The Wildman (34 page)

Is this how it all ends? … Is this how it all ends?

That simple question rose in his mind and kept repeating itself until it practically drove him insane.

He thought he probably lost his mind back on the island when he had those feelings of being in tune with something utterly supernatural. Or maybe on the boat, when he finally made it ashore on the mainland and was so far gone he imagined p
eople lifting him out of the boat and carrying him onto land. There couldn’t
really
have been people or anything else out here to help him.

He was on his own, and he would do it on his own or else die.

“
I’m losing it bad,” he muttered, and he laughed a high, cackling laugh as he slogged onward through the night, listing from side to side like a drunk. If anyone was out here tonight, he would scare the be-jezus out of them. They’d run off, terrified, instead of staying to offer help.

The wind blew strong off the water, carrying a chill Jeff knew would kill him before long. He vaguely remembered the dangers of hypothermia and, even if he’d had the right clothes—a waterproof coat and insulated pants, he wasn’t going to make it through the night unless he got to the parking lot and into his car.

But he didn’t think he’d make it.

The launch ramp still wasn’t any closer. Was he lying on the beach, staring at it and imagining he was walking toward it?

It didn’t matter.

It was lost in swirl of rain and the mist coming off the lake. For all he knew, he could have walked past it without even noticing it. He was so far gone he could have walked past a house with its light blazing and not recognized it for what it was.

But he kept moving forward, struggling to attune his senses to the night so he could once again experience that heightened awareness of what was going on around him. There were things in the night that most people never had the slightest clue about, but he had seen and heard and felt them.

But where were they now?

Why hadn’t they come to his aid now when he needed them most?

No matter how hard he strained his eyes and ears, all he could see and hear was the pouring rain as it cascaded from the sky in blinding sheets that masked even the slopping sounds his feet made in the wet sand.

At some point, he realized he was crying. Tears gushed from his eyes and ran in hot, searing streams down his face, mixing with the rainwater. His throat closed off, making it all but impossible to breathe. His face was as cold as marble, and heat radiated from the top of his head as if it were a furnace.

He hesitated, swaying on his feet, then took another few lumbering steps forward. Then he paused again. His breath billowed like plumes of smoke in the cold air before being whisked away. Every bone in his body felt as brittle as an eggshell. But he kept moving forward a few steps at a time until, moaning, he pitched forward and landed facedown on the sand. His head smacked against a half-buried rock, sending a spray of white stars streaking across his vision. When he raised his head and looked down the beach, the black slash of the ramp appeared through the mist.

His body was shaking out of control as he struggled onto his hands and knees, and lunged forward. He didn’t get far before his arms gave out, and he crashed onto the ground again, this time getting a mouth full of sand. Someone somewhere nearby let out a long, agonized moan. It took him a while to realize he had made the sound. He raised his head again and saw more clearly that the boat launch was in fact closer.

He had no idea where he found the reserves, but he got onto his hands and knees again and, after taking a long time to catch his breath, started to get to his feet. The world swung around him in a slow, sickening spin that lifted his stomach. The night was a smear of black against darke
r black, and rain hit his face like thousands of icy pinpricks.

Not far now … Not far now …
he kept telling himself, but t
he boat launch might just as well have been the moon. The hard, black wedge of cement looked solid and real enough, but he expected it to dissolve into the mist as he took another few steps closer.

Not far now … Not far now …

He whimpered as he placed one foot in front of the other and then, holding his breath, struggled to keep his balance. The earth was spinning wildly out of control. He held his hands out like a man trying to keep his balance on a tightrope.

Not far now … Not far now …

Another step. Looking ahead, he saw that the dark shape rising out of the water was still there. If anything, it looked more sol
id … more substantial.

I can’t believe I’m going to make it,
he thought, fighting a giddy rush of excitement that threatened to spill him over again.

But as he moved haltingly forward, step-by-step, a paranoid thought suddenly struck him.

What if I didn’t really make it? … What if I’m already dead? … What if I’m imagining all of this before I fade away? … What if none of this is real? …

But the cold rain lashed his face, and the mist blowing in off the water carried a strong fishy smell that snapped him back to reality—or at least his version of reality. He forged ahead, taking short, halting steps in time with his labored breathing.

To his left was the gentle upslope of land that led to the parking lot. There weren’t many trees, so he hoped he really was looking at the parking lot and not imagining it.

His legs trembled and burned with exhaustion as he turned his back to the lake and started up the slope. It seemed impossible to climb. His feet dragged in the sand, leaving behind deep, scalloped marks. Finally, somehow, he made it off the beach and onto the dirt driveway boaters used to
back their boat trailers down to the lake. Rocks and gravel crunched underfoot.

It’s Hobomock … gnawing on the bones of his prey,
Jeff thought with a deep shudder.

And I’m next!

The incline wasn’t very steep, but it felt to Jeff like he was climbing Mount Everest. He leaned forward, his hands outstretched in front of him, almost touching the ground for support. The mist obscured the cars at the top, and Jeff had another paranoid thought that—maybe—somehow—Ben had all of the cars towed or disabled in case any of them escaped from the island.

Just keep going … You’re almost there … Just keep going …

He trudged onward, grinding his teeth as he slid one heavy foot in front of the other. His shoulders slouched forward, and he lowered his head, imagining that he was a bull, charging up the slope.

But he drew to a sudden halt when he saw something shift in the mist on the top of the hill.

