Chapter Twenty #2
He pushed the car’s keyless start button, halfway expecting the engine to ignore him like a scene in one of his scripts.
But the engine roared to life. Johnny hit reverse, lurching the RAV back to turn toward the driveway.
The rear tires skidded slightly in his hurry, despite the chains.
His pulse pounded through his fingertips while he gripped the wheel.
“Slow,” Tasha said.
“Seat belts,” Johnny said, an afterthought.
He stared at the rearview mirror to watch Imani and Sharise strap themselves in before he moved the gear into drive.
He nodded to Tasha: I’m okay. Her face released some of its worry, but not much.
Seeing her gripping the rifle looked so incongruous, more than the robe, and he felt a stab of grief. What were they doing here?
“Welp,” Imani said. “Shortest vacation ever.”
“Hush,” Tasha said. “Let him drive.”
Johnny drove. Nosing out of the driveway to the road felt like dropping a weight behind him, but the Jeep still loomed ahead.
“Don’t panic,” he said as the RAV approached, “but I found human remains under that Jeep. Not a head, like the deer… but someone’s hand. I’d say it was an adult man.”
Sharise and Imani both sat up tall in their seats to stare out the window as they passed the Jeep. Thankfully, no signs of blood or body parts were visible from the road. Tasha stirred restlessly, and he guessed she wished he hadn’t told them.
“What?” Sharise said. “Oh my God, Dad!”
“Was it the driver?” Imani asked, at the same time Sharise said, “What killed him?”
“We don’t know anything yet,” Tasha said. “Quiet.”
As he picked up speed and the Jeep’s tomb grew more distant behind them, Johnny noticed that Tasha had neglected to strap on her own seat belt.
A warning was on his tongue when the tires bumped over something the size of a log that shook the car, jouncing them as the chains clinked hard.
Whatever it was had been invisible in the snowy road. Johnny braked.
A shrill keening underneath the RAV pricked the hair on Johnny’s arms. Too late, he realized he should have sped up instead of stopping. Whip-fast movement swept across the RAV’s undercarriage.
“What’s—” Sharise began.
Tasha’s window went white as something thunked against her door, hard enough to dent it.
She yelled out, startled, while both daughters screamed.
The rest unfolded simultaneously too quickly and in snapshots of impossible stasis.
Tasha’s car door flew open. Johnny braked again, wondering, Why the hell did she open her door?
But Tasha started screaming in chorus with their daughters.
Something outside opened her door. Snow sprayed into the car as if the ground itself had risen to envelop Tasha with alabaster flaps not unlike those on Mazelle’s robe.
Tasha punched at it to fight it off, but the flaps pinned her arms and covered her face, muffling her screams. Johnny saw snatches of claws and teeth and black-spotted gums before the creature began yanking Tasha from the car with brutal force.
Not a fox. Not a bear. Not a snake or a bat. Somehow, the creature embodied all these things. Tasha struggled furiously, one shoe flying off as she kicked at the glove compartment.
If his rational mind had been functioning, Johnny would have put the car in park before he grabbed the rifle and leaped out of the RAV, which rolled slowly toward a snowdrift as he chased his wife.
Only her robe was visible as the creature slid across the snow in the wild pattern, propelling its bear-sized body with the fluidity of an oversized python.
Johnny ran fast and sure, following the flapping hem of her red robe, screaming Tasha’s name.
He wasn’t too late! He was sure he still heard her smothered screams.
The thing couldn’t move as fast carrying Tasha’s weight. Johnny was close enough to smell its stink, thick as a gorilla’s. But how could he shoot the creature without killing his wife? His hands holding the rifle were so unsteady that he could barely control them.
Snow wriggled beneath Johnny’s feet. He was standing on the creature (its tail?) and it yanked itself free from him like a rug, sending Johnny flying to the ground flat on his back.
The rifle fired wild as he flew, chipping a nearby tree, and Johnny’s last thought before the back of his head slammed to the frozen ground was Thank God I didn’t hit—
Then Johnny Washington’s thoughts stopped.
Imani Bernice Washington, her middle name honoring another great-grandmother she had never met, was focused on the distant sound of her mother screaming.
At times the sound was trampled by other noises, like the RAV grinding into the snowbank, or Sharise’s hysterical sobs (“What was that? What was that?”) as she waved her hands in front of her face like they were on fire.
But a calmer voice in her head told Imani, I’m still alive.
The voice was her mother’s.
