The Fort (24 page)

He slipped silently across his own lawn and shimmied his body up the window and into the house, much like he would enter the fort off of the ladder. Also like at the fort, Tim found arms pulling him into the house. Unlike the arms of his friends, these
were adult, and much more powerful. The light flashed on, and Tim saw that his parents were in his room and his dad was holding him.

“I can explain,” said Tim, and in answer, his mom crossed the room and slapped him. The noise of it was more air rifle than .22, and the surprise of it shocked him more than the pain did. His dad released him, and Tim slumped to the floor. Tears ran down Tim’s face, and he made no effort to stop them. He was emotionally ruined, and this was the last straw.

“Tammy, we talked about this,” said Stan. “We never wanted to hit either one of them, no matter what they did. Every kid makes mistakes. Hopefully Tim will learn from this.”

“I hit him for his own good,” spat Tammy. “Nothing else works, so why not give it a try? Tim, if ever there was any proof of what a little liar you are, this is it. If you’d actually seen any adult in those woods doing what you said, you never would have gone back there.” She paused to catch her breath, and Tim just stared at the floor, the shock of it still settling in. “In case you were wondering, Scott knocked over a table in his room when he came home, and Beth had the good sense to call me. I called Luke’s house, but his mom must have slept through the ringer. I don’t know what we’re going to do, though. You lie, you make up stories—”

“We’re going to have a family meeting and discuss this in the morning,” said Stan. “We talked about that a few minutes ago, if you recall, Tammy. Tim, get some sleep. We’re going to try.”

Tim’s mom left the room as he got into bed. His dad paused at the door and put his finger on the light switch. “I can explain,” said Tim. “I can make it all make sense.”

“No you can’t,” said Stan as he shut off the light. He paused there in the doorway. “To think I almost believed you.”

Somehow, that was a thousand times worse than being slapped by his mom.

49

Hooper woke with the sun. He had barely any memories of what had happened the day before, other than being fairly certain that somehow he had survived a VC mortar attack.
I’m shell-shocked, that’s what it is.
Clad in only a towel, Hooper dragged his dead leg behind him, not sure if it was better or worse that the pain was still gone.

Once he was in his room, the thought came to him that there was something he needed to do, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He came in to dress, though, so he did that. Underwear first, then fatigues. He dropped the revolver in his pocket and then strapped the .45 in its holster to his chest. The pants were so tight on his right leg that the pressure caused his wounded leg to thrum, bringing a dull sensation that was almost pain to it. Hooper used his KA-BAR to split the pants down the shin, from just above his knee to the bottom of the cuff, and the pain and the pressure went away.

Why am I doing this, why am I getting dressed?

Hooper ran a hand over his forehead. The fever that had broken in the night felt like it was coming back, and swiftly.
You’re getting dressed to be ready, in case the VC come or you’re relieved of duty.
Hooper wasn’t sure what to think. He knew he was in his house but also that he was back in the shit, back in the Nam. None of it made any sense. It was terrifying to have no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

You need to relax.

Hooper sat back down on the couch. It was stained with blood, his blood.
I need to get them before they come for me, before they come to take Amy from me.
The thought of Amy was a revelation: once this was all figured out, he needed to go back down there, get her some food and water, and have a conversation. She needed to be told that the VC were in the area, and that even though Charlie was gunning for them, she was going to be safe. If she knew that he was going to help her, she’d probably feel a lot better about everything, might understand why he had to hide her like he was doing. The enemy was everywhere, and she should know that.

Hooper leaned back on the couch, letting the sun come through the drapes and bathe his face in the light. It was wonderful, and the only thing missing was Amy. As soon as this was all settled, things were going to be right. Maybe they could even go outside again together. Not away from the house, of course, but they could go in the backyard with its high fence. Now, though, he needed to be vigilant and hold the house until help came. His guys knew where he was, and it wasn’t going to take forever for them to get him out of here, just longer than he wanted them to. That’s how it was with Big Green, though, a never-ending waiting game.

