Title:The Cellar
Author(s): Richard Laymon
Publisher(s): Leisure Books
Pages: 309
Year: 2006
Format: EPUB
Language: English
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Mill Valley hadn’t changed much. It still had the feel of a small, country town. The Tamalpias Theater marquee was dark. The old bus depot looked the same as always. He wondered if it still had all those paperbacks. Over to the left, the old buildings had been replaced by a huge, wooden structure. The place was changing, but slowly.
A big dog, part Lab, wandered into the intersection. Roy stepped on the gas and swerved to hit it, but the damn thing leaped out of range.
At the end of town, he turned onto a road to Mount Tamalpais, Muir Woods, and Stinson Beach. It meandered into the wooded hills. For a while, he passed scattered, dark houses. Then they were gone. He drove deeper into the woods, sometimes slowing almost to a stop as he took the tight curves.
When he came to a dirt turn-out, he pulled onto it and stopped. He shut off the headlights. Darkness wrapped the car. The dome light came on when he opened the door. He opened the back door and pulled a red Kelty backpack off the seat. After taking a flashlight from one of its side pockets, he shouldered the pack. He shut the car doors and stepped to the edge of the woods.
The ground sloped gradually upward. Bushes caught at his jeans as he climbed. Soon after leaving the road, he tripped over a low strand of barbed wire. A barb punctured his pants, scratching his shin. He jerked his pants leg free and continued upward.
At the top of the slope, he searched through the evergreens. They seemed closely packed. He was about to give up his search when the beam of his flashlight swept through a space that seemed fairly open. He stepped toward it and grinned.
The clearing, about twenty feet around, had a good flat area for his sleeping bag. A circle of rocks remained where someone else had made a campfire. Inside the circle were half a dozen charred cans. Kneeling, Roy touched one of them. Cold.
He scanned the area with his flashlight. All around the clearing, the forest seemed dark and silent.
This would do fine.
He lowered the backpack and opened it. On top was a plastic ground cloth. He spread it out. Then he took out a blue stuff bag, slipped the drawstring loose, and pulled out Bob’s mummy bag. He put it on top of the ground cloth.
Should’ve brought one of those rubber pads, he thought. If only he’d thought of it.
He wandered into the trees, gathering firewood. He picked up handsful of kindling, and brought them to the circle of rocks. Then he gathered armloads of dead limbs until he had formed a high pile. He tossed the burned cans into the trees.
With toilet paper from the pack, he started the fire. He fed it twigs. It grew, crackling and spitting. Its flames warmed his hands and cast fluttering light through the clearing. He added larger twigs. As the wood caught, he added more.
“Now, there’s a healthy fire,” he muttered.
Three good fires in one day. He was getting a lot of practice.
He stood over the fire, watching its flames leap and curl, feeling its heat on the front of his body. Then he stepped back, out of its heat. He picked up the flashlight.
Once in a while, as he worked his way back through the thick woods, he looked over his shoulder. He could see the fire for a long time, its brightness shimmering on leaves over the clearing. By the time he reached the slope overlooking his car, no trace of the fire was visible.
He climbed down slowly, carefully, to the car. From the front seat, he took the sack from McDonald’s. Then he stepped back to the trunk. He unlocked it. The lid swung up.
Joni squinted when the light beam hit her eyes. She was lying on her side, covered by a plaid comforter.
“Hungry?” Roy asked.
“No,” she said in a pouty voice.
The other times he’d opened the trunk, once every hour after leaving Santa Monica, she’d neither spoken nor moved. In fact, she hadn’t said a word since last night in the bathroom.
“So, you’re not crackers after all.” He pulled the comforter. Joni tried to hold onto it, but couldn’t. It jerked out of her hands.
She curled herself more tightly.
“Climb out of there,” Roy said.
“No.”
“Do it, or I’ll hurt you.”
“No.”
He reached under her pleated skirt and pinched her thigh. She started to cry. “What’d I tell you? Now, get out of there.”
On hands and knees, she climbed over the edge of the trunk, and lowered herself to the ground.
Roy shut the trunk. He took the girl’s hand. “We’re gonna have a nice campout,” he said.
He climbed the slope, pulling Joni behind him. From her struggles and cries, he knew the undergrowth was punishing her bare legs. “Do you want me to carry you?” he asked.
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