This Deep Panic Page 22

  Two of the students, Jennifer and Zack, talked quietly, their heads together. Anya saw tears in the girl’s eyes, and Zack put his arm around her shoulders.

  Nathaniel was looking over Anya’s bookshelves, running his hand along bindings and occasionally pulling a book out. He held up Coming Into the Country by John McPhee and raised one eyebrow in question. When Anya nodded, he sat cross-legged on the floor by the bookshelf and opened the old cover. He looked relaxed, if she didn’t look too closely at how the pages shook, or how white his knuckles were, gripping the book.

  Rowan had a journal out and appeared to be sketching. Her pencil moved in sure strokes across the pages and she seemed at ease. Or maybe, Anya thought, just deep in her world of paper, shutting out the reality around her.

  Michael, the boy hogging her armchair, was focused on food. He stared at the Dutch oven of stew with a deep intensity.

  “We’ve seen some strange things since the quake,” Ethan said as Anya lifted a tin canister of flour off a shelf. “Including that grizzly. It’s made us all kind of nervous.”

  “Scared shitless, he means,” Spike said.

  “Yeah, like he said.” Zack left Jennifer and sat on the floor, leaning against his backpack with his knees up and his arms resting on them. He looked pale and even in the low light there were traces of fear in his eyes.

  “It’s been a weird couple days.” She thought about telling them what she’d seen, but figured they’d probably run screaming from the cabin thinking she was insane.

  “Um, excuse me,” Payton said, raising her hand again. “Could you tell me where the bathroom is, please?”

  Anya gestured to the door. “An outhouse behind the cabin.”

  “Outside?” Payton’s eyebrows climbed in high arches. She glanced at the door. “I think I’ll wait.”

  Nathaniel stood. “I’ll escort you,” he said. “I could use an outhouse, too.”

  Ethan straightened. “I’ll walk you out.” He glanced at Anya. “Just in case. You know. The grizzly or something.”

  “Or something,” Spike said. “Are we going to tell her about the thing that killed Paul or not?”

  “Oh, no,” Jennifer said, her voice high with fright. “She’ll kick us out! She’ll think we’re crazy. We can’t go back out there.”

  Anya picked up a tin of lard and scooped some into the flour. “Maybe something with antlers?”

  They all swiveled to stare at her.

  “You’ve seen it?” Ethan asked.

  Anya met his dark eyes for a long moment. He held himself as if calm and in control, but with a hesitant caution there, as if wondering which one of them would be the first to admit to the impossible.

  “I saw it,” she said finally. “It was here, trying to get in one night. And then came back with…” She sucked in a deep breath as realization hit her.

  It came back with a head.

  Maybe their friend Paul. She glanced around the room. These kids didn’t need any more horror.

  “With what?” Michael asked from the armchair.

  Anya met Ethan’s eyes again. “With blood on it. It came back with blood on it.” She began cutting biscuit dough.

  Ethan frowned as if he knew she wasn’t being truthful. But after a moment he nodded to her and headed for the door. “Let’s do the outhouse run before it gets full dark. Then we can talk about what’s going on.”

  “Take your gun,” Anya said.

  “Always,” Ethan responded.

  By the time he shepherded the crew back in and dropped the bar down over the door, Anya was showing Payton the small cast iron box in the stovepipe of the woodstove that acted as her oven. The girl seemed fascinated, as if she’d never heard of cooking on a woodstove.

  Anya didn’t have enough bowls for everyone but found mugs and filled them with stew, then handed it out along with biscuits, warm and dripping with honey. And with the food, all conversation ended. Anya watched the meal being devoured, and after she finished her bowl, she started another batch of biscuits. There had only been enough stew for one serving each, but she had plenty of flour and lard. She kept her hands busy, more than willing to let talk of scary things be delayed.

  Payton rubbed her stomach. “That was the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Fear does that to you. Plus having a couple days of nothing but protein bars.” Ethan took his mug to the sink and worked the hand pump. “What did you make the stew out of?”

  “Elk,” Anya said.

