Page 93 of Mazywood

But Johnny’s mind was at its sharpest since the road; a gray veil had lifted while he fought for his life. A search and rescue team could use a helicopter to look for his family. He could go back to the Jeep. If the Jeep wouldn’t start, would he have to walk to McCloud? Even so, his chances of being spotted on the road were good. Cars weren’t frequent on the road adjacent to the lodge, but traffic was steady enough that the street had been plowed.

Johnny wished he’d been thinking clearly when he first woke up at the lodge. After what he’d witnessed—after what Sharise and Imani had witnessed with him—his only conscious desire had been to go after his daughters to try to help them. Pure parental instinct, and shock, had led him this far. If only he had tried to get real help sooner.

Now the situation had changed. Walking back might take him at least half an hour, and that was a generous guess, since a portion of the walk was uphill, although he would be walking away from the mountain. And he might be farther from the lodge than he believed, since he hadn’t thought to time his walk. Time had felt like a mystery since he hit his head on the road. If not for the snow to blunt the impact, he might have died.

That thing had swished his mighty tail and downed him like a flea.

Those sharpened teeth had bared at him like a mouth full of knives.

He thought he’d imagined the smaller version at his grandmother’s window because it moved so quickly, plausibly a trick of his eye. But now he knew the truth: It didn’t move like a normal animal. It had swooped away with Tasha like a wraith, moving as if it were swimming. No other biological creature on the ground moved that way, only water creatures. A jellyfish scooting quickly to one side. An octopus propelling itself with those writhing tentacles. It was as if a shark had come aboard their car and yanked Tasha out to sea.

Tasha.

Johnny’s stomach cramped with the memory of her screams. His teeth locked hard as he fought not to tumble into the swamp of anguish he would never escape for the rest of his days. But today—right now—his children had asked for his help. He never should have tried to go after Sharise and Imani alone, but now that he was out here, how could he leave them behind?

Pushing on was his only choice, although they needed an army, not a city boy who’d fallen into a hole and was on his way to hypothermia. He was wet in this fucking snow, and he wouldn’t bet on his chances to live today.

But everyone dies over some shit. Might as well make that shit something worth dying for, his protagonist, Jamil, said in his last draft of La Petite Mort. Wisdom from a horror movie.

But Jamil was right. He wasn’t dead yet, at least. He was the only person who knew what had happened, who knew where Sharise and Imani were. He was one of the few people who knew who they were—and he was the only person left who knew them best.

He had to get back to the trail. He had lost more precious time.

Johnny checked his pockets. The rifle rounds were still zipped into place, but the partially zippered pocket where he had been carrying the knife was empty. He had lost it! He patted the snow around him to see if the knife might have fallen before he was in the tree well, but his hands found nothing solid but stones and twigs. He wasn’t going to risk getting any closer to the unstable snow at the tree’s base. He had ammunition, but no gun. He was chasing this monster with nothing but a ski pole.

“Fuck!” Johnny shouted, hoarse.

Quit your bitching and keep moving, dumbass. Uncle Ricky’s voice in his head was only his own. Johnny had known that all along, maybe.

The trail, at least, was still in sight. He hadn’t lost his way.

When Johnny stood up, he was vaguely sore everywhere, but he didn’t feel like he had sprained or broken anything to impede his journey. The shivering was getting bad, but he could walk. Maybe adrenaline was masking his pain, but adrenaline might get him where he needed to be. He said a silent prayer of thanks that his snowshoes were still intact.

Johnny hadn’t given God much thought since Mom died, and never in kind terms. But now he was certain it was a miracle that he was still alive—so he believed in miracles today. And if God could lead him to another miracle, praying was a small price.

“I’m coming…” Johnny whispered, wishing he could scream it so loudly that every living creature near the mountain would hear him for miles. “I’m right behind you.”

The tracks ahead skated around the trees—the monster’s careening slashes on one side and his children’s swoops on the other.

Sharise and Imani had not lost the trail, and he would not either, he vowed.

Maybe Satan, jealous of his sudden attention to God, heard it as a dare.

Johnny had just begun his trek with his eyes on the trail when snow began driving down.

Imani and Sharise both stood staring up at the sky.

New snowflakes swirled across their cheeks, gentle emissaries from the advancing army. The sky and landscape were morphing to a matching white tableau.

Maybe staring up at the source could make it stop. Maybe wishing could make it stop.

This time, Imani was the first to say it. “We have to go back.”

Sharise whimpered, but she wasn’t crying anymore. Maybe she had run out of tears. As badly as Sharise had wanted to turn back before, she didn’t answer her sister now. But as soon as the snow began with those first flurries, they both realized they were going to lose Mom’s trail—and soon. Which meant they were also going to lose their own trail.

Which meant they would be lost.

If it were just a little snow, Imani would want to keep going. A voice inside of her was screaming that they were close to finding Mom, that there was no reason for the Beast to have taken her much farther, no matter how broad its territory. It wasn’t a regular animal, but it was some kind of animal, and it would follow animal behaviors. It must have some kind of nest nearby. She had found some blood, yes, but not much—not another drop on the trail so far—so it probably hadn’t killed Mom yet, at least not intentionally. With any luck, it planned to store her. (To eat, Imani reminded herself, refusing to sugarcoat it.) Mom had no shoe or sock on at least one of her feet, and no jacket. If they didn’t find her soon, she would freeze to death.