Кэти Райх - Death Du Jour

At that moment a face materialized behind Anna. It wore no makeup and looked shiny and pale in the flickering light.

“Who are you? Why do you come in the middle of the night?” The English was heavily accented.

Without waiting for an answer the woman grabbed Anna’s wrist and pulled the girl behind her.

“You leave my daughter alone.”

“Mrs. Goyette, I believe people are going to die. Anna may be able to help save them.”

“She is not well. Now go.” She pointed at the door. “I order you or I will call the police.”

The ghostly face. The dim light. The tunnel-like hall. I was back in the dream, and suddenly I remembered. I knew, and I had to get there!

Ryan started to speak but I cut him off.

“Thank you. Your daughter has been very helpful,” I managed.

Ryan glared as I pushed past him and out the door. I nearly fell in my plunge down the stairs. I no longer felt the cold as I stood at the Jeep, impatient for Ryan to speak to Mrs. Goyette, snug his tuque, then pick his way to ground level.

“What the hell–”

“Get me a map, Ryan.”

“That little loony may be–”

“Do you have a goddam map of this province?” I hissed.

Without a word Ryan circled the Jeep and we both got in. He took a map from a holder on the driver’s-side door, and I dug a flashlight from my pack. As I unfolded the province he started the engine, then got out to scrape the windshield.

I located Montreal, then followed the Champlain Bridge across the St. Lawrence and on to 10 East. With a numb finger I traced the route I had taken to Lac Memphrémagog. In my mind’s eye I saw the old church. I saw the grave. I saw the signpost, half covered in snow.

I moved my finger along the highway, estimating driving time. The names wavered in the flashlight beam.

Marieville. St-Grégoire. Ste-Angèle-de-Monnoir.

My heart stopped when I saw it.

Please, God, let us be in time.

I lowered the window and screamed into the wind.

The grating stopped and the door opened. Ryan threw the scraper into the back and slid behind the wheel. He pulled off his gloves and I handed him the map and flashlight. Wordlessly, I pointed to a small dot on the square I’d folded upward. He studied it, his breath like fog in the yellow beam.

“Holy shit.” An ice crystal melted and ran from his lash. He swiped at the eye.

“It makes sense. Ange Gardien. It’s not a person, it’s a place. They’re going to meet at Ange Gardien. It should be about forty-five minutes from here.”

“How did you think of it?” he asked.

I didn’t want to go into the dream. “I remembered the sign from my drive to Lac Memphrémagog. Let’s go.”

“Brennan–”

“Ryan, I’ll say this one more time. I am going to get my sister.” I fought to keep my voice steady. “I am going with or without you. You can take me home or you can take me to Ange Gardien.”

He hesitated, then,

“Fuck!” He got out, flipped his seat forward, and dug around in back. As he slammed the door I saw him drop something into his pocket and yank the zipper. Then he resumed scraping.

In a minute he was back. Without a word he clicked his seat belt, put the Jeep in gear, and accelerated. The wheels spun but we went nowhere. He changed to reverse, then quickly back to first. The car rocked as Ryan shifted from first gear to reverse and back again. The Jeep broke free and we moved slowly up the block.

I said nothing as we crept south on Christophe Colomb, then west on Rachel. At St-Denis Ryan turned south, reversing the route we’d just driven.

Damn! He was taking me home. My blood went cold as I thought of the drive to Ange Gardien.

I closed my eyes and leaned back to prepare myself. You have chains, Brennan. You will put them on and drive as Ryan is doing. Dickhead Ryan.

Silence intruded on my lecture. I opened my eyes to pitch-black. Ice no longer pelted the windshield.

“Where are we?”

“Ville-Marie Tunnel.”

I said nothing. Ryan raced through the tunnel like a starship threading a wormhole in space. When he took the exit for the Champlain Bridge I felt both relief and apprehension.

Yes! Ange Gardien.

Ten light-years later we were crossing the St. Lawrence. The river looked unnaturally dense, the buildings of Île des Sœurs black against the predawn sky. Though their scoreboards were out I knew the players. Nortel. Kodak. Honeywell. So normal. So familiar in my world at the end of the second millennium. I wished I were approaching their well-ordered offices instead of the madness that lay ahead.

The atmosphere in the Jeep was tense. Ryan focused on the road and I worked the thumbnail. I stared out the window, avoiding thoughts of what might await us.

We crawled through a cold and forbidding landscape, a vista beamed from a frozen planet. As we moved east the ice increased visibly, robbing the world of texture and hue. Edges were blurred and objects seemed to blend together like parts of a giant plaster sculpture.

Guideposts, signs, and billboards were obliterated, erasing messages and boundaries. Here and there through the darkness wisps of smoke could be seen curling from chimneys, otherwise everything seemed frozen in place. Just over the Richelieu River the road curved, and I saw a beached car, belly-up like a loggerhead turtle. Stalactites hung from the bumpers and tires.

We’d been driving almost two hours when I spotted the sign. It was dawn, and the sky was changing from black to murky gray. Through the ice I could see an arrow and the letters nge Gardi .

“There.”

Ryan released the gas and eased onto the exit. When it ended at a T-intersection he pumped the brake and the Jeep crunched to a stop.

“Which way?”

I grabbed the scraper, got out, and struggled to the sign, slipping once and cracking my knee. As I hacked away, the wind stood my hair on end and drove icy granules into my eyes. Overhead it hissed through branches and rattled power lines with an odd clacking sound.

I chopped at the ice as though demented. Eventually the blade snapped, but I jabbed on until the plastic was completely shattered. Using the wooden handle I scraped and clawed until finally, I could see letters and an arrow.

As I scrambled back to the Jeep something in my left knee felt terribly wrong.

“That way.” I pointed. I didn’t apologize for the scraper.

When Ryan turned, the rear spun out and we swerved wildly. My feet flew forward and I grabbed the armrests.

Ryan regained control and my teeth unclenched.

“There’s no brake on your side.”

“Thanks.”

“This is the Rouville district. There’s an SQ post not far from here. We’ll go there first.”

Though I begrudged the lost time, I didn’t argue. If we walked into a hornet’s nest I knew we might need backup. And, while Ryan’s Jeep was good on ice, it had no radio.

Five minutes later I saw the tower. Or what was left of it. The metal had cracked under the weight of the ice, and beams and girders lay twisted and scattered like parts of a giant Erector set.

Just beyond the collapsed tower, a road took off to the left. Ten yards down I could see Anna’s gingerbread hut.

“It’s here, Ryan! Turn here!”

“We’re doing this my way or not at all.” He continued without slowing.

I was frantic. Any argument.

“It’s getting light. What if they’ve decided to act at dawn?” I thought of Harry, drugged and helpless while zealots lit fires and prayed to their god. Or loosed wild dogs onto sacrificial lambs.

“We’re going to check in first.”

“We could be too late!” My hands trembled. I couldn’t bear it. My sister could be ten yards away. I felt my chest begin to heave and turned my back to him.