Turnback Ridge by Gerri Brightwell

Author:Gerri Brightwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Torrey House Press

11

According to the map, up the road from where the plane had flown over them there was a trail to an old mining camp, and all that would lie between them and the facility was the long, broken line of the ridge. It was unnerving to be so close to that place—and yet, surely the whole point was to be within reach of it.

The trail, when they found it, was potted with holes, and thick with shrubs pushing their way through the hard ground. The RV bumped along as the trail switched and curved slowly uphill toward where a half dozen buildings sat bunched together. From a distance they looked solid enough and yet, as Jimmy drove closer, those buildings disintegrated: roofs rusted through, walls with missing boards, a shed caved in as though a giant fist had come down on it.

The sun had reappeared from behind the clouds. It glinted off puddles and drew stark shadows behind abandoned equipment. A faded metal sign said simply danger. Where the trail had branched off the highway, there had been other signs saying PRIVATE PROPERTY and KEEP OUT, and a log left across the entrance that had seemed more symbolic than anything—on his own Nash had managed to haul one end off to the side for Jimmy to drive through, then he’d hefted it back so it looked undisturbed. Just in case.

Jimmy parked behind a tall barn of a building whose wood had turned silvery, its roof corroded to the color of dried blood. Then he turned off the engine and sat with his head cocked, listening. The wind was stronger up here. It moaned past, bringing with it a harsh metallic beating. Nash peered through the window. High above, a piece of metal roofing was flapping like a wing.

With the sun shining hard through the glass, the air inside the RV was hot and stale, tinged with the foul smells of the bedroom. Nash wound down his window a couple of inches and a chilly gust swept in. His mouth felt sticky, as though he hadn’t talked in days, and he ran his tongue around his teeth, said, “Well, Jimmy—”

Jimmy pulled the keys from the ignition. He gazed down at them as if no longer sure what they were and climbed out of his seat. Almost as an afterthought, he asked Nash, “Would you come with me?”

Where sunlight cut through the blinds, bright lines shone off the table, the carpet, dazzled off the metal of the sink. The rest of the RV was dim, and when Jimmy opened the bedroom door, the darkness swelled out to meet them. With it came that reek, as though it was emanating from the darkness itself. Nash held his breath against it and followed Jimmy through the doorway.

Even in the gloom it was clear what had become of Jimmy’s wife: her silhouette against the sheets was enough. Those limbs bent at tortured angles, her neck crooked back. Like a dead insect, thought Nash, and recoiled. A click, and the beam of Jimmy’s flashlight slid over her face.

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