The Midnight Tour (11 page)

She was coasting.

“No sweat,” she muttered, trying to calm herself. “Just try it again, and...”

Bill grabbed her hair.

She couldn’t turn her head, but she heard his hard breathing and his shoes smacking the pavement. “Stop the car!” he yelled. He jerked her hair. It tugged at her scalp, turning her face to the right and pulling her head backward.

“Let
go
of me!” she cried out.

“Stop the fucking car!”

Suddenly not caring how much it might hurt or what damage it might do to her—wanting only to get away from this man—she stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The engine roared. The car, still out of gear, only coasted.

Shit!

“Stop the car or I’ll rip your head off!”

She jerked the steering wheel.

The car cut sideways.

To the left.

Bill shouted, “
Watch out!
’ Then he cried, “
Ah!
”

Sandy heard and felt only a slight bump, but the hand abruptly let go of her hair. She twisted her head and looked back.

Bill was down, tumbling on the pavement in the beams of his own car’s headlights.

Giving up on second gear, Sandy tried third.

She let the clutch pedal up and the MG rushed forward as if given a quick, strong shove.

“All right!” she yelled.

In the rearview mirror, she saw Bill push himself to his knees. He seemed to be staring at her.

He was better lit than before.

Behind him, his car was on the move.

The woman must’ve recovered enough to drive. She was coming to pick him up.

Then they’ll come after me!

As the car bore down on Bill, he raised an arm.

Then he tried to get up off his knees.

He shouted, ‟
Donnnnn’t!
”

At the last instant, he tried to dive out of the way. But the car chopped his legs out from under him. He flew head first over the hood and crashed through the windshield.

Blasted through the glass all the way to his waist.

On the driver’s side.

The car, still picking up speed, started to gain on Sandy.

She stepped on the gas.

How can that woman see where she’s driving?

Sandy raced around a curve and lost sight of the car.

A few seconds later, it showed in the rearview mirror.

It didn’t make the curve.

Didn’t even seem to try.

Just sped straight on and leaped off the road as if somebody’d decided on a scenic detour through the forest.

Sandy felt a chill prickle its way up her back.

She muttered, “Holy crap.”

The headbeams pushed their brightness into the trees.

Sandy steered around another bend. After that, she could see nothing behind her except the dark road and the woods.

She listened for the sound of the car smashing into a tree.

Any second, now.

Would there be an explosion? She hoped not. If the car exploded, the forest might catch on fire.

She imagined a fire spreading over the wooded hills. And surrounding her trailer. She pictured Eric asleep in his crib as fire closed in.

No sound of a crash came to her.

I’m just too far away to hear it, that’s all. There bad to be a crash by now. How the hell far can you go speeding through the woods?

She imagined the car with its front crushed against a tree trunk, flames lapping up around the edges of its hood.

She picked up speed.

She should be at Agnes’s house in a couple more minutes. But getting the woman to answer her door might take a while.

Then Sandy would need to explain things, get the keys to the pickup truck, head back with it...

Maybe to find herself in the middle of a forest fire.

She stopped the MG, killing its engine. But she started the engine easily. In first gear, she made a U-turn.

She had no trouble finding the place where Bill’s car had gone off the road and plunged into the woods. She pulled over to the side, stopped, picked up the butcher knife and climbed out.

Standing by the road, she stared into the trees.

Not much moonlight made it down through their heavy canopy of branches and leaves.

She couldn’t see Bill’s car.

She couldn’t see flames, either.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t on fire.

Sandy put her back to the road and ran into the woods.

She knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to run. Though she’d never put on the MG’s headlights and her eyes were pretty well adjusted to the darkness, she could see almost nothing in front of her—just a few speckles and patches of moonlight, almost like bits of snow scattered here and there.

Running through the dark, she might trip and fall.

She had a knife in her hand. If she fell on that...

In her mind, she heard her mother warn,
“Be careful, you’ll fall and put your eye out.”

Mom.

Don’t think about her The bell with her. The traitor.

Sandy hated it when she happened to think of her mother.

Who needs her, anyway? I’ve got Eric.

She ran faster, pumping hard with her arms, flinging her legs out, her bare feet punching the mat of pine needles. Her breasts, swollen with milk for Eric, bounced and swung wildly. Her dish towel bib flapped up and down, twisted, and soon ended up draping her right shoulder.

Where the hell’s the car?

Though bushes sometimes whipped or scratched her legs, she realized that she wasn’t dodging trees. The dark trunks flew by on both sides of her, but none was in the way.

Can’t last long. just a fluke.

Maybe there was a road here once.

But how could the gal steer through all this when she couldn’t even see out her...

Something snagged Sandy’s right foot. Though she jerked it free, she couldn’t swing her leg forward fast enough. She fell headlong. On the way down, she stretched out her arms so the knife in her right hand would be safe overhead.

She landed on the damp carpet of the forest floor. Her breath knocked out, she skidded on her bare skin. Then she lay there, sprawled out, struggling for air.

The ground beneath her felt springy with layers of soft pine needles. They were wet with dew, and didn’t feel too bad. Prickly, here and there. She also felt some twigs and pine cones pushing against her. She didn’t like how they felt.

When she was able to breathe again, she stood up. Keeping the knife low in her right hand, she used her left hand to brush the clinging forest debris off her chest and breasts and belly.

She bent down and rubbed it off the front of her shorts, her thighs and knees.

She still felt wet and dirty.

A lot of good my shower did.

At least I’m not bloody, she told herself.

Not that I know of.

As she started walking again, she took the towel from around her neck and used it to mop herself dry. Then she put it back on. It felt damp against her skin. She made a face.

I shouldn’t even be out here, she thought. There isn’t any fire. And if there is, what am I gonna do about it—beat it out with my wet dish rag?

