In the Woods (14 page)

Maybe she could get back in the tent, crawl into the sleeping bag with Hank.

She was only yards from the tent when a twig cracked to her left. Harper pivoted toward the sound and aimed the rifle, unprepared for the dark form that bolted at her from the opposite direction, knocking her to the ground. Harper fired just before the Winchester flew out of her arms. The shot didn’t seem to startle the creature. It loomed over her, staring down.

Harper rolled into a crouch. And stopped, eye-level with the creature’s fur-covered knees. It stared down at her, not moving, not attacking. What was it waiting for? Was it planning what to do? Was this her last chance to escape? Harper didn’t wait to find out, took off scampering toward the tent.

‘Hank!’ Her voice was raw, came from her belly. ‘Hank!’

‘Harper?’

Thank God. Hank was awake, had come outside.

‘Where were you? Did you hear that shot?’

She glanced at him, kept running. Why was he asking questions? Couldn’t he see the Bog Man chasing her? ‘Hank,’ she yelled again, hoping he’d come after her. Her bare feet winced at every pebble and stick, slipped on damp leaves.

‘Harper? Wait.’

Wait? Was he crazy? She kept going, recalling the creature’s massive frame. She didn’t dare slow down even as low branches scraped her arms and face. Harper ran, weaving between trees, tearing through vines. What if she hadn’t fled? Would that beast have torn her apart? How had she been so careless, dropping her weapon? Damn – something thorny pierced her foot. She kept running, her left leg throbbing, slowing her down. Winded, she paused behind a clump of dogwood, listening. Hearing its feet crushing leaves and twigs, its body thrashing through branches and undergrowth.

‘Harper? Hold up – where are you?’ Hank was following her.

Oh God – had the creature seen him? She didn’t dare answer Hank; the creature would hear. And it was close, hunting her. Speckles of moonlight danced on the ground. Twigs grabbed at her skin, and the night breeze brushed her neck, teasing, urging her deeper into the woods. Where was it?

A white light flashed from behind. ‘Harper. Stop.’ Hank sounded breathless.

Harper didn’t answer. Couldn’t risk it. She needed to keep moving, to confuse the creature, so she ran deeper into the darkness, away from the sounds of cracking sticks and rustling leaves.

‘Harper? For God’s sake, what are you doing?’ Hank’s voice shot through the woods. He sounded annoyed, and the beams of his flashlight hit branches over her head. Damn, he’d draw the creature to him with all that commotion. Harper had to warn him. She turned back toward Hank, aware of movement to her left. For a moment, she had the sense that she was flying. Maybe she felt a brief thud of impact. But before she could feel any pain, the world went black.

The sector chief waited while Hiram called the meeting to order. Thirty-four people had shown up, including Mavis and most of her ladies’ group. It wasn’t as many as he’d hoped for, but given the short notice, it was a decent turn out. He stood beside the gong and the big-screen television in the compound’s lounge, addressing his neighbors, some on folding chairs, others on the donated sofas, and all talking at once.

‘Thanks for coming out tonight,’ he began.

People kept talking, so he hit the gong. The room shook, and everybody shut up.

When the reverberation stopped, Hiram began again. ‘We don’t have time to chit-chat. As you know, our sector’s got some serious trouble, and we have to figure out how to deal with it.’

‘I say we shoot all the outsiders,’ someone called.

‘Somebody’s already doing that,’ someone else answered.

‘God bless ’em,’ a third voice chimed in.

Hiram hit the gong again. ‘Order!’ he shouted, but the group was unsettled and yammering.

‘Everybody shut up,’ someone yelled.

The chief stepped up, scowling, and the chatter quieted. ‘This occasion is damned serious. Some of you don’t seem to get that. Stop clowning around. Hiram’s trying to help us out here. Show some cooperation and respect.’

‘Yeah, Hiram!’ someone called.

‘You rock, Hiram.’ A few people clapped.

‘Anyhow, I might as well take over for now, Hiram.’ He squeezed Hiram’s shoulder, and Hiram took a seat. ‘I’ll get right to it. Remember, we’re not here to report anyone or turn them in to the law. As always, what we say here stays here within these walls. Anyone got a problem with that, say so now.’

A slight murmur rose and fell. Nobody had a problem.

‘Fine. So, first order of business: who here killed Philip Russo?’

‘Who killed who?’ a man on the sofa asked. Someone leaned over, explaining.

