Crush (8 page)

“How's the water, Barnes?” Cade asked, grinning like a lunatic.

Ox toasted the air with his beer can. “For you, Toby.” He upended the can and drank deeply. Once finished with that, he stepped forward and poured a stream of beer into the lake. “Drink up, man. Rest in peace.”

Then the night came for him.

 

Jonathan wasn't far from the lake's edge. Ox and Cade had only managed to toss him about ten feet in, but the bottom dropped off quickly and he stood in water up to his chest. He could wade out in a few seconds, and that's what his body wanted to do. It wanted to flee the freezing water, but Jonathan remained where he was, fearing what else Ox and Cade had in store for him should he climb out of the lake.

They stood on the dirt path, lit from behind by the headlights of Cade's Ram truck. They congratulated each other and raised beers up, toasting
Toby the Scab and Jonathan's dunking. They laughed.

Behind them, the headlights dimmed. The brash halogen beams faded until the path was nearly black.

“Battery's dying,” Ox said.

“No way,” Cade replied.

From where he stood in the lake, Jonathan saw that Cade was right. Something moved over the truck's hood, down its grille to cover the bulbs. It was a sheet of darkness. A shadow with no source, like a piece of night torn from the sky. Like the shadow spirit he'd seen outside his bedroom window.

Reaper
, he thought, remembering how the shadow had reminded him of death's theatrical manifestation.

“What the hell is that?” Ox asked.

And then he found out.

The murky form sliding over Cade's truck tore loose and glided over the path. Ox threw an arm up over his face, suddenly blinded by the exposed headlights. Jonathan watched as the Reaper flew, flat and rippling like the flag of some dark country.

“Jesus!” Cade cried, throwing his beer can at the approaching shape.

Ox spun around as if to run into the lake, and the shadow caught him. It fell over his head like a hood. Beneath it, his eyes grew wide and his mouth opened as if to scream. A moment later, he was being hauled off the path, into the air. Ox sailed over the lake, his feet only inches from Jonathan's head. Then, he changed direction and soared back toward the dense woods.

His body hit high against a pine trunk, maybe twenty feet up. The Reaper engulfed him, secured Ox against the tree like a bug in a cocoon. Hands raked the fabric of the shadow. Feet kicked. But Ox couldn't break through.

On the path, Cade screamed. He did a strange dance, making little circles in the dirt. He called out for his friend, but his voice was already heavy with mourning.

A dark shape—another Reaper—raced past Jonathan. It skimmed the surface of the lake. And it wasn't alone. A third slid down the trunk of a tree at Cade's back.

“Look out!” Jonathan cried.

Cade looked up at the branches and saw the
thing coming for him, moving like a stain over the rough bark. He ran and screamed, his voice high and piercing as he charged for his truck. The shadow peeled away from the tree and tore after him.

Jonathan turned in the water, looking over his shoulders, checking his back to make sure no more of the shadowy Reapers came for him. When he turned back, he saw Cade was inside the cab of his truck. Fresh terror flared in Jonathan's chest. That ass was going to leave him here, leave him with these things.

“Cade,” he called, hearing the engine roar to life. “Come on, man!” he pleaded.

But Cade was beyond reason. Jonathan could see his terrified face through the windshield, lit up by the cab light. The football player darted his head from side to side, as if trying to figure out how the vehicle worked.

A shadow slid down the windshield like dirty water.

The truck roared again and sped backward down the path. It crashed into a tree a moment later. Then, the truck lurched forward, eased toward Jonathan as Cade turned the wheel,
adjusted the tires on the trail.

The truck was gone a minute later, the headlights receding to dime-sized dots through the trees as Cade escaped the nightmare at the lake's edge. Jonathan looked for Ox in the trees, but it was difficult to find him in the dark. His gaze darted between the tree trunks and the black mouth of the woods. The dirt trail rolled through the chasm like a brown tongue, taunting him.

