Transcription (30 page)

“Still,” Danielle said. “It might be worth a trip to see if that’s where he’s staying.”

“Maybe the pond isn’t a good idea,” Chloe said. “It might be bad to leave the house for too long. What if he uses the opportunity to sneak in here when we’re out?”

Bo used the can opener on the hash and dumped the contents into the hot skillet. It sizzled and popped.

Danielle shook her head and returned her gaze to the window again.
 

“You know, you’re automatically opposed to any idea that you didn’t come up with,” Danielle said to Chloe. “You say we need to figure out where James is, and then you shoot down my suggestion on where we might find him.”

“It’s just ludicrous to think he would find the place,” Chloe said. She took the can opener and started on the can of peaches. “I don’t think you understand how sparsely populated these woods are. There are no signs, and none of the roads are marked. We don’t even get mail. They tried to put up street signs a few years ago for 911, but people kept stealing them, so they gave up.”

Danielle looked at a maple tree across the yard. It had started to shed its leaves. Every minute or so, one would release its hold on a branch and it would spiral down to the ground. There was almost no wind.

CRACK!

A spiderweb of cracks radiated from a dime-sized hole in the middle of the window. Danielle jumped back as something fell to the floor at her feet.
 

“What was that?” Chloe asked.

Danielle couldn’t catch her breath to answer. She dropped to a crouch and saw the object closer. It was a dark green arrow. In small letters on the shaft, it said, “Carbon Force.” Danielle backed away from it, like it was a snake. The metal tip of the arrow was stained with dark mud.

“Look out,” Danielle said. She meant to shout it, but her thin breath made the command come out as a wheeze.

“What?” Chloe asked. She turned. Bo held the spatula above the pan and he turned to look.
 

He seemed to understand immediately. Bo dropped down to his knees and dragged Chloe down with him.
 

THUD.

Something hit the side of the cabin.

“Where’s the damn gun?” Chloe asked.

Outside, they heard feet sprint through the leaves.

A high, giggling laugh followed.

CHAPTER 24: HERMIT

J
AMES
DROPPED
TO
THE
ground and ran. The morning was cool, but he warmed up quickly. He was panting by the time he was deep enough in the woods that he couldn’t see the cabin anymore. He just wanted to be out of the range of that shotgun.
 

He’d seen Chloe and Danielle when they came up to check on him. He saw the way Chloe held the gun. She held it like she intended to use it. So, as soon as he had finished his writing, he ran. He found plenty of trails leading away from the cabin. Two of them looked like they had seen much more use than the others. One was the trail that led to the spring. James took the other one.

As soon as he could see the morning light twinkling off the pond, it was easy for him to find the way. It wasn’t a huge body of water, but it was bigger than he expected. James picked through the underbrush as he circled the pond. The woods were darker on the other side. The light hadn’t yet penetrated into the shadows of the hill.
 

James didn’t realize he had found the path until he had followed it for a few minutes. At first, it had just seemed like the easiest course through the woods. Then, he saw a yard.

The house was about the same size as Chloe’s cabin. It didn’t fit the landscape. A little, white, colonial in the middle of the woods didn’t make sense. James hurried across the lawn and looked through the windows. He didn’t need much. An unoccupied bed was his primary objective. His body was so tired, it felt like it would shutdown at any moment.

He surveyed the other windows as well. The place was tidy—no clutter, and no signs of life. He tried the door. It was locked. Around the side, the windows were at ground level. They looked in through the concrete walls of an unfinished basement. James whispered a quiet apology to the owner and kicked the glass. It was tougher than he thought, but he managed to snap off the remaining jagged shards. James brushed away the broken glass and lowered himself to the ground. With nothing to land on, getting through the window hole was a painful mission. He landed on the scattered glass, bruised and scraped.
 

