Last Grave (9781101593172) (10 page)

She means for me to run until it kills me.

As trees flashed past and the pain built, Samantha could feel her body struggling to heal itself from the muscle fatigue that was tormenting her. Sweat was pouring off of her, drenching her clothes. She was dehydrating, and she could feel muscles in different parts of her body begin to cramp and seize. Her breathing had become ragged, and the deeper she tried to breathe, the less oxygen she seemed to be getting.

She could feel her body starting to shake as more and more muscles cramped. She didn't know how long she'd been running, but the speed had not let up at all.

I'm going to die if I can't make myself stop.

She reached out, praying she still had control over her arms, and grabbed a slender tree as she raced by. The resultant impact caused her shoulder to separate, but she held on long enough to land herself flat on her back.

She popped back up, and her fingers caught at the rough bark, tearing off her fingernails as she tried to hold on. With a wrench, her body freed itself and she was running again, trees rushing by her at blinding speed. Her mind worked frantically, trying to figure out how she could stop what was happening. Even if she had the energy to create some kind of barrier, she was sure her legs would just carry her around it.

She could feel small blood vessels all over her body starting to burst with the force of the blood pumping through them. She stepped down wrong on her left foot and felt the bone crack. She didn't have much time left.

Then she heard the sound of running water. It was coming from in front of her, and a crazy thought took over. Soon a creek was in sight. She raced toward it. Then she was in the water, splashing through.

She bent down and lodged her hand into the crack between two boulders. She cried out in anguish as the bones in her hands and fingers snapped. They held, though, and she fell into the water. Before she could get up, she spun, planting herself facedown in the freezing water. She wedged her other hand underneath some more boulders and held on.

Please, God, let this work,
she prayed.

She opened her mouth and sucked the icy water into her lungs. Her entire body spasmed and began to arch and thrash. Terror flooded her, but she kept it up.

The witch had meant her legs to run until she was dead. Maybe she could short-circuit the spell by coming as near to dying as she could.

Her feet kicked wildly, trying again and again to get a purchase on the slippery rocks on the bed of the creek and failing over and over. Her face was downstream from her legs, and after a moment, the water she gulped in was filled with blood from her battered legs.

She continued to convulse as her body fought to live and her legs fought to run. But she forced herself to keep her head under water. Her chest heaved, trying to vomit the water, but there was nowhere for it to go. Finally, darkness began to close around her. Slowly, her legs stopped moving.

I need to move now. Push myself out of the water.

But it sounded like too much effort. Maybe she'd just lie there for a little while, take a nap. She'd feel better after she'd rested.

Her mind drifted down the course of the creek. It really was beautiful here. She knew she'd been afraid, but she couldn't remember why. That was okay. She didn't want to be afraid anymore. This feeling of lightness was much better.

Snatches of a rhyme she'd sung as a child came back to her.

When witches go to school, little boys cry.

There was more to it; she knew there was. Why could she never remember the last part? She struggled, trying to remember how it went. For some reason, it seemed terribly important that she remember. She had sung it a thousand times, a million even.

The water was getting even colder. Maybe she should move.

Get up!

So very cold, but she couldn't move. And besides, she wanted to remember the rest of the song.

When witches go to school, little boys cry. When witches go to school, bad girls die.

There was more; what was it?

She was colder now, but she wasn't sure she cared. Maybe she'd get up, but she didn't really have to. The creek bottom was pretty comfortable when you got used to it. In fact, she had decided she'd stay. Now, if only she could remember the rest of the song.

When witches go to school, little boys cry. When witches go to school, bad girls die. And—

And what? It was almost there, the last phrase.

And what a bad, bad witch am I.

Pain seared through her, the last of her energy struggling to heal a dead body. All her muscles went completely rigid as electricity arched through them and then hit the water around her. The resultant current jolted her up out of the water just enough for her to cough.

Bloody water streamed out of her mouth before she collapsed back into the creek. Terror returned to her and she thrashed, willing her arms to push her back up out of the water. They wouldn't, but she finally managed to flip over onto her back, her lips barely above the waterline as her head came to rest on a boulder that was only partly submerged.

She hacked again and again as her body expelled the water. Blood vessels all throughout her body began to repair themselves as her body sucked up the energy of the water rushing around it.