Jonathan's body shivered violently against the freezing water and the fear. He took a step toward the shore, then paused, looking for the Reapers, knowing he'd never see them coming. But he knew he couldn't just stand there. He could swim, but where? Besides, he'd seen one of the things gliding over the lake, moving fast. If they wanted him, they'd catch him before he made it ten yards.

But they don't want you
, a voice whispered in his head. The thought startled him with its certainty.

A tree branch groaned, and its needles hissed. The noise repeated and grew louder. Jonathan snapped his head toward the sound. He saw something moving down the tree. It didn't glide slowly. Rather, it fell and tumbled, hitting branches hard,
until it finally crashed into a thatch of bushes at the tree's base.

Ox
.

The phantom was done with the bully. It had smothered Ox and discarded his body.

Frantic, Jonathan searched the banks for any of the creatures. His foot slipped in the muck, but he righted himself quickly. Maybe he could hold his breath, escape them under the water.
Then I can drown instead of suffocate
. His mind ran through a catalog of useless ideas. His teeth chattered loudly and his jaw ached from tension.

The desperation built.
Where are they? Where are they? God, what am I going to do?
Helpless and cold, he felt certain he'd cry.

He stood in the lake for another three minutes before his fear and discomfort crystallized into anger.
Enough
, he thought.
Enough
. If they were going to kill him, they could kill him, but he wasn't going to die in this lake like a drowned rat. Jonathan stepped forward, pushing a low wall of water ahead of him. He took another step and then another.

Jonathan emerged from the lake, and a deeper cold, one he couldn't believe existed, wrapped
around him. His bones and skin ached under this cold.

“Da-a-a-mn!” he said through chattering teeth.

He stood on the path, dripping, exhausted, and trembling. If the Reapers were going to attack, it would be now.

But they didn't attack. They had come for Ox and Cade, not him.

Jonathan turned into the mouth of the woods. He jogged into the trees, down the uneven dirt path. Then he ran.

No one stopped to give him a ride. Whenever the street lit up with the lights of an approaching car, Jonathan turned with his thumb raised, but the cars just sped by, ignoring him, letting him freeze. He ran until his sides ached, then walked for a while. Then ran. He searched the streets, the sky, the yards for signs of a new attack from the Reapers. His mind raced, but every thought was a spark, a mere firefly dashing through his brain, and there were so many of them. It felt like his head was filled with television static. White noise.

At home he went into the bathroom and stripped off his wet clothes, hung them over the shower rod. He turned on the hot water and
climbed in. The spray felt like acid on his skin as the heat confronted the cold that had worked deep into his bones. He stood under the scalding spray for five minutes before adding a touch of cooler water. Then he leaned against the wall and let the shower run over him for another twenty minutes.

He dried himself, went to his room, and put on a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. He put on socks because his feet were still cold. Then he climbed under the covers, pulled them tight to his chin, and stared at the ceiling.

He didn't even think of turning off the overhead light.

 

The first thing he did the next morning was call Bentley Books and tell Stewart he was sick and wouldn't be in today. Stewart acted like he didn't believe Jonathan's story, but Jonathan didn't really care what the manager thought. No way was he leaving the apartment. After the call he gathered up his clothes from the bathroom and walked down the hall to the utility closet. Dropped all of the garments, still damp, into the washer. He poured detergent over them and turned on the machine.

In his room he sat at his desk. He needed to write things down, to make sense of them. He reached to turn on his computer, then paused.

If he wrote his thoughts on the computer, they might be retrieved. David told him once that nothing was ever really erased from a computer. Jonathan didn't know if this was true. It sounded impossible, but his fear and paranoia were so great, he wasn't going to take the chance. What if the police questioned Cade, and he told them about Jonathan being there? They might come to question him, might take his computer. They could misinterpret something. They could blame him for Ox and Toby and Mr. Weaver. It was nuts, but it was possible.

He pushed the computer keyboard out of his way. On a plain sheet of copy paper, Jonathan began to write.

