The Shore (Leisure Fiction)

Spinning, he sprinted for the sea.

It seemed he moved very slowly across the softness, his feet grating with each tread, his breath coming in ragged gulps--he could hear nothing else. Finally reaching the water, he raced along the hardened mud. His sneakers gripped the ground wetly, and with every few paces he slipped.

His chest ached, and a stitch ripped his side as he turned to look back. Nothing stirred on the beach, and no hulking shapes hobbled across the boardwalk. Agony snapping in his lungs, he tried to remember exactly what he'd seen. Blood-dark parka. The glint of the eyeglasses.

Wind pierced his back, and he stumbled on.

Moonlight frothed in black water, and each dying wave shimmered almost to his feet. Something flapped away from a jutting rock, and he groaned, running a few steps more. Boulders, protruding from the shale like broken teeth, stopped him. Beyond the rocks, a cyclone fence leaned into deeper swells, and between the links the moon trembled in water. He couldn't get across this way; he'd have to go back up the beach.

Long arms on the ground reached for him. Only when he recognized his own shadow on the mud did he realize he must be silhouetted against the glittering waves. He can see me! His teeth chattered. That's how come he didn't already chase me. He knows I got to come back, and he can just wait. All feeling bled from his arms and legs. He had to get away. But where? If he could make it to where the salt marsh began at the other end of the beach, he might...

No. Wind sliced through him. Too cold. Waves hissed, lapping at a ridge of stones. He would die in the swamp. He had to make it back to town. The hollows of the beach gaped before him. Somehow he had to make it back past the boardwalk. Trotting forward, he dodged erratically before dropping to a crouch.

Wind zipped through beach grass around him, and he began to shake. He scuttled sideways to a deeper depression, freezing air lashing the back of his neck. Scrambling behind a larger dune, he halted, let ragged folds of darkness wrap about him while he listened to the tumbling whisper of the waves.

Finally, he inched forward. On aching knees and hands, he reached the boardwalk at a point where it reared high above the sand. Staring hard, he made out the shape of a concrete pillar, and he edged closer until at last he huddled behind it. Heavy boots clacked above his head.

He darted straight down the center of the passage. Tripping over something embedded in invisible sand, he sprawled, pain flashing in his foot, then stumbled up.

Coming out the other side, he dashed through an opening between two abandoned restaurants. Foot throbbing, he limped into a side street as empty as a graveyard, then cut through a garden.

At the entrance to the playground, a length of chain looped around a pole. As he squeezed through, the gate shifted slightly. He squirmed, briefly stuck, bruising his hips and shoulder as he shoved his way through.

Something struck the ground with a metallic thump. The seesaw banged down again, one end rising a few feet in the wind, then crashing rhythmically. Did he see? Did he follow? Clouds churned. A strike of moonlight caught him, and he hobbled for the darkness beyond the slide. My foot. Jeez. He limped heavily now, and the chains for the swings chimed against metal poles with a sound like buoys. Maybe my ankle. He clambered through a concrete tube and hunkered for a long moment, panting. The playground was very near the beach. On the other side of the next fence lay the old amusement park, permanently shut now--he could hide there. He'd done it before, though he found the empty rides and boarded kiosks a little scary. No, I got to try and get back.

He crawled out and headed away from the park. His ankle throbbed and his sneakers slipped on the links, but he topped the fence. Clouds flowed across the sky, and great blotches slid over the yards and houses. Agony stabbed through his foot when he dropped to the other side. Frost easily penetrated the jacket and both sweaters, and his muscles twitched, quivering like small animals beneath his clothes.

So tired of running.

Wanting to scream, she gritted her teeth against the itch. Even when she bent as far forward as she could in the heavy chair, her right hand still strained inches from her cheek. Frantically, she swung her head from side to side. Strips of rope cut into her arms, and she felt a trickling on her wrists.

In the frigid stillness, her muscles had stiffened from hours of anguished waiting and now felt heavy, dead. Why didn't someone help her? Surely someone must be looking for her. She stared at the wall, until she saw faces in the rough and lumpy paint, malevolent leers and grimaces that eroded her control until panic overwhelmed her, and the walls reeled. Her body arched, only the straps holding her down. If someone didn't find her soon...

Her fingers dug convulsively into the arms of the chair, and the cloth gag twisted in her mouth as tears and saliva slicked one side of her face. She'd seen blood on his hands. Dear God, she prayed silently, don't let me die like this!

In the blustery shadows, hedges lurked. When a trash can lid clattered, the boy ducked behind a tree, and the shades of thin branches whipped through the fleeting moonlight at his feet.

Grayness flickered at the back window of one of the bungalows, and laughter filtered through the wind, so faint it seemed to emanate from some assembly of phantoms. In the garden, he crept closer, stumbling over roots that knuckled through hard ground. Laughter fluttered again, and bright blurs oscillated through the curtain. Somebody watching television. It seemed so normal, he couldn't understand why it made him feel so sad. I didn't think nobody lived on this block in wintertime. He wondered who might be inside, wondered if they knew what it meant to be freezing or frightened. Or desperate. Overhead, branches creaked, and he stumbled again, his feet snared in a net of shadows.

While the television murmured, he felt his knee. His jeans had torn when he'd fallen under the boardwalk, and the skin still oozed. He couldn't walk around like this. I got to look normal. He could almost hear his father's voice: You know what they'll do to you if they find out?

Constantly brushing sand from himself, he hurried on, this time keeping to the sidewalk, as far as possible from the evergreens that crowded the bungalows. Normally, he detoured a block around The Pine Inn, but tonight, already so weary, he hurried right by it.

Don't nobody come out.

Don't nobody open the door. He looked straight ahead as he passed the neon sign. Just let me get to the corner. Once beyond the spill of light, he tried to run but pain flared in his foot and knee. Just a little farther. Two blocks away, the only other open business in town blazed, and he rushed for it, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

Trying to look casual, he strolled through the entrance as the cashier looked up and snorted. The boy immediately sought escape down the farthest aisle and, cupping his hands over his ears, peeked at the covers of wrestling magazines and horoscope booklets. Tentatively, he took one hand away from his ears, half expecting to see blood; then he dug through packages of flavored chips, aware of the clerk's derisive stare in the fish-eye mirror. Ghoulishly pale under the fluorescent lights, his own reflection floated in the glass of the refrigerator case. He looked like something out of a zombie movie. He grabbed some hot dogs and a tube of grape concentrate, then found rolls and doughnuts before returning to the front of the store, his arms full. As he dumped his groceries on the counter, his eyes tracked to the glass wall. Anyone could see me.

'That it?'

'Uh...yeah.'

The man snorted again and pawed disdainfully through the items as he rang them up. Sleepy-eyed, the boy fumbled at his jacket pockets. He shucked a bill off the top, remembering to keep his hands low so the clerk wouldn't see the lump of twenties.

'You hurt your leg?'

He started to nod.

'So how's your old man?'

'Okay, fine,' he got out through clenched teeth. 'Real chilly out.' He rubbed his hands together and forced a grin.

'Yeah? So how come I ain't seen him in here?' The clerk stared at the crumpled bill.

The boy's heart pounded, clouding his vision with a bright pulse. 'Oh, and a pack of Camels.'

'He still smoking them? So how come...?'