In the Woods (12 page)

‘I hear you’ve been talking to people.’

‘Damn right.’ She was exactly his height. When she looked at him, their gazes just about collided. ‘They’re killing folks. And I heard a bomb went off—’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Lots of people. Everyone knows.’

The women had their own network. Mavis’s shop processed information faster than the Internet.

‘So why are you here? I haven’t heard from you in, what? Three weeks? So I doubt you dropped by for a social call. I guess you’ve come here to get me to tell my people to wait this out.’

The chief sighed, looked at his shoes. ‘How’ve you been, Mavis? I’ve been meaning to call—’

‘Stuff it.’ She checked her fingernails. Dark blue with rhinestones.

The chief stepped close enough to feel her body heat. ‘Can we step inside?’

She gazed at him, blinked. Let out a breath. ‘Oh, what the hell?’ She turned, led the way in.

The walls were lined with mirrors, two stations with scissors and supplies. Beyond that a sink for washing hair, a table for manicures, some chairs and sinks he couldn’t figure out. Mavis led him through to the back stairs, up to her living room, which adjoined her bedroom and kitchen.

‘Drink?’

He ached for one, but said no. He was here on official business.

She got him a beer anyhow, poured herself a glass of white wine, and took a seat on the faded pink sofa. Crossed her legs.

‘Really, I’m not lying. It’s been on my mind to call you.’ He set the beer on the coffee table.

Mavis scowled, leaned over and moved it onto the doily. ‘Not on the wood. It’ll make a ring.’ She sipped her wine.

‘I like your hair that color – it’s pretty.’

‘Screw you. It’s the same color it’s been for months. I know why you’ve come down here, but you’re wasting your time. We’ve already decided we’re going on patrol.’

‘You’re what?’ Really? He wanted to slap her pretty, overly made-up face. By what right, under whose authority had her little circle of misfits, dykes and spinsters decided anything? But the chief didn’t react, didn’t slap or even shout. Good leaders remained composed, and he was the club’s elected leader. He forced himself to speak calmly. ‘There’s a meeting tonight. Your people should be there. Because the whole reason we made this organization was so we’d coordinate and cooperate. We’re far more powerful if we all work together, not each go off on our own—’

‘You weren’t really thinking of calling.’ She turned, facing him. Was she pouting?

‘I was. It’s just – I’ve been crazy busy.’

‘A call takes two minutes. Nobody’s so busy they can’t find two minutes if they want to.’

He reached a hand onto the back of her neck, under her hair. Fondled the downy skin there, the way she liked it.

Mavis frowned, slapped his hand away. ‘You think you can have me any time you want, don’t you?’ She swallowed wine, eyeing him. Her eyes didn’t flash, didn’t smile. Was she mad? Just playing with him? He couldn’t tell.

He shrugged.

‘See? That’s what I mean. You’re so damned sure of yourself, you cocky asshole. You think I just sit here, day after day, waiting for you? That I got nobody else to spend time with? That I’m that much of a loser—’

He leaned over, quieted her by pressing his mouth on hers. He really didn’t have time for this, but Mavis smelled tired and flowery. And it had been almost three weeks. The chief knew how to make her moan, and Mavis knew her way around a man. Her bra was off and his pants unzipped when, as if on cue, he got a call he wished he never answered.

A second body had been found, tied to a tree. Damned Josh. Whether he’d killed the guy or not, he’d put him on display, created a spectacle. State cops were already rolling into the campgrounds. And if that wasn’t bad enough, that explosion had blown away what was left of the old hunting lodge. The locals were steaming.

He left in a hurry, promising Mavis that he really would call, leaving her sputtering mad. He was halfway to the campground before he realized that, damn, Mavis had never actually agreed to bring her people to the meeting that night, much less to hold them back from going out patrolling with their armaments and making things even worse.

Daniels smelled the site a good ten minutes before he got there. And when he got there, he was glad he’d worn his old boots. The sun was almost setting; he used his flashlight to enhance the light. But there was no question as to what had happened.

A gaping hole marked the spot where the old latrines had been. And the contents of the tanks underneath covered everything – trees, the caved-in, splintered lumber of the old lodge. Damn. Probably a methane build-up. Had to be. Old gases, expanding and confined, nobody flushing them out. Sooner or later, something had to give.

