Voracious (27 page)

Ah, camping,
thought Madeline, feeling a little better, her spirits brighter than they’d been in days.

She strode up the four wooden steps to the camping store, only to find the place overflowing with tourists buying suntan lotion, cedar boxes sporting coyotes, and walking sticks decorated with bear bells. It was one of those stores that sold both souvenirs and groceries and was perpetually packed from June through September.

This day was no exception. The line for the register ran the length of the store, and everyone in it looked sweaty and impatient. She did notice one couple, though, happily kissing in the middle of the line, somehow miraculously able to tune out the droning masses, the wheezing of vacationers who’ve spent their last recreational dollar on postcards and gimmicky T-shirts, the whines and pleas of kids who want just one more gobstobber to stick in their sibling’s hair.

A family at the end of the line was buying bear bells for each of its five members. The three kids whined and complained about who got which bell until they got distracted by a bin of rubber spiders and scorpions and began dumping them on each other. She cast an annoyed look at the parents, who were jangling the bells, as if giving them a test run. Many times she’d encountered bell wearers on what she had hoped to be peaceful, rewarding hikes.

The clanging of the bells now rankled her memory.

Jangle jangle jangle
up the trail.

Jangle jangle jangle
down the trail.

And the real crime of it was that there was no solid evidence bear bells even worked; some specialists believed they were nowhere near as effective as the human voice. As predators, bears exercised a certain degree of curiosity, and sometimes were even attracted by the bells, wanting to know what they were. One Canadian boat captain Madeline had met called bear bells “dinner bells.”

She squeezed down the aisle between a cluster of people eying glass tankards with grizzly bears and walked to the refrigerated section. Grabbing a couple of turkey sandwiches and two cans of soda, she steadied her nerves for checkout.

She got in the end of the long line. Shoppers swarmed in every aisle and around every display shelf, pawing ceramic bells that touted Glacier National Park and digging through bins of enough cheap rings to turn every American finger a deep shade of gangrenous green. One portly woman in her fifties, wearing a polyester pantsuit sporting butterflies, couldn’t decide between a monkey made entirely of seashells and a Day-Glo orange apron that proclaimed, Kiss the Cook.

Frankly, Madeline didn’t see what either trinket had to do with Glacier National Park, but that was her own tastes. In the end, the woman chose both. Madeline pictured the woman’s house, shelves bulging with bric-a-brac and kitsch, worm-eaten Indian corn necklaces and fake rubber spears with yellow and green chicken feathers. The woman looked completely stressed about the whole buying endeavor, graying black hair escaping in wisps from her ponytail, her brow furrowed.

But perhaps she enjoyed the purchases when she got home, Madeline thought. She imagined the woman chasing a grandchild around the living room with the rubber spear, the kid screaming with delight.

The line moved forward with the speed of rush hour traffic in San Francisco. She gained one foot. Then two. At the front of the line, a sunburned man in khaki shorts and a too-tight T-shirt was complaining about the price of film. Then his credit card wouldn’t work, and the manager had to be called to clear the register and start over. Finally he dug some crumpled bills out of his pocket, but it only made him complain more about the inflated prices.

With him gone, she moved forward another foot, and the new person at the front of the line dithered over whether to get a small sewing kit in a leather pouch or a tiny spoon that read Glacier National Park on its handle. The cashier kept ringing one up, then voiding it out when the customer changed her mind.

The woman dithered for well over three minutes. Madeline stretched, gazing out the door toward escape. It was a good thing the creature didn’t burst in right then, ready to do her in. She just might take him up on it.

Finally the lady chose the spoon, and the line crept forward another foot. In five more minutes, her head beginning to pound from all the shouting and shrieking children, she at last reached the register. Fishing out her wallet, she paid for the food and gratefully left the swarming, trinket-shopping masses.

When she got back to the cabin, she tucked the grocery bag under her arm and fished around the loose jeans for her key. Her fingers found the large plastic key chain, and she tugged it out. Inside, she set the food down on the small table, quickly locking the door behind her. Crossing the front room, she stopped at the bedroom door.