The basement was clean and dry. A set of rough-framed steps led up to the first floor. James passed a wall of shelves, lined with jars of preserves and pickled vegetables. He didn’t spend any time deliberating, but picked a little jar filled with something orange, and a big one filled with green beans and garlic. He headed up the stairs.

The owner had foreseen his break-in. The door at the top of the stairs was locked. James put his shoulder to the door several times before he gave up. Standing on the stairs, he didn’t have any way to get enough momentum behind his blows. The lock held tight.

James walked back to the bottom step and sat down. He opened the jar with the green beans. The lid was in two pieces. The ring unscrewed, but the lid stayed tight to the top of the jar. After failing to pry it free with his thumbnail, James glanced around for a tool.

It was hard to believe anyone lived here. Aside from the shelf of jars, the basement was practically empty. Where were all the half-completed projects? Where were the tools? The washtub against the wall was stained with a million paint splatters. Perhaps someone cleaned their brushes and rollers. If so, where were the cans of leftover paint and the other supplies one might need?

Eventually, the lid came free with the reassuring release of a vacuum seal. The smell of vinegar and garlic made his mouth water. The first pickled green bean felt cool going down his throat and made his stomach clench when it hit. He stuffed a few more in his mouth and turned his attention to the preserves. The lid came off much easier, and he smiled at the scent of peaches.
 

His mom never tolerated canned fruit. She always insisted that everything be fresh and ripe. And nothing was allowed to go to waste. If a soft spot formed on the side of a peach, and mold began to whiten the surface, she would cut out the spot, wash the fruit, and someone was going to eat it. His father had been much more of a canned-food aficionado.
 

He scooped some of the preserves with his finger and tasted. The peaches didn’t blend well with the vinegar, but the sweetness of the preserves won out pretty quick. They were almost too sweet. They tasted of summer excess—days when the sun wastes its energy on an already verdant landscape. Some of that energy should be held back, for winter, but it’s hell-bent on giving everything up. James scooped one more finger of preserves and then retreated to the green beans. He understood those flavors.

As he ate, his eyes kept returning to the corner of the basement. The shadows were deep, but there was something there. It was a handle—probably of a broom, or a shovel. If so, it was the only thing that would pass for a tool in the whole place. James stood and walked towards it. He wiped his sticky fingers on his jeans as he went.

He found the occupants of the house—spiders. Their webs entangled the handle. He lifted it, surprised by the weight. It was a sledgehammer.

James nodded and headed back for the stairs. The first swing almost stole his balance. He had a panicked visualization of falling backwards down the steps and cracking his head on the concrete floor. Somehow, he caught his balance. He did better with the second blow. With the third, wood splintered and the door bounced towards him.

James caught the edge and pulled the door open. He saw the shiny padlock, still hanging from the hasp. It wasn’t going to be able to do its job any more. Splinters of wood clung to the screws that had held it in place.

James rested the hammer on the steps and stepped up into the kitchen, to see what his crimes had gained him. The kitchen was clean and empty. The refrigerator and freezer doors were propped open. The appliances were unplugged.

He made a quick survey of the first floor and then climbed the stairs. The mattress was stripped. It had a large oval stain the reached almost to the perimeter of the mattress. James wrinkled his nose and looked around for a linen closet. It was impossible to believe that the owner took all the bedding with him, but that seemed to be the case. The bathroom didn’t even have a single square of toilet paper.

After a quick wrestling match, James managed to flip the mattress. It landed with a plume of dust. James settled down on the bed, holding his breath at first. Using his arm for a pillow, he was asleep in seconds.

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James woke up and opened his eyes, but didn’t move. The light in the room was brighter—he’d been asleep for a while. He had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him sleep. He tilted his head until he could see the doorway. A shadow seemed to fade just as the door came into view, like someone had backed away.
 

He slid his hand down to his back pocket, where he had stashed his story. The folded papers were still there. James slid his feet onto the floor. Sleep fled his brain with amazing speed. As he pushed to his feet, James felt all his senses primed and ready for action. Sleeping on the second floor had been a stupid idea. It drastically cut down on his escape options.

