Voracious - Alice Henderson [65]
Up ahead, lights broke through the darkness, a flashing sign, she thought at first. But then, as she drew nearer, she realized it was a Jeep, pulled off on the side of the road. A police or ranger’s vehicle, with flashing lights on the roof, identical to the one Steve drove. She slowed as she drew closer. The Jeep was at a strange angle. Almost upon it, she slowed to a near stop. It was off the road, down in a ditch. The engine was still running; she could see the exhaust pluming in the cold air. She didn’t see anyone standing around and wondered if someone was still inside, hurt or unconscious. Cautiously she pulled up on the shoulder behind the car. When she got out, she immediately saw that the driver’s side of the Jeep was crumpled in, as if another car had smashed into it and sent the Jeep tumbling into the ditch. But no other cars were in sight.
The smell of gasoline hung heavily in the air, and Madeline could hear the steady trickle of what she presumed was gas leaking out of the damaged tank.
If there was someone in the car, she had to get them out fast. The battery obviously still held a charge, and one little spark could send them up in flames. Quickly she ran to the driver’s door and peered in. Her heart sank. Steve sat slumped over the wheel. Grunting, she tried to wrench the door open, but it was too damaged to budge. The passenger door was locked. She took in Steve’s condition through the window.
He was unconscious, breathing, bleeding from a head wound. The smell of gasoline reeked strongly, making Madeline feel dizzy and sick to her stomach. She scanned over the car. The radio! Of course. He must have a radio. Maybe help was nearby. She reached in through the shattered window, sliding her hand between Steve and the steering wheel, feeling for the radio. The round shape of a CB handset met her fingers, and she pulled it toward her. Instant dismay filled her when she saw it. It was completely crushed.
“Steve?” she said urgently. “Steve!”
The ranger didn’t so much as stir or twitch. He was out cold, and Madeline had to make a decision fast. Already her head was pounding from the noxious fumes. Slowly she reached out to gently touch him. Her fingers brushed his jacket, and suddenly he jerked violently and grabbed her hand. Madeline cried out and reflexively yanked her hand back.
Then he turned slowly to look at her.
And she knew it wasn’t Steve in that body at all.
MADELINE staggered back, away from the car.
The creature followed, wrenching open the destroyed door with ease and crawling out. Madeline’s head spun from the fumes as she watched. He looked exactly like Steve; it was uncanny. The tousled, sandy brown hair, the high cheekbones and narrow chin. But the eyes were all wrong; they had a feverish, haunting quality that the real, gentle Steve didn’t have.
“Madeline,” he said, straightening up in front of the car. “I had to stop you from leaving.” He paused, turning his head and taking her in. “Your gift … is amazing.” Again she noticed the strange accent she couldn’t quite place, just a hint of it in the consonants. “You touched me … and you knew. I could feel myself filling you with my memories. That gift is your destiny. You shouldn’t run from it. We all have our special … talents.” Just then the skin on the upper half of his face rippled and turned black, smooth as sharkskin and dark as ink. The pupils widened, engulfing the iris, then the white, until just black remained. The eyes bored into her.
Her mind froze. She couldn’t think. She backed away, her eyes filling with the creature and the gas-leaking car. She didn’t know which she was more afraid of: getting blown up or torn apart by the creature. If she turned and ran, he would chase her, but at least she’d be away from the car when it went up. If she stayed, she’d get blown to bits and torn apart.
Madeline took off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sprint forward in pursuit. Darting