314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy) (26 page)

Widowsfield

March 13
th
, 2012

Shortly after 5:30
AM

The horizon bore no hint of sunrise. Daylight savings time had started the previous Sunday, which meant that the sun wouldn’t rise until around 7:30. The birds hadn’t even begun to stir when Jacker crested the hill that preceded their final descent into Widowsfield.

Alma experienced the familiar, dreaded lurch of her stomach as they headed down the hill. This was the sensation that had plagued her for so many years. She’d assumed it was because the feeling reminded her of traveling to this cursed town with her father, but now she considered a new possibility. Perhaps the reason she hated the sensation was because she was repressing a memory of being driven over a cliff by her mother.

She continued to hum as they passed through the dark woods where she’d once seen the hands of demons reaching out from the mist. Alma closed her eyes and tried to imagine happier times, but the first thought that entered her mind was of the woman that Paul had spoken with outside of his apartment a few nights earlier. Now the bitch had a name: Lacey.

Alma wished she wasn’t the jealous type, and that seeing the woman that had been living with Paul wouldn’t fill her with self-doubt, but Alma had spent the majority of her life being an introverted, quiet, plain-looking girl. She’d suffered the vicious mocks of prettier girls throughout high school, and had torn more than a few pictures of llamas off of her locker. She could still hear their jeers, “How’s it going, Llama Harper?”

Lacey, was young, buxom, and the type of girl you’d expect to see on the arm of a man like Paul. Alma had only seen her for a moment, smoking on the corner outside of the tattoo parlor, but knew instantly that the girl was a welcome member of that crowd. Where Alma always struggled to fit in with Paul’s rough-and-tumble group of friends, she had no doubt that Lacey was the life of the party. Alma couldn’t help but imagine Paul and Lacey together, laughing and drinking with their friends at the parlor. If things did work out between Paul and herself, Alma dreaded the thought of returning to the parlor where she’d struggled to fit in before. Now, after they’d gotten to know and love Lacey, Alma would be an outcast.

Alma had no way of knowing if any of this was true. She’d only caught a glimpse of the woman that she was now obsessing over, but that didn’t change how she felt. It was petty, pathetic, and reprehensible of her to feel the way she did, and she reminded herself of that over and over in an attempt to move on. It didn’t work.

She wondered if perhaps, after this nightmare in Widowsfield was over, she should break things off with Paul. After all, their past together had proven that they were more likely to break up eventually than stay together anyhow. Why should she steal him away from Lacey, from a chance at happiness? Was her love for him just an example of her own greed and possessiveness? She remembered how painful it had been to see that his apartment was clean after so much time apart, as if she felt like he should be broken without her. That’s not the sort of thing a loving person feels. Is it?

Alma wiped away her tears and then reached instinctually to her pocket to hold onto the teddy bear keychain that Paul had given her on their first date. She panicked when she discovered it was missing, but then remembered that she’d given it to Rosemary.

They were past the woods, and Widowsfield stretched out before them. The long road led to the gate that was still left open after they’d left earlier in the night. As they approached, Alma was reminded of a gaping maw, as if the road was leading them down the gullet of a patient beast whose skin was made of the crisscrossed wire of the fence. It was a fitting thought.

“Last place on Earth I want to be right now,” said
Jacker as they drove past the gate and back into the town they all wanted to flee.

“Amen, brother,” said Paul.

Michael gurgled beneath his gag, and rustled in his seat.

“How are you feeling, Rosemary?” asked
Jacker as he reached out and set his hand on the black woman’s shoulder. He shook her when she didn’t respond. “Rosemary?” he asked again, more concerned this time.

“I’m alive,” said Rosemary, although her voice was weak. “I
don’t think I’ll be strong enough to walk when we get there.”

“It’s okay,” said Alma. “We’ll go in and bring out a stretcher or a wheelchair. We’ll get the nurses to come and help.”

Rosemary nodded, and started to thank Alma, but her voice trailed off into a murmur. The only word that came forth was the name of the nurse at the facility, “Helen.”

“
Jacker, hurry,” said Alma as she scooted forward in her seat.

“On it,” said
Jacker as he sped up.

The tires squealed as they turned sharp corners on their way back to
Cada E.I.B.’s facility on the north side of Widowsfield. Jacker wasn’t concerned with stop signs, and within minutes they were pulling into the only place in Widowsfield that showed any signs of life other than the eerie silhouettes of mannequins staring out of other buildings in town. He parked beside the side entrance where Michael had taken Ben through earlier and then Alma quickly jumped out, explaining that she’d run inside to get help and that Paul and Jacker should stay with the van. She was more than happy to get away from Ben the first chance she got.

Alma felt relieved to be leaving Ben, but as soon as she entered the quiet, dead building
, she wasn’t sure how confident she was that it was better inside. The emergency lights were on, bathing the halls in red light, but it was eerily silent. She’d been groggy when they’d left, and had trouble remembering how to get back to where Rachel and Stephen were at.

She did her best to find her way, but then she heard a woman call out, “Rachel?”

Alma turned and saw the portly nurse that worked for Cada E.I.B. leaning out from one of the rooms. “Oh,” she said when she recognized Alma. “In this light you looked like someone else.”

“Where is Rachel?” asked Alma. “Isn’t she with you?”

“No,” said the older nurse. “She went looking for Oliver.”

“She did?” asked Alma, surprised. “Did Stephen go with her?”

“Oh no,” said the nurse as she approached. “I’m sorry, I thought you meant the other Rachel. The nurse that I was working with is named Rachel too. Your friends are in the room to the right, just down the hall.”

“Oh, okay,” said Alma. “We need your help outside.”

