CHAPTER 6

WAKE STUMBLED DOWN the trail out of the logging camp, looking over his shoulder every few steps to see if he was being chased. Nothing and nobody there. He stopped under a flickering overhead light, catching his breath. Whatever those things were, they didn’t like the light. He was safe here.

He turned off his flashlight, rested one hand on the rail fence that ran partially along the ridge. The trail led through an opening in the fence, winding steeply down into the forest. Wake could see the glow of the gas station in the distance. Stucky’s gas station, its owner hopefully now lying under the bulldozer at the bottom of the ravine.

What had Stucky been doing here?

He lingered in the light, knowing that he needed to go down through the forest to reach the gas station, but unwilling to leave the comfort of the light. He glanced back up the trail to the logging camp, gripping the revolver so hard it made his hand hurt.

Still unwilling to start down the path into the darkness, Wake pulled out the crumpled manuscript page from Departure that he had found in the trailer.

The page described a character fighting the same enemies that had attacked him in the logging camp, a character who discovered that it took light to strip away the enemies’ protective darkness and kill them with gunshots. Enemies that disappeared after dying, leaving not a trace behind.

Wake shivered under the light, not sure if he was in shock from fighting for his life, or from the fact that these manuscript pages that he kept finding, pages from a novel he didn’t remember writing, seemed to be true. Taken. That’s what the page called the creatures who had attacked him, an indication that the men they had been before were now absent. Fathers, sons… they were gone now. Taken over. The monsters Wake had killed in the logging yard had been just like that, their movements stilted, their eyes black pits devoid of humanity.

Wake took another long look at the glow from Stucky’s gas station, trying to fix the direction he needed to travel in his head. Once he entered the forest, he wouldn’t be able to see it, not all the time anyway, and there were a lot of trails to choose from. He’d have to do the best he could. The time to seek perfection was when he was sitting at his desk, typing away. This was real.

Funny, that last thought. Yesterday he would have said that it was what he created sitting at his desk that was real, not… this. Even though he hadn’t written a word in years, he still thought of his fictional world as more real than the one he woke up to every morning. Not anymore. He kicked at the gravel, sent stones skittering into the darkness. This was the real world. The one Alice had been stolen from.

Wake left the light and started cautiously down the steep path, struggling not to slip on the loose gravel. The moonlight thinned out as the trees thickened around him. He stopped and listened. Looked back. The overhead light flickered through the trees. Last chance, Wake. You could run back there and wait under the light until morning. Stay safe.

He had intellectually understood Alice’s fear of the dark, remembered his own night terrors as a child, afraid of what lurked in the closet or under his bed. His mother had comforted him with a placebo, and he had treated Alice’s fear the same way, considered it a simple phobia, no more grounded in reality than being scared of butterflies or Friday the 13th. Not anymore. It took an effort to stop his teeth from chattering as he looked around at the night.

Wake finally understood that he had been right as a child, that the darkness truly did shelter all manner of evil. No wonder the first great discovery of humanity had been fire. Not simply for heat, or because cooked meat tasted better than raw, but for light. To light the night and keep darkness at bay, that was the only law, the beginning of wisdom, but Wake didn’t have that luxury. He couldn’t stay in the light. Not if he was going to get Alice back.

Wake started walking. He was a lot of things: erratic and short-tempered and egotistical, selfish even, but he was no coward. When it came to Alice, there was nothing he wouldn’t do, no risk too great that he wouldn’t take if it would save her. He could hear a rushing river nearby, the dampness permeating the air. He used his flashlight sparingly, not sure how long the batteries would last, knowing only that he would need it again if he were attacked.

He still had no idea what he was going up against. These men… these Taken, once men, loggers, hunters, Stucky himself, who owned the gas station and rented cabins, what had happened to them? What was the darkness that protected them, wrapped around them in an oily cocoon? Wake had questions, but no answers. He kept walking, on high alert, listening, but there was only the wind in the trees and the sound of the river, growing louder now.

The woods suddenly shook.

