Voracious (33 page)

She ran forward as his body jelled, and he fell limply to the ground. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him up, adrenaline flooding through her veins, rage straining in her neck. She could feel the muscles standing out there and uttered a low, angry roar as she dragged him to his feet and shoved him back again, where he stumbled onto the path.

Groggy from the blow to his head, he brought his hands up ineffectually, and she knocked them away, landing another solid kick to his gut.

“You can go to hell!” she screamed, spittle raining from her mouth. “I’ll kill you!”

The world fell away, narrowing to a tiny beam of focus before her. The creature. The roaring river behind him. There teal waves crashed over huge granite boulders slick with algae. Stefan brought his hands to his head, disoriented, as blood streamed down his forehead, dripping from his hair. She kicked him hard in the head, then shoved his chest with her hands, knocking him back inexorably toward the water.

To her horror, he grabbed onto her arms with the last shove, trying to take her with him. But she brought her hands up lightning fast, connecting with the underside of his chin. His hands came free, releasing her as his head snapped back.

She dropped low, kicking her leg out, and delivered two shattering blows to his knees. He staggered back, stumbled, and fell, arms windmilling in the air, until he hit the water hard.

His body disappeared in the foaming white water. She ran to the edge of the river, eyes searching. She saw him bob up limply a few feet away, swiftly borne on the current, his head connecting sharply with the edge of a slimy rock. Blood frothed in the water, and he cried out in surprise.

She thought of his long fingers pulling her under in the flash flood. He’d been scared then, a creature not at home in the frigid, tumbling water.

She’d just put him back in that unforgiving place, and turning, ran away as his body flopped helplessly downstream.

MADELINE
looked at her watch. Five p.m. George would be there in just a few minutes. Once the creature crawled out of the river, though she hoped he’d be swept far downstream by then, the cabin was one of the places he knew he could find her.

If she was going to get her wallet and keep the creature from knowing her future address, this was her only chance.

Breaking into a run, Madeline followed the path toward the cabins, the dirt and small pebbles of the path crunching underfoot. As she rounded a turn in the path, ducking under a low bough of hemlock, she passed several startled-looking people who stared at her as she went by. She gave them a curt nod, as if that would convince them she wasn’t a mad person fleeing the scene of a crime. She supposed she did make something of a spectacle, tearing down the path at full tilt, not even having the decency to wear jogging clothes and thereby explain her haste.

She continued on, and soon through the white trunks of the aspen, the cabins came into sight. She jogged to hers, reaching into her pocket and producing the key.

Before she inserted it, she glanced over her shoulder at the cabin parking area. No Jeep. Noah hadn’t returned yet. She felt torn about seeing him again. She had grown to care for him and longed to see him. But if he truly hated her, honestly wanted her dead, then she hoped she wouldn’t run into him again. It hurt her more than she wanted to admit. Her whole life she’d tried to create a tough shell around herself so that if people rejected her—which they usually did, thanks to her lovely gift—it wouldn’t hurt so much.

She opened the door slowly, and though she knew the creature couldn’t possibly have beaten her there, she quickly scanned the main room and dashed to the small bedroom to check it, too.

It was clear.

She grabbed her wallet off the little table in the main room, and then the toothpaste and toothbrush Noah had bought her, along with the Swiss Army pocket knife. Thankfully she’d had it in her pocket when the flash flood hit. Had it been in her pack, it would be lost in the drink. She slipped the knife and wallet into the roomy back pocket of the jeans.

Not wasting a moment, she crammed the toothpaste and toothbrush into the paper bag she’d brought the sandwiches back with and quickly left the cabin, locking the door behind her.

Once again she scanned the parking area, but Noah’s car was nowhere in sight.

She glanced at her watch. George should be here any minute. She just wanted to jump in the car and drive straight to Mothershead. She probably wouldn’t be any safer there, but at least there she knew the territory. If the creature still insisted on pursuing her, she’d be ready.

Picking up the pace, Madeline hurried toward the camp store, where George and she had agreed to meet.