Jonathan turned the sheet over. He shook out his hand. He needed all of these thoughts out of his head. He needed to make sense of things or else he'd never be able to stop it.

Jonathan flipped the paper over and read it from the beginning. He let the words sink in, and they helped untangle his thoughts.

David.

Kirsty.

He stood from his desk and took the paper with him. In the kitchen, he lit the edge with one of his mother's matches and watched the sheet burn. He dropped it in the sink and kept his eye on the paper as it blackened and curled. Once it
was reduced to ash against the metal basin, he turned on the water and doused the char. With a paper towel, he scooped the mess out of the sink and threw it in the trash.

 

“Where are you?” David asked.

Jonathan sat in the living room, ears peeled in case his mother returned.

“Something happened last night,” Jonathan said. “Can you talk?”

“Yeah. I'm hiding in the poetry section. It's totally empty. So what happened?”

“I can't really get into it right now, not over the phone.”

“Then calling me about it seems kind of pointless,” David said, humored.

“It's not about that. Well, it is, but not exactly. We need to talk. Can I come by your place when you get off work?”

“Can't,” David said. “I'm on stud duty. The woman and I are seeing a movie.”

“Kirsty?” Jonathan asked.

“She's the only one for now.”

“David, we have to talk before you guys go out.”

“I already know the facts of life, Jonny Boy,
but thanks for offering.”

“David, I'm serious. Damn serious.”

There was a long silence. Jonathan thought David had hung up on him, but a deep breath, like a sigh scratched through the speaker at his ear.

“Hey? You there?” Jonathan asked.

“Yeah, I'm here,” David said. “Look, I figured something like this would happen.”

“What are you talking about?”

“TAJ, man,” David said, as if it was obvious. “Total ass-faced jealousy. You figure that now that Kirsty and I are together, you're going to get frozen out. Like we won't hang anymore or something. It's totally not like that. I mean, we can't be kids for…”

“Ox was murdered last night,” Jonathan said to shut his friend up. “Okay? I saw it. He and Cade dragged me down to the lake. They decided to memorialize Toby by throwing me in. Then…” He didn't know how much he could say without sounding completely nuts, but he had to convince David. “These things came out of the woods. I couldn't see them real well. They just showed up. They chased Cade off, but they killed Ox. They left his body in the bushes by the lake.”

“No way,” David said. “You saw it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. He struggled against the memory of Ox being engulfed and yanked into the air by a black sheet. “I saw it.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“I couldn't. I don't know how to explain it to them. It's all really screwed up.”

“You said ‘things' came out of the woods?”

“I can't explain it,” Jonathan repeated. “Not over the phone.”

“So, what does this have to do with Kirsty?”

“It's just a feeling I've got. It all started happening this year, after she started school.”

“You don't even know her,” David said, suddenly on the defensive.

“I know. But she's like always there. She saw what these guys were doing. I can't think of anyone else,” Jonathan said.
Unless it's you
.

“Apparently Special K isn't just for breakfast anymore.”

“I'm not high, David.”

“You have to be. Think about it, Jonathan. A girl you don't even know is going around and killing people because they pick on you? Does that sound balanced? Does that sound even remotely
two plus two? I mean…Jesus…it's not like she's dating
you
!”

“David, listen…”

“I can't believe you're being such a dick about this. Look, man, it's not my fault you don't have other friends. Okay? It sucks, but it isn't my fault. Kirsty and I are having a good time, and you feel left out. Well, tough. I can't believe you'd make up this kind of crap just to get in the middle of it.”

“I'm not making anything up.”

“Then you're nuts. You're paranoid and deluded, and you need to get yourself some meds. And Jonathan, don't you dare try to implicate Kirsty in any of your paranoid crap. Okay? I'm warning you. Just keep your mouth shut, or you're asking for a whole lot of trouble.”

“Are you threatening me?” Jonathan asked.

“Just don't push me, Jonathan.”

The phone line went dead.