The Wildman (31 page)

He’s come for all of us,
Jeff thought as the damp cold reached inside his coat.
For Mike and Fred and Tyler … and Evan and me!

Jeff was frozen where he stood, unsure if he should call out to the person on the boat or wait and see what happened next. Maybe Ben was moving the boat to hide it someplace else so they wouldn’t find it. Or maybe Evan was trying to get away so he could meet Jeff where they had agreed to meet.

It wasn’t long before Jeff got his answer.

The harsh, hissing sound of someone running on the beach filled the night. Off to one side, between him and the boat, a figure appeared, running swiftly toward the water’s edge. A split second later, a flash of white light followed by a report of a gun split the night.

The figure in the boat dropped down. Something clattered loudly when it hit the floorboards of the boat. Jeff didn’t know if Evan had been hit or was ducking for cover. Less than thirty feet from the boat, Ben drew to a stop. He stood knee-deep in the water with waves washing over his feet. Steadying his arm by holding his right arm at the elbow with his left hand, he took careful aim and then shot again—once … twice.

Bullets whined as splinters of wood blew up from the gunwales of the boat. Evan stood up unsteadily. The boat was rocking wildly from side to side. A moment later, he pitched over the side, followed by a loud splash. The momentum of his fall kicked the boat so it spun around in a wide, lazy arc.

Jeff wished he was close enough to see if Evan had been hit or not and, if he had been hit, how badly, but it didn’t matter. In his weakened condition, Evan wouldn’t last more than a few seconds in the ice cold water. The waves would sweep over him, and—like Jim
my Foster thirty-five years ago—he would go under.

So,
Jeff thought grimly,
Jimmy will have company on this stretch of deserted beach after all.

Evan’s ghost will keep him company, and Jeff knew, if he didn’t get off the island tonight, he would also join them.

Talk about a camp reunion,
he thought with a sinister chuckle.

He was sure Ben didn’t know he was standing about twenty f
eet behind him. He was still focused on the boat, watching it drift away from the shore, carried along by gusts of wind and the currents that swept around the island. The mist closed in, and within seconds, the boat was gone from sight.

Jeff stared helplessly after it, positive that, even if a bullet hadn’t hit Evan, he was gone … forever.

All their efforts were wasted … had been for nothing.

It was just a matter of time before Ben hunted him down and killed him.

But even with the boat was gone, Jeff couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t allow it. He had to survive tonight so he could tell the authorities what had happened out here. All of his friends—now dead—had families and loved ones who would want to know how they had died. Jeff’s son would definitely mourn his loss, and his elderly parents would be inconsolable. He hoped even Susan would feel a pang of grief once he was gone.

“
No,” he told himself. “
That’s
not
going
to happen.”

Even though his words were whisked away by the wind, he was filled with determination to get off this island.

And the boat might still be his answer.

It was out of sight, vanished as if it never existed, but Jeff hoped the wind would keep it close to shore. Riding the currents would bring it out to the tip of the island.

Jeff’s only chance was to get out to “The Pulpit” before Ben did. He had no idea if the oars were still on board or not, but that didn’t matter. Even if they weren’t, he would paddle back to the mainland using his hands if he had to or just drift until the wind carried him to shore.

Jeff started backing up slowly, praying Ben wouldn’t notice him. He was still standing in water, the water halfway up to his knees as he stared into the wall of mist. Jeff tried to see if Evan’s body was floating in the lake, but the mist was too dense. He didn’t see anything that looked like a body.

Jeff wondered if he should try to sneak up on Ben and take him from behind now, but he didn’t dare try. He was too weakened after running around in the cold and damp. He was no longer confident he could take Ben in a hand-to-hand fight.

Besides, it didn’t matter.

Ben still had the gun.

He had fired three shots. Jeff had no idea what kind of gun Ben had, but if reloaded recently, he should have at least three shots left before he’d have to reload again.

Moving backwards slowly and hoping the swirling fog would mask him before Ben saw him, Jeff left the beach. It was difficult to judge distances in the fog, but once he was about a hundred yards away from Ben, hopefully out of sight, he started running.

And he knew exactly where he was going.

* * *

He ran back toward the dining hall and then doubled back before heading off into the woods. He wasn’t as familiar with the trails beyond the perimeter of the campgrounds. His only hope was that Ben didn’t know them any better than he did.

His heart was pounding hard, and as he ran, he took in slow, even breaths to steady his nerves. The cold air burned inside his chest like liquid fire, and every muscle ached. He was close to if not already past the point of total exhaustion, but he would rather die of exposure than submit to Ben.

His feet made loud sucking sounds in the mud as he ran, but he was confident Ben had no idea where he was or where he was going. He crossed the open area where the meeting hall used to stand and crossed the service road that led to the ball fields and into the woods. Once the darkness of the forest enclosed him, he felt more secure. The sensory acuity he’d experienced before seemed to have come back, at least a little.

It was a distinct possibility Ben was heading to the same place he was. Ben was no fool. He had proven that. He no doubt wanted to retrieve the boat as much as Jeff did.

Or maybe he had already given up.

Maybe he had another way off the island and would use that.

Jeff had no way of knowing, and he didn’t care. His only focus was to get to “The Pulpit” and see if the wind and lake currents had carried the boat closer to shore. Chances were it had already drifted far out of sight, but he had to try.

This is like climbing a tree when you’re being chased,
he thought with a sudden sinking in his stomach. One rule he had learned playing wide games at camp was:
Never climb a tree because then you’re trapped.

