The Shuddering (34 page)

Jane sank to the ground. It was as good a place to stop as any. The nearest town was more than twenty miles down the road and they had no chance of making it on foot. But that didn’t matter, because that hadn’t been the plan. This was where they’d wait until a car showed up, and when it did, Ryan would be damned if he’d let it pass them by. He’d jump in front of it if he had to. All he knew was that the next car going in either direction was their ride, whether the driver liked it or not.

Forty-five minutes later, Ryan’s elation had dwindled to disbelief. Not a single vehicle had passed by, and he couldn’t help but wonder if despite the road having been cleared, somewhere down the line the transportation department had shut the damn thing down anyway. But that didn’t make sense. People lived up here. This was the only access road to a majority of the houses in the area, and while he was sure most of them were empty, there had to be at least someone up here for skiing. The resort had been packed.

Unless the residents out here had all been attacked just as they had been.

Unless all those people were dead.

Jane’s teeth chattered as she pulled into herself for warmth. They had kept warm by walking, but now that they had nowhere to go, the chill bit through the layers of their clothing. And the fact that the sun had shifted in the sky hadn’t helped. The trees on either side of the highway cast a cold shadow over the tarmac. This part of the road had always been treacherous after a snowstorm. It caught sun early in the morning but spent the rest of the day in the shade. Ryan had watched cars fishtail on this stretch of highway a half dozen times, actually witnessing an accident a few years back when a little hatchback had caught some black ice and veered off the road.

“I don’t think anyone is coming,” Jane said through chattering teeth.

“Someone will come,” he told her, despite not being sure himself.

“What if they don’t?”

“They will,” he insisted. “They have to.”

“Why do they have to?” Jane asked weakly, looking up at him from where she sat.

He stared at her for a long moment, not sure how to answer. And then he shook his head and tried for a brave smile. “Because we’re here,” he assured her. “Because we’ve made it this far.”

Jane couldn’t see him anymore, but she knew he was close. Ryan had wanted to keep walking, but she was exhausted. Her legs felt like they were on fire. The cold had cut through her boots; she couldn’t feel her toes. Ryan had relented, pacing up and down that stretch of highway, waiting for a car to come. Jane remained where she was, holding on to Oona.

She was starting to doubt the reality of that highway entirely, wondering whether it was just a figment of their imagination. It
seemed altogether possible that after a day of walking and a night in the snow, after losing April and Lauren and finally Sawyer, they’d both lost their minds, and now they were standing in the middle of a snow-covered field, waiting for a car to come when there was no road at all. She leaned forward enough to press her gloved hand to the frozen asphalt, making sure it was actually there. When she was satisfied she wasn’t dreaming, she sighed and leaned back against the embankment, trying to imagine herself somewhere else.

If they got out of here, she was pulling all of her savings out of her account and going to the Maldives. She’d buy herself a tiny bikini—the kind that made everyone do a double take—and rent a little hut out over clear turquoise water so transparent that she could watch tropical fish of all colors of the rainbow lazily drift beneath her feet. She’d get Ryan to go with her, convince him to forget the Alps and move to the tropics. He’d give up snowboarding and take up surfing instead, and neither one of them would see snow ever again.

Just then Oona raised her head, her ears perking. Jane glanced toward the road, listening for the rumble of an engine. She didn’t hear anything, but Oona was insistent. She tried to pull away from Jane’s grasp, but Jane refused to let go of her collar.

“Stop,” she said, tugging the dog backward as she got to her feet. Her heart thudded in her chest when she saw Ryan bolt into view.

“Get the torches,” he yelled at her. As soon as his demand set in, Jane’s body went numb. It couldn’t be. This was supposed to be over. She stood frozen in place as Ryan bounded toward her, skidding to a stop with a look of disbelief. She couldn’t decide whether he was surprised by what was happening, or flabbergasted by her lack of movement. Jane yelped when Oona gave her arm another jerk. The husky took off, but rather than heading for
the open road, she ran for the pines just shy of where they had come from instead.