He trudged ahead, shining his light here and there, careful not to slip or trip. Hell, that would be something, falling here. The stench was enough to choke a man, made his stomach queasy. He told himself that he could leave, that there was nothing more to see, especially not in the dimming light. No foul play had occurred. He’d have to make a report, call the environmental people to check it out and arrange a clean up, since it was a public health hazard. What a mess.

He trudged ahead, pondering how strange life was. How nothing had happened for months, and then, in a span of hours, two men had been killed and the old latrines had blown to hell. He doubted he’d ever get over the shock of finding that poor guy, Russo. The sight of him, eyes wide open, mouth contorted in a grim grin. His body propped up, labeled with a TRESPASSER sign. What had set the locals off? Had something happened that he didn’t know about? But even if they’d been riled up, why had they gone and killed people? The bloodshed was hard to grasp. Even though the locals had their Hunt Club compound and trained for battle like a militia, they were mostly good folks. It made no sense that they would wake up one day and, unprovoked, go out and kill a pipeline walker. Even though he worked for their sworn enemy, he’d personally done nothing to hurt anybody. And that poor rabbit hunter? That made even less sense. Why would they mess with him?

Daniels sloshed ahead, hoping that Captain Slader and the cops would find out who was behind the killings and stop them before anyone else got hurt. Otherwise, with the Hunt Club armed and ready, the woods could become a war zone. Distracted by his thoughts, he almost slipped off the edge of the blasted-out ditch.

Steadying himself, he aimed his light down into it. Saw muck and stones, stuff he didn’t want to look at. The ground under his boots squished. Okay, enough. He’d done his job. He’d checked and found nothing dangerous or suspicious. He could go.

Turning, he waved his light around, noticed a couple of trees not far from the hole. The lower branches were stark and bare, stripped of colored leaves. He stepped closer, saw the scorching. Damn. The branches had been burned. Which didn’t make sense if the explosion had been from the pressure of built-up gases.

Daniels looked around, scanning the area. Because of the muck, he hadn’t noticed right away, but the ground cover had also been charred. He squatted, looking closer. Sensing trouble.

Okay. He wasn’t an expert on explosions. Obviously, there had been lots of heat. If the pressure of the built-up gases had been enough to cause an explosion, wouldn’t it have generated enough heat to sear nearby plants? He wasn’t sure. Had no experience with an event like this. Wasn’t acquainted with the properties of old septic tanks or methane gas that had been confined too tight. Probably, everything was in order, though; he might as well head home and clean the hell up. He’d have to throw the boots out, as they were soaked from the puddles. Nothing would get crud like that out of old leather.

Flashlight guiding him, Daniels headed back to the trail. A few steps away, it lit up something flat and silvery. He stopped, crouched to see what it was. Didn’t want to touch it. Took a ballpoint from his pocket and poked at it. Saw it was just a swatch of silver duct tape.

Duct tape? Why would duct tape be found in the residue of the old latrines?

Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe some hunter or camper had littered, dropping it before the blast, so it got mixed in with the detritus. That had to be it. Even so, it crossed his mind to mark the spot in case investigators wanted to see it. But why would they? It was nothing. A piece of tape.

He stood, eager to go. The light was fading. Passing the charred trees, he waved his flashlight around one more time, didn’t think about the odd-textured bump in one of the trunks. Walked on.

But the bump bothered him, wasn’t right. Didn’t have the texture of bark. Damn, he wanted to leave. The stink of the air hung still, chilly. The sun was all but gone. He could just ignore it.

Or he could go back, take a quick look and then take off. Fine. Daniels spun around, plodded back to the tree. Shot his light on the trunk and found the bump. Stepped closer. What the hell? Something was jammed there – actually penetrating the bark. It was smooth plastic with a jagged edge. Damn if it didn’t look like the casing of a walkie-talkie.

At twilight, sitting cross-legged near the lake, Bob had an epiphany.

‘We got a problem,’ he announced.

Pete got it. ‘Yeah.’ He nodded, impressed by the sheer depth of the observation. He took a long hit, passed the joint back to Bob.

‘Water,’ Bob said.

‘It’s okay. There’s more in the car.’ Pete let the smoke out of his lungs. ‘We’ll go get some.’

‘No.’ Bob inhaled. Held in the smoke.

‘No?’ Pete giggled. It seemed funny that Bob said he wanted water, and then said he didn’t want to go get it.

