Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant (5 page)

A half-skeletonized buck gouged at the driver through the open window and several points connected with the man’s bloodied face. The buck let out a satisfied bellow. Undead squirrels and raccoons swarmed inside to scratch and bite at tender flesh. The beagle howled and the dogs and cats joined the fray.

The sounds of ripping and tearing rose into the night. Jess hummed as the flood of creatures that had been wronged took their vengeance. In minutes the passenger door was dislodged and hanging open, the driver’s lifeless body spilled out in the dirt.

With their terrible task completed, the animals began to drift again into a spectral state. Soon, they had returned to where they lay in death, waiting for Jess to find them at last. Only the beagle remained by her side.

She flicked her damp hair out of her eyes and surveyed the mess, then looked down at him. “I need to bury you, I guess.”

“Can you send me home first? I really don’t want to watch.”

Jess bent and patted the ghostly dog. “You got a name, boy?”

His silvery tail wagged. “Bernie.”

“Thanks, Bernie.” Jess smiled and fluffed his ear. “You were a great help. I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

With a deep sigh, he rubbed his head against her leg, then vanished into the eternal night.

She sucked in a breath and blinked against the tears that threatened to fall.

Alone again.

Something in the distance drew her gaze, tearing her from her melancholy. She saw several more flickering wisps along the lake and highway.

The others were waiting. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. 

The blood of the innocent called to her from the long and winding road around Fossil Lake. Jess brushed off her jeans and ruffled her wings.

She walked with purpose toward the lights, an avenging angel, shovel in hand.

SILVER SCREEN SHADOWS

Mathias Jansson

Shadows are moving on my wall

Characters moving and falling

Behind the shower curtain

Blood stains flows

Black feathers snows

In my isolation cell

The wall a rear window

To a place of insanity

On the hill the house

In the window my mother

Waving to me

That night I sewed my first

Lampshade of lips

Nitrate was burning

In the projector light

And shadows danced on the silver screen

Only for me

C-C-COLD

Ken Goldman

Just past the Busk Ivanhoe Tunnel, where the slim road practically disappeared, Matthew turned to Sharon. “The Snowcats will plow through this fucker. They’ll be by any minute, just wait and see.”

Three days spent shattering his marriage vows (again) had given Matthew the assurance that Mother Nature herself would happily bend over for him, too.

Sharon did not seem as assured. “I don’t see any Snowcats. Or any tire tracks. I doubt anyone’s crazy enough to come out here in this mess.”

Bitter cold air from the north filtered through Colorado’s mountain canyons into its basins and valleys to the south. It spilled over the mountain range, funneling through gulches and ridges, gathering strength. Wind speeds reached 75 mph, shredding even the sturdiest cabin roofs while taking down power and telephone lines. Fierce gusts conspired with thick snow squalls creating one bastard of a blizzard.

It had somehow managed to sneak past local forecasters and their meteorological charts to say howdy to the handful of dumbfounded weekend skiers attempting to maneuver jeeps and SUVs through the tricky passes that snaked their way through the Rockies.

“How well do you know this road?” she asked.

The ‘road’ was not really a road at all. Anyone having a passing familiarity with the mountainous terrain knew this half paved rock ridden passage was more of an elaborate trail. And during the winter months when the snow flew, it hardly could be called that.

“Hey, I know this region like the back of my hand - - or your magnificent cooch, lover.”

The truth was that this rampaging storm had transformed the terrain into an unrecognizable moonscape an Arctic expedition would have difficulty maneuvering. Matthew turned on the weather station.

“ . . . vehicles can get only about a mile past the water tunnel above Fossil Lake on the Leadville side. Deep snow has fallen up high so it will be awhile before the road opens. First heavy snow warnings have been posted along the trail at 11,510 feet before the ski hut . . .”

“We’re past that marker, Matthew. Damn!”

He already knew that much. Punching off the radio, he also knew that what threatened to bury his Trail Blazer was no longer snow. In under an hour’s time, it had become deep shit.

“We’re into a full white out here, babe. I can’t even see the moon. I think we may have to pull over and wait this out.” He reached for his cellular to inform his wife he would be late, but quickly decided against making the call. What was happening outside proved difficult enough. He didn't feel like starting another storm inside.

“If we get stuck here . . . I mean, if anyone finds us together . . .”

To the world, Matthew’s professional relationship with Ms. Sharon Weist had lasted a mere fifteen minutes the previous winter, when she had shown him and Andrea some Arvada lake front property. What followed was pure serendipity, a chance meeting with the lovely young realtor at Starbucks that escalated into innocent flirtation, a stolen kiss or two eventually paying off with some nooners.

