None of the houses they drove by had any lamps glowing in the windows. The dim illumination that escaped through blinds or cracks in the curtains seemed to come from candles, or a fire, or flashlights.
They met one snowplow, amber light flashing, fighting the onslaught from the heavens, pushing piles of snow onto the shoulder, and a dump truck spreading sand in the plow’s wake. The road was treacherous, and they were held up nearly forty-five minutes by another accident on the main road—a farmer’s truck had collided with a sedan and there was no way to drive around the accident. Jenna tried to reach the house and realized that the phones, all electricity-based, wouldn’t work. She then called Turnquist, Cassie, and Allie, but no one answered.
“Why wouldn’t they be picking up their cells?” she asked, worry creeping into her heart.
“That is weird. Weren’t they staying home?”
“Supposed to.”
“Maybe a cell tower’s failed. That happens sometimes in remote areas. I was at the beach once, and I couldn’t get through to anyone for two days—had to use a land line to get to the cell phone company.”
“Or all the circuits are busy because of the storm.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s probably what it is. At least try to call Shane. Or the station,” Rinda suggested, adjusting the heater. She had to keep the car running most of the time, as the minute she turned it off, the temperature inside the little Subaru plummeted.
“I will. If this doesn’t clear up soon.” She held onto her cell phone and tried to tamp down her worries.
“Good thing I have a big bladder,” Rinda observed as a tow truck finally pulled the car blocking the road to one side and an officer from State Police waved traffic through. “And an excellent selection of CDs.” They listened to Christmas songs while they waited and now, finally, drove past the weary officer. Rinda’s little car crept along the icy road. The storm hadn’t let up a bit and highway crews couldn’t keep up with the snowfall. She flipped out the CD and turned on the radio and heard reports that most of the roads in Lewis County had been closed.
“Worst storm of the century,” Rinda said, flipping off the radio. “Isn’t that just the icing on the cake?”
“It has to let up,” Jenna said, but wasn’t as worried about the weather as she was about her family. Again she tried to call them, again she failed. She even punched out Carter’s cell phone number, but he didn’t pick up and she didn’t leave a message. They were almost home, inching their way through the blizzard.
“This is pretty damned creepy,” Rinda said, her lips folding over themselves as she nosed her car along the road that ran parallel to the river, the tires sliding, only to grab the frozen asphalt again. “I just hope Scott is at home and not out in this mess.”
“Can’t you call?”
“All of my phones are remotes, you know, with hand-held receivers. They need electricity to work, so I can’t get through to the house. I’ve been meaning to get one that is just a regular, old-fashioned cord-to-the-handset type, but never think about it. Until the middle of the coldest friggin’ storm in fifty years.”
“What about his cell?”
“I’ve tried—three or four times. All I get is his voice mail, with a promise that he’ll call me back. Yeah, right.”
Fifteen minutes later, as the final notes of “Jingle Bell Rock” faded away, Rinda nosed her Subaru into the drive of Jenna’s house.
The gate was open.
No lights visible.
A huge knot of dread tied up all of Jenna’s insides. “This isn’t right,” she said as the little wagon slid to a stop near the garage. “Not at all.” Jenna was out of the car in a second. Her boots slid as she ran to the back door and told herself to remain calm. Of course it looked dark. The power was out. No big deal. Everyone along the river was dealing with the same emergency.
So why hadn’t her daughters answered their cells? Why hadn’t Turnquist?
She tried to push her key into the lock but the door swung open and the dark house was cold. Lifeless. “Cassie!” she yelled, trying to keep the panic from her voice. “Allie! Hey, I’m home. Cassie! Jake!”
“What’s going on?” Rinda asked, one step behind her.
“I don’t know. Probably nothing.” But Jenna’s heart was pounding fearfully, the hairs on the back of her neck at attention. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She smelled it in the cold air, heard it in the silence.
A fire burned low in the grate and she fumbled in a kitchen drawer for a flashlight, flicked it on, and yelled again. “Cassie! Where are you? Allie!”
But the house was silent, aside from the sound of wind gusts buffeting the gables, the rattle of windows high in the attic. Only her own voice seeming to echo back to her. The interior was more than cold. It felt lifeless. As if no one were home.
A chill as frigid as death hissed down her spine. “He’s got them,” she whispered, a brutal fear grabbing hold of her throat. “He’s got them.”
“Who?”
Her cell phone jangled in her pocket.