She kept going, anyway.

She was pretty sure she wouldn’t find a fire. But what would she find?

Nothing real cheerful, that’s for sure.

As she hurried along, she realized that she needed to know what had become of the car, the woman and Bill. She had to know where they’d stopped—
if
they’d stopped.

Sure they did.

But she needed to see for herself. Otherwise, she might always be haunted by the idea of the car speeding through the night woods with Bill sticking out of its windshield. Going on and on...

She quickened her pace. Though tempted to run, she sure didn’t want to fall again. She’d been lucky with the last fall.

Next time, she might land on a sharp stick or something.

But I can’t spend all night at this...

She started to trot. Slowly, at first. Then faster. Then even faster until she was racing along full speed.

Find that car and get out of here, get on over to Agnes’s house...

The ground suddenly dropped out from under Sandy’s feet.

Not again!

Plunging headlong down a slope, she stretched out her arms and saw lights off in the distance: the red ovals of a car’s taillights and the white beam of a single headlight reaching into the woods.

Sandy hit the ground and sledded down on her chest until her shoulder hit a rock. She cried out. The blow turned her body sideways and she rolled, flipping from front to back to front to back, glimpsing the lights of the car with each rotation Instead of rolling straight for the bottom of the slope, she took a diagonal route. It ended when her left hip struck a tree. Still rolling fast, she grunted and rammed her belly against the trunk. And stopped hard.

When she could breathe again, she flopped onto her back and groaned

At least I found the damn car, she told herself.

And she still had a grip on her knife. She was fairly sure she hadn’t cut herself with it.

She turned over, pushed herself to her hands and knees, then stood up. Her body hurt in many places, but her right shoulder seemed to have the worst injury. It burned from its collusion with the rock. It felt as if it had been pounded and scraped raw. She hoped it wasn’t broken. It still seemed to work.

She’d lost her dish towel somewhere on the slope.

Have to look for it on the way back up.

In the meantime, she didn’t much care about the loss of the towel. She was too hurt and filthy all over to bother cleaning herself with it. And she didn’t need to worry, down here, about being half naked.

Bill certainly wouldn’t be ogling her.

As for the woman, Sandy didn’t care. She’d never had real trouble with any woman. It was only men who always wanted to stare at her and mess with her.

Dirty cruds, all of them.

Two down in one night, she thought. That’s pretty good.

Limping slightly, she made her way toward the car.

It looked as if it had bounded down the slope, raced across the short clearing at the bottom, and finally met a tree. Though the taillights and one of the headlights still worked, the engine seemed to be dead. She saw no smoke or flames.

As she approached, she crouched slightly to look through the windows.

The woman was sitting up straight behind the steering wheel.

She seemed to be gazing out through the hole in her windshield.

Bill no longer filled the hole.

He’d left his empty sweatshirt in the broken glass at the bottom of the hole, but he was gone.

With a quick, sick feeling, Sandy hurried forward.

She stared at the hood of the car.

Bill was gone from there, too.

But he hadn’t gone far. Maybe fifteen or twenty feet.

The headlight pointed him out.

Sandy gasped. She almost ran away, but realized he didn’t seem interested in her.

He couldn’t even see her.

He was upright with his back toward Sandy, standing on his head—just on his head, not even supporting himself with his hands. Both his arms dangled, his hands limp against the ground.

It seemed a remarkable feat.

Until she noticed that he wasn’t balancing himself on his head. Up above him, both his feet were wedged into the crotch of the tree trunk.

He was no acrobat, after all. Just a dead guy turned by accident into a freakish spectacle.

Sandy grimaced at him.

She could see how it might’ve happened: when the car struck the tree that demolished its right headlight, Bill had been shot backward, feet first, off the left side of the hood. He’d hit the ground and done a wild backward somersault toward a second tree. At the peak of the somersault, only his head touching the ground, he’d rammed both his feet into the V of the trunk and gotten stuck that way.

Staring at him, Sandy felt goosebumps prickle her skin.

Sure doesn’t look accidental, she thought. Looks like somebody put him that way on purpose.

What if someone did, and he’s still around?

Stupid, she thought. The guy just happened to end up like that.

Maybe
.

Let’s get.

But she couldn’t. Not yet. First, she needed to check the woman.

She hurried around the rear of the car. In the red glow of the taillights, she saw that it had a traitor hitch.

Lot of good it’ll do me.

She kept moving. Her right hand ached from clutching the knife so hard. She scanned the woods on all sides as she made her way toward the driver’s door.

So dark.

Except where the headlight went, she could see almost nothing.

Somebody could sneak right up on me.

Take it easy. Nobody’s around. It’s Just the three of us, and both of them are dead. Probably.

She crouched near the driver’s door, saw the shape of the woman sitting behind the wheel, then opened the door.

The car filled with light from its ceiling bulb.

The woman wore a seatbelt. Her blouse was torn open and hung off one shoulder—probably the result of the beating, not the crash. From her face to her lap, she was coated with blood. It still dripped off her chin.

Dripped from her wide open mouth.

Her mouth was jammed full of bloody hair.

Not her hair.

Her own hair was all shaved off. The hair stuffing her mouth had to be Bill’s.

It was easy to figure out how that had happened.

Sandy muttered, “Jeez.”

The woman’s head slowly turned toward her.

The eyes opened.

Chapter Eight

THE DAY TOUR

“We’ll be there in just a few minutes, now,” Patty announced. • ‟Any last questions before we arrive? Yes, Marv?”

“Are there plans to
ever open
the Kutch house for tours? I mean, it seems like the obvious thing. You could have people go over there through the underground tunnel, you know? It’d be incredible.”