Dark Witness (3 page)

I take a deep breath and beat myself up.

Not everyone is a friggin' psychopath.

I know that's true, but I can't help myself. I assume the freakiest worst, horror movie worst, the tenth level of hell worst, the no-turning-back worst because that's how afraid I've been for so long. I am the only one I can trust. I am the only one who will not run away from me. I almost laugh at how stupid that thought is, but the container moves again.

"Billy! Billy!"

My voice catches as the gears grind with the most god-awful sound. He doesn't hear. He doesn't feel that we aren't just on a hill anymore. We are driving over a mountain, the road isn't good, and it's tossing this tin can we're sitting in with a vengeance. I remember the beer on the driver's breath, and now I'm really freaked. This isn't the scared of what may happen, this is the terror of knowing something is going to happen.

Kneeling, I put my arms out as the back wheels slip. I'm thrown over and hit my shoulder hard as I tumble. I grab for Billy. My fingers scrape against the sole of his shoe. He's awake, and he does what comes naturally. He looks for me.

"Hannah? Where are you? Hannah!"

"Grab the rope! Grab the ropes on the boxes." I scream orders as I crawl back to him. The sounds are horrific: the floor popping under my hands and knees, the gears screaming, the towers of boxes groaning as they sway and strain.

"Find our stuff. We have to get out." I'm as close to hysterical as I've ever been, so I huff and puff and count the seconds between each breath to calm myself. I grab his leg; he grasps my wrist.

"What's going on?" He pulls me up so that I am in his arms for a split second.

"I don't know. I don't know."

I turn away from his embrace and start slapping at the wall of cardboard boxes until my palm hits the hemp. Like a blind girl, my fingers run over and around that knot as I talk.

"It sounds like he can't get traction."

"Where are we?" Billy kneels beside me.

"How should I know that, Billy? How?"

I scream at him to keep from crying. Before he can say another word there is a terrible sound – metallic screeching and wailing. The truck moves in slo-mo like it can't decide where it wants to go.

"Billy, the boxes are coming loose. Pull the rope!" I have no idea if what I'm saying is right or even possible, but we are not going to get crushed to death by a bunch of stinky boxes if I can help it. "Tighten it. Lean back against the boxes where I am and put your feet on the ones that you were near."

"Okay. Okay."

He grunts, giving it all he's got. My hands run up and down the ropes and flutter over the series of knots as I try to visualize what I feel. My heart sinks.

"Never mind. I don't think you can tighten it," I tell him. "Can you get up?"

"The whole thing might come down if I let go," Billy cries. He hollers, "What the hell is he doing? Stop the damn truck. Stop!"

"Billy. Billy! He can't hear you." I put my hands over his. He's got hold of the rope so tight that his fingers are like stone. Even when I touch them, they don't relax. "Billy, listen. We have to get away from these things. Okay? You have to let go. Hurry. I'll keep my back up against the boxes, and you get on the side. We'll take them down together so they don't fall on us. Okay? Okay?"

"Okay." He sniffs. He sniffs again like a boxer and wills his fingers loose.

Billy lets go of the rope, turns in the small space, and crawls between my legs. We play leapfrog in the dark, and the seconds seem like minutes, and the minutes like hours. I move tentatively. The boxes don't fall. I turn fast and put my hands up, but the top one is too high for me to grasp. Then Billy is up and his hands are next to mine. Between the two of us we manage to lift the top box down and put it on the floor. With my foot, I push it toward the end of the container.

"There's two more," Billy breathes. "Two more on this stack."

"Can you get those two on your own?"

"Sure, just don't get in front of me," he warns.

"Okay."

I drop down again. My duffle is still stuck between my tower of boxes and the skin of the truck. Everything we own is inside that duffle. I pull it hard just as I hear a second box hit the floor. The truck fishtails. Billy cries out.

"What happened?" I'm half on my knees.

"The edge of one of them hit me. I'm good. I'm good."

I take him at his word and go back to trying to get my bag.