  “Elk?” Payton’s eyes widened and her face paled.

  Spike laughed. “Elk. You know, like a big Bambi.”

  “Oh.” Payton stared into her mug. “Well…it was good anyway.”

  The laughter at her words had the feel of relief in it. As if none of them were sure they’d laugh again.

  When the second round of biscuits had been handed out, Lucy plucked pieces off hers. “Do you know…do you think…maybe the earthquake wasn’t as bad down below? In town? Like, maybe our families are okay?”

  Anya met Ethan’s eyes and saw the same dilemma there. Protect the girl or break her heart with honesty?

  “I don’t know,” Ethan said. “When you look at the extent of the damage here, it had to have been far-reaching. I’m sorry Lucy. If I could reassure you I would, but I won’t lie to you.”

  “I don’t want you to lie,” Lucy said, lifting her chin and taking a deep breath. “I just, you know, want them to be there if I make it home.”

  “When you make it home,” Nathaniel said.

  “If we have homes to go to,” Michael said, mimicking Nathaniel’s emphasis, then pointed at him. “Your place is probably flattened. Don’t you live in that mobile home park in Gold Bar? Low-income housing? Those things aren’t meant for strong wind let alone-”

  “That’s enough.” Spike stood.

  “What?” Michael asked. “They don’t want to be lied to and it’s just the truth.”

  “There’s the truth, and then there’s being a fucker about it.” Spike’s hands tightened into fists.

  Michael struggled to his feet. “What do you know? You’re just a thug.”

  “That’s enough.” Ethan stepped between them and put a hand on Michael’s chest.

  Anya saw the way the teacher and student stared at each other. There was obviously some history there.

  “This is my home,” she said loudly. “Under my roof you’re going to respect each other. You’re going to be kind to each other. Trauma’s no excuse to take your fear out on someone else.”

  “And what are you going to do about it if we don’t?” Michael pulled his shoulders back as if that would make him taller than Anya.

  “You’ll leave,” she said, keeping her voice calm and steady. “I’ll take the rifle and my dog, and kick you out into the night. Do you want that? You want to go out there?”

  Michael didn’t speak but his eyes canted toward the boarded up windows.

  The answer was in his face. She decided he’d got the point, and turned to Jennifer, who still stood, pale and shaking, by the door.

  “Come stand by the fire,” Anya said. “It will warm you up.”

  Jennifer jumped as if startled, then followed Anya to the stove. She stood over Lucy and Bird, but didn’t drop down to sit with them like Anya had expected. Though Bird didn’t seem to need more adoration. He was practically drooling into Lucy’s lap, getting hugged and petted and fed bits of biscuit like he was the most important thing there. Anya figured he was just as relieved as her to no longer be alone.

  “We need to talk about that thing we saw,” Zack said. “We need to have a plan for when it comes back.”

  Lucy promptly burst into tears and buried her face in Bird’s fur.

  Spike crossed the room and sank down next to her, putting his arm around the girl’s shaking shoulders.

  Anya pulled in a deep breath. “I shot it. When it came back here.”

  “Did you kill it?” Jennifer asked, hope in her eyes.

  “No,�
� Anya said. “The grizzly and Bird went after it, but I doubt they killed it either.”

  Lucy straightened, wiped at the tears on her cheeks, and then rested against Spike’s shoulder.

  Anya stepped back against the rough wood table as if she could distance herself from these kids, from getting involved, from their scared faces staring at her as if trusting her to fix everything. But then she looked at Lucy and saw the deep grief in her eyes. The loss. The knowledge that no matter how much she might wish for something different, her family was probably gone and she was here to face monsters. Some things couldn’t be changed.

  For a brief second she felt the small weight of a baby in her arms.

  Spike rested a hand on Lucy’s head, holding her. Giving her more comfort than Anya had ever received from Devon.

  Anya blew out a heavy sigh. There was no way she was going to be able to walk away from these kids.

  Zack spoke, his voice startling Anya and pulling her out of her thoughts. “Do you know what that thing is? I mean, since you live out here? Is it some kind of wild animal?”