Jane’s throat went dry. Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes. She looked to Ryan, but he was in another world; his expression had blanched, as though coming to a final, irrefutable conclusion. With the sun shining brightly overhead, they had felt safe. Those things had only come out in the gray of the storm and under the cover of night. Jane and Ryan had never actually discussed it, but she was sure they both assumed those creatures couldn’t come out into the sun—like vampires, trapped in the shadows forever. It had been an assumption made against all logic, without a shred of solid evidence; it had been something to cling to when the sun had finally come out to warm their skin. In their elation of finally reaching the highway and sun warming the frozen ground, they had let the torches burn out, forgetting one tiny detail: Sawyer’s lighter had been lost.

A sob stifled her breathing. How could they have been so stupid? They had been so careful this entire time, only to let their guard down, only to rob themselves of the one thing they were sure those things were afraid of.

Oona snarled at something unseen as Ryan grabbed the ax. She could see it in his eyes—he was ready to come apart, unable to believe they were worse off than before, that he had made such a damning mistake.

“Fuck!” he screamed.

Jane swallowed hard as Oona continued to bark in the distance—the kind of bark that held a warning: Stay back.

That now all-too-familiar guttural purr sounded from the shadows. But this time it was different. This time it sounded like there were dozens of them, as though they had gathered up the troops for a final assault.

Both she and Ryan exchanged a terrified look. Her heart pounded so hard against her ribs it nearly rocked her where she stood. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she loved him, to tell him that they’d be okay—they had to be. They hadn’t dealt with so much and come this far just to die. But before she could find the words, one of those emaciated creatures launched itself out of a tree and onto the highway. Jane gripped Ryan’s arm as the thing bared its grisly teeth at Oona.

“Oh my god,” Jane whispered, and then she turned around and ran back to their basket of supplies.

It was beautiful, the way the sun danced through the clouds, catching the bright blue of the sky before glinting off the snow. It was as if God were performing a light show—a silent sound track to the last moments of Ryan’s life. This was why he loved winter, the mountains. This very view was why he had fallen in love with the slopes.

Looking over his shoulder, he watched Jane run back toward the unplowed road that had brought them here, the sun shining bright against the snow. He wished that she would keep running, that she’d forget him and save herself somehow—though how, he wouldn’t have been able to say.

He took a few forward steps, his hands tightening against the ax handle. He was too far away to make it to Oona before that hellion decided on a course of action. So rather than crossing the distance himself, he’d have that predator come to him. Ryan puckered his chapped lips and gave a shrill whistle. Oona reflexively turned, bolting away from the creature and toward her owner. The demon squatted low, its muscles coiling beneath its waxy skin, and fell into a four-limbed run. Jane screamed as Oona bounded past her owner, breaching the chill of the shadows
that had swallowed Ryan and most of the road. He reeled around, expecting to see his sister being torn apart, but she simply stood in the sunshine, a sharpened pool cue in her hands, her tears shining like diamonds upon her cheeks.

Ryan looked back to the beast that had its sights on his dog, but the once rampaging creature was now standing at a dead stop just a few yards away. It toed the line between the sunlight and the shade, its nostrils flaring as it tried to breach the perimeter, only to emit a pained hiss, shaking its head as though it had been stung. It was their eyes; whether Ryan had been right and those creatures had come out of a cave, or whether they were simply so used to the shade that was forever present among the trees, they couldn’t handle the intensity of the sun.

He turned to look at his sister. She was seeing it too. For a moment he wanted to laugh, wanted to fall to his knees and kiss the sunlit ground. But that promise of salvation was short-lived. The shadows were growing longer by the minute. Eventually the sun would set, and they’d be left out there with nothing. No light. No fire. Just the dreaded anticipation of the inevitable.

Ryan tightened his grip on the hatchet, trying to formulate a plan. He pivoted on the soles of his boots and ran back to his sister, his breath puffing ahead of him.

“We’re going to be okay,” he told her. She shook her head at him as if stunned by his statement, her expression asking him
how?
How could they possibly be okay? They were boxed in, shadow on either side of them. Their little patch of sunlight was dwindling fast and that wet rumble was getting louder, more incessant, hungrier by the minute. It was over. They were both dead.

