In the Woods (16 page)

The crowd was buzzing again.

‘Everybody settle down. Take a seat, Ax. I’m asking you all for patience. All we know for sure is that the next few days, these woods are going to be crawling with outsiders. If we just keep our heads down and lay low, they’ll do their business and go on their way—’

‘Until the next time,’ Wade said.

‘That’s right,’ Annie said. ‘How much are we going to take? Our wells are already fouled. We still can’t drink our water. Some of us can’t even shower at home. How long do we sit around and let them trample all over us?’

‘I say we escalate.’ Ax stood.

People shouted their agreement.

The chief watched. Saw rebellion in their eyes, smelled their long-simmering rage. If he wanted to lead, he’d have to listen.

‘Okay, everybody. I hear you. All in favor of escalation?’

‘Ayes’ resounded through the lounge.

‘All opposed?’

Silence.

‘Fine. The ayes win. Escalation it is. But any plans still need to be approved by committee. And be aware: anyone else gets killed or hurt? The state cops and ATF won’t just send a few men; they’ll take over. They’ll be in your living rooms. They’ll eat lunch on your tables. I don’t want that, and neither do you. So use judgment.’

The meeting broke up. Mavis and her girls lingered, planning what they’d do.

The chief couldn’t stick around to talk with Hiram or anyone. Too much was happening too quickly. If he didn’t keep on top of it, the whole sector might stage a showdown with the government, and he seemed to be the only one concerned about the outcome.

Harper didn’t even wince as Hank cleaned the raw scrapes on her feet.

‘You okay?’ He kept asking her questions, urging her to talk.

‘Fine.’ She didn’t want to talk.

‘Why are you so quiet?’ Hank had wrapped a blanket around her. He sat beside her outside the tent. ‘You’re acting weird, Harper. Talk to me.’

Harper didn’t know what to say. Was she supposed to tell him that she’d hallucinated? Seen some non-existent creature tear their campsite apart? No, she didn’t want to tell him that. Instead, maybe she should tell him that she couldn’t stop seeing Phil’s body, and that it was reminding her of other bodies. Bodies from the war that had been burned or shot or blown up. Bodies with parts missing, or parts with bodies missing. Or maybe she should tell him that the explosion they’d heard earlier kept repeating in her head, like that explosion in Iraq that had killed her patrol, soldiers she’d been responsible for but hadn’t protected.

Hank was waiting. Studying her, worrying.

‘What would happen,’ she asked, ‘if we didn’t wait? If we just left?’

‘You mean now?’

She nodded.

‘We said we’d stay until morning …’

‘I know. But we don’t have to. I mean, we aren’t suspects …’

‘It’s only a few more hours—’

‘I want to leave.’ She wasn’t going to cry. Refused to. But she felt the tears welling up. ‘Please.’

Hank took her hands. Their camp light beamed up at his face, made him look shadowed and ghostly. ‘Harper, it wasn’t real.’

How did he know that? ‘What?’

‘Whatever you saw. Whatever made you run barefoot through the woods—’

‘You don’t know what I saw.’

Hank let out a breath, tightened his grip on her hands. ‘No. Of course I don’t. But it’s not the first time you’ve gone off, reacting to things you see in your mind.’

Oh God. He thought she’d had a flashback? ‘This wasn’t a flashback.’

‘No? Because it looks to me like a bear came into our camp and tore it apart. It woke you up and triggered a memory of a raid or an ambush—’

‘Stop.’

‘—or something from the war, and you took off with the rifle—’

‘That’s not what happened.’

‘—caught in a flashback.’

‘Hank!’ Her anger startled her. Did he really think she was so unstable? That she’d take off with a weapon in the night, chasing memories? What must it be like for him, living with someone he thought might at any moment slip out of reality and into her own terrible memories? She blinked, but one of the tears escaped, rolled down her cheek.

She didn’t want to lie, but wanted to reassure him. Her tone softened. ‘It wasn’t a flashback. I didn’t think we were under attack or anything like that. I thought I saw a big animal. And the way it was acting, I thought it was dangerous.’

‘So you took off after it? Alone?’ He sounded doubtful.

‘I tried to wake you.’

‘You did?’ He reached a hand up, wiped her tear away. ‘Well, you shouldn’t have chased after it. In the dark. By yourself.’

She nodded.