  There was hope in his questions and Anya understood. He wanted her to name it, to make it real, to lessen the horror. She looked up at Ethan, meeting understanding in his eyes.

  “No, sorry,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m not even sure it’s real. I mean, it’s all kind of crazy right now. I’ve never had a grizzly follow me around, either.”

  A couple of the students laughed; a few managed strained smiles.

  Ethan looked at the kids. “Any ideas? Anyone? Now that we are safe enough to actually think?”

  Rowan placed a pencil between the pages of the sketchbook she’d pulled out, and closed the book. She folded her hands on the cover.

  Lucy wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt and looked around at the others. “Was the grizzly bear real?”

  Ethan sat on a wooden chair next to a small table. “It looked real.”

  “It sure as hell has been interacting like it was real,” Anya said. “I saw its tracks. I saw its blood. I saw it attack that thing. I’ve just never seen a grizzly come around people like that before. It’s a killer. Not some kind of bodyguard.”

  “But they are,” Rowan said, raising her head and pushing her hair back behind her ears. “If you read Pacific Northwest folklore, grizzly bears are ancestors, way-showers, teachers, guardians.”

  “And you just happen to know this how?” Michael asked.

  Rowan shrugged. “I did the homework. Ethan had us read about bears when we were going to hike to the Heybrook fire lookout. And…well, I liked the idea of a grizzly as a guardian. Don’t we all need guardians?”

  “That was black bears,” Ethan said. “What we were studying.”

  “I got distracted by the Native American stories.” Rowan flushed as if embarrassed.

  “Which is why you never turned in the essay on black bears?” Ethan asked.

  Rowan shrugged again. “Guess so.”

  “What’s it matter?” Jennifer asked, still shivering. “I mean, who cares if bears have some mythical meaning? That other thing we saw was real. It killed Paul. That wasn’t some folktale peeling his skin off! We need something to make it go away.”

  Tears pooled in Lucy’s eyes again and Payton covered her mouth with her hand as if to hold in the fear.

  “The grizzly, and that thing, were real enough,” Anya said calmly. “But nothing is going to kill us tonight. We’re locked up secure. We have guns. We have Bird. Nothing’s getting in.”

  “So you say.” Jennifer’s teeth chattered as her shivering grew into deeper tremors. “But that wasn’t some wild animal. Who knows what it can do?”

  “And tomorrow, Jennifer,” Ethan said, looking directly at her. “We’re getting the hell out of here. As soon as it’s daylight.”

  Anya looked around the room at the people who had so suddenly filled her life. They were kids. They needed to be safe, to be taken care of. “Tomorrow.” She spoke without thinking things through. “I’ll help Ethan get you all out of the woods.”

  Ethan, eyes smudged with weariness, nodded to her in thanks.

  Anya worked the hand pump until water flowed into a pan that she then put on the wood stove to heat. These people needed warmth and food and rest. A sense of security, whether it was real or not. And a goal, like hiking out of the woods tomorrow, no matter what devastation waited down in the flatlands.

  She didn’t want to go out into the woods. She didn’t want to leave her home. But it would only take a few days to lead them out, and then she’d be back here.

  With her son.

  14

  Curtis huddled, knees to chest, back to a still-standing tree. It didn’t feel as safe as standing with his back to the granite wall, but it was better than having nothing behind him. The night was pitch black and late. Or early, depending on how you looked at it. He gripped his pack with one hand and the flashlight with the other. His eyes were gritty with fatigue and fear and no matter how hard he tensed his muscles, his legs shook. He told himself it wasn’t fear.

  It was just the chilly night air.

  It was just his overly active imagination.

  But then out in the woods, screams started. Somewhere above him in the forest, someone was dying. His breath hitched in his chest and tears filled his eyes. He tried to stand, put his shaking hand to earth to push himself upward, but each time the shrieks cut through his heart, sliced his nerves, slashed at his tiny spark of courage. Instead he pulled his knees up, dropped his forehead to them, and covered his ears.

  But he still heard the cries.