His leg was throbbing again, like it had been before he’d sliced his pants, and Hooper decided it was from the pressure of it lying on the couch. He picked his leg up, then spun, so that he was lying on his right side and he could kneel with his hurt leg on the floor.
Fuck, it’s cold in here.
He ran a hand across his forehead. Sweat was beading up, and his scalp felt on fire. Letting his hand fall away, he knew that his injuries needed time and rest. He closed his eyes, falling asleep immediately, and was transported back to Vietnam, back to the jungle. They were after him, but he was going to win.

50

Luke woke with the sun. The fort rarely got hot, not truly hot, but it was all but roasting inside this morning. Luke groaned and sat up, then finished the last of the warm Coke he’d brought the day before. It was flat and hot, but better than nothing. Then he took the gun Scott had taken and slid it into his pocket, walked to the ladder, and began to slowly climb down.

It was early, but not too early, and he knew that if he didn’t go to that house soon and knock, he’d lose his nerve. If his mom had finally called him in as a runaway, getting picked up with a gun was going to be bad. Letting his friends down because this seemed even scarier now than it had before would be even worse.

He was, after all, the only one of them who could do this. The cops didn’t believe them, their parents didn’t believe them, his friends were locked away. So Luke felt as if he had no choice but to knock on that door and then decide if he knew what was going on. Still, as he stepped from the ladder to the forest floor, he felt pure terror. His world was changing, and not for the better. The gun had grown yet heavier overnight, and this felt all too real.

He strode through the trees, feeling as though he’d spent the last few days as a ghost, unsure of what he was looking for or why
he was even alive at all. The woods were vibrant and alive, and even with the potentially dangerous task before him, Luke felt more in tune with the world than he could recall ever having felt in his life. By the time his feet were on the blacktop headed to Hooper’s house, Luke no longer felt scared, nor did he feel like some comic-book version of himself. This was real, and it was something he needed to do.

The house loomed before him in a way that Luke figured was happening to no one else. The closer he got to it, the more mysterious it appeared, turning from just another house in the suburbs into something more than the sum of its parts.
If we’re right, that will always be the house where a kidnapped girl was held. The neighbors will tell stories until it’s eventually torn down, and whether they rebuild or it remains an empty lot, for as long as this street remains, that will be a marked spot.
It was almost like seeing something that shouldn’t have been there, like something impossible. Finally, deciding he was making too much out of it, Luke walked to the front door.

His heart was thrumming in his chest as he knocked on the door with his left fist. His right hand was wrapped tightly around the pistol in his pocket. He waited a few seconds and then heard a loud thump from inside the house, along with someone groaning. The door swung open quickly, and Luke knew at once that he’d picked the right house, and that he’d also made a horrible mistake.

The man standing in the doorway was wearing an army uniform that was ill fitting. Too tight across the belly and chest, but loose in the arms. The pants had been slit up the right leg, and Luke could see puffy, black-and-blue flesh with red tendrils of infection crawling up and out of sight. The man was holding a large black pistol, with an impossibly huge hole at the end of it. His finger was on the trigger, and the gun was shaking. “VC motherfucker,” the man said. “Zipper-head cocksucker.” He grabbed Luke’s arm, and Luke was fumbling with the gun as he was dragged into the
house. The man slammed the door behind them, and no one saw any of it.

Luke landed on the floor, and he fought his pants for the revolver. Finally the gun came free and clattered to the floor. The man looked at Luke over his gun, and then to the pistol, back and forth. Luke dove for the weapon, and the man said, “If you touch that heater, I’ll put one in your back, Charlie.” His voice was gravelly and thick, like he had a mouth full of syrup and marbles. Luke left the gun where it was and sat up, tears streaming down his face.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Where are the rest of you?” the man asked, and Luke just shook his head. “Where are the rest of the VC? Where are they? I know you were on that sniper team. But guess what? I’m not dead. You missed, VC motherfucker.” The man spit on the floor. It was thick and yellow, as though the infection in his leg were eating him up from the inside. Luke ignored it and began trying to inch slowly toward the gun. “Tell me, you fuck. Slope motherfucker. How many are you? What is the plan?”

