Voracious - Alice Henderson [111]
He looked back at her, studying her face. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed. This wasn’t the time to explain everything. “Tell you on the way.”
“Is everything okay?”
“It will be if we get out of here now.” With each passing moment, she pictured the creature dragging itself out of the river and shaking itself off like a beast upon the riverbank, then coming to find her and finish its job.
“You looked really spooked.”
She went around to the passenger door of his car and lifted the handle. “I have good reason. Please, George, just get in and drive me back.”
He nodded, gave a last look at the soft ripples of the darkening lake, and climbed back in his car. Closing the door after himself, he studied her once again. “Straight back to Mothershead?”
She nodded. He threw the car in gear and navigated through the parking lot, the backup of cars behind him restlessly creeping along behind them, tailgating.
George wound around one end of the parking lot and started toward the exit, driving by several trinket shops and the backcountry ranger station. Madeline kept her head low, not wanting Stefan to spot her. Once out of the congested area, George turned onto the road that led toward West Glacier, the small community just outside the park. Madeline lifted her head once the speedometer climbed to twenty-five miles an hour on the main park road.
“Mind telling me what this is all about?” her friend asked, peering at her out of the corner of his eye.
She looked over his car. Three bags of chips lay empty and gutted, crumbly remnants covering the driver’s seat and clustering beneath the emergency brake. A half-empty bottle of Pepsi sat in a cup holder near the stick shift.
“I appreciate your coming on such short notice.”
He smiled. “No problem.”
In the backseat lay several paperback novels, some old CDs, and an umbrella. On the floor behind the driver’s seat lay crumpled wet clothes.
A red shirt lay under a pair of sodden black jeans.
“Why are your clothes wet?” she asked, trying to remain calm.
He frowned. “They’re not.”
She took in his current outfit, a black T-shirt and faded black jeans. “I’m not talking about what you’re wearing. I’m talking about these!” She grabbed the wet clothes and brought them forward, slapping them down in George’s lap.
He started at her sudden move, then just stared at her.
“Well?”
After a pause he said, “I got caught in a sprinkler system at a truck stop. They were watering this little grassy stretch where people can walk their dogs—”
She wrenched her hand up quickly and grabbed George’s hair in her fist. It was completely dry. But that didn’t mean the creature couldn’t create hair that was dry when he shape-shifted.
“Then how come your hair’s not wet?” she said, releasing it.
He looked at her incredulously. “Because it happened a couple of hours ago, on my way up here. I changed my clothes right after it happened. And my hair just air dried.”
Madeline squeezed the dripping clothes in her fists. Water streamed from the fabric, and it smelled musty, like river water. “These are not two hours dry.”
He turned to face her, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. “Madeline, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
It was then she noticed the faint bruise on the underside of his chin, black and blue precisely where she had struck the creature back at the river. The extent of healing matched the timing of the blow.
She reached up, placing her hand on the cool of George’s headrest. Nothing but white noise flooded into her, interspersed with a vivid flash of a short, muscular man, a previous owner of the car, stepping out to pump gas, thrilled about landing a new job. She pressed her hand there a moment longer, seeking visions of George. None came. She withdrew her fingers and stared back at him.
Had the creature killed George and replaced him? Or worse, had George ever existed in the first place? She thought of when he’d come into her life. He’d been so accepting. So easy to get along with. None of the problems cropped up that she’d had with other would-be friends.