In the Woods (25 page)

Daniels signed off and scratched his head. He stepped over to the captain. ‘This weekend gets weirder and weirder.'

Slader nodded. Waited a beat. ‘I'll take off in a few and deal with the hunters. You and the state guys can manage this.'

‘Feeling all right?' Daniels asked him. ‘You've been quiet.'

‘I'm okay,' he said. ‘Just don't like all the excitement. Cops, ATF. Media. I'm thinking the locals are going to get stirred up.'

‘I hope not.'

‘You never know with those Hunt Club people. They're at their limit with outsiders.'

‘Well, they better get used to them.' Daniels looked back at the state cops. ‘There's going to be a lot more outsiders around, at least for a while. Seems we got two women missing.'

Slader nodded toward Hank. ‘Think he killed her?'

Daniels started to say no, but hesitated, eyeing Hank. ‘Yesterday, I would have said no and sworn by it,' he said. ‘But today? Christ, I have no idea. Nothing surprises me any more.'

According to the sun, it was mid-afternoon. Bob and Pete hid in the shed, beginning to understand that they'd be unable to get out of the place before nightfall. They'd stopped talking about the monster and its footprints. What was the point? Maybe it lived there, maybe it didn't. Maybe it had just been passing through. Maybe the reason the local people were gathering was to decide how to get rid of it, like the villagers in the Frankenstein movies. But the monster didn't matter; what mattered was how Pete and Bob were going to get out of there.

Pete had no ideas. The walls were too close, the space too dark. He couldn't get comfortable, couldn't sit, couldn't stand. Couldn't stay still. Fidgeting, he peered out the narrow slit between the door and the wall, aching for open space and sky. Watching slices of the two big lugs holding rifles, standing by the fence. Those guys had been there a while, unlocking the gate when people showed up. Standing there, never moving. Why couldn't they take a break just for a few minutes? Pete stood, shifted from leg to leg, felt like a prisoner.

Bob sat on the floor, sorting through the treasures stored inside the shed. ‘Can you stop?'

‘Stop what?'

‘Singing opera. What do you think I mean? Stop jumping around.'

‘I got to get out of here, Bob.'

Bob looked up at him. ‘You'll be all right.'

‘No, you don't get it. I've got to get—'

‘What you've got to do is calm down. Because you'll fucking get us shot if you don't.'

Pete took a breath. Shook his arms, his hands. Ouch, mistake. Even moving through air hurt his fingers. They were tender, raw in spots. He closed his eyes. ‘I'll be okay.'

Bob didn't seem convinced. If his burns bothered him, he didn't let on. ‘I wish we could smoke. You need to mellow out.'

It was true. Some dope would really help. Pete was jittery. Claustrophobic. Armed guards were outside. And at least one hairy monster. ‘What are those guys doing out there?' he asked. ‘They've been there for at least an hour. Just standing there with their rifles.'

‘They're guards. They're on watch.'

On watch for what? The monster? Or maybe they were like cops at a roadblock, watching for fugitives. ‘Shit – you think they saw the sign? The one we took down and I used it to climb up on? Maybe they noticed it and they're looking for us.'

Bob made a tsking sound. ‘Pete, think for a second. Why would they be looking for us at the gate?'

‘They found our stuff and brought it here. Maybe they figured out we'd come looking for it.'

Bob didn't answer. He'd crawled to the corner of the shack, opened the mini fridge. A light came on inside it. ‘Guess what – the electricity works.' He let out a gasp. ‘Shit, what is all this stuff?'

Canisters were lined up inside. Who knew what was in them. Bob reached inside, took a gray wad off a rack. ‘This looks … oh man. It looks serious.' He held it out to Pete.

Pete took it, held it in the slat of daylight. It was a gray clump, harmless looking, like molding clay. He swallowed, stared at it. Fought the urge to drop it and run.

‘You thinking what I'm thinking?' Bob said.

‘C fucking four?' Pete's voice cracked. ‘Jesus.' C4 was powerful. The military used it. He handed it back to Bob. Gently. ‘Who are these motherfuckers? What are they doing with explosives?'

Bob reached for his backpack. ‘Maybe same as us. Putting an end to fucking fracking and gas pipelines.'