When she reached the parking lot in front of the cabins, she saw his familiar light blue Toyota Celica pull up. Behind the wheel, George scanned over the tourists for signs of Madeline. She waved, jogging over to the car.

When he saw her, his face lit up. He stopped the car in the middle of the parking lot, much to the chagrin of the cars waiting behind him, great white sharks ever vigilant in their circling for a parking place. He stepped out of the car. “Madeline!”

“George!” She knew she’d be happy to see him, but to have him there in the actual flesh was more comforting than she’d realized. The sun streamed on his long black hair, making it shine in the bright light.

He opened his arms, and she raced into them, resting her chin on his shoulder. His familiar scent washed over her: the smell of his lime shaving cream and floral shampoo, the hint of Egyptian Musk oil he wore on occasion. “George, it’s so good to see you,” she breathed. “Let’s get out of here.”

Impatient drivers behind them started pulling around, squeezing between George’s car and the parked cars beside it. Several glared at them poignantly.

“But … already? I just got here. It’d be nice to stretch my legs. It’s just as beautiful as I’d remembered. Haven’t been here for a long time.” His gaze wandered out to the breathtaking expanse of Lake McDonald, with the mountains beyond growing golden in the oncoming sunset. “Wow.”

“We can come back,” she said quickly. “And I can drive if you’re too stiff.”

He looked back at her, studying her face. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed. This wasn’t the time to explain everything. “Tell you on the way.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It will be if we get out of here now.” With each passing moment, she pictured the creature dragging itself out of the river and shaking itself off like a beast upon the riverbank, then coming to find her and finish its job.

“You looked really spooked.”

She went around to the passenger door of his car and lifted the handle. “I have good reason. Please, George, just get in and drive me back.”

He nodded, gave a last look at the soft ripples of the darkening lake, and climbed back in his car. Closing the door after himself, he studied her once again. “Straight back to Mothershead?”

She nodded. He threw the car in gear and navigated through the parking lot, the backup of cars behind him restlessly creeping along behind them, tailgating.

George wound around one end of the parking lot and started toward the exit, driving by several trinket shops and the backcountry ranger station. Madeline kept her head low, not wanting Stefan to spot her. Once out of the congested area, George turned onto the road that led toward West Glacier, the small community just outside the park. Madeline lifted her head once the speedometer climbed to twenty-five miles an hour on the main park road.

“Mind telling me what this is all about?” her friend asked, peering at her out of the corner of his eye.

She looked over his car. Three bags of chips lay empty and gutted, crumbly remnants covering the driver’s seat and clustering beneath the emergency brake. A half-empty bottle of Pepsi sat in a cup holder near the stick shift.

“I appreciate your coming on such short notice.”

He smiled. “No problem.”

In the backseat lay several paperback novels, some old CDs, and an umbrella. On the floor behind the driver’s seat lay crumpled wet clothes.

A red shirt lay under a pair of sodden black jeans.

“Why are your clothes wet?” she asked, trying to remain calm.

He frowned. “They’re not.”

She took in his current outfit, a black T-shirt and faded black jeans. “I’m not talking about what you’re wearing. I’m talking about these!” She grabbed the wet clothes and brought them forward, slapping them down in George’s lap.

He started at her sudden move, then just stared at her.

“Well?”

After a pause he said, “I got caught in a sprinkler system at a truck stop. They were watering this little grassy stretch where people can walk their dogs—”

She wrenched her hand up quickly and grabbed George’s hair in her fist. It was completely dry. But that didn’t mean the creature couldn’t create hair that was dry when he shape-shifted.

“Then how come your hair’s not wet?” she said, releasing it.

He looked at her incredulously. “Because it happened a couple of hours ago, on my way up here. I changed my clothes right after it happened. And my hair just air dried.”

Madeline squeezed the dripping clothes in her fists. Water streamed from the fabric, and it smelled musty, like river water. “These are not two hours dry.”

He turned to face her, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. “Madeline, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

It was then she noticed the faint bruise on the underside of his chin, black and blue precisely where she had struck the creature back at the river. The extent of healing matched the timing of the blow.

