Johnny Gruesome (29 page)

Derek faced Cliff, whose air bag had not inflated because Derek’s side of the car had absorbed most of the impact. Cliff’s face contorted into a mask of rage as he pounded on the car horn.

“Fuck! Fuck!
Fuck!
”

Examining his nose, Derek felt pain erupt inside it. “I think my nose is broken.”

“Screw your nose—look at my car!” Cliff unfastened his seat belt, turned, and leaned over the backseat. “I’m gonna kill that asshole!”

As Cliff searched the backseat, Derek stared past him, out the driver’s side window. What he saw chilled his blood: the figure who had stood frozen in the road now moved toward them. It didn’t run to their aid, but moved with a calm detachment. Its shadow fell over the window.

“He’s right outside the car!”

Cliff turned back, clutching a wooden baseball bat in his whitening knuckles. “Good, the son of a bitch saved me the trouble of looking for him.” He opened the door. Cold air rushed in as the dome light blossomed. “Come here, you—”

Liquid sprayed his face in a stream not unlike that of a man pissing on a tree. His eyes filled with tears, and he choked on the fluid. Gagging, he dropped the bat to claw at his face.

Derek’s eyes widened as the stream continued jetting out of the can held by the figure, two feet away from Cliff. Cliff rocked back and forth in his seat, crying out. Derek smelled lighter fluid as the figure doused Cliff’s jacket.

“Jesus Christ!” Cliff clawed at Derek’s left arm. “Open your goddamned door!”

Derek obeyed, but his door opened only an inch, blocked by the oak tree. “It won’t open. We’re trapped!”

The lighter fluid tapered off. The bare hand clutching the can shook it and discarded it at Cliff’s feet. The figure bent over, its features illuminated by the dull overhead light.

Derek jumped in his seat, his heart pounding.

“JESUS CHRIST!” he and Cliff said at the same time, their voices forming a unified scream.

Johnny Grissom’s corpse leered at them, his decaying flesh stretched tight over the left side of his skull and sagging on the right, his hair hanging like wet straw. Still screaming, Cliff almost jumped onto Derek’s lap.

Derek pressed his back against the door, feeling cold air on his neck.
“Johnny!”

Johnny grinned, his rotting lips revealing blackened gums. “In the flesh, motherfuckers.”

Clawing at his throat, Cliff spat out as much lighter fluid as he could. “You’re alive,” he said, but neither he nor Derek believed that.

“Not by a long shot.” Johnny removed a box of Marlboros from his pocket, slapped the red and white pack against an open palm, and slid a cigarette out. He popped the cancer stick between his lips.

Derek felt Cliff’s body turn rigid against him.

Johnny returned the cigarette pack to his pocket and took out a lighter. “You assholes think you’re hot shit, don’t you?”
“NO!
”

Johnny sparked the lighter. The boys stared at the tiny flame, then watched the dead thing before them light the cigarette. Johnny took a deep drag, the cigarette’s end glowing red. He exhaled a stream of smoke through his gaping nostrils.

“Sure, you do.” He gestured with his hand, the glowing end of the cigarette creating a comet’s tail in the space separating them. “Tell me what you think.”

“All right,” Cliff said.
“All right.”

“We think we’re hot shit!” Derek said.

“We really do!”

Johnny jammed the lighter into his pocket. “Good boys.” He took another drag on the cigarette, then held it up to his face. “I never picked up the habit.” He stared at them. “These things really will kill you.”

Cliff pressed his back against Derek with so much force Derek couldn’t breathe. “No, please!”

Johnny flicked his middle finger. Derek saw the cigarette ricochet off Cliff’s coat, burning ashes falling into his lap. For a moment, the cigarette failed to ignite the lighter fluid soaking into Cliff’s clothing. Then Derek felt tremendous heat on his face, and Cliff unleashed a bloodcurdling scream. The space between Derek and Johnny turned transparent blue for a moment; then yellow flames coated the inside roof, and Derek breathed in the stench of Cliff’s burning flesh.

With Cliff’s agonized screams filling his ears, Derek braced his legs against the dashboard and kicked with all his strength, driving himself against the passenger side window, which shattered. His back slammed against the tree, cold air filling his lungs as broken glass flew in all directions. Clawing at the roof, he pulled himself out of the car, squeezing past the tree’s trunk. His arms flailed for a moment, and then his shoulder drove into the snow. He staggered upright, facing the car.

On the other side, Johnny stared at him with an angry look but made no move toward him. Inside the car, Cliff became a human fireball. His right hand reached out the window, and he shouted Derek’s name through strangled shrieks.

Derek took a step forward. If he could just grab Cliff’s hand, maybe he could pull him free of the fire …

Johnny shook his head, a faint smile on his lips.

The lighter fluid can exploded, transforming the car’s interior into an inferno. Derek fell on his ass and the flames blew out over his head. Cliff’s screams became an extended wail, then ceased. When the flames receded, Derek rose and saw that Johnny no longer stood behind the car. Without hesitation, he spun and charged into the woods, his feet plowing through the snow.

He shoved branches out of his way with his bare hands and scrambled deep into the darkness with no thought of anything but escape. Shafts of dulled moonlight penetrated the trees, providing him with scattered reference points to follow. The snow on the ground grew more shallow, and he pumped his legs faster. Despite the presence of thousands of pinecones on the frozen ground, he continued to smell burning flesh.

Where could he go?

Maybe Henry was still at The Bus. But what could Henry do against Johnny?

Nothing, at least at the bus.