That voice gave Imani enough hope to unfold her limbs and try to open her car door, banging her shoulder against it twice before she realized it was stuck against the snowdrift.
She was still confused, not thinking straight.
The front tires were wedged in the snowy ditch, so the car had stopped moving, although the engine was still running.
Imani had to get past her sister and Sharise’s wailing as she rocked in her seat, bound by her seat belt.
Sharise was being a total Barbra like in Night of the Living Dead.
Useless. Had she watched any of Dad’s movies?
The only characters who survived were the ones who took action and saved themselves.
“We have to help Dad find her!” Imani said. “She’s still alive!”
Sharise woke from her trance, red-eyed, dribbling snot. “How do you know?”
“I hear her!” Imani said.
That wasn’t exactly true: She hadn’t heard Mom in at least a minute. But it was good enough for Sharise, who unclicked her seat belt and easily opened her door on the opposite side of the snowbank. Sharise jumped out of the car, with Imani tangled behind her.
Imani kept her eyes low, looking for the tracks in the snow Dad had tried to describe last night, erratic but moving in the direction of the lodge. She saw the beast’s tracks intertwined with Dad’s. Maybe he got her back, Imani thought, her hope swelling.
“Shit!” Sharise screamed in a sound that was the opposite of hope.
Imani looked up. Fifteen yards from them, Dad was lying in the middle of the road, near the lodge’s driveway. He wasn’t moving. The rifle had fallen beside him.
Now Imani felt like a Barbra, standing frozen while Sharise ran to their father, crying again. Imani had imagined joining Dad in his chase with the rifle, but the day’s unthinkable tragedy had multiplied. The world had shown its true evil face, swallowing her life.
“No…” Imani whispered. Her heart was a stone tossing in her chest. “Please…”
She watched as Sharise kneeled over Dad, listening for his breath. Checking for a pulse.
“Is he dead?” Imani whispered to Sharise, not realizing her voice wasn’t loud enough for her to hear.
She hung back as if the news would hurt less from a distance.
Her hands were shaking. Maybe they had been shaking since Mom’s car door opened, when reality ripped apart.
The day turned quiet, her carrier tone to her mother lost while her father lay in the road.
“He’s breathing!” Sharise yelled back. “He’s just knocked out. But there’s blood!”
The preserved surge of hope activated Imani enough to join Sharise, her sneakers slipping on ice as she ran.
Dad looked like he was only sleeping, all worry leeched from his cheeks and eyes. But when she slid her hand beneath his head, it came back wet with blood, a smell like hot pennies. It wasn’t enough to puddle, but it was too much. He needed a doctor.
Another distant shriek caught Imani’s ear. Muffled but unmistakable. Imani checked again and saw that the tracks went straight across the lodge’s driveway. Toward the ski trail.
Imani jumped back up. “Did you hear her? It’s Mom. We have to find her!”
Sharise looked up at her with a blank expression nowhere near believing her.
“Didn’t you hear her?” Imani said.
Sharise’s face said No. “We can’t just leave Dad out here. He’ll freeze!”
“Then you stay and try to wake him up—and I’ll go after Mom.”
“What? No.” Sharise stood up, restraining Imani’s arm to keep her from running off. Imani tugged hard, but Sharise held on. “What are you even talking about?”
“Look,” Imani said, pointing at the tracks. “Dad was chasing it. If it doesn’t start snowing and cover up the tracks, we can go straight to her!”
Sharise peered at the serpentine ruts in the snow. Then up at the gray sky.
“Imani… are you sure you heard her?” Sharise said softly. “I haven’t heard anything.”
“Yes! But it’s farther away. We’re wasting time talking about it! If it went down the hill, we can get our snowboards and go down faster. I can do it by myself!”
“Imani, no! Just…” Sharise clawed into her hair, her eyes watering again as she tried to think. Then her eyes widened with an idea. “Wait! I know how we can get Dad back inside. Then we’ll go after Mom—I promise.”
“How?” Imani asked.
“Go get that heavy blanket off our bed. We’ll drag him together.”
“Like a sled!” Imani said, impressed. Sharise wasn’t a Barbra after all! If Imani hadn’t been so focused on listening for Mom, she would have thought of it herself.
She ran to the driveway to go back to the lodge.
The living room was a tribute to a past life, already a distant memory from only fifteen minutes ago.
Mom’s jacket lay across a chair where she’d left it.
The blankets on the sofa bed were creased from their sleep.
The peaceful room made Imani shudder with a sob.
How could this have happened? She wanted to curl up on the saggy mattress and will herself back in time.