“Me?” asked Helen. “Why?”

“One of our friends was stabbed. She’s in the van outside and needs your help. She’s bleeding badly.”

“Oh my gosh,” said Helen. “Are you parked in the lot?”

Alma nodded and said, “Do you have a wheelchair or something?”

“We can use one of the gurneys. Come with me.”

“Let me go tell Rachel and Stephen what’s going on,” said Alma.

“Don’t bother. They’ve got the door locked,” said Helen. “I went in to check on them a little while ago and it looked like they were filming something.”

Alma imagined that Stephen and Rachel were filming something for their internet show, and was mildly annoyed that they would still be thinking about that venture in the midst of everything that had happened to them. She shrugged off the concern and went to help Helen with one of the gurneys from the sleepers’ room.

They hurried back to the exit that led to the parking lot. Jacker was waiting with the exit door propped open. He waved at them to hurry and said, “She’s fading fast. Come on.”

Alma and Helen guided the gurney over the threshold of the door, causing the metal bed to rattle before its wheels grinded on the concrete sidewalk outside. They were under a humming external light and large, flying shadows were cast from it by the moths that spun above.

Rosemary’s door was open, and Paul was standing beside her, doing his best to help although his expression revealed his helplessness. His hands were covered in Rosemary’s blood.

Helen was quick to command the group on how they could help. Her years as an ER nurse were evident as she calmly and decidedly dealt with the situation. Within only a couple minutes, Rosemary had been transferred to the gurney and Helen had her hands pressed against the wound, the blade still protruding forth. Paul and Alma took opposite sides of the gurney to push it along as Helen insisted that they get back down to the sleepers’ room, where her supplies were at.

Alma and Paul both realized that they would be leaving Jacker alone to stay with Michael and Ben. They looked at him in concern, but he was quick to say, “It’s okay, just go. I’ll stay with the psychos. Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Alma. “Whatever Ben says, just ignore him.”

“Don’t worry,” said Jacker. “I’m shutting the two of them in that van alone. I’ll wait out here. Fuck those freaks.”

Ben overheard Hank Waxman say that he would leave the van’s occupants alone, and his heart fluttered at the prospect of being left with Michael. He stayed silent and waited for the fat man to close the doors. He locked eyes with Jacker, and smiled at him. Jacker flipped Ben off, and then slammed the van’s door shut, leaving Ben alone with his father.

“Daddy,” said Ben, his voice a menacing hiss. “I’m feeling stronger.”

Michael Harper was bound and gagged, and the noises he made were pitiful. Ben turned, and set his hands on the seat that separated him from his father. The Skeleton Man stared at his prey, and laughed through his chattering teeth.

Widowsfield

March 1
st
, 1996

7:00
PM

Helen parked outside of the abandoned Salt and Pepper Diner. She was whistling as she got out of her car and went around to the back. She glanced around, making certain no one was near, but Widowsfield was a ghost town, just like it’d been for years. She opened her trunk, convinced no one was watching.

Inside was a stack of firewood that had been wrapped in oiled rags. The dingy rags were tied to the pieces of wo
od, and the kindling was placed inside of a large blue, plastic bag that her friend had brought back from an Ikea trip. On top of the bag was a hammer and a sign that read ‘Out of Order’. Helen hoisted the heavy back up and over her shoulder, and then picked up the jerry can that was full of gasoline from the trunk as well.

The spout on the can of gas was open, and the liquid splashed out onto her smock. “Son of a gun,” she muttered as she saw the liquid soaking into her shirt. Luckily, she always had a spare smock in her car. As a nurse, she’d quickly learned the value of a change of clothes. There was no telling what sort of horrific things could dirty up a smock during a day of work.

Helen carried the firewood and gas into the diner and then headed for the men’s bathroom. It seemed as good a place as any to hide the tinder.

She wondered if she’d get to watch
Widowsfield burn. She’d always hoped to see that.

Widowsfield

March 14
th
, 1996

3:13
PM

The tugboat that Oliver was on had been detached from the Eldridge, and was floating about fifty yards away from the battleship. Oliver was standing on the back of the tug, and kept checking his watch in anticipation of the time when he knew that Vess would cut the cord.

The tug captain was leaning back in his seat, his feet on the dash. He had a folded newspaper in one hand and a pencil in the other and he was mulling over a crossword, ignorant of the important event that was about to occur.

3:14 arrived, and Oliver anxiously glanced up at the ship. He knew that Vess’s watch would be set to the same time. Cada E.I.B. and The Accord were very particular about their employees all sticking to the same time. Before Oliver had known about the significance of 3:14, he’d assumed this was a discipline issue. Now he knew the reason they’d been so stringent about everyone keeping to the same time schedule was because of the importance they placed on the number 314. He wondered how many other project leads had been instructed to activate their experiments at precisely 3:14 in whatever time zone they were located.

A hollow bang came from the Eldridge the moment that Oliver’s watch displayed 3:14. Ripples appeared along the side of the boat and chased away from it, revealing that the entire ship was vibrating. Then a flash of green light reflected off the surface of the water and Oliver looked up
in time to see another arc of lighting emit from the ship’s bow. It was like watching a storm cloud, except that the lightning was distinctly green.

The captain of the tug had swiveled in his seat so that he was facing the back of the cabin. He kicked the door open while remaining seated and screamed out, “Did you see that?”

Oliver nodded as he lowered his notebook. He didn’t dare look away to write down what he was seeing.

“What the fuck’s going on?” asked the captain. “Do we need to get out of here?”

“No, keep us right here,” said Oliver.

“
Ain’t too smart to be on a boat when there’re Goddamned bolts of lightning shooting around.”