Dead Roots (The Analyst) (25 page)

“We get it,” Artie said sardonically. Martin stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar. Artie put up his hands, trying to push him off. Heather gasped.

“Martin, knock it
off.
”

“What's your fucking problem, man?” Artie demanded.

“Petty crime and domestic violence are practically
nonexistent
in this backwoods paradise,” Martin declared angrily. He raised his flashlight threateningly. “Please vacate the premises or I will have no recourse but to remove you with
forceful,
but
compassionate
means.”

“We're fucking leaving, already,” Artie insisted. His fist patted repeatedly against Martin's chest.

“It's no use, Artie,” Keda said flatly. “He's--”

“Please remove your hands from me, sir.” Martin swung his flashlight and struck Artie across the jaw. Artie crumpled, stunned.

“Martin,
stop it,
” Heather screamed angrily.

“I must remove you from the premises with
forceful,
but
compassionate
means.”

Martin was upon Artie like a rabid, well-spoken dog. He swung repeatedly, beating Artie across the chest and face with the blunt end of his flashlight. The man behind the counter did nothing but stare with a dead expression at his monitor.

Keda tried to pull Martin off of Artie. “There's no need for this,” he insisted, trying to remain calm. Martin swiveled and swung his flashlight at Keda. Keda was hit hard in the neck and stumbled backwards.

“Aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice is a crime punishable by law,” Martin declared loudly. “Backup is required at my location.”

“Martin, have you lost your damn
mind?
” Heather had drawn her own flashlight at this point. Martin took no notice of her as he kneeled over Keda and started swinging at him wildly. Keda put up his arms to block the majority of the blows. Heather approached Martin from behind and clocked him across the back of the head with her flashlight. He crumpled, rolling onto his back to get an eyeful of his attacker.

“Backup is required at my location,” he yelled hoarsely. Artie's eyes widened as he saw Martin's hand go for the revolver holstered at his hip.

“Heather, gun--”

Heather swung the shotgun down from her shoulder. It was cocked before Artie even knew what was happening. When Heather saw Martin’s revolver leave the holster, she fired. Blood from Martin's shoulder sprayed across the floor. He started screaming, and wouldn't stop.

“Oh Heather-- no,” Keda said quietly, scrambling to his feet.

“Come on, we have to go,” Heather said quickly, helping Artie to his feet and pulling him towards the exit. Artie could hear the thundering of footsteps coming down the staircase over Martin's agonized moaning.

********

“Is this whole town going fucking crazy?”

“Pretty much,” Heather answered bitterly as she unlocked her squad car. Keda climbed into the passenger seat. Artie turned around at the sound of shouting. A handful of brown-suited officers were approaching them at a jog, their revolvers at the ready.

“Get in. Get in
now,
” Heather spat. Artie leapt into the car and ducked down, trying not to be seen. Heather slammed the driver-side door and started the car, pulling the car into reverse.

Artie heard a gunshot and a window shattered. Artie yelped in shock.

“Heads down,” Keda stated with a calm that Artie envied. Heather pulled the car out of the lot in reverse. A hat-wearing officer stood directly in their way, slowly raising his gun.

“Hold on,” Heather warned.

Artie clutched the door of the car, adjusting his glasses in a panic. He felt the thump as the car barreled through the officer. The others approaching the car scattered. Heather swung the car into the street and shifted into gear. While the vehicle took off down the road, Artie could hear more gunshots following them, and gradually fading out of earshot.

“So either of you know what the
fuck
this is all about?” Heather screamed as she tore her way out of the center of town. Artie slowly shifted back up. He peeked out the window hesitantly before reaching for a smoke. “You better give me one of those or I'll plug your hillbilly ass,” Heather shrieked at him. Artie fumbled the pack, sending loose smokes flying around the backseat.

“Yes, ma'am,” Artie sputtered. He fished around on the ground to pick up the lost cigarettes.

“How long have the people in town been like this?” Keda asked calmly.

“None of them have ever fucking started
shooting at me,
” Heather answered in a rage. Her hand snatched the cigarette from Artie like a cobra's strike.