She had done it. She had ended the spell. It was moot, though, if she couldn't heal the damage she'd done to her body during drowning. She lay there, too scared to open her eyes, for what seemed like an eternity. The cold water raced around her, making her shiver so hard her teeth chattered together.

She needed to get out of the cold water and into some warm clothes before she went into shock. The January air had been mild today, but the sun was going down and the temperature was rapidly plunging. It was supposed to reach nearly freezing later that night.

Finally, she opened her eyes. She could see slivers of dark sky above her through the trees. Slowly, she sat up, head spinning. She nearly collapsed again, but she managed to stay sitting upright. She reached out with her torn and battered fingers and began to drag herself out of the creek. The pain made her cry, and the tears on her cheeks stung with cold.

“You can do it,” she whispered to herself, teeth still chattering.

She dragged herself up and out of the water and collapsed on the ground, sobbing. She lay flat against the earth, wishing she could become part of it. She pulled as much of its energy into herself as she could until she could feel roots in the ground beneath her actually starting to wither and die. They gave their life so that she might live.

It took another half hour before she could stand. The cold was nearly overwhelming her, and she debated ditching her wet clothes. Shock was quickly setting in.

Just walk and you'll warm up,
she told herself. She wondered if she should build a small fire but was hesitant to do so. She didn't want anyone seeing the smoke and coming to investigate. She was in no shape to deal with witches or forest rangers.

She put one foot in front of the other, marveling at how much effort a few simple steps took. She promised herself hot cocoa, a hot shower—because she didn't think she could face soaking in a bathtub anytime soon after nearly drowning—and warm, fleecy clothes when she got home. Then she'd crank up the heater and lie on top of the vent in the floor of her room.

And when she made it to her rental car, she would turn up the heat as high as she could. She realized with instant regret that she'd neglected to put a spare set of clothes in the new car. Epic fail.

That was okay. The car would be warm and she could sit and it would be good. She wouldn't even have to drive straight home. She could go to a hotel or even take a nap in the parking lot before she had to drive all the way home.

These sounded like better options to her. Another step. Another. Everything was going to be okay. Soon she'd be warm and safe. She looked up from the ground and looked at the trees around her.

And that was when it hit her.

She was completely lost.

10

“You've got to be kidding me,” Samantha whispered, her misery nearly overwhelming her.

Her phone was gone, probably lost to the river. She still had her keys in her pocket, but they would be of no use unless she could find the car. There was no sign of train tracks anywhere. The map she'd shoved into her pocket disintegrated when she tried to pull it out. No one knew she was up here, not even Lance, so help wasn't coming.

What do people do when they're lost? There's something about moss on trees.

She shook her head. Thinking like a regular person was only going to get her in more trouble. She dug her keys out of her pocket, placed them on her palm, and held out her hand. With her free hand, she touched the car key.

“Take me to the lock this key fits.”

She felt the energy flow out of her hand, more painful than it normally should have been because of her great exhaustion. She pulled her hand away and the key began to vibrate. It twisted itself around on her palm until it was pointing past her left shoulder.

She turned and began to walk that way. She was so tired that she stumbled every few feet. Finally, she had to put the keys back in her pocket so she had both hands free to help catch herself.

She stopped after five minutes and pulled the keys back out. She was still going in the right direction. She made a micro adjustment and continued on, checking her direction every five minutes. After about half an hour, she came to a stop at a gorge and stared across to the other side.

She wanted to cry but ended up laughing instead, the sound crazy even to her own ears. “The most direct route is not always the best route,” she said.

There was a railroad bridge about a hundred feet from where she was. She walked wearily over to it. She gazed across the expanse. She was going to have to walk across.

She bent down and put her hand on the track, feeling for vibrations. The last thing she wanted to do was get halfway across and have a train show up. She couldn't feel anything, so she grimly stepped out on the tracks. She walked slowly and steadily, making sure to pick up her feet so she wouldn't trip.

At last she made it across, and she pulled out her keys again. They pointed straight on, while the railroad tracks curved to the right. She stood there, torn. If she followed where the keys led, she ran the risk of coming across more impassable terrain. On the other hand, she knew the train had made several switchbacks going up the mountain.

She reached up and touched the cross, which was still around her neck. “Which way?” she whispered.

The sun had set and what little light had been left in the sky was fast fading. She knew the railroad tracks might be the longer way to go but that they would get her where she was going and she'd at least be able to see the ground a little more clearly. She shoved her keys back into her pocket, turned. and began walking next to the railroad tracks.

