Hidden Bones (Dead Remaining), page 19
“Great,” was all Jake said. Normally, being as chatty as he was, he would have asked her all sorts of things—what sort of crafts she made, what holiday they’d been for, where the fair had taken place—but he was in no mood for chitchat. He couldn’t even bring himself to ask if she’d seen Chuck or Madison, though he figured that, if she had, she would’ve said something after looking at his flyers. After she brought his food—omelet, hash browns, toast—he ate in broody silence. Taking the hint, she stayed away, only returning occasionally to refill his coffee cup.
With the waitress’s warning in mind, Jake paid and left the restaurant, doubling back down the street to check on his posters. He didn’t need to go far before he saw that his efforts, like the waitress’s, had been sabotaged.
“Aww, man,” he said, standing over a metal garbage can. His flyers sat on the very top, crumpled into sad little balls, flaps of tape hanging out the sides. While he was upset, there was something deeper vexing him. What it was, he couldn’t grasp. Obviously, he had his missing friends to think about, but it was something . . . more. He stopped at a bench, sat down, took a moment to really think.
When he opened his eyes, he understood that what ailed him was not mental. Or even physical. No, it was somebody else—two somebodies, actually, who whipped their heads away and focused their gazes on anything but him in a gesture so obvious that they might as well have walked up to him, extended their hands, and introduced themselves.
Being the size that he was, Jake had gotten used to stares and whispers—people weren’t as sly as they liked to think they were. But this was different; these two men, both wearing baseball caps pulled down almost to their brows, as if that somehow made them invisible—it did quite the opposite, because who wears a hat that way unless they’re up to no good?—were staring at him with purpose. There was that, plus the fact that they’d also dined in Scramblers when he was there.
But had they come in after him? Or had they already been there—which might suggest that he was being paranoid?
No, he decided, they’d come in after. And he was fairly positive that they’d gotten up to leave right when he had. It was a movement he’d registered on a subconscious level, though, at the time, it hadn’t sunk any deeper, because why should such a thing bother him?
Now, it bothered him plenty. Why would two complete strangers be tailing him—was this about the flyers? Seemed a bit of an overreaction, particularly since they’d already been trashed. He thought back to the night he and Eric had gone to the bar, picturing the faces of the men who’d tried to get them to step outside to brawl. These two were nothing like them, out-aging the bar thugs by about twenty years.
With indifference he had to force, Jake got up from the bench and stretched, behaving as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He grabbed his flyers from the bench, his pulse thudding in his ears and his mouth going dry when, from the corner of his eye, he saw the two men shift. He walked about a half block down and then stopped at an antique store, gazing into its window casually, as if something had caught his eye. He pretended to suddenly notice that his shoe was untied, and only then did he allow himself a look over his shoulder—an urge he’d forced himself to ignore during his walk.
Any hope he’d been harboring about his paranoia vanished in the course of a half second. The two men were still behind him. And now they had stopped too.
Jake took his time with his laces, debating what to do. There was no doubt in his mind that, if he did try to seek help from the locals, they would only turn him away. Worse, they might even know his two new friends, and then where would that leave him—how outnumbered?
His best chance, he decided, was to give them the slip.
CHAPTER 29
Eric had feared that the hike would be filled with spells of awkward silence, but Clausen was as chatty and fluttery as a mad parrot.
They hadn’t been hiking long, yet he’d already informed them of his plans to flip a seventy-year-old fixer-upper at the edge of town—wood paneling from floor to ceiling, but there’s original hardwood floors! Then there was his arduous journey from Texas—damn moving van broke down in the middle of hell’s half acre; his displeasure toward the equipment at the only gym in town—everything’s so rusty that it sounds like a haunted house door opening when you lift it; and his plans to get a pet—always been more of a dog lover myself, though cats are okay too.
