Bedbugs (36 page)

“Don’t worry. I’m right here beside you.”

Laura’s voice sounds impossibly far away.

No matter how desperately I reach for her hand, I can’t touch it.

“
Laura! . . . Where are you?
” I cry.

As my vision adjusts, I stare into the dense darkness of night that has descended around me. A thrill of fear races through me when I see that the bench beside me is empty.

A faint puff of warmth, like someone’s breath, blows gently into my ear, but it doesn’t come close to stopping the terrible shiver of fear and loneliness that trembles inside of me.

I look around at the city street and see that it is empty, too.

Deserted.

The sun has long since dropped below the western horizon, but its light still edges the underside of the clouds to the west with a baleful red glow. Ink-deep shadows reach out like grasping hands from across the street and between the buildings.

I realize that I am surrounded by dense silence, and that I am alone . . . absolutely alone. . . .

—for Charlie Grant

and Wendy Webb

BANGOR DAILY NEWS
Wednesday, January 17.

MUSICIAN’S JET MISSING AND FEARED DOWNED.

B
angor, Maine
(UPI)—Aviation officials in Bangor confirmed this morning that rock musician Alex VanLowe was one of six passengers on board a flight that is reported missing and presumed to have crashed.

Although there has been no official confirmation that the jet has been lost, air traffic controllers at Bangor International Airport state that at 11:34 P.M. EST, the pilot, Michael DeSalvo, reported navigational problems and requested an emergency landing at Bangor International. After giving the pilot approval, the tower lost contact with the jet.

The flight originated in Quebec, Canada, and was heading to Portland, Maine, when it flew into a severe blizzard which for the last twelve hours has been ravaging the entire Northeast.

Rescue and search efforts will not be initiated until the storm diminishes, which is expected late tonight or early tomorrow morning.

Around the world, rock ‘n’ roll fans are anxiously following this story to hear if popular music has suffered yet another casualty, cut off in his prime. VanLowe, the lead singer for the rock group
Phobia
, was scheduled to perform at the Civic Center in Portland, Maine, tonight.

CLICK

T
he batteries in the Sony still seem to have some life, so I’ll make a tape of everything that’s happened—you know, in case I don’t . . . well, I don’t want to consider any of that right now, but it . . .
Jesus!
It sure don’t look good.

It’s so fucking cold!

I’m freezing my ass off!

I’ve gotta remember to keep an eye on the tape. Being cold like this will probably make it brittle, but it’s relatively warm here inside the jet—what’s left of the jet, anyway. At least we’re out of the wind. I should be able to keep recording—at least until the batteries run out. Don’t know if there are any spares around. I’ll have to check later.

I have no idea if it’s day or night right now. My watch says it’s quarter past six, but who the fuck knows?

Jesus, listen to that wind!

I knew we were in trouble long before Mike came on the intercom and told us all to buckle up, but after that, everything happened so fast, I’m not really sure I can keep it straight. I know I heard the jet engines start to whine real high, and the jet definitely felt like it was dropping. I could feel the pressure in my ears. At some point I heard something hit against the outside of the jet—the side opposite from where me and Jodie were sitting. It sounded like we’d been hit by a boulder or a cannon ball or something, and then there was this big grinding sound of metal ripping, and glass breaking. And then. . . .

I don’t know.

I must’ve hit my head or something and blacked out. I have no idea how long. I’m lucky I haven’t frozen to death already!

I’m sure, once they find the wreckage, there are ways of determining exactly what went wrong with the plane. Whenever there’s a news report about a plane going down, they always talk about trying to find the “black box.”

I suppose this piece of junk must’ve had one of them, too, huh?

The only concern I have right now is, when . . . when will they find us and that little black box?

As far as I can tell, everyone on board is dead except me and Jodie. Jeff and Johnny sure as hell aren’t moving. Why me and Jodie didn’t die is beyond me. Must’ve been just plain dumb luck—where we were sitting or something. We’re doing the best we can, I guess. I was bleeding pretty bad from the cut on my head, but other than that and some pulled muscles in my neck and back, I guess I’m okay.

Jodie, though—God, she’s a fucking basket case!

I can’t really tell how bad off she is ‘cause every time I even try to get close to her, she starts screaming and pushing me away like she’s fucking out of her mind!

I keep telling her that she ain’t got a prayer of making it if she loses it like this, but as far as I can see, she’s way off the deep end.

‘Least she’s sleeping right now.

I covered her up with whatever coats and blankets I could find by feeling around in the dark The only way I know she’s still alive is, every now and then, she starts whimpering and groaning in her sleep.

Shit, I wish I had a flashlight or something, but I can’t even start looking around until this storm’s over, and it gets light.

Jesus, listen to that wind howl!

Sounds like a goddamned pack of wolves. Every now and then something bangs against the side of the plane. Probably a branch, or maybe some piece that was knocked loose from the plane. It’s fucking weird how it sounds like there’s someone outside, knocking on the plane. . . .

Trying to get in.

No!

I’ve gotta stop thinking like that!

I know I shouldn’t say this, but Jodie’s not going to be any help in this situation. I wish to hell Mike and Denny hadn’t been killed. They were both up front in the cockpit, so they hit the ground first and hardest. As soon as I could move, I crawled up there and saw all I needed to see. But shit! They were the technical people. They probably would’ve been able to rig up something with the radio or something so we could get help out here. I don’t know jack-shit about how to do something like that.

