The Fog (18 page)

He gave up and withdrew to his room. He kneed his door almost shut.

He did not hear the sudden dripping and sliding on the front porch.

Had he looked back over his shoulder one last time to argue, he would have seen a tall shape solidifying behind Mrs. Kobritz, a stringy black hand reaching around her head from the outside, closing at her chin, covering her mouth so that she could not scream, and lifting her as if she were a rag doll straight up into the air, leaving her empty shoes toppling on the welcome mat.

“Okay, okay,” he said with a shrug when she did not answer, “I’m going,” and pushed his door the rest of the way closed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The sky was disappearing.

“That way looks clear,” said Elizabeth.

“No, that’s Broad Street. It turns into a bottleneck anyway.”

“What other way is there to get there? Every street we try is—Nick, look out!”

The center line began to shimmer alongside the tires, and then the full width of the pavement was sparkling with glitter that led into a glowing white barricade at the corner. Nick hit the brakes, burning rubber. He bulldozed the Vega across a lawn and sped back the other way.

“There’s got to be a way,” he said to himself. “Think, dammit!”

“How far are we from White Beach Lane?”

“Not far, the way I remember it. The ocean’s on the other side of that housing tract, so it can’t be far. Hit that flashlight out the window again.”

She read the signs. “Buccaneer. Via del Sol. Costa Verde. White . . . Nick, slow down.”

“There used to be a lumber yard around here. If I can—”

“Nick, this is it! White Beach Lane.”

He rounded the corner, slowed, kicked on his brights, and scanned the road ahead. It descended to the beach in a dogleg. Patchy fog had accumulated around the first of the widely-spaced houses, leaving the road clear. Then there was a continuous reef of fog still low to the beach and undisturbed between the road and the sand. As they passed, a rectangle appeared in the fog, then was swallowed again almost immediately.

“Is that a window?” she said.

“What’s the number?”

“The last one I saw was nine-hundred-and-something. What did she say? Eight eighty-seven?”

“That’s got to be it ahead,” he said. “I’m betting on it.” He wrenched into high gear and roared down the dogleg. He missed the driveway and bumped down to the yard at the rear of the house. He cut the lights.

The fog was a dozen yards away, pulsing around three sides.

“Get behind the wheel. Keep your foot on the gas and don’t let it die, no matter what.”

“Nick, it’s too close!”

He left her and ran doubled over. His shoes filled with sand. He reached the back door.

The screen was torn. He pushed the flashlight through. Washing machine, broom, an open fuse box. Beyond, an empty kitchen.

He started forward along the side. The fog was creeping around from the front and gathering under the supports. He checked the ground by his feet. There was no sign that it had come all the way through yet. Or perhaps it had already passed this side.

He rubbed out a spot on the next window and put his light to it. An empty bedroom. Hanging plants, pictures on the dresser.

And a glow under the door.

One other window on this side. He ran to it and caromed off the north edge, almost touching the fog.

He pounded on the glass with his fist. The window frame rattled, shaking putty loose.

“No! You get away from here! I’m not scared of you!”

A boy’s voice. Nick took the flashlight in his left hand, protected his face, and struck the window. It didn’t break. He faced it squarely and thrust the flashlight out from his chest, poleaxing the glass. This time it shattered into transparent swords.

The boy was seated on a bed. He turned away from the door and saw Nick. The flashlight caught his eyes. They were round as saucers. Behind the boy, a bright taper of fog was oozing under the bedroom door.

Nick pounded on the window frame, knocking glass aside.

“Come on!”

The boy’s confused eyes shot between the door and the window. Nick heard another pounding, louder and deeper, coming from the next room. He reached his hand in.

“Andy,” he said. “Is that your name?”

Andy got off the bed and stared, hypnotized, at the light under the door. “Mrs. Kobritz!” he said. “I need you!”

Nick tried to haul himself up and in to grab the boy, but the window sill was barely too high. He stepped up onto the edge of the sun deck and swung over. He kicked more glass away.

