Michael Koryta - So Cold the River

“Well, guess what?” he said aloud. “I wasn’t home. And tell you something else? I am the storm.”

There you go, boy. There you go.

The voice floated out of the air beside him and Josiah looked to the right and saw Campbell Bradford in the passenger seat, just as he had been at the timber camp. Campbell gave a tight-lipped smile and tipped his hat. His suit looked soaked, clinging to his shoulders as if he’d just climbed out of a swimming pool.

That ain’t home, he said. That place ain’t even close to home for you, Josiah, never was. You deserved better, boy, deserved a piece of what I’d carved out for you. I was building a kingdom down here, and you’re my rightful heir. It was taken right from your hands. Time to take it back. They’ll come to know your name, boy. They’ll know it.

“The work will be done,” Josiah told him. “You can count on that.”

I know it. I’m stronger than ever now, boy, and it’s thanks to you. Stronger than I’ve been in a long time, at least. And that’s all I needed-was for you to listen, and let me get my strength back. It’s coming now, son. Yes, sir, it is.

“I should have started with the hotel,” Josiah said.

No. We’ll go back for it, but we have to start with Shaw. You see that, don’t you? He’s the one who brought me back, then thought he could control me, hold power over me. With water, can you believe it? With water. It’s time he sees who’s won. Ain’t a force in this valley like me, and he’ll know it. He’ll be the one to tell the others.

Another limb was across the road, this one big enough to do some serious damage, and Josiah saw it out of the corner of his eye at the last possible instant and whipped the wheel sideways. The truck skidded away, branches raking at it, bending the sideview mirror back and pounding dents and scratches into the paint, but it stayed upright. By the time Josiah had it straightened out, Campbell was gone again. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and saw a cloud of cold fog in front of his mouth. That made him smile. Campbell wasn’t gone. Hadn’t been gone in a long time, in fact, was with Josiah constantly now.

He was suddenly glad that his house had been destroyed and that he’d happened across it. Hell, he hadn’t happened across it-Campbell had guided him there, and the message he intended to send was clear: there wasn’t anything of Josiah Bradford left now. Not the old Josiah, the one these people knew. What remained of him belonged to Campbell now, and that was as it should be. The Josiah that had been known in this valley would vanish completely by the day’s end, vanish as swiftly as the cloud that had leveled his house, and with a similar trail left behind.

The R. L. Drake fired up without hesitation. The power in the house was still on, so it didn’t need to go to the backup generator, and seconds after Anne found the desk, she had the microphone to her lips. Most of the bands she dealt with were weather-spotter frequencies, but like any quality ham radio operator, she had the local emergency bands programmed as well. These days, some of the communications were encrypted, but there was still access for distress calls. She explained her situation to the dispatcher in as calm a tone as she could manage. Her nerves were rattled and her body felt unsteady but she held it all in check and spoke slowly and clearly. This was what she’d been training for all her life-a real emergency. She’d always known she could keep her poise during one, and while she’d imagined it would be during a tornado and not a kidnapping, her preparation didn’t fail her now.

The dispatcher was a woman who sounded at first harried, no doubt from fielding constant storm-related calls, then astonished.

“Ma’am, I need to understand this situation: Are you alone in the house now?”

Anne had specified that at the start. She took a deep breath and willed herself to find patience in the face of panic.

“That is correct.”

“But you were held hostage for several hours this morning by a man with a gun-”

“Not just some man. His name is Josiah Bradford. He’s a local. Works down at the West Baden hotel, I believe.”

“Yes, and your understanding is that he now has another woman in his control and that he has left your house with her and the weapon, correct?”

Anne felt a surge of frustration building, wanted to slap her hands down on the desk and shout, Of course he still has the weapon, now would you please stop asking me to repeat myself and do something about it! But poise counted in a situation like this, calm counted, and that woman who was with Josiah right now needed Anne’s help.

“That is all correct,” she said, speaking carefully. “The woman with him is named Claire Shaw. She’s from Chicago. Her husband came down here to make a movie and somehow he crossed Josiah. And I would say that time is of the essence. He has a gun, and if he is to be believed, then he is driving a truck full of dynamite. You need to find that truck.”

“There’s already a bulletin out for that truck. Went up yesterday. A state police detective requested it. I’m going to get in touch with him now.”

“All right,” Anne said, wondering what Josiah had already done to earn this attention. “He’s in the truck now, and so is she. He was taking her somewhere. I don’t know where, but it’s near his home. I could tell it was someplace near his home.”

“Okay,” the dispatcher said, “but right now I’ve got to find someone to come get you out of that basement. Things are out of control… we’ve got a tornado that hit Orleans, another that went through Paoli not five minutes later, and every one of my units was headed to assist. I’ll find one to send back for you.”

“No, don’t send one of them for me. Please don’t. I’m fine. But send one of them to find that truck.”

“Of course, that’s the priority. Be advised there’s a bit of chaos right now, though. Got parts of highways closed and all sorts of major storm damage. There’s a fire-”

“I know it’s chaos out there,” Anne said. “But I’m telling you that he could make the storm look gentle before this is done.”

The wind was freshening again as Josiah neared the gulf, and here there were so many trees down that the road was nearly impassable. If he’d given the slightest damn about his truck he would have stopped, but at this point the Ranger meant about as much to him as the heap that had once been his house, so he plowed ahead, driving over limbs and fence posts and one snarl of barbed wire wrapped around a stump. All of it deposited in the middle of the road, left behind by a cloud, of all damn things. It was hard to believe.

Up ahead the old white chapel was still standing and seemed little worse for wear; the storm must have passed just south of it. He saw the blinking lights of a rescue truck out across the fields, a volunteer fire department outfit, but they had pulled into one of the farm driveways and were paying him no mind. The gravel track into the gulf was empty, and he drove onto it and through the brush and saw two vehicles parked at the end of the lane: Danny’s Olds and a black Porsche Cayenne that was sitting upside down. The roof was caved in and glass lay all around it. Pointing skyward were four flat tires. That got Josiah laughing as he stopped the truck and got out to see Danny emerge from the bushes behind the cars, his ruddy, freckled face drained of color, his red hair dripping wet.

“You see it?” he said, walking toward Josiah. “You see it? Oh, shit, I never seen anything like it. Damn it all, I never even imagined seeing anything like that.”