Luke grabbed for the gun. There was a noise in the room like thunder, the loudest thing he’d ever heard, and then he was back in the fort playing rock-paper-scissors. It was summer and it was wonderful, and then the world went black.

51

Van Endel woke with the sun. He shaved, showered, and ate quickly, and decided as he flipped through his Moleskine that he would stop at Luke Hutchinson’s house first. He was the only one of the three boys whom Van Endel hadn’t spoken with after he’d initially gotten their permission to talk, and he figured that was as good a place to start as any, especially since the boy’s mother had never made an appearance at the station. He was familiar with the area they lived in from his time spent as a uniform breaking up fights and busting drunks. It was one of the low-income spots on the north end.

Van Endel parked the Caprice and checked the address on the trailer with the one in his book. He was at the right place. The house was fairly nondescript and seemed to be in the same state of lazy disrepair as the ones around it—not trashed yet, but on the way there.

He walked down a short path, the heat of the day making beads of sweat appear on his hairline.
Thank God Doc and I really did have only one last night. Weather like this makes even a little hangover unbearable.
Van Endel knocked twice on the door and counted to sixty in his head as nothing happened. He knocked
again, harder this time, and for longer. Van Endel gave a look to his watch. It was early, 9:00 a.m., but not crazy early.

There was a noise at the back of the trailer, and then the sound of a door slamming. Curious now, Van Endel walked around back and saw a man with his pants down to his knees attempting to scale a fence surrounding the park.

“Get down right now,” said Van Endel, his gun and badge appearing in his hands as easily as taking a breath.

The man did so and began fiddling with his pants, which, as it turned out, were on backward.

“On the ground,” said Van Endel. “Forget your pants, buddy, just get your ass down.”

The man complied, lying flat on the lawn. Van Endel cuffed him, then stood him up, holstered his pistol, and pulled the man’s pants up and buckled them behind his back.

“What in the hell are you doing running?” Van Endel asked as he walked the man around the trailer and back to the Caprice. “Especially running with your pants down?” Van Endel opened the car door and slid the man in, giving a sad look to the state of the man’s pants against the clean interior. “C’mon, buddy, out with it. What’s going on in there?”

“I didn’t have nothing to do with it,” the man said. “I was in there fucking Emma, the mother. I didn’t touch them kids.”

Van Endel shook his head and looked to the trailer. Smoke was coming out of an open window. It wasn’t enough to suggest that the house was on fire. It looked more like someone was burning something. Van Endel slammed the car door on the man who claimed to have been fucking Emma, the mother, then took his walkie-talkie from the front seat. The walkie squawked, and Van Endel barked into it where he was and what he was doing. “No clue what I’m walking into, so tell them to hurry.”

The smoke was intensifying, so Van Endel left the walkie on the hood of the Caprice, unholstered his pistol, walked to the front door, and kicked it in. Smoke billowed out as he strode in.
Two bored-looking twin girls in their early teens sat watching TV on an old and battered couch. They looked at him and then back to the TV. “Get outside, now,” he said, but the twins just ignored him. Van Endel walked past them to the source of the fire.

There was a woman kneeling on the floor of the trailer, busily feeding stacks of photographs into an oven that was billowing smoke. As far as Van Endel could tell when he stepped closer, the pictures were of the little girls in the living room, and they hadn’t been taken at Kmart. In the first couple of shots that Van Endel could see, the twins were posing nude with each other, but then he could see others where worse things were happening, with very white-bodied men, both with and without underwear.

“Goddammit,” said Van Endel.

The woman kept frantically shoving sheaves of the photos into the oven, so he grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her onto her ass on the floor, then turned off the oven. Van Endel made himself look calmly around him. There was enough evidence on the floor that he didn’t need to empty the still-burning contents and risk setting the floor on fire. The woman was snuffling, but when Van Endel said, “Get up, get your ass outside,” she did.