"Soon as I have this, we'll push these down near the door and make a wall–”

The truck comes to life again and cuts me off. A box falls and the inside of this metal prison reverberates like a gong. Billy groans. My mouth goes dry and my head pounds. I know what's coming.

"Come on, Billy. Come away – " I beg, and then it doesn't matter what we do any more.

The truck has crested the hill and in the next blink we are in free fall, shooting down the other side. We are a ten-ton luge. We are bullets fired out of a defective gun barrel. That's how fast and out of control we go. The container swings, finds its path, and then it's running out like a fisherman's reel, away from the truck bed. I am thrown forward into Billy. We connect for only a second before he is tossed one way and me the other. I hear his grunt as he hits cardboard while I slide between the stacks only to be slammed against metal.

"Billy!" I scream.

"Hannah!" he shouts back.

Both of us are afraid for ourselves and for each other. There is nothing I can do to make it better. No one can make this better especially not the guy in the dork hat who puts his hands on girls' butts and drinks beer before he drives.

Some of the boxes break free, others slip and slide against their restraints. Now we're rag dolls tossed into a toy chest with outsized blocks. I try to throw my arms over my head, but then I put them straight out and grab for something, anything that will stop my slide.

Then I'm levitating.

I am free.

The weight on my shoulders lifts. Worry is a thing of the past. Fear is replaced with awe. I am flying. When the driver opens the door, when I come to ground, when I can see the damage done, I will be fearful, and grateful, and probably be one of those crazy people I always worry about. But now I am flying and happy and then Billy cries out in anguish. He knows what's going to happen a split second before I do.

The container is hit in the middle and folds like a big guy sucker punched by a coward. The edge of the flatbed hits the same hard thing a second later. The boxes break free completely. My hands go over my head. I tuck as best I can into a fetal position. In the blackness I don't know where the danger is coming from; in the next instant I do. Danger is coming from everywhere: down, up, around us, inside and out. Boxes filled with heavy things fly at us, the container surrounding us is no longer formidable; it is only a skin as easily cut through as that on my arms. We bounce around like pinballs; we slide away like air-hockey pucks. We try to grab ahold of one another to keep from smashing into things, but things smash into us. Our hands never meet. Our voices rise and fall. The sounds we make are nothing compared to the awesome sound of metal crushing. The heavy cab of the truck gets the best of the trailer and is now racing downward, front first, pulling us with it. We careen. We crumple. We roll and bang. I scream and scream. Billy calls out my name one last time and then all is silent.

All is still.

My mind goes dark.

Billy Zuni is no more, and neither am I.

***

Nell kept the plane steady on its course for ten miles before dipping down to check out a particularly promising place, in the seemingly endless forest, where she might be able to put down some weekend warriors who didn't want to hike from her usual drop point.

Idiots
.

What were they coming all this way to do if not hike?

Still, the customer was always right so here she was scouting as the day wore down. When she found a clearing that would do, Nell made the turn and headed home. Her heart really wasn't in this gig. The season was over, she had worked steady, and her bank account was solid. The last thing she wanted was to be responsible for a bunch of fat cats who would panic at the first white out and then blame her for not being able to get in to pick them up.

Nell checked her headings and then veered off course a few degrees, flying low and tight to the mountains just for the fun of it. She started to sing
Some Enchanted Evening
in a voice that would never be ready for prime time as she drummed a beat over the sound of the engine. She was almost on the second verse when she thought she saw something out of whack below. She was too tight to circle, but kept her eye on it as long as she could as she fired up the radio.

"This is Beaver 220," she said.

"Hey there," came the response. "Whatcha doing up this late in the day?"

"Scouting," she said. "Listen. Is there some major logging going on out north of my location?"

"Not that I know of," came the answer. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm not sure. Looks like a big hole in the universe down there." She laughed. "Like all the trees are missing just below an old road."

"That's weird," came the reply. "No construction or logging that I know of. Any vehicles on that road?"

"Not that I can see," Nell answered. "Back at you if I figure it out."

