The Woods Are Dark

  They walked to the front of the truck. The driver had left the headlights on. The beams lit a path through a clearing, a clearing not too different from the one where Neala had wandered, lost, as a child—though that was two thousand miles away, and twenty years ago.

  After a distance, the downward-slanting head beams seemed to bury themselves. The field ahead lay in darkness.

  “Why the hell didn’t you park closer?” Shaw whispered to the driver.

  “Shut up.”

  “Man, they’re probably all around us.”

  “They don’t attack delivery parties,” said the man on Neala’s right.

  “Always a first time, Phillips.”

  “I wouldn’t sweat it.”

  “I still don’t see why he had to park so goddamn far away.”

  “I felt like it,” the driver said. “How about shutting your face?”

  Ahead, a line of six trees stood in the clearing. Neala stared at them. They were tall and thin-trunked. Their high branches, reaching into the moonlight, were bare of leaves.

  They shouldn’t be bare, not in summer. They should be full, their leaves fluttering in the breeze.

  The trees are dead, Neala realized.

  Six dead trees all in a row.

  “No,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” Robbins whispered.

  “No, don’t take us there. Please.” She tried to hold back, but the men thrust her forward.

  “Just take it easy,” Robbins said.

  “Please! They’re dead! I don’t want to go there. Please!”

  Pain stunned her right leg as Phillips shot a knee into it. “Now hold it down, sister,” he said.

  “You okay?” Robbins asked.

  “No!”

  “Christ, Phillips.”

  “You’ve really got it bad, pal. You better watch yourself.”

  “Everybody shut up,” the driver snapped.

  Under the tree, they stopped.

  “Lean back,” Robbins said.

  “I don’t…”

  Phillips shoved Neala. Her back and head hit the trunk. Phillips held her while Shaw and the driver pushed Sherri against the same tree. She heard a rattle of handcuffs. Then the driver grabbed her right arm, pulled it backward, and snapped the bracelet into place. Craning her neck, she saw that it was now cuffed to Sherri.

  They stood back-to-back, hands joined, the trunk of the tree between them.

  “That does it,” said the driver. He reached to his throat where something hung on a chain. He raised it to his mouth. A whistle. He blew a long, shrill note that pierced the night like the cry of a terrible bird. Then the whistle dropped from his lips. “Let’s haul ass,” he said.

  Three of the men ran. The one called Robbins backed away, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he muttered. Turning, he followed the others in their race to the pickup truck. Their sprinting forms flicked through the headlights. Then they disappeared behind the brightness. Neala heard doors bump shut, heard the tailgate bang into place. The engine rumbled to life. The head beams swung sideways and away. For a while, the red taillights jiggled. Then they vanished.

  “Hope the fuckers rot in hell,” Sherri said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The pickup stopped in front of Robbins’s house, and he jumped to the pavement.

  “Take it easy,” Shaw said, trying to make up for his earlier behavior.

  “You too,” Robbins said.

  Timmy sat quietly beside his father.

  “Say good night to Mr. Robbins,” Shaw told him.

  “Night,” Timmy muttered.

  “Yeah.”

  The truck pulled away. Robbins unlatched his front gate. He crossed the lawn toward his dark house, and sat on the porch stairs. Folding his arms over his knees, he stared at the ground.

  Damn it, there was just something about that one woman—the smaller one. He’d been making delivery runs for years, ever since he turned sixteen, and he’d never felt like this before.

  He’d never felt this way about any woman. Sure, there were a few he liked well enough, and some who claimed to love him. He could take his pick, whenever he got an urge to hit the sheets. But none like this.

  This woman was different. Just to sit close to her, to hold her hand, to talk with her quietly through the night…

  By morning, she would be dead.

  He could feel the loss, already, like a hollow in his chest.

  Never to see her again.

  If it were just himself, he’d go back there, maybe, and if it weren’t already too late…He could get away, all right. They’d come for Peggy, though. And Hank. And their kids.