It wasn’t much.

Just a hint of motion.

It was there … and then it was gone in the blink of an eye.

He stood there panting heavily and trying to peel back the darkness and mist. After a terribly long moment, he heard the faint scuff of feet on gravel. He hadn’t moved. He knew he hadn’t made the sound.

Standing perfectly still, his heart racing as fast as a bird’s in his chest, he looked up the slope.

Maybe his foot had slipped and made the sound without him knowing it. Maybe what he had thought he had seen was the mist, thickening and thinning in the wind.

He waited, his body tensed. If he had to face any danger now, he didn’t have the strength to resist or run.

He was satisfied to die where he stood rather than face another challenge.

After a moment, his pulse began to slow. The chilly air no longer burned in his chest when he inhaled and prepared to continue up the hill. If he was going to survive, he had to get to his car now. Any more time spent in the damp and cold was a death sentence.

An amazing sense of relief mixed with disbelief that he had actually survived filled Jeff as he moved closer to the summit, but just as he was congratulating himself for making it, a voice spoke, filling the night.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Without End

“
I knew you’d come here if you made it,” the voice said.

Jeff froze in mid-step until he started to lose his balance and almost fell before he finally placed his foot back down on solid ground.

For a terrifying moment, he wanted to believe he had imagined hearing that voice. He was so far past the point of exhaustion he knew he was susceptible to all kinds of visual and auditory hallucinations. All he could think was he had to get some place warm and safe or else he was going to die.

His shoulders hunched and pressed forward, constricting his chest as he blinked his eyes against the rain and looked up to the crest of the hill. He was about halfway up the slope, but at the top, silhouetted against the night sky, was a black figure.

A deep roll of laughter filled the night as the figure shifted forward. Jeff rubbed his eyes, hoping the vision would go away; but even as he started taking short steps backwards, shifting his feet without lifting them, the figure resolved more clearly.

And then the voice came again.

“
You’re a lot tougher than I gave you credit. The others …?” There was a loud harrumphing sound of derision and then the person spat onto the ground. “They were cowards. Weaklings. I assumed you were, too, but I’ve got to
give you credit, Jeff. You’ve got sand.”

Who the hell are you?
Jeff wanted to shout, but he already knew. He knew as certainly as if there were looking a
t Ben in broad daylight.

And even though it was dark and the rain made it just about impossible to see clearly, Jeff knew Ben’s gun was aimed at him.

“
Are … you … real?” Jeff said through chattering teeth that diced every word.

He didn’t know if his voice carried far enough for Ben to hear him until another deep rumble of laughter rolled down onto him like a landslide. It was all too easy to imagine this was Jimmy Foster’s ghost, come to mock him or Hobomock somehow materializing and coming to torment him before destroying him.

The problem was, as much as Jeff wanted to deny what was happening, he knew as surely as the icy grip the night had on his bones that Ben had found him.

But how?

“
I … I don’t want to die.” Jeff’s voice was all but lost beneath the steady sound of the downpour.

“
What’s that you say?” Ben leaned forward and cupped one hand to his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that, Jeff.”

He started walking down the slope toward Jeff, moving a few steps at a time. He was wearing a hooded raincoat that made him look like a huge statue carved out the night. All the darkness, all the terrors of the forest had congealed into this one horrifying figure.

“
You’ll never make me beg,” Jeff said through clenched teeth. He stiffened his shoulders. “I know who you are … I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh, really? And pray tell. What is that?”

“
No.” Jeff shook his head so hard his neck made a loud snapping sound. He flinched, thinking Ben had fired at him, and he hadn’t heard the shot that had just killed him.

“
What’s that?” Ben’s voice rose. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

Ben took another few steps closer, moving silently down the slope. Jeff chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, but all he saw was the dark, flat surface of the lake and the black angle of the launch ramp jutting out of the water. He imagined turning and running into the lake if only to confound Ben, but he knew he wouldn’t survive the shock of the cold water. He had reached his limit. Truth was, he had passed it long ago. It was a miracle he’d survived this long. He should be proud of what he had accomplished even if it meant the next few minutes were to be his last.

“
I said I’m not going to beg for my life.”

Jeff’s voice sounded stronger now. Even he was surprised by the firmness and determination he managed to muster, but all it seemed to do was amuse Ben, who kept moving slowly, inexorably forward. As he got closer, Jeff saw the pistol in his hand.

“
Hell, I don’t expect you to be
g,” Ben said with an eerie calmness in his voice. “What’s that famous line from
Goldfinger
? ‘No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to
die.
’” Ben’s voice suddenly twisted into a shrill note. “
That’s
what I
expect!
”

When Jeff reached the bottom of the slope, he stopped on the dirt road. He shifted his weight from side to side, preparing to run … somewhere … anywhere.

“
That’s my only plan, Jeff. To kill you. You’re the last one.”

“
And once I’m dead … what then?” Jeff was amazed how—somehow—he found the courage to challenge Ben. He couldn’t break now. He had to go down defiant to the end.

“
After you’re dead—?” Ben paused, and then a high, maniacal laughter filled the night for a few seconds before fading away with a dull echo from across the water. “After that, I could just about give a flying fuck.” The odd flatness in his voice had returned and was tinged with a note of wistfulness.

“
I know you’re doing this because you think we were somehow responsible for what happened to your brother,” Jeff said. “But don’t you see? There was nothing we could do.”