  He wanted to go help. He really did. After all, that might be Henry screaming, and hadn’t he come out here to save his friend? But he couldn’t do it. He could only hide, shaking so hard his teeth bit into his cheeks.

  When the screams stopped, when the woods had been silent for several minutes, the terror began to seep slowly out of his bones. He fumbled on the ground for the flashlight, frantic with the sudden need for light. His thumb was on the switch when he heard something coming through the underbrush.

  Whatever it was, it moved steadily in spite of the darkness and quake-damaged forest. Branches snapped and dislodged rocks tumbled. And then, gripping his pack and his flashlight, he heard last year’s dead leaves rustle under a step, and then another. Something upright on two legs. A shape, darker than the night, passed between trees. Taller than a man. With something like branches coming out of its head.

  Curtis felt the warm rush as his bladder let go. The sharp scent of urine filled the air.

  The steps paused. Something drew in a noisy breath, scenting him.

  He no longer wanted light, didn’t want to see, didn’t want to be seen. Tremors shook his body. Breath came in shallow tiny gasps. He squeezed his eyes shut. Pushed back tight against the solid tree trunk, and pulled the pack into his lap as if it could shield him.

  There was a loud slurping, smacking sound, like someone eating something juicy.

  After several moments the woods grew quieter. No screams. No sounds of eating. No sense of something standing out there in the darkness. Just the soft pattering of rain. His shaking slowed to fine trembling. Under his rain gear, his jeans were wet and itchy against his thighs. He finally managed a deep breath and wiped tears from his cheeks.

  Eventually the darkness began to lighten to a deep charcoal, and then to gray. Curtis stood slowly, pushing himself up the tree trunk, still clutching his pack to his chest. Pins and needles shot through his legs as circulation returned.

  The growing dawn light brightened under the trees and glistened off something small a few feet away. He limped closer.

  A marble. It had to be a marble. He struggled to convince himself of that, but there was no way to avoid the reality. It was an eyeball, not a marble. Tendrils of bloody nerves lay daintily on top of a few thick, orange threads from some sort of material. Raindrops on glossy dark green leaves of salal were pink-tinged where blood had w
ashed through.

  Curtis had a moment to realize the eye was hazel before he was on his knees, retching.

  He flashed on the sounds from the night before. Something passing close enough to smell his urine, to know he was there.

  But not hungry enough to come for him.

  His stomach heaved again, and again, until his vision narrowed from lack of oxygen. But then the muscles eased and he was able to suck in a ragged breath. He gagged and then was able to pull in another breath without throwing up. And then another without gagging.

  Curtis pushed away from his vomit and collapsed to the ground on his back. Rain pattered softly against his face, cool and gentle. Warm tears leaked out of his closed eyes and trickled back into his hairline. He concentrated on breathing, on his slowing heart rate. When his insides seemed somewhat in control, he pushed up to sit, head hanging in exhaustion.

  He’d always known the mountains at night were wild and dangerous and no place for mere humans, but that was because of the wild animals. Now something else was there, hunting. He felt a tickle in the back of his mind, as if he knew what the creature was, but fear kept him from being able to focus. All he could think of was how exposed he was.

  Even in the growing daylight.

  He’d wanted to be back in Index, next to the safety of people and fires, when night came. But he’d stupidly convinced himself to keep going as twilight fell, until suddenly it was too dark to find his way back down the trail.

  And so here he was.

  He stood and his still-damp jeans chafed against his inner thighs and groin. He glanced around but saw only trees and rocks and earth. Self-consciously, he shed his clothes and quickly wiped himself down with wet maple leaves. The cold, damp air seemed to chill him all the way through his skin. Even his testicles shrank in protest. Shivering, he pulled his cold-weather fleece pants out of the pack and then put the rain pants back on.

  Using the straps on his backpack, he tied the jeans on the outside of the pack. It wasn’t like he had more clothes in the car. He’d come to work two days ago planning on being home that night. So he couldn’t toss his jeans, because who knew when he’d make it home. Or if he even had a home to return to.