Wayne fell on his back, shocked by the power of it. And the mouth producing it… It was wide open now, big enough to swallow two of him and filled with rows and rows of curvy teeth as fat as his forearms.
He just watched the ferocious gaping form… the mouth, the teeth, the breath condensing in the air.
He got up.
It was like a switch. The mouth closed and the roaring ceased.
Suddenly it was silent, the only sound from the steadily flapping wings.
Nothing else moved.
Then the eyes shifted and looked directly into Wayne’s. They almost seemed to be asking him a question. Don’t you know what’s happening here?
And suddenly Wayne did. Then he did what he’d been doing all night. He ran.
AS HE sprinted into the forest, Wayne’s once-even breathing and smooth strides deserted him, replaced by wild, desperate motions. He had no idea where he was going, he simply had to get away. He stomped over everything, soil, fern patches, fallen redwoods, a field of tiny white flowers, a trickling stream. After ten minutes, he realized he was alone. Gasping for air, he leaned against an enormous, moss-covered tree.
“My God, what the hell was th—” He held his breath. Was it up there? With shafts of moonlight shining into his eyes, he scanned the forest canopy above, his head quickly turning.
No, nothing was there, just trees and broken moonlight. He breathed again. He had to find his way back to the trail. He knew the way, he was sure of it….
Ten minutes later, he was lost.
Trying to get his bearings, he entered a small clearing. His head turning in every direction, he didn’t notice the moonlight directly above him disappear.
But then he sensed it. He looked up and saw the animal in silhouette, a massive gliding form near the treetops. He could actually feel its eyes watching him. He didn’t think. He just ran.
The silhouette suddenly changed shape. The wings pulled tight, and the creature dropped like a stone.
Speeding toward the moon-speckled soil, the great body banked and hurtled toward Wayne’s back.
He didn’t turn around. He just ran as hard as he could, chest heaving, legs pumping. He picked up speed rapidly, sneakers rising and falling, rising and falling, when suddenly… the sneakers didn’t come back down. Like a feather in the breeze, they were swept up and away.
“Jesus Christ,” Wayne said, as if startled.
He realized he was inside the creature’s mouth, wedged in its teeth.
“Jesus Christ!” His scream was suddenly guttural and desperate.
He tried moving his arms, his legs, but everything was pinned.
“Come on.” He strained his powerful upper body, trying to twist free but not moving a millimeter. “Come on!”
The animal rose quickly, the cries growing louder and more desperate. Then there was a sickly crunching sound and Wayne Abbott went silent.
The creature burst through the canopy and emerged into the moonlit sky. Without the screaming, it was much quieter now, the only sounds from the wind and distant ocean.
Physically exhausted, the predator found a place to store its dangling kill, then ascended back into the night air. It would return here very soon; but for the moment, it was finished. It focused on the mountains in the distance and flew toward them. It gradually grew smaller… until it blended into the black rock and disappeared. All that remained were the moon and the gently blowing wind.
CHAPTER 51
THE RIVERBANK felt different today. Darryl Hollis didn’t know why exactly, but there was no mistaking it. Last time it had been peaceful and calm here, but now…
The sun was already quite high. They’d docked, and the six of them were walking on the creek’s north side. In jeans and a red-and-blue checked shirt, Darryl felt his rifle’s heft, glad he had it. Craig was carrying as well.
Stomping over tall grass, Darryl suddenly turned to the woods. “What is that?”
Before anyone could answer, he walked in. “Oh.” It was a campground: a dozen wood picnic tables, steel trash drums, barbecue pits, Porta Pottis… But no people, not even rangers, like a summer camp without the campers. Was the park closed? Beyond the campground, he noticed a wide walking trail. He glanced at it for a curious moment, then joined the others. As they continued up the embankment, Darryl didn’t know why, but he felt even more nervous.
THE RANGER station was miles away and nearly empty. In pressed khaki pants, matching long-sleeved shirt, and a hard-rimmed hat, fortysomething Ranger Allen Meyer was seated at a steel desk that looked like it belonged in a DMV. With darting, beady blue eyes, Meyer was an uptight guy by nature, and this phone call was making him even more so.
His calmer blond wife, Laura, also a ranger and wearing an identical outfit, was at another desk, watching their eleven-month-old, Samuel. The baby was swinging happily in his favorite chair, a battery-operated portable with a blue seat covered with tiny bears. Laura smiled at the baby’s outfit. She especially loved the navy sweater with the little sailboat on the chest. Allen had barely noticed it. Whoever he was on the phone with was making him even more agitated than normal. The two rangers had been doing paperwork all morning, and it was now early afternoon. Time to go. They’d been just about to do that when the phone rang.
“Mrs. Abbott, I’m a ranger here. My wife and I were just about to leave ourselves, so believe me, the park is closed. Right, for prescribed burns… Of course they’re controlled by experts…. No, just scheduling difficulties… Huh?… No, no one. Literally, just my wife and me and our baby. We’re the only ones in the entire park… What? Honestly, I’m amazed your call went through at all. The co-location switch has been having problems for a week…. That’s right, cell calls too, once they hit the ground from the towers. I know we should get it fixed; it’s on the list… Sorry?…” Allen Meyer suddenly gave his wife a deadly serious look. “What do you mean your son didn’t come home last night?”
He paused. “He was jogging in the park? At night?… He snuck in?”
“THAT’S WHY there’s no one here.”
Well off the embankment and draped in shadows, Phil Martino photographed a yellow diamond-shaped sign: PARK CLOSED FOR PRESCRIBED BURNS.
“Didn’t you used to do prescribed burns, Phil?”
Phil glanced back at Jason. “Good memory, genius.”
What the hell’s your problem? Jason thought. He knew that “assistant fire ranger” in Lake Arrowhead near L.A. had been one of the many jobs Phil Martino had held during his hopscotch career. If Jason’s memory served, Phil had actually stuck to that one for some time and even gotten good at it. Jason didn’t know what a prescribed burn was exactly, but he thought it had something to do with intentionally starting small fires so a major one didn’t burn later.
Without another word between them, the two men returned to the sunny riverbank and joined the others. Jason caught up with Darryl and right away saw he was extremely ill at ease.
“What’s wrong?”
Darryl didn’t answer at first. He glanced at Lisa, trailing them by just ten or twenty feet. He didn’t want to frighten her unnecessarily. “Walk with me, and I’ll tell you.”
“HE PROBABLY just twisted an ankle, honey.”
Allen Meyer had just hung up the phone. He wasn’t sure what could have happened to the woman’s son. “You think so?”
Laura Meyer nodded confidently. “Jogging at night? He probably didn’t see something, stepped wrong, and twisted it really bad.”