David Wisehart - Blood Alley

The fog rose to the level of the highway.

Claire said, “We have to get off this road.”

“And do what? Cut across the desert? We can’t go back—so we go on.”

The fog curled around their feet and ankles.

“Ethan needs a hospital,” he said. “There should be one in Cedarview. It’s less than an hour if we hurry.”

The fog was already to their knees, and rising.

“Then hurry,” she said.

They jumped back in the car.

Trevor took the driver seat. Claire took shotgun.

She buckled up, then turned back and saw Ethan in Dakota’s arms. The boy’s face was pale, his leather jacket torn. Blood pooled on the seat beneath him.

Dakota’s cell phone was open in her hand.

“We have to go back,” Dakota said, with a strain in her voice.

“We can’t,” Claire answered. “The bridge is gone.”

“I can’t find a signal.” Tears came to Dakota’s eyes. “Nine-one-one—I tried, but no one answers.”

The phones won’t work, Claire knew. Not on this road. Not tonight.

But what she said was, “It’s okay, we’ll get him to a doctor. In Cedarview.”

“But that’s an hour away!”

Trevor buckled up. “Not if we go fast.”

He turned the ignition key.

The car engine grinded and sputtered.

Trevor turned the key again. “Come on, come on.”

Still, the engine didn’t catch.

Claire watched the fog rise to the level of the windows. “Trevor…”

The H3 was swallowed by a white mist.

Claire looked back. The rear window of the Hummer was already broken, busted open by the suspension cable on the bridge.

Fog crept in through the breach like a pale tentacle.

Claire warned, “Dakota, behind you!”

Dakota glanced back. “What?” She gave Claire a strange look. “It’s just fog.”

The engine churned and died.

Trevor punched the steering wheel. “Come on, damnit!”

Claire held her breath as the pale tentacle of fog became a ghostly human arm with a bony, withered hand.

It clawed the air.

And reached for the back of Dakota’s head.

Closer, closer…

Pale fingers brushed against her hair.

Dakota flinched.

And screamed.

The engine caught and roared to life.

Claire felt the acceleration press her body against the seat as the Hummer leapt forward through the fog. Trevor kept the pedal to the floorboard.

The spectral hand receded with the mist.

Claire said, “Dakota, are you all right?”

“I felt—”

“What?”

“Cold.”

“It’s fine,” said Trevor. “Everything’s okay.”

Looking ahead, Claire saw only the bright glow of the Hummer’s headlights in the fog. Visibility was nearly zero. Only the rapid pulse of the median line showed through the mist. A glance at the speedometer told her they were going at least 60 miles per hour.

“Trevor—”

“Right.”

He eased up on the gas, and dropped it down to under 20.

“Hurry, please,” Dakota said from the back seat. “I think he’s blacking out.”

“Talk to him,” Claire said. “Try to keep him awake.”

She’d heard that on some TV medical show. It seemed the thing to do. If not for Ethan, then for Dakota.

“I’m sorry,” Dakota whispered to her boyfriend. “I shouldn’t have let you come with us. I knew. Don’t ask me how, but I knew. I had a bad feeling, and I didn’t say it. I should have said it. But we’ll get there soon, Baby, I promise, and everything will be—”

The Hummer jounced and shuddered.

Oh no, not the engine, was Claire’s first thought, then she recognized the problem. The car had gone off the road and onto the shoulder.

He can’t see the turns.

Trevor steered the car onto the blacktop. Claire shot him a look.

“I got it, I got it,” he said.

He slowed down even more, driving at a crawl and leaning into the steering wheel, as if putting his face closer to the windshield might give him a better view. He squinted at the road.

Claire saw a light, barely visible in the mist. Not a car. Something lit up the right side of the road.

Too high up to be headlights.

A sign of some sort, maybe. Like a neon sign on a building. She couldn’t read it, but it was definitely a sign.

Maybe a gas station or a storefront.

She saw the edges of a building, a wall and a sloped roof, black geometry in the swirl of white air.

“Wait, stop,” she said.

“Why?” Trevor asked.

“Look.”

“Where?”

“A building.”

“What building?”

And then it was gone. Lost in the fog.

Claire peered out her side window at a swirl of mist. White billows formed tenuous shapes before dissolving into nothing. She couldn’t quite make out the images. A car? A man? A face? Claire thought she saw a man in the fog.

The Highwayman. Staring at her. Then gone.

The fog thickened.

The median line disappeared.

Trevor was going faster now. Claire stole a glance at the dashboard. The speedometer climbed past 20 miles per hour.

Too fast, Trevor.

They all wanted to get through this fog as soon as possible, but they needed patience—something Trevor always lacked.

Claire said, “Slow down.”

Something appeared in the road.

A coyote.

White fur, yellow eyes.

Trevor slammed on the brakes.

Tires skidded.

The Hummer was about to hit the animal but—

It passed right through the coyote.

Another ghost, Claire realized.

The car came to a stop.

No impact.

Trevor kept the engine running. “Everyone okay?”

“Jesus, Trevor,” said Claire. “I told you to slow down.”

Trevor looked back. “Dakota?”

“Yeah.”

“Ethan?”

Ethan groaned. He was clearly in a lot of pain, but still alive.

Dakota said, “Trevor, I think I saw something.”

“An exit?”

“No.”

“What?”

“Something in the fog.”

“Me, too,” said Claire.

Trevor checked his side mirror. “Coyote.”

Claire scanned the road behind them, looking for the mysterious light they had passed. “We have to go back to that building.”

Trevor shook his head. “There’s no building on this stretch. Nothing for forty miles.”

“I saw a light, Trevor.”

“We need to keep moving.”

“Ethan’s in a bad way,” Dakota said.

“We need help,” said Claire. “There’s some kind of building back there. We just passed it. They might have a land line.”

Trevor said, “Do you see any telephone poles? Use your brain, Claire. No poles, no phone.”

No time.

Claire unbuckled, opened the door, and stepped out.

“Claire, where are you—”

She slammed the door behind her.

Claire marched back down the road, alone in the swirling fog. Cool mist heightened her senses. She heard the breeze whistle through the sage, small creatures scamper and slither on the desert floor, and the receding sound of Trevor’s voice.

“Wait…”

She ignored him. Trevor wanted to keep going, but this might be their only chance to save Ethan. There might be someone in the building. Or a phone or computer or radio. Some way to reach out for help. She had to at least try.

Ahead of Claire, a faint voice echoed: “ Wait… wait… wait… ”

That’s not Trevor.

The voice was much younger. And not a single voice but a pair, whispered in unison. The voices of—who?—what?— young girls?

Claire stopped.

“Who’s there?”

Trevor again, behind her: “Where are you?”