“What the…” Wake put his hands to his head, trying to block out the sound, a roaring in his ears, like something awakening after a long sleep, something enormous. He staggered, the sound ending as abruptly as it started, the woods utterly still now, silent except for the sound of a bird shrieking in the distance.

He moved forward, dazed, walked off the path and into the weeds. He stopped, seeing a boulder to his right, splashed with glowing paint, the words RAISE HIGH THE LANTERN dribbling across the surface of the rock. He looked around, realized he was on the brink of walking off the ledge into the river far below. He stepped back from the edge, heart pounding. Have to be careful out here. Careful of everything.

Wake noticed the path wound back the way he had come. If he was going to reach the gas station, he was going to have to cross the river. There was no bridge. None that he could see anyway, but there was a huge fallen tree that reached from one side of the river to the other. Wake walked over to the tree. It looked slippery with moss and lichen, but he put one foot on the thick trunk. He could just walk across it. Plenty of room, if he were Indiana Jones or Tarzan. He looked back toward the logging camp. Still time to retreat to the overhead light and wait until dawn, Wake. No one would know.

Of course he would know, and that was enough. He put the pistol into one pocket of his jacket, slipped the flashlight in the other. He stepped up onto the log. Bounced a little. The log probably weighed a ton. It wasn’t going anywhere. One slip, however, and Wake would be falling a couple hundred feet to the river and the rocks below. Too scared to take a deep breath, he slowly started across the log, arms outstretched like a tightrope walker. The bark of the log was rough, bits flaking off with every step, drifting down. In the movies they always warned people in this kind of situation not to look down, but how was he supposed to cross without looking where he was stepping? He tried to focus on his feet, swaying slightly as he moved.

Halfway across, away from the surrounding trees, it was lighter and he made the mistake of letting his attention stray to the river itself, the water dark and swirling, reflecting the stars overhead. It made Wake dizzy, stars above, stars below, and Wake caught somewhere in between. Alice… she was someplace else.

He imagined her sinking into Cauldron Lake, the water like black glass, Alice getting smaller and smaller as she fell into darkness. He felt he might be sick. Legs shaking, Wake was forced to crawl on his hands and knees across the log, told himself not to look at the river or the stars or anything else but the other side. That was the way to find Alice. He kept going.

When he finally crawled off the log and onto solid ground, he lay there panting, eyes closed. He would have liked to stay like that, pretend this was all a dream, a nightmare, a horror story his mind had cooked up without telling him. But it wasn’t and he couldn’t stay here.

Wake got up. He felt better now, as though every challenge met, every fear conquered, made him stronger. He had to be strong. There was a path here, one that led in the direction of the faint glow in the trees. Stucky’s gas station.

He snapped on the flashlight. Nothing. Fighting back panic, he shook the flashlight, tried it again. The beam shot into the trees. He switched it off, glad that it was working again, but there was a certain uneasiness now. He no longer trusted the light. He looked back, half-expecting a logger, a Taken, to be sauntering across the log twirling a double-bladed ax. He was alone though. For now.

The trail was easy to follow, and he saw more rocks splashed with luminous paint. Some of the messages on the rocks warned about the darkness or encouraged staying in the light, some simply showed an arrow pointing the path that should be followed. Wake wondered who had left the markings, but he had other priorities now. He made good time, trying not to use the flashlight. He told himself he was saving the batteries, but part of him felt the light alerted the Taken to his presence. Best to keep going in the dim light of the moon and stars.

Bushes rustled up ahead and Wake jerked, plastering himself against one of the trees that lined the path. He stayed there, trying not to breathe, trying to quiet his heart. More rustling in the underbrush. Chipmunks, squirrels gathering nuts for winter… Wake would settle for a ravenous grizzly bear being out there. Anything other than what he had encountered back at the logging camp.

The wind kicked up, carrying the sound of water splashing from the river, that and a manic, distorted voice.

“Sparkling River Estates. That’s where I go when I want something special to eat. ”

It was Stucky. Wake hurried along the path, trying to put some distance between himself and the river.

