to refill her lungs,
Janet stared up at Heather, who was bending over her, yelling.
Ellie stood inches away, her face hidden by shadows. They’d made
it—all three of them—safe. But how was that possible? The dog had
been right on her heels, bigger than life.