  Everybody’d have to leave. The whole family.

  So why not? If they could get past the boundary, they’d be all right. He could take the woman to Los Angeles, maybe….

  You’re dreaming her life away!

  Leaping to his feet, he rushed across the porch and threw open the front door. His hand hit the switch. Blinking in the sudden brightness, he crossed the room to his gun case. He took down his 30-30 Winchester, picked up a box of cartridges, and ran outside.

  His old Buick was parked on the street. He sped two blocks to his sister’s house, and ran to the screen door. He knocked hard, then entered.

  “Peggy!”

  She came out of the kitchen, worry on her round face.

  “For Petesakes, Johnny…”

  “I need to talk to you. Outside.”

  Hank appeared in the kitchen doorway. He eyed Robbins with suspicion. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Just want a word with Peg.”

  Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Big secret, huh?”

  “She’ll tell you all about it.” Robbins grabbed his sister’s fleshy arm and pulled her out the door. He hurried across the lawn, dragging her along.

  “We’re getting out of here to night,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Tonight’s run. There was a girl. I’m going back for her.”

  “Johnny, no!”

  “I have to.”

  “Dear God! Oh dear God!”

  “Listen, we’re getting out of here. All of us.”

  “No!”

  “I’ll get back here as soon as I can. Have Hank and the kids ready to go.”

  “Hank won’t leave. You know that. He wouldn’t leave here for the world.”

  “That’s his worry, then.”

  “Johnny, you can’t do this to us!”

  “Do you want to spend the rest of your life here? Do you, Peg? Do you want Jenny and Bill to grow up the way we did? Do you want them turned into murderers like the rest of us?”

  She was crying, the tears glistening in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. “We can’t leave!”

  “You will.”

  “But Hank.”

  “If he won’t come along, the hell with him. You’d be better off without him.”

  “I know, but…”

  “He can’t stop you.” Johnny hugged his sister tightly. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll make it.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t do this to us. Oh please, Johnny, don’t.”

  “Half an hour,” he said, and climbed into his car.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Neala said.

  “Just how do you plan to manage it?”

  “I don’t know.” Neala’s voice cracked into a sob. She turned her hands, rattling the cuffs that held her prisoner against the tree.

  “We’d better think of something quick,” Sherri said. “That whistle was some kind of a signal.”

  “Maybe we can pull free.”

  “Let’s give it a try.”

  They worked their wrists against the barkless tree behind them.

  “Mine are both awfully tight,” Sherri said.

  “My left seems just a bit—”

  “Oh Jesus!” Sherri gasped, her voice dropping to a whisper.

  “What’s wrong?”


  “Someone’s in the tree.”

  Neala looked to her right, tipping back her head.

  “No, the other way. Beside us.”

  She turned to the left. She raised her eyes up the weathered trunk to the high branches. At first, she saw only jagged limbs, pale in the moonlight like bones stripped of their flesh. Then one of them moved, and she realized it was a leg. A second leg dangled beside it. She followed them upward to a bare hip and torso, a head with shaggy hair. If there were breasts, she couldn’t see them. “Is he alive?” Neala whispered.

  “I can’t tell. Looks dead to me.”

  Neala continued to squint upward. The figure seemed to be straddling a branch, arms at his sides. His head was tilted downward, as if he were watching her. “I think one of the legs moved,” she said. “Could’ve been the wind, I guess.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You hope he’s dead?” Neala asked.

  “Hell yes. How would you like him to come down for us?”

  “God, don’t say that.”

  “He’s probably one of them, what ever the fuck they are. I mean, why else would he be out here?”

  Neala didn’t answer. She stared at the high, motionless figure until the sound of a car engine drew her eyes away. Across the clearing, headlights appeared.

  “They’re coming back!”

  As the headlights approached, Neala saw that they were higher than those of the pickup. “It’s someone else,” she said. “In a van, I think.”

  “Just as well,” Sherri answered.