And I don’t even have a fucking clue where we are. Then again, it’s not as if they’ll be sending out any search parties until the storm’s over.

And I don’t know if I’ll be able to hang on till then.

That’s the biggie, as far as I can see.

No one knows where the hell I am.

For all I know, they might not even realize I’m missing yet.

Food’s going to be another problem. I found a couple of prepackaged meals, TV dinners, in the kitchen area, but they’re frozen solid, just like everything else. I can’t start a fire—not with the wind and snow blowing like it is, and the microwave oven sure as shit ain’t gonna work without power. I would guess there’s an emergency backup system, but damned if I know where it is!

Christ, I’m hungry.

I . . . I guess I’ll try to get some sleep now, but . . . Oh, Jesus!

CLICK

E
yes that glowed with a deep, vibrant green stared from the surrounding darkness of the forest at the hull of the jet. Thin, panting streamers of frosted breath were quickly whipped away by the swirling winds. The wolf watched, waiting with the coiled patience of the wild. It could smell the warmth of living, human flesh that was inside the metal hull, and the smell filled it with a savage urge to rip open the human’s belly and for the first time in its life, feast upon steaming human entrails—the true meal of its kind.

But as the creature crouched in the whistling storm and watched, another figure, smaller and more graceful, its dark fur highlighted with a pattern of white swirls, moved silently out of the deepest shadows and came to stop at the beast’s side.

You know you can’t do it
, she said.

The communication happened without sound, even without eye contact—a mind-link between the two creatures.

But can’t you smell it, can’t you?

Of course I can smell it, and it fills me with disgust.

Not me. Just inhale! . . . Deeply !. . . Let yourself feel what it stirs deep inside you. You can’t tell me that it doesn’t excite you! Have you ever tasted human flesh?

No!
the she-wolf said, her body stiffening as she snarled aloud and glared at the wolf beside her.

You know the Decree, she said, and you must obey it. Come with me now. The Pack is waiting to hunt.

CLICK

S
even-forty-five. Morning. Must be Thursday, the eighteenth.

I spent last night shivering my ass off underneath a pile of coats and clothes that had once belonged to good friends of mine.

Very good friends.

Even Johnny, the fucking asshole. I’m even sorry he’s dead. But they’re all dead, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It isn’t my fault that they’re dead. I have to keep telling myself that.

It isn’t my fault!

I didn’t sleep very much—if at all. I just lay there, watching until—eventually—a thin, gray wash of daylight brightened the porthole windows of the jet.

By the sounds of things, the storm’s pretty much over, but last night . . . man, the things I heard. I—I don’t even want to
think
about it!

My first impulse was to wake up Jodie, but I decided to let her sleep. She isn’t going to be any help to me, anyway. I’ve got to check out this situation. See what’s up.

CLICK

N
ine-eighteen. Same day. The eighteenth.

Well, the first thing I did was go back into the cockpit. I didn’t want to, but I figured any emergency stuff would be up there. The place was a mess—stuff strewn all over the place, but I found a medicine chest, a flashlight, and a flare gun. There are only six flares, so I’ll have to use them wisely. I figure I’ll wait until it’s dark before shooting off the first one. I also found Mike’s butane lighter in his jacket pocket—Jesus, it was tough, just bringing myself to touch him, but I got it, so at least I’ll be able to get a fire going later . . . after I dig out of here. Probably a good thing he never listened to me when I was hounding him about quitting smoking.

Jesus, I wish I could forget what I saw in there!

The front of the jet must’ve hit into the trees head on. I saw . . . Jesus! The blood was . . .

No!

I’m not going to talk about it, or even think about it! Let them rest in peace, for Christ’s sake!

CLICK

T
en-fifteen.

It’s taken me the better part of half an hour to get the side door open. Snow’s drifted up pretty much over the hull, and I had to dig my way out like some goddamned animal. Mostly, though, I’m just really tired from not sleeping well. Don’t know what the temperature is, but it feels like fucking fifty below.

CLICK

O
ne-thirty-five. Still the eighteenth.

The sun’s out, and it actually feels relatively warm. I even worked up a bit of a sweat, collecting a bunch of dry wood for a fire. I’m not used to working hard like this.

I got a fire going just outside the jet by the opened door. Hopefully the smoke won’t drift in and fill up the cabin. Kinda funny, but I started the fire with the first thing I found—the lyric sheet I was working out a new song on when we went down.

The working tide?

“Gonna Be a Big One.”

Jesus, I guess to fuck it
was!

Jodie’s been awake for a while, but she isn’t moving much. From the smell of it, I’d say she must’ve crapped herself during the night.

Can’t say as I blame her.

I tried cooking up some of those frozen dinners from the kitchenette, but they ended up pretty much black. I gave the best one to Jodie—chicken and rice, I think the package said, but she didn’t touch it . . . Didn’t even look at it.

I ate what I could of mine and threw the rest outside. As soon as I did, some crows swooped down out of the pine trees and finished it off. Those are some big damned birds. I never realized how big they are till I saw ‘em up close. But nothing goes to waste out here, I guess. I wonder . . . if Jodie and I die, will the crows fly down and eat us . . . ?

No,
damnit!

I can’t think like that!