“Come on, grab my hand, son!”

The boy backed to the window. Nick took off his jacket and flung it over the sill. The boy felt its sleeve brush his back and turned, startled. Nick collared him and dragged him over the ledge.

“Wait, there’s a piece of glass right over your head. Don’t move.”

Inside the bedroom, the doorknob started to glow.

Nick worked to remove the half-pane, but it remained embedded in the frame like a guillotine blade.

The doorknob began to turn.

“Slide forward on your stomach,” Nick told him. “Reach your arms out to me and don’t raise your head.”

The boy was halfway out, his neck in the clear, when he looked up, past Nick.

“No!” he cried.

Nick heard a hissing. He held Andy with one hand and bobbed the flashlight beam along the house.

An extension of fog was writhing along the boards, about to touch him.

“We’ve got to get you out of here! When I tell you, you’re going to move faster than you’ve ever moved before. Right, son?”

“All right.”

He pulled the boy nearly free of the window. The boy screamed. His feet were caught. Or they were being held.

Nick dropped the flashlight, wrapped both arms around the boy, and let himself fall from the sun deck, hitting the beach on his back and cushioning the boy.

A black hand reached down from the window.

Andy got up shakily.

Nick held his face. “Look only at me,” he said. “When I say so, start running. There’s a car over there. No matter what you see or hear, don’t stop.”

“Okay.”

The black hand dangled closer to Andy’s head.

“GO!”

He pushed Andy away, waited for him to run clear and then rolled over and crawled from the house on his elbows. Sand worked its way into his eyes.

The car horn bleated.

He got up, stumbled forward.

“Nick, this way! I have him. Here! Hurry!”

“Can’t see! Put on the lights!”

She opened the door for him. The boy was tumbling into the back seat. Nick slammed the door. He shook his head violently and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“What are you waiting for? Go, GO!”

The motor raced. The car rocked forward a foot, then fell back. He heard wheels spinning in sand.

“Reverse!” he yelled.

He looked out the back window. Sand was raining up. The car rocked back, then sank deeper, digging itself in.

The fog poured down the driveway.

“Forward,” said Nick.

The car rocked forward, touching the fog.

“Now reverse again.”

From out of the fog came a tall, dark shape in the form of a tattered man, walking toward them.

“Keep it rocking,” he said. “First and reverse. You can do it. Come on, come on!”

The dark shape reached for the door handle.

Elizabeth saw it and locked her knee, heeling the gas pedal. The gears ground, breaking teeth as she popped it into reverse.

The car door groaned, creaking open. The glass frosted over.

The wheels caught, lurched back out of the hole. The dark figure flattened against the car,, clawing at the metal roof.

“Shift!” yelled Nick.

“I’m trying!”

“Clutch in.” Nick fell on the gearstick, grinding it past first and into second. He reached his foot over and tromped his toes down on the pedal and gave his strength to the wheel.

“I’ve got it,” she cried.

As they accelerated up White Beach Lane, something struck the back of the car, but neither Nick, Elizabeth, nor the boy looked back.

A horrible flopping sound echoed from the stones of the graveyard as headlights picked out a pair of red tail reflectors and drew even with them at the end of the rutted road. Sandy set the hand brake at the side of the church grounds and flung open her door, breaking a wild sunflower that had taken root in the loam at the cemetery fence. It bobbed over her, nodding.

An unbelievably rank smell blew into her face.

“Whew! I’m afraid the tire’s melted, Mrs. Williams.”

Kathy got out and crossed in the headlights as the Cadillac sank deeper into the gravel. She gave only a perfunctory glance to the bent and splayed wheel rims and did not even flinch at the stench of burning rubber that rose from the destroyed tire.

“There’s no time to worry about that now, Sandy. We had no choice. It was either this or stay where we were and find out if Stevie’s right about that dreadful fog. I don’t know whose car that is over there. See if the church is open.”

“It better be.”