He sighed, watching her. ‘Harper, you think you can stick it out till morning? Because I’m cold and tired. I’d really like to get some sleep before driving all the way back to Ithaca.’

She sniffed, nodded again. Crawled into the tent, climbed inside the sleeping bag beside him. Her head was against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his breath. She focused on that rhythm, trying to ignore the images of Philip Russo and the others.

‘So what was it? A bear?’

A bear? She closed her eyes, choosing her words. ‘I don’t know what it was. It was huge, and ape-like.’

‘Ape-like?’

‘It was on two legs. And furry.’

‘Really.’ He shook his head.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. But a big, furry creature that stands on two feet? Sounds a lot like a bear.’ Hank’s breath evened out, and thickened into soft snores.

Harper lay awake, ignoring the snores, listening to the woods, straining to hear the thrashing of branches or the howling of the creature. But it must have moved on. She pictured it, silhouetted by the moon. Recalled its size and hairy, almost human shape. It had been neither a dream nor her imagination. No, she’d been awake and alert. Had seen it. Heard it. Smelled it. Looked into its eyes. She had no idea what it was, but she knew that it was real. And it wasn’t a bear.

Bob had everything laid out on the back seat, ready to go. ‘I was talking to a guy in the parking lot,’ he said. ‘He said a lot’s been going on up here.’

The guy had told Bob that two men had been killed in the woods that day, one of them a pipeline worker. Police and the press were starting to arrive. By morning, the area would be crawling with investigators. He and his buddies were thinking of leaving; it might not be a great time to hunt.

‘So I ask him if he’s heard about an explosion. And he thinks a second. Then he says, “Oh yeah. At the old hunting lodge—”’

‘The old what? Hunting lodge? So we were in the wrong spot. I knew it wasn’t the campground.’

‘That’s not the point, Pete.’ Bob raised his voice, realized he was talking too loud. Lowered it to a whisper. ‘The point is that he said it was caused by old septic tanks – he said gases built up until they finally blew.’

‘So?’

‘So? Really? Don’t you get it? No one suspected anything. They think the explosion was natural, an accident. Which means no one’s looking for us.’ He reached into the front seat for a backpack. ‘And also, it means it’s a good thing we’re doing this tonight. Because tomorrow, there’ll be cops and gas company people and who knows who else scurrying around watching everybody.’ He opened the zipper, started loading the backpack. ‘This is our last chance. So we better get it right.’

Pete yawned, couldn’t help it. He was cold and tired. Pissed about the waitress kissing the ranger. Pissed about having to trek back out into the woods. Pissed that they’d blown up the wrong site. Pissed that his plans weren’t going the way he’d envisioned.

‘Ready?’ Bob handed him his backpack.

Pete had cleaned it earlier, and it wasn’t quite dry. When he put it on, its dampness penetrated his sweatshirt, chilled his bones. He shivered as he followed Bob onto the trail. Everything looked different in the dark. The trees seemed sinister, the trail menacing. Even the air felt evil. They walked in silence, guided by their flashlights. Bob held the map, stopping occasionally to check it, as if demonstrating that he was smarter than Pete. That Pete had been the one who fucked up the first time. Never mind what Bob thought. Pete almost didn’t care any more. He’d all but given up on success, was going through the motions. His anticipation of greatness and fame had fizzled. The only mark he’d made on the world was the mess from the explosion. All that remained of his dream was this endless traipse behind Bob in the cold and dark, the crunch of their footsteps and the calls of whatever creatures prowled the woods at night. Pete shivered, realizing that the moon looked just about round. Didn’t animals go crazy under the full moon? Hadn’t he heard that they got aggressive and vicious? He looked over his shoulder, flashed his light around, half expecting to see a wolf baring its fangs. Wasn’t relieved when he didn’t see one.

Bob finally stopped, pulled out the map. Checked it under his flashlight. ‘I think we stop here and get organized. We’re almost there.’ He held his flashlight in his mouth, pointed to a spot on the map. Looked at Pete for confirmation.

‘That’s where we are?’ Pete had lost track of time. It would have taken at least an hour to get that far. Had they been walking that long? ‘So where’s the pipeline?’

‘Should be over there.’ Bob pointed, folded the map, took his flashlight out of his mouth. He lay a tarp on the ground, set down his backpack on top of it. Waited for Pete to put his down, too. And walked off, gesturing for Pete to join him. Sure enough, they’d found the pipeline. Bob had found a long stretch of cleared land, probably the path that the pipeline guys walked. A few yards wide, it looked like some huge power razor had shaved a strip through the woods. It looked nothing like the site they’d blown up before.

