He tightened his grip on the wheel, the lake rushing toward him as he instinctively jammed his foot into the place where the brake pedal should be. There was a boat launch at the bottom of the hill. The car vaulted into the air, then bounced on the ice and slid forward across the lake. Water sprayed up over the windshield and he thought about the warm sun. But only briefly as he heard a loud snap.
The ice broke open, and the car collapsed.
He looked back at the house, heard the splash and felt the terror swell through his chest. The car was rocking back and forth, and he flinched as that first sensation of ice-cold water bit through his shoes into his feet. His eyes flipped down to the base of the door and caught the water gushing in. The engine died, the electric windows, useless. He looked back at the hood, eyes wide open as it dipped below the ice. Water sprayed out the air vents, around the seams of the doors and windows.
Teddy grabbed the door handle, ripping at it and driving his shoulder into it, but the door wouldn’t open. The ice on the surface began fading away, the weight of the motor pitching the car down at an angle. Staring out the windshield, he tried to think, tried to stop shaking and not panic.
What lay on the bottom of the lake didn’t seem real at first. He spotted a chimney, then a roofline, then two more houses eerily set on the other side of an underwater street. It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn’t hallucinating or on a passage through hell. The lake was man-made. The valley had been flooded as a result of a dam many years ago.
His eyes shot down to his legs, checking the water level in the car and how much air he had left. The water was rising over his knees, coming on fast. He looked back out the windshield. As the car drifted by the first house, Teddy eyed the buildings covered in bright green algae. The walls were made of brick and stone and hadn’t collapsed. A thick layer of mud had taken over much the street. Debris had punched through most of the windows and he craned his neck to watch a school of fish swim inside.
That’s when he spotted the faces, staring back at him. He shuddered, his nerves unraveling. There were faces in the windows. Hideous faces cloaked in fishing nets, and anchored into the rooms with rope and cinder blocks. In spite of the cold water, many of the forms were bloated and hairless. Others looked as if they’d become part of the food chain a long time ago. Still, Teddy recognized two of the women from the pictures he’d seen on Nash’s wall. They were keeping an eye on him. Watching his entrance to their hidden piece of the underworld.
The car suddenly rolled over, and he screamed. Gallons of water from the floor followed the course of the roll, washing over the interior door panel and splashing him over the head. Everything was upside down now. He felt the car bounce off something, then come to a rest on the bottom.
The water was rising up his chest, so cold it burned. He couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t move his lungs. When he kicked at the windows, nothing happened.
He pawed at the door again as the water line reached his neck. Stabbed at the handle with his fingers, but couldn’t find it. He took a breath and went under, opened his eyes and let the icy pain shoot through them to the back of his head. The door handle was where the floor should be. He grabbed it, yanked at it, kicked the door with his knee but still couldn’t make it budge. He surfaced and let out a scary gasp. Six inches of air. Six inches to death.
He’d seen someone hiding behind the fucking house.
He looked up and spotted the trunk latch on the floor over his head. He gave it a hard pull and thought he’d heard something click. Stepping across the ceiling toward the back, he plunged his hands deeper into the water and flung the rear seat out of the way. Inching his feet back, he tried to beat the confusion and keep in mind that everything was upside down. As his shoes slipped on the metal lid of the trunk, he felt it sway open. Then he did a gut check and took a last breath.
SIXTY-FOUR
He was getting too old for this shit. His back ached, his knees hurt, and his toes were so cold he thought they might be frostbit.
Michael Jackson hated the fucking snow. When he retired, he figured he’d point his DeVille south, load the CD player with the Best of Frank, and hit I-95 South until he ran out of road. Miami Beach, baby. Maybe even Cuba if they ever worked all the bullshit out.
He stepped away from the house and wiggled his feet in his shoes. How could he lounge on the beach if some asshole doctor chopped off his frozen toes? Chicks noticed that kind of thing. They’d turn away like he was used goods. His eight-inch canon might never see the light of day.
He lit a cigarette and started to cough, then spit on the snow-covered driveway. Wiping the brake fluid off his switchblade, he closed the knife and returned it to his pocket. He’d cut the brake line while the kid was in the barn, then found a hiding place on the other side of the house so that he could keep an eye on things. It seemed like the way to go. The Corolla looked like a real junker, and the bald tires jumped out at him. If anybody checked, the whole thing would look like an accident.
Jackson doubted anyone would look into it though. And if they did, not very closely. This was the sticks. The hinterland. He’d heard inbreeding was big out here. Rumors of farmers who went out to the barn at night to spend quality time with their sheep. He guessed the rumors might be true when he tailed Teddy Mack out here from the city and saw mile after mile of fast-food joints along the road. Not a decent restaurant. Not even a bar that looked like it knew how to make a mixed drink.
Jesus Christ, he thought, Einstein lived in Jersey. This one was a no-sweat deal.
He walked down the drive, eyeing the lake. He hadn’t really expected the car to break through the ice. The goal had been to follow the kid and keep him busy for an hour or two. When the car started down the hill, Jackson peeked around the corner and tried not to laugh. As the thing bounced onto the lake and skidded across the ice, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It looked like he’d come through in spades. Teddy Mack would be stranded out here with the sheep fuckers all night long. He’d get out of his car, walk across the ice and try to call a taxi with that cell phone of his.
But then he heard the sound of the first crack snap against the side of the house. The ice opened up, the lake swallowing the car in one big gulp. Jackson’s jaw dropped. He’d watched the whole thing go down. The car still had forward momentum as it slipped beneath the ice. He guessed the Corolla would end up somewhere near the middle of the lake.
It was a solemn moment, even though Jackson had been through it before. As the chunks of broken ice settled in the water, he glanced at his Rolex and noted the time. A minute passed without any sign of Teddy Mack. Then another. After five minutes, Jackson turned around and started up the hill to the road. He said a blessing for the kid and crossed himself as he kicked the snow out of his shoes and spit. Climbing into the DeVille, he got the heat going, flipped on the CD player, and cruised back into town. His memories of Teddy Mack would be fond, he decided. He really didn’t have anything against the kid. What happened was just a matter of the way things went down.
SIXTY-FIVE
The biting pain from the cold water ate through every pore in his body. Backing out of the trunk, Teddy followed the course of his feet until they landed in the muddy bottom and stuck. He looked past the houses, the faces, Trisco’s secret playground-trying to get his bearings. Overhead the ice-covered lake sparkled-all lit up from the sun. He spun around, unable to find the spot where his car had broken through. But he saw a shadow in the light, a dark circle or square, and remembered the fishing tents set up on the ice.