Pete leaned against the door frame while Bob took a quick inventory. A rocket launcher. Rifles. Military-style ammunition boxes. C4. And who were these people? Nobody. Hicks who lived out in the country. Thieves who'd stolen his and Bob's meager supplies when they didn't even need them. Damn. With their fancy arsenal, these guys would have no trouble taking out the gas pipeline. They'd be the ones to get all the fame and credit for standing up to the polluters and profit-mongers – even though he and Bob had planned it and tried it first – twice.

‘Hungry?' Bob had emptied their backpacks onto the floor. The ham sandwiches sat beside their leftover blasting caps.

‘Why'd you empty our bags? What are you doing?'

‘Tit for tat.' Bob reached into the mini-fridge, grabbed a canister of something liquid. Stuck it into his backpack.

‘Wait, what is that?'

‘Not sure. But it's something these guys think is worth cold storage.' He reached for a wad of C4, stuffed it in beside the canister.

Cold dread wrapped around Pete's stomach. ‘Bob, maybe we shouldn't mess with that stuff—'

‘Bullshit. Serves them right.' He sounded cheerful, almost giddy.

‘But what if the stuff in those containers is nitro?' Pete had done research. ‘That stuff has to be kept cold. It explodes real easy if it gets above fifty degrees.'

‘I'm being gentle.' He put in a second canister.

‘Look. We came here to get our stuff back. Let's just take it—'

‘Oh, we're taking it. With a penalty fine for stealing from us.' Bob grinned, his teeth shining in the dim light. ‘Those fuckers are going to think twice before they rip anybody off again.' His bag was loaded. He zipped it up.

‘Just be careful. Don't bump it.'

Pete didn't want to get blown up again. But maybe the stuff wasn't nitroglycerin. And once it got dark, maybe they could have another go at the pipeline, beat these guys to it. Maybe. But dark seemed a long time away, and he didn't know how he could stay cooped up until then. His body itched to move. His burns were raw. And the shed was suffocating. Craving air, he pressed his head to the narrow opening at the door and peered out.

The two guys had walked to the gate, rifles strapped to their shoulders. As Pete watched, they unlocked the fence for a wiry guy with bushy eyebrows. He dashed past them, a radio pressed to his ear, and sped past the shed over to the mound of dirt, barking into the mouthpiece, ‘Wait. Not yet. I'm here. I'll be right there, tell them—'

Then, as soon as he disappeared behind the mound, there was silence. The guy was gone.

Pete turned back into the shed. The walls leaned in, moving closer. He looked outside again, down at the footprints of the monster.

‘Think we're dead?' he asked.

‘What?'

‘I'm just saying. Maybe we got killed in the explosion.'

‘Don't be a fucking asshole.' Bob dropped the blasting caps back into Pete's bag.

‘I'm not kidding. Something's off. Like we're in some alternate reality.'

‘What the fuck's wrong with you?'

‘Think about it. A big tall hairy monster? Things like that don't exist in the real world. And people disappearing into a pile of dirt? It's not natural.'

‘Stop doing that eye blink thing. Nobody's disappearing. There's got to be an opening back there. Get the fuck out of your psycho head. I mean it. Eat a sandwich.'

Pete leaned back, didn't point out that Bob hadn't explained the monster. He eyed the ceiling. It inched lower, teasing. He could almost hear it laughing.

Dead or not dead, something was seriously wrong about this place. He needed to get out of there, and soon.

‘Soon as it's dark,' Bob answered his thoughts. ‘We'll get the hell out of here. And this time, we're going to blow that sucker to fucking hell.' He reached for a sandwich, unwrapped it, and took a bite. With his mouth full, he grinned at Pete. ‘Cheer up. When we're done, maybe we can go back to the snack bar. You can try your luck with that girl.'

Pete didn't answer. He was busy, caught up in a staring contest with a wall.

Captain Slader checked his watch. It was already after two; he needed to get to the Hunt Club compound. Everyone would be gathered there, simmering, ready to boil over. The locals weren't good at waiting. Didn't like to follow rules. Each one of them was a hothead, ready to pop, and collectively they were a rumbling volcano. He needed to get there, calm them down. Remind them that people were like sticks, much stronger bound together than acting on their own. Yes, he'd use that analogy again to contain them. And he'd put the kibosh on Josh. Whether or not he'd taken those women, what had he been thinking during the night, destroying campsites, stirring up hunters? Damned fool needed to lie low and leave his Yeti costume in mothballs for a while. When would the locals learn? That costume wouldn't scare people away; it would rouse curiosity and attract weirdos from all over the world who'd swarm the woods, searching for the creature. No, he had to get over there and talk sense.