A glimmer rose in Pete’s chest. Maybe they’d get it done after all. He went back to the tarp and set to work with Bob, laying out the explosives, wrapping them in wire, attaching the blasting caps and adjusting the detonator.

They were back in the groove, moving in sync. An efficient, coordinated team. Experienced, this time. Bob and Pete didn’t need words, didn’t make sounds. They took their bomb to a spot along the pipeline path and hurried back to their tarp, repacked their backpacks and took positions, lying flat on the ground.

Bob held the phone. He looked at Pete. ‘Ready?’

Was he? Pete thought for a second. ‘What time is it?’

Bob checked his watch. ‘Almost twelve. Eight of.’

‘How about let’s wait? Do it at midnight.’

‘Nice. At the stroke of twelve, the pipeline will turn into a pumpkin – a smashed pumpkin.’ Bob smirked and sat up. ‘Got any weed left?’

Pete did. They shared it, getting more pumped with each drag. Gloating about how famous they’d be. How this explosion would mark the beginning of the end of fossil fuels, the dawn of a new, clean-energy era. How it would make the national news – hell, it would make the history books. They kept checking the time. At eleven fifty-nine, they began the countdown. Bob picked up a walkie-talkie and, just at midnight, pushed the ‘talk’ button. They put their heads down, waiting.

A few seconds later, they raised their heads. Nothing had exploded. No earth-shaking bang, not even a tiny pop.

‘Shit.’ Bob started to get up.

‘Wait.’ Pete grabbed his arm.

‘What for? Something went wrong.’

‘Maybe it’s just delayed.’

‘Bullshit. It’s not happening. Did you connect the wires right?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘Well, obviously, you didn’t. Because if you did, the thing would have gone off.’ Bob was on his feet, about to head back to the bomb.

‘Why do you assume it’s my fault? Maybe it’s a bad blasting cap.’

‘How does that make sense? It’s the same kind we used before.’

‘Why are you asking me? How should I know?’

They argued as they walked until Bob stopped. ‘Wait. Maybe you didn’t push the button all the way.’ He grabbed the walkie-talkie, pushed the button hard and said, ‘Shit,’ a nanosecond before the bomb burst, hurling both of them into the air and dropping them, unconscious, onto a clump of hostile bushes.

The sector chief sat in his reclining chair, watching the phone ring, reluctant to answer. It was after midnight, and that landline was designated for Hunt Club business. Hardly anyone ever used it. In fact, no one called that line unless there was serious trouble. So it didn’t bode well that the phone was ringing, especially at this hour, especially after the events of yesterday. The locals had insisted on escalating despite the fact that they had no plan. They were disorganized, undisciplined. Unprepared. Emotional. Determined to act on their own. The chief had lost all semblance of control. He’d decided that, under the circumstances, he’d have to resign. He would call another meeting, try one more time to form a cohesive group. And if they refused, he’d quit, absolving himself of any responsibility for what might ensue.

But meantime, the phone was ringing. And he had no doubt that he’d be sorry to hear whatever the caller had to say.

He’d been drinking whiskey by the fireplace, hoping to smooth his jangled nerves. But the phone jangled them again, clanged out a warning: Take cover. Run. Hide. He stared at it, willing it to stop.

It didn’t.

Damn. He took a breath. Let it out. Stood up and ambled to the phone, bracing himself.

‘Did you hear it?’ Hiram’s wife, Annie, was on the line.

‘Hear what?’

‘Another explosion. It’s obvious now that we’re under attack. We have to do—’

‘Annie, dammit, give me the phone,’ Hiram barked in the background.

‘No, Hiram. I have things to tell him—’

‘When did it happen?’ The chief’s question went unanswered while Annie and Hiram bickered.

‘Annie, I need to talk to him—’

‘—and information he needs to hear—’

‘Annie,’ the chief commanded. ‘Give Hiram the phone.’

Annie sputtered. ‘Fine. But you need to know that all hell’s breaking out. Moose says the explosions prove that they’re fracking again, but they’re doing it at night so no one can stop them. Ax says it’s not fracking, not even the gas company – he says it’s the government making a move to get us out of here so they can do what they want with the forest.’