It was the same with the tip of the island.

If he got out to “The Pulpit,” and Ben was behind him, he’d have nowhere to go … no place to run or hide.

He was betting everything on being right. As much as he was tempted to say
screw it; the boat’s already gone,
and turn around and go back into the woods, he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

The further he went from the campgrounds, the denser the underbrush became. As he dodged and weaved between the rain-soaked trees, exhaustion burned in his legs and arms. His neck was as stiff as an iron bar. He continually wiped sweat from his face, but that didn’t stop the night from becoming a whirling kaleidoscope of shadows and darker shapes that twisted around him in a frightening frenzy.

Jeff staggered through the woods, knowing or at least suspecting that he was well past exhaustion and possibly losing his mind. He wasn’t surprised that he didn’t grieve much for Tyler, Fred, and Mik
e. After all, he had hardly known them. But Evan’s death left a numb hollowness in the center of his chest.

I should have
done
something … I could have
saved
him,
he kept thinking,
but he tried to force such thoughts from his mind because they would weaken him. He had to stay sharp so he would survive.

After running until he couldn’t any longer, he paused and leaned against a tree, panting so heavily his breath steamed in the night. He peeled back the sleeve of his raincoat and glanced at his wristwatch, surprised to see it was only a little past nine o’clock at night.

Had his watch stopped?

Was it broken?

He shook his arm and tapped the crystal. When he looked more closely, he saw the luminous second hand was still sweeping around the watch face.

How could it be only nine o’clock?

If someone had asked what time it was, he would have guessed it was close to morning … or at least well past midnight. He knew he’d been stressed past the point of rational thought. That was the only possible explanation for why he’d had that psychedelic experience of feeling as though all of his senses were much sharper than usual.

He leaned over, bracing both hands on his knees, and labored to catch his breath. He knew he had to keep running, but he didn’t think he had the strength. If he could just get out to “The Pulpit” where he thought—
he hoped and prayed
—the boat had drifted.

Leaning his head back, he looked up at the night sky. Clouds were racing by in thick, twisting luminous clumps that alternately covered and uncovered the face of the moon.

Jeff chuckled to himself when, once again, an odd, indescribable sensation welled up inside him.

The year was heading into winter when life all but ceased, but something … a powerful force was pulsing all around him in the darkness.

Is this what Hobomock is?
Jeff wondered.
The spirit of the wild?

Maybe Hobomock wasn’t an Indian demon after all. Those were just sca
ry stories his counselor had told them to frighten them. Instead of the usual ghost stories or urban legends like “The Hook,” Mark had concocted stories from the bare bones of some ancient Indian legends he’d heard.

No matter what he or anyone else called it, Jeff couldn’t deny there was
something
dark a
nd mysterious moving in the dark forest. It prowled like a hungry beast, stalking him. It wasn’t just the threat of Ben coming after him … it was something else … something more … something so large and nameless and powerful he couldn’t even conceive of it. It wasn’t really evil. If anything, it was so far beyond human scope it didn’t take notice of any pitiful human beings.

Whatever small, rational parts were left of his mind, Jeff knew he’d never be able to understand or explain what he was experiencing.

It wasn’t just the feeling of spirits in the forest. There was a sense of danger … of impending doom … of powers and beings beyond his feeble capacity to understand. But even if he couldn’t comprehend them, he knew the world did. The world was aware that winter was coming, and that death was a natural conclusion to life.

Jeff fully accepted that he might die tonight, and on a deep level he was at peace with the idea that Ben would find him and kill him.

He was aware that this feeling might involve some kind of prescience.

Maybe his role now—his obligation in life—was to accept things the way they were. Life was so much bigger than he could possibly imagine or comprehend. The surge of life and death, of powers moving far beyond his understanding and control gripped him and made him tremble. He couldn’t think about them for long without feeling as though he was tumbling backwards in an endless fall into a deep, dark well.

You’re losing it, ole’ buddy ole’ pal
, he told himself.

But then another, fainter voice in the back of his mind whispered,
No you’re not … You have to keep trying … It’s your responsibility to live …

Jeff gasped and shook his head, shivering as he wiped sweat from his face. Dampness saturated clothes, making them feel like dead hands clinging to his skin … dead hands that dragged him down and wouldn’t let go. He imagined thousands of leeches, clinging to his skin, tearing at his flesh. He could feel the blood, streaming down his sides in wide ribbons. Weighted down by the darkness and gloom around him and inside him, it was an immense struggle not to give up hope.

Where there’s life there’s hope,
he told himself.

Ben was out there in the darkness, searching for him. As Jeff turned and looked behind him, the peculiar feeling he’d had earlier that night returned in full force. His vision and sense of hearing were suddenly amplified. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with thick, damp air. A warm spark of life glowed in the center of his chest, growing stronger.

Raising his hands in front of his face, he clenched them into fists, squeezing them until his wrists ached. His skin was slick with moisture and glistened as though coated with oil. He watched as shimmering rainbows flowed across his skin. Muscles, veins, and tendons throbbed beneath his skin, and he was infused with an uncanny sense of power.

Far off in the distance, he felt as much as heard and saw someone thrashing through the dense underbrush.

It was Ben, but Jeff no longer feared him. He accepted that he might die tonight, but ultimately, none of it mattered. It was all part of life. The only difference was, unlike Mike and Tyler and Fred, he wasn’t going to accept it meekly. He definitely wasn’t going to let death creep up on him unawares.