Now that the sun was down, the cold set in with a vengeance, chilling her through and through. She told herself to just keep walking as she rubbed her arms and hands together.

Nearly two hours later, Roaring Camp came into sight and she sobbed in relief. The General Store and the other buildings were closed for the night. It made the area look like a ghost town instead of the vibrant place it had been earlier.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and spun, hands lifted, then forced herself to quickly put them down when she realized it was a couple of hikers heading to their car.

She heard a step behind her and she twisted around. Just someone leaving work late, locking up.

The woman looked at her and her eyes widened. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

Samantha remembered that her clothes were shredded as well as wet. “I'm fine,” she said, trying to make her tone soothing. “But I lost my phone. Is there a pay phone around here?”

The woman pointed.

“Thanks,” Samantha said.

“Are you sure you don't need help?”

Samantha took a deep breath. “I'm fine. Forget about it,” she said, letting her words wash over the other woman. The woman's eyes unfocused slightly, and then she nodded and headed for the parking lot.

Samantha stumbled toward the pay phone. She had no coins, so she had to call Lance collect. She braced herself for the questioning she was going to get for doing so.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“It's a very long story. I lost my cell phone.”

“Okay. That's going to be an interesting story.”

“No, it's really not,” she said firmly.

“Okay. So, time to meet?”

“Give me an hour and a half. I'm still in Santa Cruz.”

He sighed. “Fine. I'll meet you at Tony's.”

Tony's was an Italian restaurant downtown that Lance practically lived at.

“See you there.”

She hung up and trudged to her car. Once inside, she cranked up the heater. Her clothes were still sopping wet and it was freezing cold. Now that she was sitting and not moving, the cold began to overtake her and she was shaking like a leaf. She waited a couple of minutes until she got control of herself again. Finally, she pulled out of the parking lot and hit the highway.

The drive home seemed longer than her entire trek through the forest. Maybe it was because she was so exhausted and the heat was making her drowsy. Her body was still struggling to heal, and hunger was the only thing keeping her awake.

At least by the time she parked outside of Tony's her clothes were dry. As she surveyed them, though, she realized they were shredded in several places. She looked like she'd been through a meat grinder.

She bit her lip. If she went home, she'd never be able to make herself leave again. She held her hand up to the heating vent, pulling the energy out of the warm air. She put a glamour on herself so that no one would notice her ripped clothing.

Finally, she got out of the car and staggered into the restaurant, collapsing in a chair across from Lance.

“You've looked better,” he noted.

She panicked for a moment, thinking her glamour had failed, and then realized while her clothes should look fine to him, her hair and face were still a mess.
Sloppy. I should have thought about that before I came in here
. It was too late to do anything about it, though.

She grimaced. “I've felt better,” she admitted. It was quite possibly the understatement of the century.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“I've had better. My lead didn't pan out,” she added hastily, hoping to steer him off that topic. “What about you? Any luck?”

“Struggling to remember a worse day. At least I got the report filed so the captain can get off my back about that.”

“Sometimes you've got to thank God for the small miracles,” she said.

“We're alive.”

“That's not a small miracle,” she said with a grunt.

“I was thinking it's time we work on a motive in this case.”

“Right there with you.”

“Let's start fresh in the morning. I've made a list of friends and colleagues we should go talk to. People don't get murdered for no reason.”

“I'm with you. Let's make it happen.”

“I don't know why this whole thing has been so screwed up,” he said. “It's like it started wrong all the way around. And then the thing with your roommate. It's just been like nothing I've ever experienced before. Maybe it's the quakes. Everyone's rattled.”

“I thought Californians didn't get rattled.”

“Some do,” he said with a shrug. “And there are a bunch who live here who weren't born here.”

“Like me.”

They were interrupted by the waiter, who brought a giant bowl of spaghetti with meatballs and two plates.

“You'll like their spaghetti,” Lance said as the waiter walked away.

She didn't. And she'd told Lance that a dozen times, but it didn't seem to sink in. They loaded it with garlic, which wasn't what she was used to. He loved it and therefore he believed everyone must. At the moment, though, she was too tired to complain.

She shoveled some of the pasta onto her plate and was grateful that it was at least hot. She shoved a spoonful into her mouth and nearly gagged. She looked up at Lance in shock.

