Darkness (31 page)

Now he imagined he saw eyes everywhere. They seemed to be in the trees, looking down at him from the branches that stretched out toward him like skeletal arms.

They were in the water, staring up at him from the depths. He saw George Coulton, lying on his back, gazing blankly upward, a gaping wound torn in his breast.

The memory made him shudder, and he tried to move faster, but the waters themselves seemed to be grasping at him now, and he felt as though in the grip of a nightmare.

He came at last to the mangrove thicket and hauled himself into the boat, his chest pounding, his breathing ragged. He fell back, resting against the gunwale, and waited for the exhaustion to pass. At last he pulled himself up onto the bench, untied the line from the mangrove root to which it was secured, and slipped the oars into the locks. Dipping the oars into the water, he slipped the boat out of the thicket.

And froze.

No more than ten feet away a silent figure sat in another rowboat, staring at him.

Pale eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

Jonas.

He released the oars and reached for his gun, which lay on the bench beside him. But as his fingers closed on its grip, a low, hollow laugh drifted across the water from the other boat.

“Cain’t kill me, Judd,” Jonas said softly, but with a terrible clarity that rang in Judd Duval’s ears. “Remember? I already be dead.” There was a silence, then Jonas spoke again: “But I be comin’ for you, Judd. Soon. Real soon.”

The boy’s dismal laugh sounded again, and then the boat slid away into the darkness. A moment later it was as if it hadn’t been there at all.

Terror clutching at him once more, Judd’s shaking hand dropped the gun and clasped the oars of his own boat.

The hundred yards back to the cabin seemed to take an eternity. Once he was inside again, Judd turned on every light in the place.

For him there could be no more darkness tonight.

Kelly stopped in her tracks, listening.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the swamp. For the first few minutes, after she’d fled from her father’s stinging words, she’d paid no attention at all to where she was going. She’d dashed across the field and come to the canal, then seen the bridge off to the right. She’d heard her father calling after her, but ignored him, and run toward the bridge. She’d hesitated there, uncertain whether to cross into the wilderness beyond, but when her father had started toward her, still shouting, she’d stopped thinking and run across.

Across the bridge lay the swamp, where she could
disappear in an instant. So she’d crossed the bridge, and plunged into the wilderness, her feet finding a narrow pathway that twisted through the undergrowth.

She’d stopped no more than thirty feet from the end of the bridge and waited, controlling her gasping breath by sheer force of will. She’d been able to hear her father’s feet echoing on the wooden bridge as he crossed, and clearly heard his voice as he called out to her.

He didn’t sound as angry now as he had in the truck.

He sounded almost scared.

But what would happen if she went back?

As soon as he found out she was safe, he’d be even madder than he’d been before.

So she’d kept silent, afraid even to move, for fear the rustling of the palmettos would give her away.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he’d stopped calling to her, and then she heard him gunning the truck’s engine, a sound that had quickly died away.

Had he gone home?

She moved deeper into the wilderness, following the narrow track until it finally petered out, then pushing through the underbrush, guiding herself only by following the line of least resistance.

For a while—she wasn’t sure how long—it was kind of fun, being alone in the darkness.

But slowly the night closed in around her and she began to feel frightened.

She moved faster, searching for a path in the darkness, but things looked the same everywhere.

She felt the ground under her feet growing softer, and finally felt water leaking into her shoes.

She turned back, trying to retrace her steps, but everywhere she turned, everything looked the same, and the farther she walked, the deeper the water seemed to get.

It was up to her ankles when suddenly she stepped out of a clump of mangrove and found herself at the edge of the island.

She stared at the channel a long time, trying to determine how deep it might be.

On the other side, the ground seemed higher. Over there, at least, she wouldn’t be wading.

At last, breaking a stick off of one of the mangroves, she started across, testing the water’s depth with the stick. In the middle of the channel she was knee deep, but then the bottom began to slope upward, and a moment later she was back on solid ground.

She waited, listening, wondering if her father might not be calling for her again.

But she heard nothing, and finally started moving again, searching for any trace of a path.

Now, with no idea how long she’d been wandering in the wetlands, she stopped once more, listening.

This time she heard something.

It was almost inaudible at first, just a faint rustling in the midst of a thicket of palmettos and saw grass.

It came again, louder this time.

There was something there, coming closer to her.

Kelly’s heart began to pound and she felt a tightness in her lungs as panic rose inside her.

“H-Hello?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The instant she spoke, the steady droning of the insects came to a stop and the silence around her took on an eerie quality.

She felt as if she was being watched.

Tendrils of fear clutched at her, and she spoke again, unable to stand the hollow silence any longer. “Who is it?” she called. “I know someone’s there.”