She reached up, placing her hand on the cool of George’s headrest. Nothing but white noise flooded into her, interspersed with a vivid flash of a short, muscular man, a previous owner of the car, stepping out to pump gas, thrilled about landing a new job. She pressed her hand there a moment longer, seeking visions of George. None came. She withdrew her fingers and stared back at him.

Had the creature killed George and replaced him? Or worse, had George ever existed in the first place? She thought of when he’d come into her life. He’d been so accepting. So easy to get along with. None of the problems cropped up that she’d had with other would-be friends. No adjustment period after he learned about her “gift,” almost as if he’d already been prepared for it. And she’d met him about seven months ago, and Noah said the creature had been hunting her for months. George never told her in specifics where he’d been prior to that, only of his future plans to attend college in Missoula. In fact, he’d been evasive when she asked about his past. Her racing mind went over the details of the death of Noah’s lover, how the creature had insinuated itself into her life. Posed as a suitor in order to get close. Learned who her circle of friends were. Waited for the perfect moment to strike.

George had known about her solo backcountry trek. Worse still, she’d even given him a detailed map of her route. He’d known what trail she’d use on any given day of her trip and even where she’d be along that trail.

Turning in her seat, she cracked him hard in the face with her elbow.

George cried out in surprise and pain. His hand flew up defensively, the car swerving into the oncoming lane. He slammed on the brakes as a Honda Civic honked and swung wide around them. The Celica screeched to a halt, the smell of burning rubber filling the car. Grabbing his head in her hands, Madeline smashed it hard against the glass of the driver’s side window. Blood streaked down the window as she let go. She released her seat belt and leaped out of the car, taking off into the trees beyond.

Not daring to look back, she ran, dodging between white aspen trunks that glowed in the slanting light of the setting sun. The ground lost elevation, and she darted down a rise and slipped in a section of mud. Her boots lost all traction, and she came down hard on her back. Quickly flipping over onto her stomach, she peered up to the top of the rise, expecting at any moment to see a sleek, black shadow appear at the top of the hill, eyes red and gleaming, eager for the hunt. She tried to listen over her own labored breathing and the deafening sound of blood pumping through her burning ears.

She was only a quarter mile or so from the town of West Glacier. Getting her bearings, she realized that the car lay between her and the town. She’d either have to make a wide arc around the car or charge back the way she’d come, hoping the creature hadn’t had time to recuperate. If she took a wide arc, it could easily recover and then lope after her, quickly covering the ground between them.

She chose to retrace her footsteps.

Rising to her feet, wiping muddy hands on her shirt, she bounded up the rise. Running diagonally so she wouldn’t pass directly near the car, she raced toward the road. In a few seconds the black asphalt came into view, along with George’s light blue car. She passed quickly over the road, not stopping, but glancing at the car as she did so. He was still in the car, slumped over the wheel, one window dripping red.

She made it over the road and entered the trees on the other side, heading toward the tiny refuge of West Glacier.

SOON
the trees parted, and another road came into view: the main road that ran through West Glacier. She broke through the treeline and stopped at the side of the asphalt, scanning up and down. Across the street lay the West Glacier Motel, and next to it a line of gift shops and a restaurant. She jogged along the road without crossing, sprinting across the parking lot of a small camera store. Inside, customers browsed over the racks of filters and film.

She passed the store, then ran across the parking lot of a gas station, where patrons stared at her as she darted through the maze of cars.

She forced herself to stop running, to slow to a walk and figure out what to do. Chest heaving, she stopped altogether, bending over to catch her breath. Before her stood the impressive stone building of the Alberta Visitor Center, a tasteful structure of gray stone with large windows. The Canadian flag flapped in the breeze above it.

She wanted to get out of the open. Glancing back at the road and seeing no sign of the Toyota or “George,” she walked to the visitor center and opened the tall entrance doors. Inside, a cluster of visitors stood at the information desk while Canadian attendants busied themselves handing out maps and giving directions.