Then he hit the tree from which the branch had fallen.
Chapter 16
(1)
“Where the hell are we?” Josh was looking for roadside signs.
His wife Deb was hunched forward using her cell phone’s meager display light to try and read a map. The dome light of their car hadn’t worked in four years. “I think we’re near some town called Black Marsh.”
“Never heard of it. We just passed a sign for a bridge,” he said, looking in the rearview, though behind them everything was black.
“Good, take that. We’ll cross back into Pennsylvania and go through…um, looks like something called Pine Deep.”
“Yeah, that’s that dumb tourist place that’s been on the news. All that Halloween crap.” Josh was getting cranky. The two of them had driven from Erie for a wedding in Ocean City, New Jersey, and had gotten directions off the Internet. So far those directions had failed them three times, and for the last hour they had been Brailling their way through back roads in New Jersey. The little finger of the gas gauge was pointing accusingly at E, needling Josh for not filling up when he had the chance “They ought to have a gas station or two. Being, you know, a tourist place and all.”
Josh said nothing.
“If not…we have Triple-A.”
Josh hadn’t renewed the AAA membership and didn’t want to have to tell her, so he just concentrated on the road. Their car, a battered Jeep Cherokee that had seen better decades, rolled onto the heavy timbers of the bridge and rattled across the Delaware River into the borough of Pine Deep. In the darkness of the cab, both Deb and Josh Meyers shivered. Neither noticed the other do so. It was an instinctive reaction, a trembling as if in the face of a chill wind, but their windows were rolled up and though set on low the Jeep’s heater was on.
They drove on, climbing up to the tops of the long hills and then dropping down the other sides, plunging into darkness, chasing the spill of the Jeep’s headlights. At the top of a particularly steep hill, just as the Jeep pitched toward the drop, Deb said, “Look, there’s a cop car.”
“Finally!”
They descended the hill toward a police cruiser parked on the shoulder, the light bar lit but not flashing—the way a lot of small-town cops did when writing reports or just making their presence known. As the Jeep coasted toward the cruiser, they could see the officer in silhouette, bent down over something, apparently writing on a pad. Josh tooted the horn, a single short beep, as he slowed to a stop. The cop didn’t look up.
“Gimme the map,” Josh said, “and wait here. I’ll see what he says.” He jerked open the door, stepped out into the cold air, hunched in to the wind and jog-walked over to the cruiser. “Hello? Uh…excuse me? Officer?”
The cop still sat with his head bent over a writing tablet. From the angle at which he sat, and with the masking presence of the man’s uniform hat, Josh could not see the cop’s features.
“Officer…?”
There was no movement, and Josh began to wonder if the cop was sound asleep. Tentatively he reached out and tapped the closed window. Nothing.
He tried again, and again called, “Officer? I need to get some directions.”
The officer’s head moved slightly. Josh rapped on the glass again. Like most people he was afraid of cops, not because he had done anything at all illegal, but just because he was Joe Public and cops were cops. His action, just simply wanting to know directions to a gas station, was deferential, even apologetic. Even the way he tapped on the glass implied apology for disturbing the officer.
“Please, can you tell me where I can find a gas station?”
The cop’s head came up, but he was facing away from Josh, appearing to stare out the window into darkness. The officer slowly held up a hand, one finger extended in a mild command for Josh to wait. The officer set down his notebook and, though still looking in the other direction, jerked the door handle open.
Josh stepped back from the door and watched the cop get out. He was frowning. The cop was getting out of the car in a very strange fashion. He would not turn his face toward Josh, so in a way he actually bent forward and backed out of the car. His motions were jerky, peculiar, as if he was unused to moving his own body. As his head cleared the door frame, the hat caught on the edge and was swept from his head as he straightened. The hat fluttered into the car and the cop made no move to retrieve it. The officer’s hair was tangled and unkempt, and there appeared to be something dark and moist clotted into the tangle at the back of his head. The red and blue dome lights made nonsense of colors, but Josh had the thought that it could be blood glistening on the back of the cop’s head.
Josh’s frown deepened, and he was caught between the sudden rush of ordinary concern and a fearful uncertainty that rooted him to the spot. Then it came to him. The cop must have been in some kind of accident. Maybe he banged his head and that’s why he was so unresponsive and groggy. Josh could see no damage to the car, but maybe the whole other side of the car was punched in.
“Officer…are you all right?”
The cop lost balance for a moment and had to reach out and grab the door frame to keep from falling. Josh automatically reached out with both hands to support him, catching him by the elbow and under the armpit.
“Jesus! You’re hurt. What happened?”
The cop steadied himself, and even lifted one hand to wave Josh back.
“Officer? Hey…you okay?”
“I’ll…” the cop began. His voice was thick and distorted. “I’ll…be…”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’ll…be…fine. Just…give me a moment.” He barely whispered the words.
Josh looked over his shoulder to where Deb was peering at him through the windshield. She made a questioning gesture and he shrugged, shaking his head.
“Um,” Josh said uncertainly, “look…if you’re hurt maybe I can help.” He bent close, saw something dark and glistening on the cop’s face. “Jeez, you’re bleeding!”
Josh put his hand on the officer’s shoulder and gently pulled, trying to turn the man, wanting to see how badly the officer was injured. His first-aid knowledge was on a purely “get a Band-Aid” or “put ice on it” level. But what if this guy had a concussion? What if he was really hurt? The patrol car didn’t look damaged, but maybe he hit something, a deer perhaps, and then cracked his head on the steering wheel. It seemed like the only likely answer. Josh didn’t know if he would be able to work a police microphone to ask for help. He pulled on the cop’s shoulder, and then hesitated. The officer was trembling, his big body shaking spasmodically. Was he…crying?
Jesus, he thought, the poor guy.
He pulled on the shoulder as gently as he could, but still firmly enough to turn the cop. The man resisted with surprising strength. “Let me help,” Josh said softly. “C’mon, let me see…”
“You…want to see?” the officer said, and Josh felt a chill race up and down his spine. As the cop had spoken, it had become clear he wasn’t crying at all.
He was laughing.
Josh’s hand faltered and he opened his mouth to say something; he was confused, trying to understand. The cop turned then. Not with Josh’s assistance, but with his own effort. It was fast—so fast that all Josh saw was a blur of gray cotton, a brief glint of headlights on a gold wristwatch, the hot red flash of a high school ring, and then Josh felt the officer’s white hand clamp around his throat. The pressure was instant and enormous, and Josh felt himself rising to his toes, then beyond all sanity he felt the ground dropping away under his shoes. Even as it was happening the part of his mind that required logic was saying, That can’t be right. His feet kicked in empty space, and yet the cop still held him, still maintained that crushing grip on his throat. Josh tried to scream. The glare from the Jeep’s driving lights splashed against the cop’s face, showing his features at last and with stark clarity illuminating horror.