‘Josh told me he found Russo’s body. He’d already been shot dead,’ Hiram said.

‘That’s right.’ Josh was sitting on the floor, leaning against a sofa. ‘I didn’t kill him. And I don’t know who did.’

The chief asked what happened.

‘He was just lying there, on the edge of the clearing. I figured some asshole hunter shot him – you know how they think everything that moves is game. So I dragged him to the main trail, tied him to a tree, and put a sign on his chest as a warning to outsiders. Poor fuck was dead. Why not let him serve a purpose?’

People started responding, all talking at once.

Hiram hit the gong.

While the reverberation quieted, the chief took a breath. ‘Josh, what in God’s name were you thinking?’

Josh opened his mouth to answer, but the chief didn’t let him speak.

‘The authorities found a body, and on it was a message that clearly suggested our organization. What impression do you think that made on them?’

Josh’s face was blank, unrepentant. How stupid could he be?

The captain stepped toward him, glowering. ‘You made it seem like one of us killed him, Josh. Do you not see that?’

Josh’s face reddened. He pressed his back against the sofa. ‘They can’t prove anything. Because that’s not what happened—’

‘But it’s what they’ll think. The last thing we need is a murder investigation, a search warrant for the compound. And, in your consummate genius, you probably left your DNA all over the body, so they might well arrest you …’

‘No.’ Josh was mad now, getting to his feet. ‘There’s no DNA. I was covered, head to toe.’ Josh met the chief’s gaze with defiant eyes.

The chief faced him, reminded himself to maintain control. Not to look away. Not to back down.

‘I believe,’ he continued in a quiet voice, ‘that we have all accepted the organization pact. If you recall, the essence of that pact says that we are sworn to combine our forces and act as a unit. You should have gotten approval before you started parading around in your monster costume. But aside from that, by moving that body and hanging the sign on it, you acted alone, impulsively, without thinking of the possible consequences to yourself and others, and certainly without the approval of anyone—’

‘Bullshit. This is still friggin’ America, isn’t it? I’ve got freedom of speech. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I don’t need anybody’s freaking permission to hang a sign.’

‘Well, some here might say that, since that sign appeared to represent them, you do need their permission to hang it.’

Voices tittered, and tension mounted. But the chief didn’t want a showdown with Josh. Not now, anyway. Right now, he needed unity and support, so he stepped back to the speaker’s spot and waited for the group to settle.

‘Clearly, Josh intended no harm. But let’s hope he’ll think things through and bring them up for discussion next time he feels inspired.’

‘You think you’re so smart, Chief?’ Josh was still standing. ‘What have you done to get rid of the outsiders? Huh? At least I’m doing something—’

The gong drowned out Josh’s voice. As it faded, people turned to the chief.

‘Those are important questions, Josh. We’ll address all of them at the end of the meeting. For now, let’s get back to our agenda and the matter of Philip Russo. No one knows who killed him, correct?’ He waited for a response. No one answered. ‘Fine. Then how about the gas pipeline employee, name of Al Rogers? Anyone here kill him?’

Heads shook, no. Voices buzzed.

‘You guys can sit around,’ Josh shouted. ‘I’m out of here.’ He gathered up his bearskins and headed for the stairway leading out. A bunch of people – Mavis, Annie and Wade – called after him, but he stormed out.

The chief watched him go, relieved. The meeting would go better without Josh there. He was volatile and hot-headed, needed to be watched closely. The chief had seen men like him in the war, finding pleasure in violence, taking foolish risks, self-destructing. He’d have to keep an eye on Josh. An impulsive firecracker like that could start a blaze, burning the whole community down.

First thing Bob and Pete did at the campground was make use of the new shower facility. Pete scrubbed himself, lathered up and scrubbed again, would have been tempted to stay there all night if not for his empty stomach.

They got a couple of sweatshirts, a tarp and a fleece jacket out of the Impala’s trunk, found a ten and a twenty in the glove box. Used most of it at the snack bar to buy cheesesteaks, curly fries and ham sandwiches to go. The place was mostly empty. A woman drank coffee alone at a table near the window. A couple of senior citizens were sharing a cherry pie à la mode. A young thing, maybe eighteen or nineteen, waited on them. Pete watched her hips sway, the freckles on her arms. The mischief in her eyes.

‘Keep your fly zipped.’ Bob’s mouth was full of fries. ‘We got more important things to do.’