He and Susan could hardly get a word in edgewise. Stogg also hadn’t gotten a word in, but this had more to do with the fact that he wasn’t making any real attempt to join in on the conversation. His only contribution thus far had been the intermittent huff and puff of air, accompanied by a grumble about the distance they were hiking (ridiculous, since it wasn’t far), the early hour (Eric had to side with Stogg on that one, though he refused to give the sheriff any credence with an endorsement), and how much he was sweating despite the bitter cold (ditto). Stogg made a big show of removing his jacket, which he stuffed dramatically into his pack, as if to underscore his torment. Eric felt great satisfaction when Clausen peeped at him with a face laden with mockery and then cast his eyes skyward.
Eric managed to sneak in a quick directive once they neared the area where Susan had initially gone off the trail when nature called. “It’s just up here. Through that small clearing in the trees,” he said, looking to Susan for confirmation. He was surprised to see that she was staring back at him worriedly.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
“Sure, why?”
“You’re as white as a sheet.”
Was he? Come to think of it, he did feel a little off, but it was less in his body and more in his head. That sick, panicky feeling was returning swiftly, and it was only when Susan brought up his well-being that he realized it.
He opened his mouth to tell her that he was getting another one of his bad feelings, but then he remembered their present company. Had it been just the two of them and Clausen, he probably would have spoken up. But with Stogg scowling at him the way he was, like the word crackpot was tickling the tip of his tongue and he only needed the slightest nudge of provocation to utter it—and lest he forget the fiasco with the stump—he felt it wiser to suffer in silence. But then—
(Run! For God’s sake, man, RUN! Run!)
—about halfway to the clearing with the lab, Eric received a warning. It was chanting, from where he didn’t know. His head snapped back.
(Run-run-run-run!)
The voice was so close that, for a moment, he thought that it had been Susan who’d spoken. It wasn’t. He knew this because her gaze was focused straight ahead. There was that, plus the other voices, male and female of all ages, that were joining in.
(Get out!)
(You’re in danger!)
(Save yourself!)
(Go! Please!)
The voices, so many, screamed at him from all directions: next to his earlobe, in front of his face, where he could’ve sworn he felt hot breath against his skin, from within the trees. The words made it past his eardrum, tangling up inside his brain. It didn’t hurt; it throbbed. His urge to break down in sobs was tremendous, a straitjacket of emotions constricting his insides.
He stopped and bent at the knees, clutching his head as if trying to stop it from bursting. And he almost did break down, until Stogg’s voice sliced through the shrieks, silencing them at once.
“You coming or what?” he demanded. With a jerk, he brought a hand up and slapped at his bicep. “Great, now we’ve got to deal with goddamn mosquitoes.”
And then Eric saw it as Stogg clawed at his arm. The Sailor Jerry tattoo of a pinup girl. It was an exact match to the one he’d seen in his vision—the vision where Chain Saw Man—Stogg—took the rifle from his accomplice and shot him—Miguel—in the chest as he begged for mercy.
His mouth dropped open, and out fell a silent scream. His eyes moved to the very big and very deadly gun sitting at the man’s hip.
Stogg frowned down at him. “Is there a problem?”
Eric straightened. Play it cool as if your lives depend on it, a voice commanded. It was his own. He smiled. “No, no problem. Sorry, just felt a little nauseous for a minute. The altitude, I think.”
With a grunt, Stogg continued forward, quickening his step to catch up with the overzealous Clausen. Once his back was fully turned and he was a few feet away, Eric caught Susan’s attention and gave her a pained, meaningful look, which, of course, she had no way of interpreting—he could’ve been mocking Stogg or trying to communicate that he had to urgently use the bathroom, for all she knew. He didn’t dare voice his concerns out loud; as he’d recently been made aware, sound carried in the forest. He thought about asking her for her pack, so that he could get her gun inside it, but he was so shaken that he feared he would not be able to make the request without sounding suspicious.
A dead woman materialized at the sheriff’s side and walked next to him. Earth soiled her dress and skin, but her decay was minimal. She mustn’t have been dead long—maybe a month or two. She smiled up at the sheriff lovingly, raised a hand, and softy caressed his cheek.