Of course, he had jumped out of a window that very morning. It wasn’t a trick he cared to try more than once. He was acutely aware of how close he’d come to seriously injuring himself.

James started down the stairs.

He paused at the sound of voices from below.

“I’m gonna get me a buh-big, buh-buck. Buh-huh-big! Buh-huh-bucking-fuck,” a man said.

Another man laughed with a big, throaty sound.
 

“Do your buck dance, Preston,” someone said. “Do it!”

James heard shuffling feet on the floor. He pictured the words of the first man. They were familiar. It didn’t take him more than a second to place. James didn’t have a perfect memory for the stories he copied, but sometimes a line or two got stuck in his head. Many times, it was the peculiarities of dialog that captured his attention. This man certainly had a unique way of speaking.

It wasn’t a speech impediment. The man was clearly doing it on purpose.

“Whaddar you going to shoot, Buh-huh-buh-Beck?”

His question was answered with silence.
 

“Oh, leave her alone. I told you—she’s shy.”

“She ought to scout then. Won’t be any good driving them in.”

James remembered the rest of the story. Buddies go hunting, and only one makes it out alive. One of the men was a murderer. He heard more footsteps from below.

“Hey, Stormy, I think maybe someone else broke into this place,” a man said.

“What makes you…” James couldn’t hear the rest of the comment.

He heard the response though—“I’ll be goddamned. Someone broke into our best break-in spot. How
 
long ago was it?”

The sound of more feet made James shrink back. He didn’t know if they were headed his direction.

The voices sounded farther away.

“There was a chain across the drive,” one voice said.

“I told you that I saw people in the woods, didn’t I? They were all dressed up to look like Indians. I bet they’re the ones who broke in.”

The front door was right at the bottom of the stairs. James wondered if he could make it without being seen. He didn’t know how the locks would work. Could he open the door from the inside without a key? He forced himself to move down a couple more steps so he could get a better look at the door.

The voices surprised him. He froze.

“Nobody is dressed up like Indians. You’re seeing things again. Ain’t that right, Buh-huh-buh-Beck? Where’d Beck go?”

“Downstairs, I imagine.”

“Well, shit Storm, if there’s any Indians, there gonna be down there.”

The feet were on the move again.

James ran down the last few steps and lunged for the door. There was a lever to flip and a thumb catch. That’s all he had seen. James pulled the door open and hope rose in his chest. He turned. A little girl, probably no more than first or second grade was standing there. She had the jar of peach preserves in her hand. While he stared at her, dumbstruck, she held out the jar, as if to ask if he wanted any.

James bolted through the door.

CHAPTER 25: CABIN

T
HEY
HUDDLED
BETWEEN
THE
couch and the coffee table. Chloe held the shotgun pointed roughly towards the door.

“I told you,” Chloe said.

“It’s not James,” Danielle said. “Where would he even get a bow and arrow.”

“I don’t know, he probably wrote about it and then manifested it somehow,” Chloe said.

“Listen,” Bo said. More laughter filtered in through the walls. “There’s more than one of them.”

“We should get upstairs,” Danielle said. “Then we only have to guard the stairs. There are too many ways for them to get in.”

Chloe nodded and began to stand.

“No,” Bo said. “We’ve already been burned out of one place. What if they decide to torch the cabin. We’ll be trapped up there.”

“Can we make it to the car?” Chloe asked.

“Maybe,” Bo said. “Who knows? They have arrows, but they could have guns too.”

“We have to try,” Chloe said. “We can’t just stay here and wait to be attacked.”

“Why not run for the woods,” Danielle said. “We can find the neighbor’s house. It could be safe there.”

“I’m sure that’s just what they want. We would be helpless in those woods,” Chloe said.

“We’ll run,” Danielle said.
 

“I’m sure that will help,” Chloe said. “All in favor of running for the car?” She held up her hand.