Read Online Signal by Cynthia DeFelice - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cynthia DeFelice
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didn’t die.”
My heart plummets.
“Scanner was on, naturally, and that fella seemedmighty interested in the news. Asked me where was this Davie place.”
He stares at me from under his eyebrows.
“Did you tell him?” I ask.
“You kidding?” says Mr. Powers with a snort. “Guy like that? I wouldn’t give him change for a nickel if he gave me a dollar.”
I take a deep breath and tell myself to settle down.
Mr. Powers continues to eyeball me and says, “Now here’s you, acting jumpier than a sack of fleas. I put it all together, and I gotta wonder what’s the connection, you know what I mean?”
I try to act unconcerned. “Beats me. I sure don’t know that guy. Anyhow, I better get going.”
He studies me. “You didn’t come in to buy something?”
I stop.
Darn him
.
“Just stopped in to chat with an old man, did you?” he goes on.
I think about the poncho for Cam and decide it is too big of a risk. “That’s right, Mr. Powers,” I say. “Just stopped in to say hi and get out of the rain for a minute. I’ll be seeing you.”
“And I’ll be seeing
you
,” he says with a grin and a lift of his white caterpillar eyebrows.
I hardly even notice the rain as I pedal furiously down the trail. Ray heard the police report of someone living in a deserted farmhouse nearby. He asked where the house was.
Could he have already found it somehow?
Found Cam?
I pedal faster, unable to shake a feeling of impending disaster. I feel as if Cam and I are being closed in on from all sides.
When I finally get to the hill and start climbing, the loose shale is super slippery from the rain, and I nearly kill myself trying to get up with all the stuff I’ve brought. I drag myself to the top and peer over the edge, half expecting to see Ray leering back at me. Instead, there’s a sheriff’s patrol car parked in the driveway of the farmhouse.
I slide back down the bank and let the bag in my hands tumble down on its own. I sit at the bottom of the hill for a minute, feeling tired and discouraged. Josie licks my face anxiously. I get up and make a run for the old sawmill, dragging the bag with me. The mill is right on the trail, and never seemed sinister when I passed it in the daylight. But now, in the duskiness of the rainy evening, it feels spooky. At least it’s a roof over our heads while we wait for the sheriff to leave.
The mill is just a shell now; the windows are gone and so are the doors. The brick walls are damp and mossy, with dumb graffiti painted on them. The cement floor is strewn with leaves and sticks and dirt, along with beer cans and food wrappers left by kids, and the ashy remains of a fire.
It’s dank and gloomy in here, and I feel my spirits sink even further as I sit leaning against a giant, rustyiron gear that was part of the millwork. Josie sniffs around for a while, then comes and lies in front of me, her head on my legs. I reach down and stroke her velvety ears, glad for her warmth and easy company.
When I figure the sheriff has satisfied himself that whoever was in the house is gone, I make my way up the hill again. No cars, that’s good. I see that the door is boarded shut and there is now a sign posted on it: NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF YATES COUNTY SHERIFF . Somehow that, along with the rain and general gloom of the early evening, makes the place look sadder and more deserted than before.
I scan the area for a good place to set up the tent. Unfortunately, the nylon is a bright orange color, so we’re going to have to be really careful. After I’ve stood there for a couple seconds, Cam comes out of the cornfield and walks toward me, her plastic bag of stuff in her arms. When she gets close, she gives me a brave smile, but I see that her arms and legs are covered in goose bumps and her lips are blue and shaking.
“Listen,” I say. “Ray came back to the store. They were talking on the scanner about someone possibly living in a deserted house nearby, and Ray was real
My heart plummets.
“Scanner was on, naturally, and that fella seemedmighty interested in the news. Asked me where was this Davie place.”
He stares at me from under his eyebrows.
“Did you tell him?” I ask.
“You kidding?” says Mr. Powers with a snort. “Guy like that? I wouldn’t give him change for a nickel if he gave me a dollar.”
I take a deep breath and tell myself to settle down.
Mr. Powers continues to eyeball me and says, “Now here’s you, acting jumpier than a sack of fleas. I put it all together, and I gotta wonder what’s the connection, you know what I mean?”
I try to act unconcerned. “Beats me. I sure don’t know that guy. Anyhow, I better get going.”
He studies me. “You didn’t come in to buy something?”
I stop.
Darn him
.
“Just stopped in to chat with an old man, did you?” he goes on.
I think about the poncho for Cam and decide it is too big of a risk. “That’s right, Mr. Powers,” I say. “Just stopped in to say hi and get out of the rain for a minute. I’ll be seeing you.”
“And I’ll be seeing
you
,” he says with a grin and a lift of his white caterpillar eyebrows.
I hardly even notice the rain as I pedal furiously down the trail. Ray heard the police report of someone living in a deserted farmhouse nearby. He asked where the house was.
Could he have already found it somehow?
Found Cam?
I pedal faster, unable to shake a feeling of impending disaster. I feel as if Cam and I are being closed in on from all sides.
When I finally get to the hill and start climbing, the loose shale is super slippery from the rain, and I nearly kill myself trying to get up with all the stuff I’ve brought. I drag myself to the top and peer over the edge, half expecting to see Ray leering back at me. Instead, there’s a sheriff’s patrol car parked in the driveway of the farmhouse.
I slide back down the bank and let the bag in my hands tumble down on its own. I sit at the bottom of the hill for a minute, feeling tired and discouraged. Josie licks my face anxiously. I get up and make a run for the old sawmill, dragging the bag with me. The mill is right on the trail, and never seemed sinister when I passed it in the daylight. But now, in the duskiness of the rainy evening, it feels spooky. At least it’s a roof over our heads while we wait for the sheriff to leave.
The mill is just a shell now; the windows are gone and so are the doors. The brick walls are damp and mossy, with dumb graffiti painted on them. The cement floor is strewn with leaves and sticks and dirt, along with beer cans and food wrappers left by kids, and the ashy remains of a fire.
It’s dank and gloomy in here, and I feel my spirits sink even further as I sit leaning against a giant, rustyiron gear that was part of the millwork. Josie sniffs around for a while, then comes and lies in front of me, her head on my legs. I reach down and stroke her velvety ears, glad for her warmth and easy company.
When I figure the sheriff has satisfied himself that whoever was in the house is gone, I make my way up the hill again. No cars, that’s good. I see that the door is boarded shut and there is now a sign posted on it: NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF YATES COUNTY SHERIFF . Somehow that, along with the rain and general gloom of the early evening, makes the place look sadder and more deserted than before.
I scan the area for a good place to set up the tent. Unfortunately, the nylon is a bright orange color, so we’re going to have to be really careful. After I’ve stood there for a couple seconds, Cam comes out of the cornfield and walks toward me, her plastic bag of stuff in her arms. When she gets close, she gives me a brave smile, but I see that her arms and legs are covered in goose bumps and her lips are blue and shaking.
“Listen,” I say. “Ray came back to the store. They were talking on the scanner about someone possibly living in a deserted house nearby, and Ray was real
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