After a moment, she stopped in her tracks and stared directly at Eric. It felt as if she was seeing into him, sifting through his innermost thoughts. It warmed him, put him at peace.
He felt the moment she pulled herself back, as his anxiety returned as quickly and bitterly as a shot of cheap tequila. Tell him it’s not his fault.
Eric shook his head to indicate that he did not understand.
Tell him he’s not to blame—he’s a good man who only lost his way.
Eric didn’t dare speak up, his terror too great over the discovery of Stogg’s tattoo. Now was not the time to be spouting messages from the dead.
The woman was losing her patience. Say it! She charged forward, shouted in his face: Tell him Honeybee says it’s not too late! Honeybee! Honeybee!
“Okay! I’ll do it—Honeybee, Honeybee!” Eric muttered loudly in frustration. The woman disappeared.
Clausen and Susan gave him a funny look, but Sheriff Stogg spun around, looking as if he, too, had seen a ghost. “What did you just say? Where did you hear that?” He shot an angry look at Clausen. “You tell him to say that? Because I don’t think that’s funny—”
“Relax,” Clausen said, looking genuinely confused. “I didn’t tell him to say anything. I don’t even know what that means.”
“Honeybee says it’s not too late,” Eric said quickly, and Stogg looked more startled than ever. “She says you’re a good man.”
“You know what he’s going on about?” Clausen said with a snort. When Stogg didn’t answer, he shook his head and gave them a wave up by his shoulder. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
They continued on their way. Eric expected the woman to return, but she was nowhere to be found. Soon, they reached the clearing, which was now devoid of the platform and the lab. Eric wasn’t too shocked.
The look on Susan’s face indicated that she wasn’t either. “Damn—I can’t believe it! Thwarted again. Always a step ahead!” she said, sounding very much like a Bond villain. Eric might have even laughed, had he not been so worried that Stogg might have it in his sights to murder the three of them where they stood.
It occurred to Eric, then, how isolated they were. And who, really, knew where they were? He felt a little better when he remembered the conversation Clausen had had with Mayor Moulden, and he’d had it right in front of Stogg too. Which, he supposed, was great and all—at least their bodies might be discovered and Stogg would be brought to justice, should he decide to shoot them now—but would that really matter that much if they were dead? Perhaps, though, Stogg would think twice about launching an attack—if that’s what he was planning now—if he was provided a little reminder.
To Clausen, he loudly said, “When you talked to the mayor earlier about us hiking out here—”
“Sorry, amigos, but this is where we part ways.” Clausen grinned at him and Susan.
Amigos? Eric’s blood ran cold as he remembered Rifle Man’s words to Miguel: “Sorry, amigo, but there ain’t no way around it . . .”
Susan let out a gasp when Clausen calmly extracted his gun from his belt and aimed it in their general direction. “Don’t even think about it,” he drawled when she went for the gun in her backpack. He took the bag from Susan. To Stogg, he said, “You waiting for a written invitation or what?”
There was a split second when Eric considered rushing the sheriff, but his hopes were dashed when Stogg pulled his gun too. He would risk his own life, but no way was he going to put Susan in danger with some half-cocked plan of attack.
“You want to do him or her?” Clausen asked.
Stogg sighed deeply, his shoulders hunched. “I’ll take the girl.” They switched positions so that each man stood in front of his respective target.
“Good. You know the gentleman in me hates killing the ladies. And you owe me after that last time.”
“No!” Susan cried. “Wait!”
Clausen gave her a lazy smile, as if this were all a big game. “It’s like my old man used to say—”
CHAPTER 30
Jake was under no illusion that he’d be able to outrun two large men. Particularly not these two, who were twice his size. He’d already made up his mind to lose them, and that had been the easy part. He had no fears of freezing up when push came to shove; courage had never been a trait he’d struggled with, perhaps to his own detriment.
