The Shore (Leisure Fiction)

startled.

She fiddled with dials and knobs, trying to get some heat into the frigid vehicle. How could she have allowed herself to be interrogated that way? Just because he looked like that and smiled at her a little? Pathetic! With a screech of brakes, she pulled the jeep over by the darkened church. Who is he that he can do this to me? Fighting to get herself under control, she adjusted the rearview mirror until she could see herself. What's the big deal though? Even an alley cat had gotten over on her this evening, assuming the damn thing was still alive. She almost laughed at herself.

Switching on the overhead light, she examined the business card Hobbes had given her, held it closer to the dim illumination. It looked legitimate enough, but every instinct told her otherwise. All right, you won the first round, Mr. Hobbes, or whatever your name is. But I'm after you now, and I mean to find out who you are and what you're doing in my town. She gunned the engine, but the jeep only grunted and fell silent. She cursed and twisted the key. So be careful, mister. This time the engine sputtered to chattering life, the stick vibrating like the controls of a mechanical bull. Be real careful.

The scream flowered in the night.

It coiled its tendrils about the fire escape, twining over broken gutters and antennas. A lonely cry, like the howl of something lost and afraid, it seemed to change directions in the air, an ember of noise, drifting across the roofs, above the streets. It circled on the wind, at times bestial, at times almost a sob, until at last, it settled into a gurgle of pain--a final shuddering burst of ecstatic agony.

From far below, a few dogs barked, then lapsed into terrified silence.

Finally, only the wind moaned in the empty streets, sweeping the mournful sound of the sea through the town.

Night wind stirred through a tangle of evergreens, and between the firs, sparse white sand shimmered faintly. This strip of ground lay far inland, nearly at the center of the peninsula, as far from the water as it was possible to get in Edgeharbor. Yet the wind still carried with it the distant howl of waves, like the muted wail of a drowning child.

He listened for a long time without moving. From his hiding place among the scrub growth off the road, he cautiously surveyed the fenced lot.

The brown lace of branches twined overhead. Pine shadows, slender and indistinct in the moonlight, mottled the ground, and branches rattled and whispered. Beneath each tree, a mat of dried needles crunched underfoot like dead insects, and skeletal fingers seemed to tear at his sleeves as he pressed through.

He launched himself at the fence, his fingers hooking through the wide links, his shoes scrabbling for purchase. Near the top, a cramp seized him, and hanging by one hand, he clutched his side. Slowly, the deep green scent of the forest filled his lungs, and he eased his legs over the wire.

He dropped to the other side. In the distance, a dog barked.

The wind stung his ears so hard they began to feel warm, and he took the tiny flashlight from his pocket and swung it around. Shapes flared, lurching. Before dissolving in the woods beyond the fence, the circular glow traveled across a metal sign that identified this as a county impoundment lot. Sand and bird droppings powdered the closer vehicles. One of the cars had been stripped, eviscerated even of doors and seats, naked wheel rims jutting like knobs of bone. He jerked the light back. The roof of the convertible by the gate had been shredded in wide strips, and behind it, a dented van listed on rusted rims.

The wind died away, and all around him the night stilled. Solemnly, he approached the convertible. The beam yoked the tattered roof, then quivered to the scrapes on the side of the door.

'Dear Jesus.' Despite the intense cold, he felt a film of moisture slide between his shoulder blades. Claw marks. A radiant impact had burst across the windshield, its center snowy in the pencil beam, fraying into crystal webbing at the edges. He paced to the other side, the beam slicing ahead. The door had been torn from the frame, and jagged bits of metal still protruded. As he leaned in, a splinter of glass caught at his sleeve, and the beam slid across dark stains on the seat.

Switching off the flashlight, he pulled back from the car. As he gazed imploringly up at the stars, the fierce yapping of the wind surrounded him.

VII

Easing his legs over the sill, the boy slipped into the night as smoothly as into frigid water. Then he slid the window down behind him, leaving it open a crack.

Somehow the moon made the cold seem even worse, and he turned his collar up as he hurried down the fire escape, treading on smears of moonlight around the worn paint. He listened for a long moment before going over the side and down the ladder to the drop.

Landing on all fours, he paused, still in a crouch, his fearful gaze stabbing the night in all directions. Then he scrambled down the alley.

Near the street, he slowed and peered out cautiously; hunching his shoulders, he hurried straight into the wind. At this hour, the sidewalks belonged to him, and he barely felt afraid at all. Besides, he had to go out tonight. No choice. They needed things...and he had an important errand. Nothing would happen. Mouthing the words, he hurried down the street. Nothing. I'll be safe.

The freedom of the night streets always made him feel drunk, and he sprinted as though the wind had picked him up. He took a different route tonight. Mindful of the near-ambush of the day before, he kept to the back streets with their dead lawns and skeletal trees, fragile light at random windows only intensifying his sense of isolation.

He stopped, his feet frozen in place. Wha--? Something with an impossibly broad face squatted on a tiny porch. He took another step. The bulky plastic snowman grinned innocently, and he remembered seeing it lighted many times over the years. He wondered why these people hadn't taken down their decorations yet, but a further look confirmed the answer already forming in his mind. The small house had an abandoned look. Another one gone.

Abruptly, the street ended at a veritable tunnel. Glancing around, he darted up the ramp above it, feeling the temperature drop with every step.

On the boardwalk, the wind made his face flame. Weaving like a kite, he rushed for the rail, grabbed it. Darkness here held a thicker texture, and he inched along, staring out to where moonlight flickered on the breakers. This had to be the place. Clutching the rail, he stepped on the lowest rung and leaned far over. The sand glimmered, stony areas gaping like holes.

He saw no sign of his backpack...and again found himself watching the surf.

Stars glinted sharply between wispy clouds. Low and fast, gray shapes scurried at the water's edge where shadows solidified into a barrier of mud--night-prowling seabirds or rats from the drainage pipe. He shuddered. Don't let it be rats. Moonlight left white tracks on the water, and he shivered again, feeling exposed as he hopped off the rail.

He started down. As his soles gritted on the wooden steps, the sea rushed louder. Pacing through scrub grass, he stayed beside the boardwalk, searching. He remembered the knapsack had come off just as he'd started under the boards, and the spot where he'd crawled through had to be right about...

The opening gaped. Sand sparkled around his sneakers, around tufts of inky dead grass. Stooping, he thrust his hand into the hole and felt around.

The wood groaned. Yanking his arm away, he recoiled. Above him, someone leaned over the rail. A web of moonlight cauled the man's face. It was huge, bloated.

Him!

The shape lumbered back out of sight.

It's him. Blood thundered in the boy's ears. This time it really is. As he tried to run, paralysis gripped his legs. Him! He sank toward the hole, but a gray thing squeezed along the edge of the sand, dragging a naked tail. No!