“Try to be calm. How long have they been... off?” Keda asked.

“Months,” Heather said. “It's been getting worse and worse for months.”

“Since Susan Bailey disappeared?” Keda offered.

“Probably, why?” Heather breathed out a heavy breath of smoke. The car swerved as her steering hand shook with anger. Artie was still clutching the car door so hard his knuckles were losing their color.

“I suspect Akebara is fighting back,” Keda explained with a nod. “It knows we're here to exorcise it. It doesn't want us here.”

“What the fuck is Akebara?”

“Akebara is your entity. The one haunting your town.”

“If you people don't get rid of this thing, you're gonna have worse things to worry about than some fucked up God damn ghost,” Heather threatened. She angrily rolled down her window to blow out smoke. “How are you planning on doing that, anyway?”

“There are generally two ways of exorcising,” Keda explained. “Either a medium such as myself takes the spirit into their body and transports it to a safe place, or in extreme cases we simply banish it.”

“And how do you do that?”

“By destroying the host.”

Heather didn't answer for a moment.

“Is that Susan Bailey?”

“Maybe. It wouldn't surprise me.”

Heather blew out a cloud of smoke, turning a corner.

“Do what you have to do.”

“We intend to.”

“It was near here,” Artie cut in, pointing down the road. “A little ways down here, there's a fork, and Tom went over the cliff.”

“He's in Stark's Ravine,” Heather said with a nod. She turned her head up to the rearview mirror. “There's a road down there through the old Thompson farm a few minutes away. We'll have to cut through some woods, and--”

“Shit, look out!”

“Wh--
shit,
” Heather shrieked, swerving the car to the left violently. She leaned into her horn as a pickup truck went barreling past them. There was a nasty crunch as the truck took off the driver’s side mirror. Artie flinched away from the door as the truck scraped the side of their vehicle.

“What the
fuck,
” Heather screamed, slamming her fist against the steering wheel repeatedly. The horn sounded with each strike. “What the God damn
fuck.
God
damn
it. Son of a
bitch
.
Fuck!”

Neither of the operatives said anything. Heather continued swearing loudly to nobody in particular. She pounded her fist on the steering wheel until they came to the fork in the road. She swung the car around the corner, sending Artie bumping into the door.

“Think I'm getting carsick,” he groaned. He let out a burp, and tossed his cigarette out the open window with a frown.

“Fuck you,” Heather spat. “Man up.”

Keda grimaced and patted Artie's shoulder reassuringly. Artie closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He tried to think of a calm place.

********

Tom's car sat silently in the ravine. Half of it was submerged in the river and the other half propped up on the bank.

In Tom's pocket, his phone vibrated and beeped for the third time that hour. The light from its screen was barely visible through the denim. He was not there to answer it.

Blood dripped from his face, further staining the airbag on which his cheek rested. His eyes were open, but saw nothing.

The phone stopped ringing. Nothing could be heard in the night but the crickets.

8

“Gone”

“Getting chilly,” Artie commented, trying to break the silence. Nobody answered.

The squad car pulled up outside of a farmhouse. Heather rolled the car to a stop next to a wooden fence.

“Take this,” she said, drawing her revolver and handing it back to Artie. “All I got. Fight for it.”

“I'm fine,” Keda stated plainly. Artie discarded his latest cigarette and looked over the weapon.

“Safety's here?” Artie asked.

“Yeah,” Heather said. “Only eight shots. Left the extra cylinders back at the station. Sorry.”

“You think we're gonna run into trouble?”

“Looks like we have some already,” Heather said morbidly. She rolled down Artie's window. Artie looked out and saw the front door of the farmhouse opening. Light shone from inside, casting the silhouette of what was presumably the owner.

 “You any good with one of those?”

“Please,” Artie said with a snort. He leveled the gun out the window.

“My property,” came a man's yell from the farmhouse. The silhouette reached behind the door frame and drew a hunting rifle. “The right to bear arms is a tenet of our constitution.”

“Yeah, trouble,” Artie stated quietly. Heather got out of the car, using it as a shield as she yelled back.

“Drop your weapon,” she exclaimed. “Police business. We will open fire.”

