The Last Rite

Prologue

The forest stood quiet. Deathly quiet, as if the thick fog dampened sound as well as light. The empty road, curving and winding along the contours of the mountain and peppered with reflective traffic markers, were the only evidence that humans had ever existed. No wind rustled the trees, no birds or squirrels rustled the grass, as if everything with a heartbeat knew to stay away, or had been slain. The road arced around a bend where a weathered wooden sign stood, its carved words welcoming visitors to Shellington Heights.

The four-door sedan roared passed the sign, its tires screeching to hold onto the road as it zoomed past way faster than the posted speed limit sign said to go along the curve, the car weaving across the empty lanes. The engine roar sounded like a rocket engine in the unnatural silence. Even the leaves rustled up in its wake sounded deafening in the absence of any ambient sounds.

Banking the curve at such a dangerous speed caused the case and folder sitting on the passenger seat to slide towards the door. Without looking, the driver reached out with one slender and blood-stained hand to catch the case as if it would slide out the closed car door. Carolyn Lightfoot stole a glance to make sure the cylindrical case was safe, then snapped her head back to the road, her long black hair matted to the blood drying on her forehead. Her knuckles were white as the padding on the steering wheel creaked under her grip. She kept one eye glued on her rear-view mirror, but still she'd shoot a look over her shoulder when the road would allow her too, her eyes wide. Every time she did, her necklace would jingle as the silver and turquoise pieces bounced against the centerpiece, which resembled a dreamcatcher. The necklace was large, but the weight was reassuring. It reminded her it was there. That was important. It was vital.

Tear tracks cut paths through the dirt and blood on her face, showing the light brown color of her skin. Her long, straight black hair, normally shining and neatly brushed, still hung straight where it wasn't glued in place by drying blood. Her dark brown eyes were bloodshot, her eyelids swollen. As she drove, she predicted each bank and turn, slowing down just enough to make the turn but still well over the posted speed limit. Unlike her cousin, Charlie, who left the reservation for the big city and never looked back, Carolyn lived in what used to be Shellington Heights and she knew these roads. Of course, Shellington Heights was something else now. In a sense, so was she. Now, she was a survivor.

The fog started to break. In the horizon, the sun was glowing like a beacon to safety. Carolyn could see the glistening of the not too distant Pacific. She could smell the salt from the sea spray. A smile grew on her face while tears began to trickle down her cheeks. The smile cracked into a sporadic giggle, which grew into an almost hysterical laugh. She was almost out. She was almost free. She looked over her shoulder again. Shellington Heights was behind her, and not just in terms of miles. It was another world now, but she was back. Back to the real world. Almost.

When she glanced back to the road, Carolyn saw the red-brown blur dart across the road in front of her. Carolyn turned the wheel to avoid whatever the thing was without thinking. In the real world, you avoided killing things, you tried to not hurt people or things, and while those rules didn't apply in Shellington Heights the habit was ingrained. The car careened out of control and off the road.

Carolyn stirred to partial consciousness. She pushed her head off the now deflated airbag, looking out of the cracked windshield. In front of her was a redwood tree, steam coming from the crushed radiator, the front of the car crumpled and bent. The world swam in a foggy blur . . . no, it wasn't all the crash. While her vision was blurred and her head swimming, she was aware of one thing – the fog was total again. There was just a hint of the smell of the sea air, though the sounds of the waves cracking against the cliff side, what should have been a defining roar, was missing. It would have been kinder if that salty smell was absent completely, but the faint tinge taunted her with how she was almost there. The sun was gone, the ocean replaced by more forest road that stretched off to infinity. No, not infinity. She knew where the road led. Like the road behind her, all roads led back to Shellington Heights in this world.