He grappled, however, with figuring out the how; he had the will, but could he find the way? It was an especially difficult task, given the time constraint he was up against. His two friends were looking squirrelly, and they wouldn’t wait much longer to make a move.
Which gave him all of sixty or so seconds to devise a plan.
Downtown Clancy was a far cry from dense. Most of the buildings that formed individual businesses didn’t touch each other. Rather, they sat in small clusters, mini malls of mom-and-pop establishments. Beyond that was the dense forest that encircled downtown, as well as Clancy as a whole.
The one advantage he had over the two goons was his size. Perhaps, he thought, he could slip down one of the few alleyways downtown had to offer. Then, he could lure them off the main drag and get them to embark upon a search while he hid in a nook. With them distracted, he’d slip out of his hiding spot, double back, and beat feet. He’d be in serious trouble, however, if he turned down an alley only to discover that there were no nooks for him to hide in, not even a dumpster for him to squat behind.
Well, never mind about ifs and buts. It wasn’t as if he had an alternative, right? He nodded, endorsing the thought.
His pulse quickened when he noted that they were on the move, but not in the direction he’d been anticipating. One of the men moved toward him, and the other headed up to the opposite end of the street. With horror, he realized what they were doing, splitting up—they were covering both the top and the bottom of the street, which almost guaranteed that they’d nab him no matter which direction he ran. Which also meant that they were onto him being onto them. The alleyway idea was not going to work. Fine, he thought in a frenzy, it was a stupid idea anyway.
Panicked, he gaped in both directions. One of the men, the meaner looking of the two, was closing in. The other . . . who knew where he was heading, probably on his way to sneak around the back. Jake’s eyes traveled toward the forest, which seemed to be beckoning him with a promise of safety.
He saw it, like a life raft floating toward him in open water. A path that jutted off the main drag. It led right to the forest.
Before he had a chance to change his mind, Jake ran toward the trees. He was far too frightened to look behind him, though he could sense the men chasing after him as much as if he could see them. Before he knew it, he reached the edge of the forest.
He dashed off the trail, which offered little cover and left him vulnerable. He had no clue where he was running to—he was seeing the world down the end of a 3D tunnel, operating on sheer instinct. Unfortunately, his instinct did not remind him to watch his step, and his foot caught on an exposed root. He lost a shoe as he tumbled forward, rolling, rolling right down a steep slope. The pain in his foot, as well as the rest of his body, was excruciating, yet he knew better than to cry out.
He came to a stop at a small plateau. Though he was dizzy, he quickly surveyed his surroundings, finding a fallen, moss-covered tree with a gap underneath large enough for him to scramble under. It hid him perfectly.
One of the men showed up only moments later. Jake held his breath, under no illusion that they only wanted to talk. If they found him, they would kill him. It was as simple as that. Why, he had no idea, but indiscriminate killing seemed to be the way of life in Clancy.
Not too far in the distance, he heard the other man call, “Found his cell phone. He’s got to be around here somewhere.”
Jake squeezed his mouth together, cursing silently. Holding his breath was becoming painful, but he didn’t dare make a sound. He allowed himself a tiny inhale when the man closest to him walked away to meet up with his partner with the cell phone.
They were close enough that Jake could hear the soft murmurs of their conversation as they began their search for him. While he wanted nothing more than to stay hidden, he knew that they’d find him eventually if he didn’t make a move. Not too far away at the edge of the forest came the soft hum of an automobile. The highway, of course. If he could make it to the road, he could (hopefully) flag down a passing car. He’d be taking a risk making a run for it—and also risking that the car he flagged down would contain men worse than the ones who were chasing him—but it was better than staying there, waiting to face imminent death (and probably a horrible beating prior).
Jake slithered out from underneath the tree on his belly and slowly got to his feet. He began creeping his way toward the highway with a step that was ninja quiet. He was over halfway there when one of the men shouted, “Over there! Grab ’im!” and he took off so fast he suspected that he might have broken every existing Olympic track record known to man, as well as ones that had yet to be created, despite his pain and missing footwear.