‘No, no. The problem.’ Bob’s voice was slow, his words dragged. ‘The problem is water.’

What? Pete had no idea what Bob was talking about. But he sure was hungry. Maybe they’d left some beef jerky back in the car. Or some money to get a burger somewhere. With curly fries.

‘See, the thing about water is …’ Bob took another hit, pausing to let his lungs absorb the dope. ‘The clothes are soaked with it. They won’t burn. If we start a fire, the clothes will probably douse it. That’s a problem.’

Pete wasn’t entirely listening, was thinking about ketchup.

‘So the fire’s not a good idea.’

Wait, what? No fire? Pete looked at the pile of twigs they’d gathered as kindling. He’d been looking forward to watching flames in the dark. Seeing the fire devour their stinking clothes. He leaned back against a tree trunk, disappointed.

They sat silent for a while. Pete wondered if there was a pizza place anywhere around. ‘I gotta eat something soon.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So? Let’s go.’

‘We can’t just leave this stuff.’

‘Why can’t we just make a little fire and see if the clothes will burn?’

Bob didn’t answer. He sat up straight, his body announcing the arrival of another idea. ‘How about,’ he pointed through the trees, ‘the stream?’

The stream? ‘You want to dump our clothes there?’

‘Oh.’ Bob frowned, considering it. ‘Maybe. But I was thinking we could wash the clothes really good so they don’t smell. Then we can take them with us.’

Wet clothes? Bob wanted to carry sopping wet clothes? Bob got up, started picking up the stinking things and strolling toward the water.

‘Hey, wait.’ Pete followed. He was cold, and his hands were starting to itch again. ‘After this can we get something to eat?’

Bob kept walking. ‘After this, we return to “Go” and roll the dice again.’

Say what?

‘From start. From square one. From zero. We rethink everything, make a new plan, begin again.’

Begin again? Now? ‘I can’t begin anything on an empty stomach.’ Bob was pissing him off, moving slow, talking slow. Acting like he was the boss. Pete wanted to run into a pantry, tear open a box of Fruit Loops and have his way with it. Or maybe Captain Crunch. He scratched his palm.

‘Here’s what I think,’ Bob went on. ‘First, we got to go back to the car and take everything out. Take inventory. See what’s left. Pack it up again with a new detonator, whole nine yards. Regroup. Then we got to recheck the location. Get it right this time. Set up camp close to the spot, wait for the right moment in the middle of the night. And do what we came here to do.’ Bob plopped the soiled garments into the water. Used a stick to swish them around. And around. And around.

Pete watched, captivated. In the dim light, he could see the water swirling, silver and black, and the clothes bobbing up, pillowed with air. He crouched, entranced, forgetting about cereal.

Sometime later, Bob stood, dragging the sopping clothes out of the lake. Sniffing them. Holding them out for Pete to sniff.

‘That’s okay, I’m good.’ Pete backed away with his hands up, refusing.

‘They don’t smell too bad.’ Bob twisted them, wringing out water. Handed some of them to Pete. They started walking toward the trail, carrying wet laundry, heading back to the Impala.

‘So, you think that snack bar’s still open?’ Pete asked.

‘Hope so. I could eat a bear.’

Pete was deciding what animal he was hungry enough to eat when he sensed movement in the trees nearby. He stopped. Listened. Heard a rustle. ‘You hear that?’

Bob looked at him. ‘What?’

Pete looked into the dark woods. Something – or someone – was out there. ‘Give me your flashlight.’

Pete turned it on, aimed into the trees. Saw nothing. He moved the light around, examining shadows and shapes. Finally, he gave up. Used it to light up the dirt path ahead.

‘Christ.’

The footprints were gigantic. Wide, with ape-like toe prints. They pointed away from the stream, went from the muddy banks to the trail where they disappeared in the fallen leaves. Bob and Pete stared at them.

‘Oh, man,’ Bob said.

‘Big Foot?’ Pete asked.

‘Get serious.’

‘What else could make footprints like that?’

Bob thought for a minute. ‘Maybe a mutation. From all the gas leaks and chemicals and fracking pollution around here.’ He started walking again. ‘That settles it. We gotta get this done right, tonight, and take out that pipeline before it poisons anything else.’

They moved faster, talking and planning all the way back to the Impala. They had a lot to do, and it would be harder to do it in the dark.