Noah still lay there in the same position, only now his eyes were open and staring again at nothing in particular.

“Noah?” she said softly. “I brought you some food.”

He didn’t stir.

She retrieved the food and brought it into the bedroom. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she pulled out the sandwiches and unwrapped his. “Noah?”

He continued to stare, eyes red and swollen, mouth set in a thin, gray slash. A rope of clear mucus dangled from one nostril, clinging to the pillow on the other end. Noah was beyond caring. Slowly, his wide, tired eyes closed, and a long exhale escaped his lips.

Still he didn’t move. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. For several minutes she sat there, watching over him, and at last wrapped up the sandwich again and placed it on the bedside table along with a can of soda.

Feeling helpless about Noah, she took her own lunch into the main room and sat down at the small table. She unwrapped her sandwich, the soggy white bread falling to one side as she pulled it free of the cellophane. A pale tomato and wilted lettuce adorned the layers of pressed turkey, but Madeline was so hungry the concoction looked like a rich Thanksgiving feast. She bit into it hungrily, the flabby bread sticking to the roof of her mouth. Prying the bread free with her tongue, she chewed and swallowed, took another bite, and finished the sandwich in minutes.

She popped open the chilled soda and downed a few gulps, wondering what she should do. Noah looked in no way ready to continue his pursuit of Stefan. She herself didn’t know what they’d do, even if they did manage to hunt him down. But just sitting there not even knowing what Stefan was up to or what he planned next was maddening and almost more terrifying than knowing what his plans were.

She thought of the images she’d gotten in the cabin when she touched his sheets, Stefan twisting in the blankets, mind obsessing on her like some raving stalker, the need to have her.

She shuddered, thinking of the night before, of him on top of her, looking so much like Noah, but not Noah. How dare he? Moisture fled her mouth as her heart began to pound with fury.
Why? Why?

“I’ve traveled for so long. You can see the journey I’ve had. You could know me. Without me saying a word.”

So this creature, however old he was, possibly ancient, had traveled alone … like the legendary vampire from folklore, watching everyone grow old and die around him. Or watching everyone die at his hands. No one to know the anguish he’d experienced, the anguish he’d caused. And now he’d been alive for so long that he couldn’t even explain it to someone. Too long. Too many lives, too many memories. No one could possibly understand.

Except me,
Madeline thought.

She could touch him and see where he’d been, whom he’d loved, if he’d loved, whom he’d killed and hated and wanted to be. Whom he lusted after, the cities he’d prowled, the dark, subterranean worlds he’d infiltrated and conquered. Every time he’d felt a blade or bullet tear into his anguished flesh, each time he’d taken the form of some hapless street musician, or cook, or ranger …

She could know all those things without him saying a word. Compliments of her “gift.”

Slamming the can down on the table, Madeline stood up, knocking the chair to the floor. Her hands shaking violently, she tried to calm the angry pounding of her heart.

This was
not
what she wanted. This was everything she
didn’t
want. She’d come here to get away from her abilities, from people, from the pressure. Instead she’d met a monster, become irretrievably entangled with a centuries-old hunter, and now faced the ultimate choice between living life for herself and risking it to fight an ancient evil.

Three days ago she’d met a monster.

It had stalked her, pulled at her legs in the icy throes of a glacial flash flood, dragged her down. Though she was free of those icy, crushing currents, still the creature threatened to drag her down, down, into the freezing depths where death, or rebirth, awaited.

Worriedly, she stooped over the small table, crumpled up the plastic wrap, and threw it into the beige wastebasket. Drank another slug of soda.

She paced to the bedroom door, then back to the table, the wooden boards groaning in protest beneath her feet. She had to do something. Couldn’t just wait there.

Steve,
she thought suddenly.
Maybe Steve will have some news.
Ensuring that she had the key by patting the pocket in the jeans, she turned the small lock in the doorknob and shut the door behind herself.

After double-checking that it was locked, she walked off in the direction of Steve’s cabin, the same route she’d taken two nights before.