  It came through the darkness, not stopping where the pickup had stopped. Its beams skittered over the ground as if seeking out Neala. They lit her and stayed, dimming just slightly when the engine shut off.

  “What’s going on?” Sherri asked.

  “I can’t see,” Neala whispered, squinting past the headlights. “Someone just got out. He went to the back, I think.”

  “End of the line,” said a man’s cheerful voice. “All out that’s getting out.”

  A woman cackled.

  “I think we’d better do as they say.” A man’s voice. Frightened.

  “Daddy!”

  “Here, hold on to Ben’s wrist.”

  “What do you want with us?” a woman demanded.

  More raspy chuckles.

  “I know what Rose Petal wants,” said the cheerful man. “She wants to pound out your brains with her hammer. I’ll let her, too, if you don’t make it snappy.”

  “Bastard.” From the girl. Then she cried out with pain.

  “Damn it, leave her alone!”

  “We haven’t got all night.”

  Several figures appeared in the darkness beyond the headlights. As they came forward, Neala saw four in a line, all cuffed together. A woman was at one side, then a man. The person at his other side was down. He and a girl each held a hand of the fallen one, dragging the limp body between them.

  “Look,” said the woman.

  “Hi,” Neala said.

  “Step to the right,” said the cheerful man. Neala could see him, now, behind the others. He was chubby, and carried a pistol. An old, hunched woman scuttled along at his side, swinging a hammer overhead.

  “Hello, young lady,” said the man with the gun. Walking around the group, he stepped up to Neala. He looked at her, grinning. With the barrel of his pistol he pushed one side of Neala’s blouse out of the way. She felt the cool muzzle stroke her nipple. “You’re a nice one. Very nice. Little Timmy got at you, I’ll wager.”

  “Leave me alone,” she said.

  “Ah, little Timmy. He ‘knows where it’s at,’ so to speak.” The man laughed, and used his hand on her other breast, cupping it, squeezing as if to test its firmness, flicking the nipple. “Mmmm. Sometimes I do envy those Krulls. Yes I do. Give me a little taste.” Crouching, he licked her nipple. Neala kicked. He grunted at the impact and danced away, clutching his thigh. “Oh ho! Lucky for you, lucky for you!” He almost whirled toward the four chained onlookers. “Almost got me in the ’nads!”

  Neala cried, “No!” as he spun around, raised his pistol, and aimed toward her face. He fired. The slug smacked into the tree above her head. He lowered his aim, fired again. The bullet ripped through the crotch of her corduroys, just missing Neala.

  “Ha ha! Owed you one.” He turned away. “Okay folks, show’s over. Make a circle around that tree.”

  As they followed instructions, the old woman started hobbling toward Neala.

  “Get away!” Neala shrieked.

  Rose Petal swung the hammer as if to show off her form. Tilting her head sideways, she laughed. She limped around to the back of the tree.

  “You touch me,” Sherri snapped, “and I’ll kill you.”

  More laughter from the old woman.

  “Get away! Damn you! I’ll kill you, you…OW! Goddamn you!”

  The cuffs cut into Neala’s wrists as Sherri twisted and kicked.

  The old woman squealed, and Neala saw her skipping sideways out of Sherri’s range. Neala kicked and missed. Prancing forward, Rose Petal swung the hammer. It pounded Neala’s shoulder.

  A high-pitched whistle made the hag turn away.

  “Let’s be off, Mother,” said the chubby man.

  Side by side, they hurried to the van. The doors shut. The engine turned over and the van backed up. It didn’t turn around; it rolled backward across the clearing and disappeared into the woods.

  “Now what?” asked the girl beneath the other tree. All four were in a circle around it, hands joined as if playing ring-around-the-rosy.

  “Young ladies,” the man called. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  Neala shook her head.

  “They just—kidnapped us!” he said. “Right out of the motel.”

  “We were at the coffee shop,” Sherri told him.

  “Do you know why they brought us here?” asked the woman.