With that, she signed off. She was home forty minutes later, but it was twenty-four hours later that she decided what she saw might actually be worth a closer look.

***

Duncan double-checked to see that he had logged the list of verses Pea had given him correctly. When he was satisfied, he closed the Bible and put his fingers to his eyes. He had been holed up for hours interpreting the word of God. It was a laborious task – and one he was blessed to do – but it was a pity it must be done in secret, in this cold little room. Still, order must be preserved. His followers believed that his divine interpretations were as mystical as Pea's prophesies, so the concealed room and secret Bible were a necessary invention. If they got it into their heads that anyone could interpret the Book, the community would crumble.

Of course, Duncan was grateful for the help he got from his radio, too. That was almost as important to his flock's wellbeing as the holy book. Now that radio was spitting and spatting and wanting his attention, so Duncan took up the headphones and adjusted them over his ears.

He tuned it to the proper channel, and jotted down the pertinent information he heard between the bush pilot and the State Troopers' office near Denali. It was a short conversation, but he heard enough to know there was an opportunity to be had. Scavenging in God's name wasn't scavenging at all. It was a chance for folks to earn a few blessings by sharing what they had. If there were loggers out there making a 'hole in the universe', it was a sure bet they had brought along some fine supplies. Not that things were dire in their little community, but every little bit helped.

Setting aside the earphones, he left his work, and went to look for Robert. There might be time to catch him and share this bit of news before he cast off. Taking care to bend so that he didn't hit his head on the low ceiling, Duncan left his private room, went out the back that was almost hidden by the overgrowth of brush, climbed over the rock wall, and walked down the path toward the dock. The only sound was that of Glenn's ax hitting wood; the only smell, besides that of the great outdoors, was the faint scent of something cooking in the main house.

Everything was ordered, as it should be. Duncan's soul was at peace as, he was sure, was everyone else's. He turned onto the path that led to the river and smiled. As usual, his timing was perfect.

"Robert," Duncan called out. "A minute of your time."

Robert turned at the sound of his name. He blinked, wiped his sleeve across his nose, and waited for Duncan to come to him. When the tall, slender man was onboard the boat, he put his arm around Robert and said:

"I have received a message just for you."

CHAPTER 3

God spoke to Robert just as Duncan said He would. He had expected it sooner, but God had been quiet for the two days he had spent in town buying and begging supplies. He had been just as quiet when Robert started home, so he was surprised when the good lord finally made himself known.

It was so surprising, in fact, that Robert nearly fell over the side of the boat and into the great Yukon River. Had he done that, he would have been in trouble because he was positive God did not know how to work a powerboat. God also wouldn't know how to stock the store with all the supplies even if He did manage to get the boat back where it belonged. Not to mention the fact that it would be bad for Robert if he fell in the river since he couldn't swim. All in all, it was a good thing he didn't fall over.

At first, Robert thought he was imagining things, but Duncan had assured him that would not be the case. He would know the voice of God in the same way he knew Duncan's voice and he knew that pretty darn well. Everything Duncan said was true or wise or both, so Robert kept his ears out for God.

Now, here he was driving the boat and it was like God was sitting on the cargo, picking at his nails, having a little conversation pretty as you please. A couple of times Robert turned around thinking it would be polite to talk to God face-to-face, but He was quick. He disappeared himself really good only to come back and start talking again when Robert turned his back. God, Robert deduced, was a practical joker or shy or something. Maybe God didn't really look like his pictures – which were all pretty awesome – and was ashamed to be seen. Didn't Robert just get that one for sure? But God was a real good talker. He sounded so normal, chuckling a little, offering a tiny suggestion, a cosmic push that eventually made Robert turn the boat toward shore, tie up, and get off. In fact, God directed Robert to the shore just about where Duncan said he would. Duncan and God were very close.

God wanted Robert to go look for the hole in the universe. That's what He said. Look for the hole in the universe. When Robert found that, he would find something good. It might be treasure. First, though, he had to relieve himself.