But if they reached Henry’s house, they could escape in his truck. An image sprang into his mind: Henry’s bolt-action hunting rifle, mounted on the truck’s rear window. They could blow Johnny to pieces!

His left shoulder slammed into a tree trunk and he bounced off it like a pinball in an arcade game. Even as his shoulder turned numb, he struck another tree and fell face-first into the snow on the ground. He leapt to his feet and ran forward, ignoring the pain that flared in his shoulder. Heart pounding, he stole a glance over his shoulder.

A shadow pursued him, as black as the night. It bore down on him at a steady pace, weaving between the silhouetted trees with precision, never missing a beat and showing no sign of tiring.

Derek let loose a startled cry that surprised himself. He tried pumping his arms to make his legs move faster, but the throbbing in his shoulder intensified. The number of trees decreased, and he found himself facing a steep hill. For an instant he experienced a ray of hope: Henry’s valley lay on the other side of the hill. All he had to do was reach it.

A whimper escaped his throat: snow covered the steep hill, making for a difficult climb. But he had no choice.

Diving forward, he clawed at the snow, leaving deep furrows in it as he scrambled upward. His legs found traction in the earth beneath the snow and his hands groped for leverage. Halfway to the top, he looked back. Johnny emerged from the woods and stopped at the foot of the hill. He remained there, immobile.

He isn’t following me!

Derek worked his limbs faster, cutting his fingers on the crusty snow.

I’m going to make it. I’m going to live!

Then his equilibrium shifted and the world changed. The trees ahead seemed to get smaller rather than larger. With growing terror, he realized he was sliding down the slippery slope. He clawed at the snow with frantic movements, but the speed of his descent only increased. With no other choice, he rolled onto his back, facing his pursuer.

At the hill’s bottom, Johnny remained as motionless as a corpse, but he gripped something in his right hand, like a sword. Moonlight glinted off the pointed end of the glassy icicle.

Derek’s screams carried across the treetops.

W
ith her knees raised before her, Carol sat on the sofa. She felt safer bundled up in Matt’s flannel robe. A bottle of red wine and a half-full glass rested on the table. She drew on a cigarette from a pack she’d hidden a year ago. Her wet curls dripped on the nape of her neck. She had scrubbed her flesh raw, and she prayed it no longer stank of death.

Headlights played across the closed curtains, and she listened as Matt switched off the Pathfinder’s engine and got out. She stared at meaningless images on TV as the front door swung open and he stomped snow from his boots. She felt his eyes on her as he hung his hat and coat on the rack beside the door.

“When did you start that again?”

Carol flicked ashes into the ashtray on the coffee table.
Please don’t start an argument, Matt. I don’t want to fight.
“It’s been … a difficult week.”

Matt said nothing.

“Ben wants you to call him at the station.”

Frowning, he glanced at his watch. “I just left there fifteen minutes ago.” He picked up the phone and pressed an auto-dial button.

Carol aimed the remote control at the TV and the image went dark, leaving her distorted reflection to stare back at her.

Matt spoke into the phone. “Yeah, Ben?”

A long moment passed and Carol felt her body tighten.

“Ah, Christ. Not again.”

She dug her fingernails into her palms.

“Okay, I’ll get out there as fast as I can.” Hanging up, he faced her.

Avoiding his gaze, she spoke in a monotone: “Every time the phone rings, someone else is dead. Maybe we should take it off the hook.”

Matt sat beside her. “Two more of your students have been killed. Derek Delos and Cliff Wright.”

Johnny.
Despite her best efforts, Carol began to sob, and Matt took her into his arms.

“Easy, honey, easy. I know what you’re going through.”

For a moment she wanted to laugh.
Oh, no, you don’t.
But the tears continued to burn her face.

As the Willow Creek Bridge receded in his rearview mirror, Matt could not shake the strong sense of déjà vu. Johnny’s death had been an accident, or a suicide, but it also apparently had been an omen of bad things to come. He recalled Ben’s urgent words.
“We’ve got two more, Matt. Teenage boys, out on Willow Road, near the village limits. One of them was toasted in his car, registered to Cliff Wright. We found the other one in the woods, maybe a quarter of a mile away. He had ID: Derek Delos.”

Matt knew from his interviews that Derek and Cliff had been on the wrestling team with Todd. Ascending the hill, and driving without the benefit of streetlights, he experienced an almost unbearable feeling of isolation. Life in Red Hill leaned toward quaint, to be sure, but the folks who occupied the hills knew the true meaning of living the quiet life.

Until now.

Strobe lights came into view, and he slowed down. A yellow fire truck obstructed his view of the other vehicles, but he knew what to expect: two police cars, an ambulance, and maybe a fire marshal. Passing the fire engine, he saw the smoldering wreckage of a car ten feet off the road. A tree beside it also smoldered, its trunk blackened and petrified. Pulling over, he got out and joined Dan Heller. Snow floated around them as three firemen prodded the torched vehicle with iron pikes.

“That oak caught too much heat,” Dan said.

“What started the fire?” Matt said.

“Has to be arson. You can’t tell, but there’s a kid in there. The tracks are just about filled in now, but we followed two sets of them into the woods, where we found the other kid’s body.”

Matt gazed into the yawning darkness of the woods. “Show me.”

Following a trail of glowing lanterns and glow sticks that illuminated the trees, Dan led him through the woods. Matt scanned the footprints with his flashlight, noting a patch of displaced snow where someone had fallen on the ground.

“Damn kids shouldn’t have been driving around after what happened to the Kumler kid,” Dan said, a note of disapproval in his voice.