Pete didn’t answer, didn’t want to get into an argument over a girl. Fact was he had to save his argument for the big stuff. After his shower, he was tired. All he wanted to do was eat and sleep – and, if the opportunity presented itself, get laid. He couldn’t imagine going back out onto the trail and starting all over again, especially not now, in the dark. Bob’s mind was made up, though. He was psyched, raring to go. Eating fast, breathing fast. Revving like a race car at a pit stop.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Pete started. ‘About tonight.’

‘Yeah, me, too. We got to go through the stuff in our packs, take inventory. Study the map here, where there’s light.’

Pete looked around, trying to figure out what to say. He wanted to suggest that they wait until morning, but didn’t want Bob to get pissed at him. He had to make it be Bob’s idea to wait. Maybe he should talk about the effects of sleeplessness. Like pilots – how they made more errors, crashed more when they were tired. The same kind of mistakes could happen to them.

‘Bob,’ he started. ‘I’ve been thinking—’

A young couple entered the shop, laughing, talking too loud, interrupting. Pete turned to look at them. Thought they didn’t go together. The guy was scruffy, unshaven, wearing grubby jeans. The girl, though, she was shimmering. Clothes fresh from a catalogue. Lip gloss, eyeliner, the whole nine yards.

‘Shit.’ Bob turned away from them.

‘What?’

‘Don’t you recognize her? That’s what’s her name. The eleven o’clock news. Shit. I didn’t think the press would get here till tomorrow.’

The news team ordered black coffee, sat at a table, huddled over notes.

‘You think they’re here about us? The bomb?’

‘Why else would they be here?’ Bob covered his mouth with his hand. ‘It’s got to be us. Nothing newsworthy ever happens out here.’

The woman sitting near the window stood and walked over to the news reporter. ‘Finally,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for months.’

The news reporter glanced up. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve called every news station in Pennsylvania at least twenty times. Finally, someone listened.’ Her voice was raspy, her hands pressed together. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much for coming out …’

The reporter stiffened, shifted in her chair. ‘Yes. No problem.’

‘I’m Sylvie Donavon – but you must know that. From my emails.’

The reporter stared at her. The guy with her said, ‘Maybe she wants an autograph.’

‘No, no,’ Sylvie said. ‘I mean, of course I would. But see, I’m the one who contacted you. I have first-hand information.’

Pete nudged Bob, nodded toward Sylvie. ‘Uh-oh.’

‘First hand? You were there?’ The reporter lit up, nudged her companion.

‘Yes, you bet.’

Bob swallowed, whispered, ‘Shit.’

‘You’ve seen the actual bodies?’

Bodies? There had been bodies? Oh God. Pete’s eyelids went crazy, began blinking fast.

‘Bodies? Well, not an actual body. But I’ve seen its footprints. They’re half as long as I am tall.’

‘Sorry, what?’

What? Pete and Bob stared at each other, ready to bolt.

‘The Bog Man – I emailed you about it.’

‘The Bog Man?’ The newswoman’s left eyebrow rose.

‘He’s like Big Foot, only he lives right here in Black Moshannon. A while back, he took a hiker, and now they’re saying he’s taken someone else. You can interview me if you want. I’ll give you all the background you need. He’s our very own Sasquatch—’

The scruffy man leaned back in his chair. ‘How about this, Ma’am? We’re on deadline now, but maybe we’ll talk about a feature later. Why don’t you write down your name and contact information, and let us get back to you.’

Pete chuckled. ‘Bog Man?’

Bob shook his head, went back to his fries.

‘No, see. You already have my contact info. I’m the one who broke the story—’

‘The Bog Man story.’ The news lady smirked.

‘Yes, that’s right. I sent emails to all the—’

‘How about you write it all down for us.’ The man spoke clearly, as if to a child. ‘Any facts and events that might help us with the story. Just to be sure we have everything.’ He sent Sylvie off to get paper and a pencil.

Bob swallowed his last bite, wiped his mouth. Motioned to Pete that he wanted to get going. But Pete shook his head, nodded toward the news team. He was trying to listen in on their conversation, to find out what they knew about the bombing. Their voices were low, though, and he could only hear snippets:

‘So what’s the connection … Philip Russo and Al Rogers?’

‘… coincidence?’

‘No way. Two men killed on the same day? … plus that explosion …’