  “For the Krulls,” Sherri said.

  “The what?”

  “Krulls. I don’t know. Krulls? We’re sacrifices or something.”

  “That’s crazy,” the man said.

  “Don’t I know it,” Sherri muttered.

  “It’s crazy,” the man repeated.

  “You’re damn right,” Sherri said. “Look, we’ve gotta get out of here. These things are gonna come for us. One’s already here.” She pointed at the tree high above the four strangers.

  Neala looked, along with the others, and saw the pale figure suddenly swing downward, dropping from branch to branch.

  “Oh my God!”

  Screams and shouts of panic erupted from those beneath the tree as it scurried down the trunk. They threw themselves outward, trying to get away, and yelled in pain as the cuffs tore into their wrists. The unconscious one, arms jerked by those at his sides, raised his head. The others didn’t seem to notice. They leaped and squirmed as the naked man dropped into their circle.

  He pounced on the woman’s back, his weight knocking her forward until the ring of arms stopped her. She recoiled backward. The whole circle fell.

  The strange, bony man was pinned beneath her. Neala saw his legs wrap the woman’s hips. His hands appeared beneath her outstretched arms and wildly tore her blouse as she thrashed above him. He jerked the blouse off her shoulders. His mouth clamped down on her left shoulder, and she screamed.

  Then he was writhing out from under her. He crawled to her kicking feet. Kneeling over her, he grabbed one. His mouth gaped. The woman shrieked as he ripped flesh from her calf.

  “Hey!”

  He raised his head, chewing, and looked toward the woods behind him.

  Neala looked, too.

  A man was running toward them.

  The naked man stood. His shaggy head jerked from side to side, as if he hoped to find help. Then, with a bellow that made Neala’s skin shrivel, he raced toward the intruder.

  The other man stopped. He raised a rifle. Its detonation slammed through the night and the naked man pitched forward.
br />   Through the ringing in her ears, Neala heard the woods erupt with other roars like a hundred echoes of the dead man’s final cry.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Robbins sprinted past the body. Ignoring the shouts from the group of four, he headed toward the tree with the two women. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and dug a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a key.

  “We’re getting out of here.”

  The woman he wanted stared at him, looking confused.

  He stepped to her right side, and unlocked the cuff.

  “You’re one of the men from the truck,” she said.

  “That’s right. I’m taking you out of here. I’ve got a car off in the trees.” He stepped past her, and started unlocking the cuff on her other wrist. “Are you a good runner?” he asked.

  She shrugged.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Neala.”

  “I’m Johnny Robbins.”

  “I’m Sherri,” said the bigger woman, appearing from behind the tree. She held out her hands, empty bracelets dangling from the wrists. “Do me a favor, huh?”

  Quickly, he removed her cuffs. Unslinging his rifle, he scanned the perimeters of the clearing. Over the shouts of the other captives, he could hear the howling Krulls. No sign of them, though.

  “Okay,” he said. “This way.”

  “Wait,” Neala said. “We can’t leave them.” She nodded toward the others.

  “The hell we can’t. Let’s go.” He grabbed Neala’s arm, but she jerked it loose.

  “I’m not going without them.”

  “Shit,” her friend said.

  Neala whirled on her. “What’s the matter with you? How can you even think of leaving these people?”

  “To save my ass, for Godsake.”

  “We can’t!”

  Robbins groaned. It was stupid to waste time freeing the others. The delay could be fatal. But if he didn’t give it a shot, he wouldn’t stand much of a chance with Neala. “All right,” he said. “Stick close.”

  They followed him to the other tree.

  “Everybody shut up!” he snapped at the four.

  They went silent. He stepped in front of the oldest male. “You’ll have to take care of the others,” he said, unlocking the right wrist. “I’ll leave you the key. We’re going on ahead. If I can, I’ll hold the car for you.” The other cuff fell loose. He slapped the key into the man’s palm. “Good luck.” He turned to Neala. “Okay?”