For almost a year, they had managed to pull off the occasional clandestine weekend. If he were caught in the middle of nowhere sharing this covert rendezvous with her, Matthew would have some clever explaining to do. But Sharon specialized in closing the big deals, and after months spent banging bones, maybe she figured their getting discovered might not prove such a bad thing after all.

Matthew’s cellular chirped. His attention remained fixed on what he could see through the windshield, but he felt Sharon’s stare boring in on him.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

Having no choice he put the cell to his ear.

“Hi, honey . . . Yes, I’m just heading home now. Hit a little snow, is all, so I’ll be late. No, babe, don’t wait up. I’ll warm up whatever you’ve got in the fridge. Yeah, skiing was really great. Kiss Derek goodnight for me, okay? Yes, I’m fine, really. Driving’s not so bad. Listen, you’re fading a bit. I’ll see you in the morning. Love you.”

Sharon’s silence turned deafening. Without looking, Matthew knew the expression that had crossed her face, a face that did not remain beautiful when she felt pissed. Hoping to deflect the elephant in his Trail Blazer, he went for the fake-out.

“I can phone my sports column in to the office tomorrow –”

“Maybe you should call your wife back first, tell your Andrea about those other slopes you’ve been hitting while she’s been home changing diapers, hey?”

“Very funny. Let me drive, okay? I can’t see for shit.”

“No, Matthew. You really can’t.”

Recognizing his no-win situation, he didn’t want to make an uncomfortable moment worse. But if Sharon were testing him to determine just how much testosterone he had, then he would have to show her.

“You want to discuss that block of hot ice you’re sitting on? I mean, you might have picked a better time to bitch. I’m a little busy here trying to save our asses.”

“A better time? You just spent three days fucking me. I figured that might put you into the proper disposition to discuss what’s happening with us. But your loving Andrea has her pot roast waiting back home for you in the ‘fridge, doesn’t she? It’s all about you again, isn’t it? I don’t even ski, and I hate snow. Damn, you can be such a prick!”

“That’s cold, Sharon. That’s just plain cold.”

Frosty pellets smacked the Trail Blazer like buckshot. Caked with compacted ice, the wiper’s blades slapped uselessly across the smeared glass, reducing visibility to near zero. The headlights revealed a billion dense flakes filling the world.

Sharon rubbed a circle on the windshield. “The defroster isn’t doing anything. Maybe you were right about stopping. Maybe we should pull over, wait this out. ”

“Yeah. Then, when someone comes along,
wham!
There’s no visibility, in case you haven’t noticed. A Snowcat rounding a curve could turn this vehicle into a waffle. Good plan. Stick to selling your condos, sweetheart.”

“It was
your
fucking idea! Would you rather we spin off this godforsaken road where no one will find us until the spring thaw?”

Matthew pounded the steering wheel.
“Shit! Piss! Fuck!”
He breathed hard, managing to reign himself in.
“Let’s not do this, okay? Let’s –”

. . . and then he shut up fast.

He noticed the charcoal eyes first. Sharon leaned forward, again swiping the windshield while squinting to see through the glass.
Matthew turned on the brights. Illuminating mostly the flying snow, the fog lamps reflected off something in the road directly in front of them, some living creature hidden amid the snow bursts.

“Look out!!”

Matthew pumped the brake while the Trail Blazer veered crazily. It struck the creature dead on with a sickening crack as if they had collided into solid ice. The vehicle spun out, its steering impossible to steady. The SUV thumped sideways into a deep ravine, plummeting down the slippery slope like a wild amusement park ride. It came to rest in a snow bank, rear wheels still spinning in the drift.

Unfastening his seat belt, Matthew reached for Sharon. “You okay?”

For one awful moment she didn’t respond. Then, “I think so . . . a little shaken. No bones broken, no teeth missing. Look . . .” She indicated the steam hissing from the section of crumpled hood not buried in the snow. “What was that thing we hit? Sasquatch?”

Matthew turned the key, but the engine only sputtered. “Don’t know. It’s too dark. It could have been an elk or stag. Maybe a big horn sheep.”

“Those eyes were looking down on us, not up.”

“I don’t give a shit if it was Frosty The Snowman. In case you haven’t noticed we’ve got a problem here.” He reached for his cellular, punched an emergency number. The screen indicated no signal.

Sharon thumbed the keys of her cell and shook her head. Matthew tried the ignition again but the vehicle gave only a dull click. The head lamps flickered like an old-time movie, then went dark. The battery had shorted out, and no engine running meant no heat. Frigid mountain air was one merciless bitch, and it would take only hours before her pals frostbite and hypothermia visited to claim a few fingers or toes.