Kathy shielded her eyes from the headlights and tried to see back along the road they had just come up. “No sign of it yet, praise the Lord.”

“. . . I don’t know how much longer I can stay on the air,” Stevie Wayne was saying.

Sandy started to turn it off.

“Leave it on,” said Kathy. “She may have some news.” Kathy looked drawn and haggard, on the verge of fracturing like a fine old china plate that would never be able to be mended without a scar.

“Wait here, Mrs. Williams.”

Sandy clutched her blouse close to her throat and followed the path to the church. She had one foot on the porch when she heard a scrabbling in the shadows.

She withdrew from the stone steps. The headlight beams threw a long shadow of her body across the side of the church.

“What’s the matter?” called Kathy.

Sandy waved for her not to worry. The distorted shadow of her hands resembled pincers on the stained glass windows.

The sound might not have been from the bushes. She reapproached the porch. She took the brass knocker and struck it several times.

There were footsteps beyond the door. A scratching on the other side of the wood.

“Hurry,” said Kathy. “I see it! Oh God, it’s followed us!”

“Hello?” said Sandy.

No answer.

“Reverend Malone? It’s me, Sandy Fadel, Mrs. Williams’ assistant, remember? Please let us in.”

She heard the crossbar lift halfway.

“Listen, you, open up! What the hell kind of church is this?”

The door squeaked inward on velvet blackness. Something moved a couple of feet below eye level. She looked down.

It was a boy. He came forward tentatively into the headlights, a beautiful child with shiny hair and soulful eyes. Sandy took him roughly by the shoulder.

“What were you doing? Why didn’t you open the door? Didn’t you hear me knocking?” He had fine features, a sensitive chin, which was lowered to his chest. She loosened her grip and hugged him to her. “It’s all right,” she said. “I know, I know. Shh. Mrs. Williams? Come on in.”

Kathy had already left the car and was hurrying up the path. The radio was still playing behind her.

“. . . The fog has surrounded the lighthouse here.” Stevie Wayne was saying.

Kathy saw the boy and covered her mouth. She dashed back to turn it off. “Get him inside,” she said. “I’ll follow you.”

Sandy pushed the boy ahead of her. “We’re going to stay here, too, for a while,” she said. “Is that all right with you? Huh? Are your mommy and daddy here? Is that their car?”

There were other voices inside.

“Andy?” said a woman. “There you are.”

Sandy saw the girl from the park in the candlelight from the rectory at the end of the hall.

“Hi!”

“Hi, yourself,” said Elizabeth. “Who’s with you? Andy, I wish you wouldn’t go off like that.”

“How did it go for you guys?” asked Sandy.

“Not very well, or we wouldn’t be here, I guess. There was nowhere else, you know?”

“I know! Every street was . . .”

“The same for us. If it wasn’t for St—” She stopped herself. “Well, we were lucky to find a road that was open, that’s all I can say.” Elizabeth placed a hand on the back of Andy’s neck. “We’ve been here about twenty minutes. How is it out there now?”

Sandy was aware of the boy watching her. She started to speak. She shook her head helplessly.

Kathy Williams came down the aisle.

“Andy!”

She knelt before him. “You don’t remember me, do you? I used to visit when you first moved here.” He tried to pull away. “I’ve heard from your mother.” She touched his face. “Listen to me. She’s fine. You’ll be home with her soon.”

Andy ran from her.

“Where’s he going?” said Sandy.

“To Nick, probably.”

“It’s Stevie Wayne’s son,” said Kathy. “This must be awful for him.”

“It’s awful enough for us,” said Sandy.

“Come on.”

Elizabeth led them through the hall to the study. Reverend Malone was there. Nick stood nervously when they entered. His mouth was set with grim determination.

“Nick!” said Kathy.

“Sit down,” he said. “All of you. There’s something you have to know. Andy, why don’t you go into the rectory and see how many more candles you can light? Bring us a fresh one when you’re through. Wait. Kathy, did you people lock the door behind you?”