“Paul makes the best hotdogs in the state! ” crooned Stucky, closer now. “Belly Buster is the best no contest. Monster Dog is second best. ”

Wake ran. He could see the light from the gas station through the trees. He tripped on a root, sprawled across the path and scrambled up, hands scraped. He pulled the revolver and the flashlight from his jacket, started running again.

“Never touch salad though, ” babbled Stucky, his voice distant now, fading. “Man like me needs a hefty meal to get through the day. ”

Wake ran on, the path twisting and turning through the trees, branches brushing against him as he raced headlong through the forest. The gas station was in view now, just beyond a patch of trees. He was breathing hard, panting, not trying to be quiet, just trying to put as much space between him and Stucky as possible. All he had to do was get to the lights of the gas station and—

Stucky stepped out of the shadows ahead, right in the middle of the path, backlit by the light from his gas station, his face crawling with darkness. “You got to change your oil more often, ” he wheezed, slapping an enormous pipe wrench into the palm of his hand.

Wake back stumbled, and Stucky rushed him as he scrambled up. He felt the pipe wrench slam into his shoulder, and almost dropped the flashlight as his whole arm went numb.

“Changing a spark plug is not as simple and safe as you might think, ” said Stucky, swinging at Wake again, just missing him. “It can be dangerous. ”

Wake shined the flashlight on Stucky, saw the man’s… the Taken’s face boiling like hot tar. Stucky backed up and it was Wake who advanced now. The flashlight flickered. Died. Wake smacked it against his leg, and the light came back on. He still had no feeling in his hand, his shoulder aching.

Stucky stepped into the trees, an arm thrown over his face.

Wake heard him crashing through the underbrush, then saw Stucky burst from the thorn bushes behind him.

Wake ran for the gas station, his side aching from the effort, stitching up on him.

“Even with the hood open, the engine block takes hours to cool, ” shrieked Stucky, getting closer.

Wake kept running, but the gas station was too far away. He’d never reach it in time.

“You should always leave the job to a pro fessional, ” howled Stucky.

Wake whirled, saw Stucky not more than a few steps behind, the pipe wrench raised with both hands. He slashed the beam of the flashlight across Stucky, watched him twist away.

“Change your oil! ” bellowed Stucky, charging hysterically, swinging the pipe wrench as the flashlight tore the shroud of darkness that covered him.

Wake shot Stucky, close enough to see him stagger, his eyelids fluttering in the glare. He kept the beam on Stucky, pinning him as he shot him again and again and again. Shot him until the revolver clicked on empty cylinders and Wake still kept dry-firing it, even after the Taken had dissolved in the night.

Wake finally lowered the revolver, staring at the spot where Stucky had been. There was no trace of him, though when he briefly closed his eyes he could see the glowing afterimage of a man on fire.

He turned and hurried toward the bright lights of the gas station. Stucky’s gas station. Wake could still hear the man’s last words ringing in his ears, demanding Wake change his oil.

Brambles tore at Wake’s arms and legs, but he ignored the pain in his haste. When he finally emerged from the woods and onto the outskirts of the station, he had to resist the impulse to kiss the blacktop. He walked forward more slowly now, as if he moved too fast the gas station and all his hopes would fade away.

A Deerfest float was parked on the outskirts of the station, right on the edge of darkness. The same one that he and Alice had spotted when they got off the ferry yesterday. The giant deer head on the float looked menacing in the darkness, its eyes burning with a weird light as it stared back at him.

The front of the gas station looked peaceful, a deserted, well-lit station in the middle of nowhere with three pumps and an upright soft-drink machine. A large sign read STUCKY’S. A smaller sign announced, PREMIUM CABINS FOR RENT. A NON REFUNDABLE RESERVATION DEPOSIT REQUIRED. Wake didn’t care about those two signs, what grabbed his attention was a countdown banner over the gas pumps: DEERFEST IN 7 DAYS! The number was a separate, changeable Velcro patch.

Wake rubbed his forehead. Deerfest had been two weeks away when he and Alice had arrived. If the day count on the banner was correct, Wake had lost a whole week between the night they got to Bright Falls and now. If the banner was correct, it meant that Alice had been missing for a week.