“You’re a writer, Matthew. How would you write a character out of this mess?”

“I’m a sports writer. Ask me why the Nuggets suck this season.”

Sharon tried to smile but gave it up. “Will anyone find us here?”

Matthew knew the snow could completely bury their vehicle in only a few hours, but someone would find them, all right – in April or May, when all that survived of their sorry asses were two piles of skeletal remains. Assuming the wolves didn’t find them first.

“By morning, maybe the storm will clear. We can go for help. I have supplies back here. A kit. Emergency stuff like blankets and flash lights, matches. There’s a tow rope, too, in case another car comes by, or a Snowcat. And there’s some peanut butter and crackers. Water bottles, even some beer left in the cooler. We’ll be okay, Sharon. Really. We’ll be okay.”

He hoped he sounded convincing. A cold beer wasn’t exactly the ticket in sub-zero temperatures, and they weren’t going to build a camp fire inside the car. He handed Sharon a thick blanket and took one for himself. They huddled close in the darkness, so close Matthew felt unsure whether his shivering was his own or an extension of Sharon’s.

In a long silence they waited.

“It’s still out there, isn’t it?” she asked. “That thing.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we killed it, or hurt it. Don’t fall asleep. Body temperature drops when you sleep. We have to stay awake to keep warm, okay?”

“I’m not warm. I’m nowhere near warm. I can’t feel my legs.”

He pulled her closer. “We’ll be okay,” he said again. 

She looked at him. “Or maybe we’ll die.”

Something thumped hard against the rear bumper. Matthew grabbed one of the flashlights. The high powered beam scanned the white landscape, but he saw only a galaxy of flakes swirling in the light. Whatever had been there had gone.

Sharon clung to him. “An animal maybe?”

“Had to be. Christ knows what.”

“Maybe it’s that thing we hit.”

“I didn’t see it clearly. All kinds of creatures live in these mountains.”

“Hungry creatures? Bears?”

“Bears would be hibernating. But food is scarce during the winter. Just about everything wandering around here is hungry.”

“I didn’t need to hear that.”

The quiet returned and stayed, an uneasy stillness not to be trusted. Matthew inspected the terrain, what the high powered lamp could see of it. Nothing stirred, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched. Several times he shook Sharon to keep her from dozing off. The snow had not let up and the cold seemed much worse.

By 2:00 a.m., he realized they could not remain much longer where they were. If he could climb the slope back to the road, he might get some reception on his cellular. Considering they had little choice before the blowing snow obstructed the vehicle’s doors, the idea seemed worth a shot.

“Stay here. I’ll see if I can get a signal from the road, maybe find a passing Snowcat.”

“I’m not staying here alone.”

“It could be dangerous. Something is out there.”

“I’m not staying here!”

That ended the discussion. She managed to get the door opened enough to squeeze through, sinking into snow waist deep. Slipping on his back pack of supplies, Matthew pulled her out. Together, they’d slogged maybe fifty feet when a sloshing sound came from behind, a thick dripping noise like saturated trees following a heavy rain. Matthew aimed his beam back toward the Trail Blazer, the lonely beacon exploring an Arctic world drained of color.

Something was there, all right. Matthew recognized those dark eyes. Caught in the lamp’s glare, the creature seemed the size of the Trail Blazer itself, as if some mammoth ice sculpture had badly melted. It turned to avoid the harsh wash of light, a sopping glob of frozen liquid that impossibly breathed with life.

“That thing,” he whispered. “Jesus, it’s . . . it’s
ice
.”

“It doesn’t like the light. Let’s go, Matthew. Let’s go right now!”

Running, even moving at all, seemed impossible. They did not look behind, just kept pushing through the snow as best they could. Twice, Sharon disappeared into drifts. Matthew pulled her out, feeling his lungs might explode. Eventually exhaustion overtook them. Soaked, their breaths heavy, they found no place even to collapse. When Sharon finally managed to speak, her words seemed the ramblings of a fevered mind.

“Tell me you love me, Matthew. Tell me you love me enough to die for me.”

“What?”

“Say it. You never really told me in so many words. I need to hear you say it.”

“Jesus, Sharon . . .”

“Please . . . please . . .”

The thick white pines rustled. Matthew aimed the lamp towards the cluster of trees. Concealed in darkness, lacking even shadows, the creature had overtaken them. Now it stood dripping in ambush only paces away, a monstrous Hollywood special effect chiseled in ice. Close up, its mouth appeared the size of a coffin, revealing misshapen teeth that hung from its maw like thick icicles.