“Sorry for the rush. I guess it was just getting to me.” She felt safer in the Jeep now, freer. She couldn’t wait to be in her own car, speeding toward home. Once in Mothershead, she would talk to the local police. Ever since she’d played a part in catching the Sickle Moon Killer, they’d been kind to her and kept a helpful eye on her, even if as individuals they kept their distance. His capture had meant kudos for the tiny precinct, as they had solved a case that had baffled even the FBI. If the creature came after her, she could rely on them to help her.
They drove on, the headlights playing over the shadowed branches of overhanging pines, the yellow center line glowing reflectively. A pair of headlights appeared over the crest of a hill and another car sped by them, traveling too fast.
“Jerk,” Steve said. “So many people speed on these roads. Did you know that vehicle accidents are the number one killer of bears out here?”
Madeline raised her eyebrows. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“I hate it when people speed here. And I’m just a naturalist ranger. I can’t pull them over and give them a ticket, though I’d really like to.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said sincerely.
“Okay. Tirade over.”
She laughed.
“Or, wait-here’s another. People who don’t think park signs apply to them. Like there’s always some jerk who thinks the ‘Stay off the meadow-it’s being restored’ sign doesn’t apply to him, you know? So he just steps right over the fence and tramples the damaged area some more. Or the jerk who thinks the ‘Don’t feed the wildlife’ sign doesn’t apply to him, so he feeds a coyote some lunch meat out of the window of his car. Next thing you know, the coyote is hanging around the road all the time, eating unhealthy human food, and then it gets hit by a car. Even worse than that jerk might be the jerks who see him doing this stuff and figure, ‘Hey, if that guy can do it, then I don’t see why I can’t feed wildlife and trample the meadows.’ ” He paused to take a breath. “Man, it pisses me off!”
“I can see why.”
“I’ll say.” He paused. “Okay. That tirade’s over, too, and I don’t think I see any more looming on the horizon anytime soon.”
“No problem,” she said. “We’ve all got to vent sometimes, and it sounds like you’ve got more reasons to complain than the rest of us.”
“Except you,” he said, glancing over at her. “You’ve been through a tough time.”
She assumed he meant the flash flood and the bump on the head, so she said, “Yeah. My head is still giving me grief.”
“Not just that,” he said.
“I thought you didn’t believe me about the rest of the stuff. That I had hallucinated it.”
“I don’t know what you really saw up there, but it’s easy to tell it terrified you. I don’t blame you for wanting to get home. If I’d seen some thing up there, I wouldn’t be too anxious to stay in the woods.”
She turned to face him. “So then you believe that I really saw something?”
He nodded. “Once, when I was eleven, I was out hiking with my dad in Oregon. All of a sudden, I can’t explain why, but we both got this really intense feeling we were being watched. A primal fear washed over me, my hair stood up-everything.”
Madeline thought of her own feeling of being watched, just before the flash flood hit her.
“And then, all of a sudden, stench. I mean, the most god-awful stench you can imagine-like rotten meat and rancid, chunky milk, putrid, decaying flesh. The smell was so bad and so pervasive that I almost threw up, right there on the trail. I ran ahead, trying to get away from it, while my dad kept plodding along. Finally I turned around to see how far back he was. And something was there, on the trail behind him. I only saw it for a second, following along behind him, and then it darted back into the bushes.”
“What was it?”
“Something big. Huge. Way taller than my dad. And covered with hair. He spun around just as it vanished, and then took off down the trail toward me. He asked me if I’d seen anything. I nodded.”
“But what was it?” Madeline asked again.
“I don’t know. Bigfoot, maybe? A homeless guy with a lot of hair? I only saw it that one time, and we’d hiked that trail a bunch of times before and since. So all I’m saying is that there’s some weird stuff out there. And I don’t doubt that you saw something up on the mountain.”
And down here, she thought grimly. “Thanks. That makes me feel a little better.” But then she thought of Mike, the murdered ranger, and how Steve had no idea that his friend was dead, and how the thing had imitated him, even down to his voice. She shivered, feeling cold even in the fleece.
They traveled on in silence, and after twenty miles they saw the sign for the trailhead on the left. Steve slowed and pulled into the parking area. There, like her own version of the Holy Grail, sat her beloved 1980 VW Rabbit, its red paint gleaming in the headlights, the white and gold racing stripe glowing reflectively.
“Yay!” she said aloud, not able to help herself. “Um, that’s my car there, the Rabbit.”
It was the only car parked at the trailhead, as if she was the only person to attempt the hike that day, the only one unfortunate enough to get caught in the flash flood.
Before he’d even fully stopped the car, Madeline opened the door, ready to jump out. Then she turned and hugged him. He looked startled, then returned the hug. “Thank you,” she told him. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem. And now I’ll be able to see my sister, too.”
She climbed out of the car, and he added, “I’ll just wait here till you get the car started.”
“Thanks.” She closed the door and walked over to her car, resisting the urge to throw her arms around it, too. Instead, she said, “Hello, Rabbit!” Lying down on her stomach, she felt around under the car for the magnetic key holder. Her fingers closed around it almost immediately, and she tugged it off. Inside, safe and sound, rested her spare key. Unlocking the door, she swung it open, then sank down into the familiar black bucket seat, breathing in the comfortable smell of her faithful car.
And realized she hadn’t checked the backseat first. Spinning around in her seat, she looked back there. Nothing. Then she got out, walked to the back and peered in through the hatchback window. Nothing. Sighing with relief, she climbed back in the driver’s seat and started up the Rabbit. It roared to life.
She closed the door, locked it, and waved to Steve. He waved back, watched her for a moment, and then pulled his Jeep out, swinging onto the road and driving away.
Madeline leaned back momentarily. She longed to return to her normal life, to the life that made sense. Days ago she’d wanted nothing more than to escape Mothershead. Now she just wanted to escape back into its familiarity, put all of this into perspective. She reached under the passenger seat and pulled out her wallet, grateful she’d stashed it there. Strapping on her seat belt, she thought of Noah, asleep back in the cabin. She hoped he would catch up to the creature soon and end his long, miserable quest. Maybe then he could have a chance at a normal life, get back the future that had been taken from him that night in Vienna.
She backed up and pulled out of the small lot onto the main road toward home. The moon rose behind her, the road glowing when she looked back. She wondered about Noah, and if she was doing the right thing. The sky darkened as a cloud passed over the moon, and Madeline’s lights were the only ones on the road. Dark shadows of pines rose on both sides of her, with the looming black mountains beyond. She felt different, like she never had before: sad and full of a strange kind of regret. But she couldn’t go back. What Noah asked for was too much. She wouldn’t willingly embrace the very lifestyle she’d been avoiding since the capture of the Sickle Moon Killer.