Wake hesitantly touched the banner. It was real. He jumped, as a radio close to the front door suddenly squawked to life, spitting static. A sign on the door said CLOSED, but the lights were on in the shop, the garage doors wide open.

Wake gently turned the radio dial, wanting to hear a human voice, any voice.

“This is Pat Maine, your host at KBF-FM, The Night Owl. Well, I was just outside for a breath of fresh air, and what a night! ” crackle of static “…but if you’re still up and around, take a moment! Step outside for a spell and breathe in deep. The weather is absolutely still” static “…like the forest is quietly breathing along with you. On nights like this I wish I wasn’t cooped up in the studio, but here I am, and who’d keep you company all night long if I weren’t? Oh, and looks like I’m not the only one staying up late. Caller, you’re on the air. ”

Wake stayed in front of the radio, listening.

“Hey, Pat, it’s Maurice Horton. ”

“Hello, Maurice. What’re you up to? ”

“Well, I was just taking my dog, Toby on a walk—”

“Isn’t it beautiful out there tonight? ”

“S-sure. But Pat, the reason I called is that Toby heard something rustlin’ in the undergrowth and took off after it, and I couldn’t find him. ”

“Probably a rabbit. ”

“Okay. Sure, Toby loves rabbits. Anyway, I figured that, you know, if anyone runs into Toby, they could grab him? My number’s on his collar. ”

“And Toby’s a friendly dog? ”

“Oh, Toby loves people. Usually he comes back, but we were pretty far from home and it sounds like he went pretty wild there. ”

“Well, Maurice, the word’s out there now. Hope Toby comes home soon. You have a good night—”

Wake walked into the open garage. The place was half-lit, illuminated only by the glow of a TV. A real mess, too. A puddle of oil gleamed on the concrete floor, and someone had knocked over a workbench, scattering tools and repair manuals. A car in one of the garage bays had a smashed windshield. Someone had either trashed the place, or there had been some kind of fight.

Wake started to walk into the office, stopped in front of the TV. The picture kept flipping, but there was something about it that drew his attention. He smacked the side of the TV and the picture stabilized.

On the screen, a man in a wood-paneled room hunched over a desk. The shot was from the rear, the collar of the man’s coat was turned up. Wake rubbed his head. He slowly reached out and turned up the sound. Tap-tap-tap. The man was typing. The picture started flipping. Wake slapped the side again,

I’ll write, the voice-over said as the man continued to type away. I’ll keep writing… Static from the TV, the voice cutting out and in.

Outside only darkness. I can feel her presence… smell her perfume. I’ll fix it… bring her back. The picture went snowy. Wake banged his hand against the TV. The image went black. If I stop… the audio faded. … she’s lost. The TV went dead.

Wake stared at the TV and knew there was nothing he could do, no amount of pounding on it that would bring the show back. He took a last look around the garage and stepped into the office. No sign of a struggle in there. Nothing out of place. A bright Nordic Walking poster was tacked to the wall with the slogan: “Incontestably proven health benefits. ”

A framed newspaper article showed a picture of Stucky smiling in front of the gas station. He had been proclaimed “Bright Falls Businessman of the Year” for expanding his gas station to include cabin rentals and bringing in tourist trade. Wake remembered the last time he had seen Stucky, seen the Taken he had become, writhing in the flashlight as Wake pumped bullets into him.

The thought made him sick.

Wake turned away from the picture. Through the window, he could see the sun just beginning to come up, a red glow edging over the horizon.

Wake picked up a soda bottle on the counter. The bottle wasn’t cold but there was still fizz in it. Beside the bottle was another manuscript page.

The page shook in his hand as Wake picked it up. He shoved it into his pocket. He couldn’t bear to read it now. Time enough for that later. He sat down, more exhausted than he could remember ever being. He picked up the phone, the receiver almost too heavy to lift, and dialed 911.

Rose knew that Rusty was in love with her, and she liked him too. She liked him a lot. He treated her well, made her smile, made her feel good. But Rusty wasn’t the prince of her dreams, and that tended to underline the unbearable truth: she was no closer to that Hollywood magic than he was.

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