“We can come back,” she said quickly. “And I can drive if you’re too stiff.”
He looked back at her, studying her face. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed. This wasn’t the time to explain everything. “Tell you on the way.”
“Is everything okay?”
“It will be if we get out of here now.” With each passing moment, she pictured the creature dragging itself out of the river and shaking itself off like a beast upon the riverbank, then coming to find her and finish its job.
“You looked really spooked.”
She went around to the passenger door of his car and lifted the handle. “I have good reason. Please, George, just get in and drive me back.”
He nodded, gave a last look at the soft ripples of the darkening lake, and climbed back in his car. Closing the door after himself, he studied her once again. “Straight back to Mothershead?”
She nodded. He threw the car in gear and navigated through the parking lot, the backup of cars behind him restlessly creeping along behind them, tailgating.
George wound around one end of the parking lot and started toward the exit, driving by several trinket shops and the backcountry ranger station. Madeline kept her head low, not wanting Stefan to spot her. Once out of the congested area, George turned onto the road that led toward West Glacier, the small community just outside the park. Madeline lifted her head once the speedometer climbed to twenty-five miles an hour on the main park road.
“Mind telling me what this is all about?” her friend asked, peering at her out of the corner of his eye.
She looked over his car. Three bags of chips lay empty and gutted, crumbly remnants covering the driver’s seat and clustering beneath the emergency brake. A half-empty bottle of Pepsi sat in a cup holder near the stick shift.
“I appreciate your coming on such short notice.”
He smiled. “No problem.”
In the backseat lay several paperback novels, some old CDs, and an umbrella. On the floor behind the driver’s seat lay crumpled wet clothes.
A red shirt lay under a pair of sodden black jeans.
“Why are your clothes wet?” she asked, trying to remain calm.
He frowned. “They’re not.”
She took in his current outfit, a black T-shirt and faded black jeans. “I’m not talking about what you’re wearing. I’m talking about these!” She grabbed the wet clothes and brought them forward, slapping them down in George’s lap.
He started at her sudden move, then just stared at her.
“Well?”
After a pause he said, “I got caught in a sprinkler system at a truck stop. They were watering this little grassy stretch where people can walk their dogs-”
She wrenched her hand up quickly and grabbed George’s hair in her fist. It was completely dry. But that didn’t mean the creature couldn’t create hair that was dry when he shape-shifted.
“Then how come your hair’s not wet?” she said, releasing it.
He looked at her incredulously. “Because it happened a couple of hours ago, on my way up here. I changed my clothes right after it happened. And my hair just air dried.”
Madeline squeezed the dripping clothes in her fists. Water streamed from the fabric, and it smelled musty, like river water. “These are not two hours dry.”
He turned to face her, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. “Madeline, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
It was then she noticed the faint bruise on the underside of his chin, black and blue precisely where she had struck the creature back at the river. The extent of healing matched the timing of the blow.
She reached up, placing her hand on the cool of George’s headrest. Nothing but white noise flooded into her, interspersed with a vivid flash of a short, muscular man, a previous owner of the car, stepping out to pump gas, thrilled about landing a new job. She pressed her hand there a moment longer, seeking visions of George. None came. She withdrew her fingers and stared back at him.
Had the creature killed George and replaced him? Or worse, had George ever existed in the first place? She thought of when he’d come into her life. He’d been so accepting. So easy to get along with. None of the problems cropped up that she’d had with other would-be friends. No adjustment period after he learned about her “gift,” almost as if he’d already been prepared for it. And she’d met him about seven months ago, and Noah said the creature had been hunting her for months. George never told her in specifics where he’d been prior to that, only of his future plans to attend college in Missoula. In fact, he’d been evasive when she asked about his past. Her racing mind went over the details of the death of Noah’s lover, how the creature had insinuated itself into her life. Posed as a suitor in order to get close. Learned who her circle of friends were. Waited for the perfect moment to strike.
George had known about her solo backcountry trek. Worse still, she’d even given him a detailed map of her route. He’d known what trail she’d use on any given day of her trip and even where she’d be along that trail.
Turning in her seat, she cracked him hard in the face with her elbow.
George cried out in surprise and pain. His hand flew up defensively, the car swerving into the oncoming lane. He slammed on the brakes as a Honda Civic honked and swung wide around them. The Celica screeched to a halt, the smell of burning rubber filling the car. Grabbing his head in her hands, Madeline smashed it hard against the glass of the driver’s side window. Blood streaked down the window as she let go. She released her seat belt and leaped out of the car, taking off into the trees beyond.
Not daring to look back, she ran, dodging between white aspen trunks that glowed in the slanting light of the setting sun. The ground lost elevation, and she darted down a rise and slipped in a section of mud. Her boots lost all traction, and she came down hard on her back. Quickly flipping over onto her stomach, she peered up to the top of the rise, expecting at any moment to see a sleek, black shadow appear at the top of the hill, eyes red and gleaming, eager for the hunt. She tried to listen over her own labored breathing and the deafening sound of blood pumping through her burning ears.
She was only a quarter mile or so from the town of West Glacier. Getting her bearings, she realized that the car lay between her and the town. She’d either have to make a wide arc around the car or charge back the way she’d come, hoping the creature hadn’t had time to recuperate. If she took a wide arc, it could easily recover and then lope after her, quickly covering the ground between them.
She chose to retrace her footsteps.
Rising to her feet, wiping muddy hands on her shirt, she bounded up the rise. Running diagonally so she wouldn’t pass directly near the car, she raced toward the road. In a few seconds the black asphalt came into view, along with George’s light blue car. She passed quickly over the road, not stopping, but glancing at the car as she did so. He was still in the car, slumped over the wheel, one window dripping red.
She made it over the road and entered the trees on the other side, heading toward the tiny refuge of West Glacier.
20
SOON the trees parted, and another road came into view: the main road that ran through West Glacier. She broke through the treeline and stopped at the side of the asphalt, scanning up and down. Across the street lay the West Glacier Motel, and next to it a line of gift shops and a restaurant. She jogged along the road without crossing, sprinting across the parking lot of a small camera store. Inside, customers browsed over the racks of filters and film.
She passed the store, then ran across the parking lot of a gas station, where patrons stared at her as she darted through the maze of cars.
She forced herself to stop running, to slow to a walk and figure out what to do. Chest heaving, she stopped altogether, bending over to catch her breath. Before her stood the impressive stone building of the Alberta Visitor Center, a tasteful structure of gray stone with large windows. The Canadian flag flapped in the breeze above it.