In the daylight, the journey was completely different: brighter, friendlier. Where shadows had clustered beneath the thick trunks of Douglas fir trees, now chickarees thrived, darting quickly from stash to stash, digging up and burying scavenged seeds. Large huckleberry bushes now hid only mountain chickadees and sparrows instead of every imaginable horror her mind could cook up.

Wondering if she’d see the bear again and peering into the tall undergrowth of ripening berries, she almost stepped in a large berry-encrusted pile of grizzly scat. The size of a football, the black mass with red seeds lay right in the middle of the camp road. Its freshness let her know that the same bear likely laid this present the other night when she saw it.

Giving the dark mass a wide berth, she continued along the road, breathing in the fresh scent of pine. Above her the sky shone a brilliant, deep azure, with a few puffy cumulus clouds drifting near the horizon. One was so tall it contained the unrealized potential for a thunderhead. Its upper layers caught the gleaming intensity of the sun, and its billowing ivory masses stood stark against the blue of the sky.

She turned down the little road labeled Park Residences. Ahead she could see Steve’s cabin. She looked at her watch: 3:30 p.m. The windows were all shut, a strange thing on a hot day like this one. She didn’t see a window air conditioner.

She walked up the narrow dirt path to his doorstep and rapped on the door. An osprey cried out overhead, and she followed the sound to see the brown and white bird sweeping across the sky, probably heading toward the lake to hunt.

Returning her attention to the door, she knocked again. Not a sound came from within. He wasn’t home. Turning on the doorstep, she wondered where he might be. Maybe he wasn’t on duty today. Maybe he’d gone down to Missoula to visit his sister as he’d intended to do before.

She strolled around the cluster of ranger residences, hoping to run into someone who might know where he was. She didn’t feel right about knocking on doors. She wasn’t even supposed to be there, since they were private residences. Steve’s reaction when she’d first knocked on his door convinced her that annoying people frequently ignored the signs that said Private Residence. It was highly likely Steve didn’t know anything more than she did, anyway. Since he wasn’t the creature’s target and wasn’t currently in the way, she guessed he was safe for now. And would stay safer if she just stayed away.

She wondered how long Stefan would take to heal and how soon it would be before it chose another victim, if it hadn’t already. She strolled briskly back toward Noah’s cabin, her mind racing and anger swelling with each passing moment of uncertainty. Why hadn’t it killed her when it had the chance? Had it truly changed its mind, or was this just part of the chase?

She cursed aloud. Inaction wasn’t the answer. She had to convince Noah to get up, to find another way to kill the creature.

When she got back to the cabin, she unlocked the door quietly in case Noah was finally asleep. He definitely needed it after his sleepless night, and she wanted him fresh to think of new ways to tackle Stefan.

Quietly she shut the door and crept across the main room to the bedroom doorway. But when she peered inside, surprise hit her. He was gone.

The sandwich and soda sat untouched on the bedside table, where she’d laid it. She searched for a note on the bedside table and bed, then returned to the main room and searched the table and chairs. No note. Nor had there been one on the door.

Maybe he’d only stepped out for a moment. But her gut told her a different story altogether. It coiled and provided images of Noah distraught, maybe even crazy with hopelessness. What would he do in that state of mind? He’d go after the creature in a blind rage. Maybe right now he was lurching up the gravel road in his Jeep, burning to kill Stefan, even if it meant sacrificing his own life in the process.

He’d confront Stefan back at his rented cabin, which is likely where he’d gone to heal. If Noah had gone up there, he wouldn’t have left her a note, wouldn’t have wanted her to follow. Trouble was, if he did confront Stefan unarmed, he most certainly would end up dead before he succeeded.

Quickly she rushed to the back bedroom window and looked out. His Jeep was gone. She bit her lip.

Damn.

It was suicide.

And maybe suicide was exactly what he wanted.

MADELINE
jumped in her VW Rabbit and started up the engine. The strong smell of the fire still filled the confines of the cab. Backing quickly out of the pine needle-strewn parking space, she pulled onto the main campground road, heading in the direction of Stefan’s cabin.