“Janey, I need your help,” he told her, grabbing a couple of pool cues from their supply basket. “We’re going to go over
there.” He motioned to the thing still trying to brave the glare of the sun.

“And do what?”

Ryan weighed the heft of the ax in his hand. “What do you think?” he asked her. “We’re going to kill it.”

Jane stared at Ryan with wide eyes, his image rippling through her tears. He turned away from her before she began to cry, and she followed him toward the edge of sun and shade, trembling beneath her layers of clothes. He handed her the ax when they were only a few yards from the sneering, slavering hellion, readjusted his grip on the makeshift spear in his hand, and got a running start as he bolted toward the monster.

Jane wanted to look away, numb with panic, the wind biting at the tracks of her tears, but she knew she couldn’t. She was going to have to move soon, regardless of her fear.

Ryan impaled the thing, and before the creature had the chance to scramble backward, he switched directions and pushed the pool cue to the side, forcing it into the sunlight. The screech was deafening as Jane lunged at it. It didn’t see her coming, too stunned by the attack, blinded by the sun. She brought the ax blade down against its back, its fetid blood splashing across her face and coat. She tried to pull the hatchet free, but the thing was flailing so frantically she let the handle go with a yelp and backed away.

Ryan wasn’t so careful.

He stepped up to it and jerked the pool cue out of its gut, the creature’s blood spraying out onto the road in a fan of gore. After a few seconds of thrashing, it fell to the ground, the ax still firmly embedded in its flesh. Ryan stepped around the thing so that he was standing directly over its head; he angled the cue downward.
His face twisted with vengeance as he sprang up and stabbed the creature through its eye, the pool cue clacking against the asphalt, piercing the thing clean through its skull.

Jane stared at him, speechless as Ryan pressed his boot against the monster’s head and pulled the spear free. Rolling it over with a groan, he retrieved the ax from its back and handed the bloody thing back to her. Reluctantly, she took it, blinking at her silent sibling, unsure exactly what he expected her to do with that weapon, until she looked up from the carcass between them and to the shade it had come from.

There, on the road, were three of the thing’s brothers, their teeth clacking together, their arms gangly and thin, all of them ready for their turn at the prey.

Ryan shot a look at his sister, wordlessly asking her if she was ready. Jane pulled in a breath and nodded. Ryan started to run again, aiming himself at the monster closest to the edge of sunlight.

He stabbed it, swung it around, and Jane embedded the ax in its spine. But this one took a different trajectory after Ryan pulled the spear out of its gut. Rather than falling to the ground next to its dead kin, it stumbled back into the shade. Jane gasped when she realized where it was going, bolting after it with her arms outstretched. But it was too late. The creature crumpled to the ground and seized before going still, well within the boundary of shadow, the ax still in its back.

There were seven of them now. The others had come out after Ryan had managed to take down one more of those bastards with the pool cue alone, stabbing it repeatedly after it had fallen to the ground, stabbing it so violently that the cue snapped in half, leaving Ryan weaponless. He sat with his sister in their dwindling
slice of sunlight, their weapons down to a single spear. Ryan was convinced they knew—the sun would be gone in less than an hour, leaving their prey defenseless. They were waiting. And it wouldn’t take long.

Jane had checked out, trembling beside him as she stared at the ground. He supposed it was for the better. There was no way out of this. He only hoped that she could forgive him before it was over. He only hoped she knew that he loved her, that he had loved Sawyer, that he had wanted a chance to love Lauren, that if he had known, he would have sacrificed everything—Switzerland, his company, his life—to take back the last four days.

With less than thirty feet of sun, Ryan exhaled a slow breath and touched his sister’s hand. He knew it was over. They had maybe an hour left, maybe less. There was no way he could fight those things by himself, but that also meant that he couldn’t protect Jane from them either. But he couldn’t just sit there, couldn’t allow them to inch closer until they were on top of him, tearing out his throat. He owed Lauren more than that. She had jumped in front of one of those creatures to protect him and had died because of it. The least he could do was do the same for his sister, his other half, the one girl who had stood beside him through thick and thin. Maybe if they had him they’d retreat—let her live.