“My
property,
” the man repeated. He aimed his rifle at the car.

“Plug him,” Heather said sharply. Artie exhaled and fired. Where he was tagged exactly, Artie couldn't see, but the man dropped his rifle and stumbled to the ground.

“Go,” Heather shouted. She swung the shotgun onto her shoulder. Artie and Keda scrambled out of the car, following her as she leapt the fence and took off running into the paddock.

********

The paddock had a dirt road running through it that led downhill. After a couple minutes of running, Artie's legs were aching. He made out a line of trees. Heather signaled for them to slow down, and he sighed in relief. He sucked in deep breaths while his heart pounded.

“The cliff Tom went off is two miles that way,” Heather said, pointing off to her left, through the trees. “We'll cut through the forest and follow the river.”

Heather switched on her flashlight. Keda pulled a smaller one out of his pocket. It didn't offer much illumination, but it was better than nothing, Artie thought. Heather shined her light along the trees. She saw no signs of life.

In the forest, Artie reached into his pocket and pulled out a codeine pill. He placed it in his mouth and swallowed it dry. He coughed and lapped his tongue around, trying to extinguish the stinging, bitter taste.

Heather had slowed her jogging to a fast walk as she led them through the woods. Artie kept his ear out, but the only sound he could make out was their feet crunching against the dirt and fallen twigs. His field of vision was pitch black. All he could see was the rough outline of the trail by Heather's flashlight. Keda strode along beside him quietly.

“You feel anything out here?” Artie asked.

“I suspect there is definitely something,” Keda assured him. “But I cannot place it.”

“I took an aid,” Artie added. “If there’s anything out here, I’ll pick it up before too long.”

“Good. Keep an eye out.”

Another few minutes passed without any talk.

“Another mile,” Heather finally said. “How are you doing back there?”

“A little winded,” Artie said with a chortle. “Gonna need a whole pack of smokes after—
aggh
.”

Artie's face met the dirt. He felt something tighten around his ankle. He shook it, thinking he'd snagged it on a root or a vine.

“Oh Christ, what is it?” Heather asked urgently. She turned around and rushed to his aid, kneeling down to his ankle. She shined her flashlight on his leg. His foot was caught in a loop of rope, a snare trap hanging from a nearby tree.

“Who... who still uses these?” Artie asked.

“Hold still,” Keda said. He knelt down and drew his pocket knife. Heather kept shining her light. Neither of them saw the figure approaching from the trees.

“Look out!” Artie cried. He fired the revolver twice. The figure stumbled back and dropped the wood axe it had been holding in its right hand. Keda and Heather scattered. The figure, a tall, burly man wearing a wool cap and a plaid shirt, bent down to pick his axe back up. He resumed plodding towards Artie.

Artie scrabbled to get his foot out of the rope. Heather's flashlight illuminated the lumberjack's face, or what was left of it. Artie saw nothing but a twisted lump of skin with a vertical slit down the center. Blood seeped from it gently.

Heather's shotgun went off. The hunter's shirt was torn and showed a bloody buckshot wound, but the shot seemed to do little else. He kept stumbling forward. He was only ten feet away, now. Keda rushed to Artie's side and started sawing fervently at the rope around his ankle. Another shot sounded, slowing the lumberjack.

“Run,” Keda said loudly, cutting through the rope and helping Artie up. Artie scrambled to his feet and took off ahead with Keda. Heather fired her shotgun twice more before following them, her boots clomping in the dirt behind Artie.

“Just run,” Keda repeated. Artie kept sprinting. He held his arms out in front of him, pushing himself out of the way of trees when he strayed too close to the edge of the path. He ran until his chest burned. The only sounds he took notice of were the blood pounding in his ears and his feet slamming into the dirt. The shotgun had left his ears ringing.

Artie tripped out of surprise when he found his foot hitting water. He landed on his hands and knees with a splash. The revolver went flying out of his hand and landed somewhere in the river.

“Fuck,” he called out. “I dropped the gun.” He clambered around in the water until his hand met the cool metal. He pulled the gun up and cocked it, then rose to his feet and whipped around.