Silence. Then, once more, the strange rustling noise. It was closer now, and she thought she could hear the sound of breathing as well.

“I’m not scared of you,” she called out, but her voice, even to herself, sounded tiny, like the whimpering of a frightened animal. Her hand tightened on the stick she still held.

There was another rustling, and then, out of the
darkness, she saw a pair of eyes glinting in the darkness and heard a low snorting sound.

A boar.

It stepped out of the thicket, its head lowered, its tusks glinting in the darkness. Above the tusks its eyes fixed on her, and Kelly’s heart began to pound yet harder, as the animal snorted menacingly, pawing at the ground with its great cloven hoofs.

Her eyes flicked around, searching for somewhere to hide, or a tree to climb. But there was nothing around her except the low palmettos and the saw grass.

The boar’s head weaved back and forth, and she sensed that it was about to charge.

“No!” she suddenly screamed, running toward the huge animal, the stick raised above her head.

Startled, the boar froze where it was, and suddenly Kelly was upon it, bringing the stick down, smashing it into the boar’s snout.

Roaring in pain at the blow, the pig whirled, charging off into the underbrush, its immense body crashing through the palmettos. Birds burst up from the foliage, roused by Kelly’s scream and the boar’s bellow of pain, wheeling overhead while they squawked in panic, only to settle back into their nesting places.

Too terrified to move, Kelly remained rooted to the spot, her heart still racing, her breath catching in her throat.

Slowly, the birds fell into an uneasy silence and the insects began a tentative chirping once more.

Kelly felt her heartbeat slowing, and her breath returned to normal. She listened, straining her ears for any sound of the foraging boar, but it seemed to have disappeared into the darkness.

She gazed around, searching for anything that might yield a clue as to where she was, but there was nothing. The trees, the bayous, the islands—all of them looked alike.

She felt the icy fingers of panic reaching out for her
again, but steeled herself against them, refusing, this time, to give in.

She’d been in the swamp before, twice.

Neither time had she felt any fear at all.

But she realized that there had been something different then.

The night she’d come into the swamp alone, and the next night, too, when she’d come with Michael, there had been another sound, a faint song rising above the steady monotone of the insects, a song that had somehow spoken to her, beckoned to her.

Tonight, that song was silent.

Tonight, she was totally alone.

She felt the panic edging its way back, grasping at her once again.

No! she told herself.

I’ll be all right. I’ll keep moving, and I’ll find my way out.

But even as she spoke the words silently to herself, she knew she didn’t believe them.

Deep in her heart, she wasn’t sure she would ever get out at all.

17

M
ichael cut the engine on the outboard, letting the boat drift silently through the bayou. He played his flashlight over the foliage, the brilliant halogen beam slicing through the darkness, illuminating the trees around him. Insects sparkled and glittered in the shaft of light, homing in on the artificial sun until Michael finally switched it off as they swarmed around him.

“Kelly!” he called out. “Kelly, it’s Michael. Can you hear me?”

He listened, but heard nothing except the sound of other voices, also calling. It was as if the whole swamp had become an echo chamber, with Kelly’s name drifting back and forth.

But he knew that unless she was in the immediate area, Kelly wouldn’t hear the searchers, for the thick mosses that covered the trees muffled sound quickly. Only a few hundred yards away, there would be no hint
of the twenty-odd men who were combing the wilderness for her.

The cloud of insects that had answered the flashlight’s beacon moved on, except for the mosquitoes that whined around Michael’s ears, risking a landing every few seconds, only to be swatted away. At last Michael turned the light on again, its beam trapping a possum that clung to a tree a few yards away. The animal froze, mesmerized by the light, staring unblinkingly at Michael.

“It’s okay,” Michael crooned softly to the frightened creature. As if responding to his voice, the possum moved slightly. Suddenly a large green form dropped down from the branch above and a tree boa threw three quick coils around the possum’s body. The possum, squealing loudly with surprise and pain, struggled in the grip of the reptile, but the snake, responding to the movement, only tightened its grip on the little marsupial, crushing its lungs.

In a few minutes the possum’s wriggling began to weaken, and then as a final breath was squeezed from its body, it went limp in the snake’s grip.

The boa began to move, never releasing the creature from its grasp as it worked itself around so that its mouth was at the possum’s head.

Its jaws opened, stretching wide as it began working the dead creature into its maw. Michael watched, fascinated, as the boa’s mandible dropped away from its maxilla to accommodate the impossibly large body of its prey. Michael had seen it before, and knew it would take the better part of an hour before the possum’s long tail finally disappeared into the snake’s craw and the serpent, sated, crept off to coil in the crotch of a tree while it digested its meal.