But first, he had to get away from the state cops. The two of them stood on each side of Hank as if he were already their prisoner. Poor guy still didn't have a clue that they suspected him of anything. For the second time, he led them around the campsite, showing the oatmeal he'd fixed for breakfast, the dishes and spoons not cleaned up.

‘Look.' His voice was urgent. ‘It's obvious they left in a hurry. Their coffee mugs are right where they left them – and the camp stove was left on. Harper would never have gone anywhere with the stove still on.'

‘So maybe someone took her by surprise?' the sergeant suggested. He was playing dumb. Playing with Hank.

‘Exactly – that's what it looks like.' Hank went on, showing them that the tent was only half folded, as if she'd stopped in the middle. The cops stood with their arms folded across their chests, legs apart, unimpressed.

‘So? Why are we standing here?' Hank's eyes were scalding. ‘Someone's kidnapped my wife and Angela Russo.' He followed the footprints that led away from the camp. ‘The tracks show that they went this way. I'm going to look for them.' He turned to the cops. ‘You guys coming?'

The state cops didn't move. They stood like statues, arms folded, legs apart. ‘Not quite yet, Mr Jennings,' the sergeant said. ‘How about we talk a minute.'

‘What?'

‘Just for a minute.'

‘Are you kidding?'

‘No, sir. We need some background information.'

‘Bullshit.' Hank turned back to Daniels. ‘Ranger, can we please go look for my wife?'

Daniels opened his mouth, didn't have a chance to answer. The sergeant moved in, crowding Hank, raising his chin. ‘Mr Jennings, tell us about your marriage.'

‘Tell you about – seriously?' Hank sputtered. ‘I'll tell you anything you want after we find Harper—'

‘How have you and your wife been getting along?'

‘Fine. Perfect.' Hank looked from one cop to the other. ‘Look, I love my wife. My wife loves me. Okay? Now, let's go see where these footprints lead.'

The corporal blocked his way.

‘What brought you to Black Moshannon this weekend?'

‘Oh my God.'

‘Mr Jennings?'

Hank turned to Slader. The captain felt sorry for him, but he wasn't getting involved. Was curious to hear the answers.

‘We came for a weekend getaway. To spend time together.'

‘What's all that stuff?' The cop pointed to Hank's soil and water samples, the geological testing materials that he'd laid out near the tent. ‘What are those?'

‘Nothing. Samples. I'm a geologist. I was testing—'

‘I thought you said you came for a getaway.'

‘We did.'

‘But yet, you were working?'

‘So?'

‘So it seems like you're not being entirely honest with us, Mr Jennings.'

‘What?'

Silence. The cops stared at Hank, and he glared back. A stand-off.

The captain checked his watch again. Two-thirty. Damn. He had to go. ‘I'm off,' he said to Daniels.

But at that moment, Hank said, ‘You guys can dick around all you want. I'm going to go look for my wife.' He turned around and started up the trail.

The corporal put his hand on his gun. ‘Stop right there! Hold it!'

Daniels opened his mouth but made no sound, and Slader eyed the cops. They stood red-faced. Hank looked over his shoulder once, but continued on his way.

Slader's blood pressure surged. These cops were idiots.

Daniels urged the cops to go with Hank and see where the trail led. ‘What's the harm?'

‘Thank you for your opinion, Ranger Daniels.' The sergeant looked Daniels up and down, then faced the captain. ‘What do you think?'

What Slader thought was that the sergeant was an asshole. But he shrugged. ‘Your call.'

‘Okay then.' The sergeant eyed Daniels. ‘Why don't we all take a walk? What's the harm?'

‘You guys go.' Slader backed away. ‘I need to go deal with those hunters—'

‘Hey, Sergeant?' Hank's shout cut him off. ‘Come take a look – I found something!'

The cops glanced at each other, then the sergeant gestured to Daniels and Slader, indicating that they should lead the way.

The captain hesitated, but couldn't think of an excuse big enough to justify leaving so abruptly. He couldn't very well say that he had to get to the Hunt Club. But if he didn't get there soon, who knew what the locals would do? They had a mob mentality and an arsenal of weaponry. If one drew blood, the rest would, too, like a pack of maddened hounds. Slader had to get to them and provide a voice of authority. But the sergeant was waiting for him to walk up the trail. Okay. He'd spare ten minutes. No more. After that, no matter what, he was gone.