“Oh, yeah, I had them add extra garlic today. I know how much you like it.”

She managed to swallow her bite and then she grabbed for her water. She drank half the glass and then looked up at him.

“I'm going to kill you.”

“Nah, you love me. We both know it.”

She considered her options. At the moment, killing Lance seemed like an excellent idea. Productive even.

She felt a flash of heat through her body and realized with a start that the thought of killing someone was actually exciting her. That realization flooded her with horror. She reached up and gripped her cross, trying to ground herself. What was wrong with her? Had all the attacks brought this on?

She took several deep breaths and struggled to banish the dark thoughts that were threatening to consume her.
Focus. Choose something you can control to focus on.

Slowly, she raised a shaking hand, signaling to the waiter, who scurried over.

“Actually, I'd like chicken fettuccine Alfredo, hold the garlic.”

He nodded and headed for the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked incredulously.

“Saving your life.”

He smiled. “You crack me up, Ryan.”

You wouldn't say that if you knew I wasn't joking,
she thought. She gripped the edge of the table with her free hand as she struggled to bring herself under control. She could feel the wood giving way beneath her fingers, heating up and warping.

Ten minutes later, when the waiter returned with her food and set it down in front of her, she finally let go of the table. She glanced down at the wood and could see indentations from her fingers. She hadn't left her fingerprints on the table so much as in it.

She picked up her napkin and wiped her forehead. From freezing to boiling. She was going to get sick if she wasn't careful. At the moment, though, something so mundane as a cold seemed the least of her worries.

Lance was still talking, and she struggled to figure out what about. It had to have something to do with the case they were working. But she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about anything. She had nearly died a few hours before. And as far as her body was concerned, she
had
died.

“You bored, Ryan?” Lance asked suddenly, his voice seeming unnaturally loud to her.

She shook her head. “I don't feel so good. I think I'm coming down with something.”

He made a show of moving his food farther away from her. “Well, keep it to yourself, whatever it is.”

She couldn't think of anything sarcastic to say in return. She was beginning to sweat. She really was too exhausted. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't have cast the glamour on her clothes.

Her legs were beginning to shake.

I'm still in shock.

She felt the glamour starting to slip. She didn't have enough energy to take care of her body and keep the glamour up. She dropped her knife on the floor on purpose. She bent over to pick it up, blood rushing to her brain as she did so.

She pressed her fingers to the wood floor and pulled for all she was worth. Energy from everyone in the room flowed into her, bolstering her. She had to force herself to let go as her body eagerly drank up what she was feeding it.

She sat up slowly.

Lance looked slightly dazed.

“You okay?” she asked.

“It's been a rough couple of days. I guess it's all sort of catching up to me.”

“Let's finish eating so we can get out of here. I for one need to sleep for about a week,” she said.

“Good idea.”

They ate the rest of their meal quickly. Lance paid without a word about her fettuccine and they got up and left the restaurant. She could see other people around the restaurant looking tired. That was her doing, but it couldn't be helped.

Outside in the parking lot, Lance breathed in deeply of the cold air and it seemed to revive him a bit. “Walk with me for a minute,” he said. “There's something I want to show you.”

She wanted nothing more than to refuse, but she didn't want to arouse his suspicions. They walked two blocks in silence, and she looked around, wondering what it was he wanted to talk about, to show her.

“You know, Lance, is this going to take much longer? I'm really beat,” she finally said.

“Take a look around,” he said, slowing to a stop.

“I have been,” she said, wondering what was going on in his head.

“You notice anything weird around here lately?”

Samantha glanced at him, wondering if this was some kind of trap. If he could prove his partner was crazy, he could get her transferred or suspended. She hadn't known him long enough to be sure just exactly what he was capable of.

“Define weird,” she said, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

“I haven't seen a homeless person in two days.”

“You know, you're right,” she said. It was surprising. The city's homeless were usually everywhere. She remembered how surprised she'd been the night of the murder not to find any of them in the area.

She looked around. “Usually there's half a dozen guys on the street at this hour.”

“At least. They've been gone so long, even the urine smell is fading.”

He was right. It was something she'd trained herself to ignore, but things had definitely changed.

“Has the department been cracking down lately?” she asked. “Is there a new shelter open that serves better food?”

He shook his head. “Not that I've heard. Even if the department were cracking down, it wouldn't be this effective. And we'd have heard about any new shelters.”