Page 52

“I never thought you were right or that the day would come. Unbelievable that you’d come this far. How did you accomplish it?” Sheriff Valen reaches for Kieran, but the movement is blocked as Kieran grabs ahold of his forearms.

For a few moments they remain in a peculiar stare down, both men a flex of muscle and fury.

“I’m going to find a way to kill you.” The Sheriff’s response is low, but nothing is unheard.

“Why are you here? How is your memory intact?” Kieran volleys, a low murmur.

“You forget that some bodies are more formidable. Now you suffer in your choices.” Sheriff Valen’s tone is a hiss.

I don’t hear Kieran’s response as I bolt outside, swing my legs over the motorcycle frame and jam the key into the ignition. It roars to life with a kick before both men can whip their hands out to grab ahold of the handles.

Furtively peering over my shoulder, I make out Kieran’s slack jaw, the gape of his shock like a fish out of water. Christian is chuckling beside him, and that’s all I can register before the surroundings are like photos in a stereoscope. I speed through slick, old bumpy roads. There are rows of dilapidated buildings, an old medical practice and a flat swath of land dotted with nutrient deficient trees and their rotting branches. A smirk climbs my face. There’s no way the mountain pass isn’t up and running, and if it is, both Sheriff Valen and Kieran Lazarus were lying about being able to leave this town.

Besides, a town needs supplies, there’s no way there isn’t a way around the rupture. What am I even thinking? I don’t even know if there’s another town for miles. Still, my body moves where my mind idles. A loud screech of tires fills the air as I head toward the only visible direction I can see, a zig zag of inclining road that leads inevitably toward the mountain pass.

This isn’t going to help you.

“I don’t know who you are, mystery voice, but you better crawl back into the dark hole from which you’ve come.”

To my right a low fog rolls in from the bay, traveling up the shore and then the mountain roads. It travels fast, like an army of spiders skittering across floorboards.

You need to go back, there is no path beyond this one.

My hands grip the handlebars, twisting in time for every curve that appears through the low rolling fog. The rotting town gives way to a smooth forest road and silence.

This dense arborous prison surrounding Devil’s Bay is like its own world.

I ease off the throttle and straighten, allowing the wind to course past me, feeling alive yet again. The wet, snow laden road makes the motorcycle wobble in a few places, but I am swift with correcting its path.

The road eventually leads back to one place: the mountain pass. When I arrive, I coast slowly towards the edge. It’s almost like a god took a jagged knife and cleaved through the thick rock. The sea’s turbulent tendrils splash below, undulating in violent arcs against the cliff sides.

I had hoped the bridge would be fixed. It isn’t. In fact, it looks worse. A large portion before me has cracked and crumbled below, swallowed by a nightmarish whirlpool that seems to be forming.

“Fuck me!” I carry every syllable with throaty emphasis, so much so, I break into a fit of coughs. The sound bounces around, echoing across the road to where I can’t reach. I lift both middle fingers and thrust it to the wind.

Now you just look silly.

I push the motorcycle off to the side and begin pacing. My gaze traces a path to the left with its thick trees lining both halves of the cleaved mountainside. I could scale the jagged outcroppings with the trees branches as my bridge and make my way to the other side.

The ruptured road appears to be as wide as six feet which is a small gap but dangerous. I could slip and tumble straight into the whirlpool below.

Don’t do it.

I’m doing it.

There’s a tree closest to the road whose branches are low enough for me to grab ahold of. Thick clumps of snow fall as I make my way up. Surprisingly, my body is strong enough for this feat. A small rocky outcropping is visible above me and I prepare to leap, my toes poised for push off, and I jump.

Whoosh. The branch rebounds from the loss of my weight. The momentum from the jump, the loud thundering beats of my heart coupled with the pinched rush of breath, doesn’t allow me the time to register that something has followed me up the tree.

A sound akin to hard candy cracking under sharp teeth echoes up the mountain face. Ahead of me, there’s a branch extending across the gap, giving me a clear view of my freedom. I’m no tightrope walker, but I’m sure I can creep along the branch until I make it to the other tree, then drop down safely.

Only I hadn’t thought through something else: how am I supposed to get anywhere without my motorcycle?

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I don’t look back because if I do, I may fall. And as if to compound the danger, the invisible god that is messing with me, sends an angry rush of wind against the mountain face.

With my chest against the cool rock, I cling tightly to an indent big enough for my fingers to grip onto. This might just be the most foolish thing I’ve done so far. What had I been thinking?

I wasn’t thinking.