Moonbog (20 page)

“‘Bout time,” Wescott said, flashing a quick look at Les.

“Couldn’t keep the truck waiting,” Les said softly. He stood in the corner beside a large filing cabinet. He took off his green felt hat and held it loosely in his hand as he surveyed the other men in the room. There were a lot of guys crammed into the small office trailer. After a moment, Les put his hat back on, pulling it down to shade his eyes.

“I suppose you all realize why I called this meeting,” Wescott began testily.

“Yeah,” Floyd Sturgis said, with a dumb schoolboy enthusiasm, “it’s ‘cause of the Hollis boy, huh?”

Wescott cast a menacing glare at Sturgis, then answered, “Yes. It’s because of the Hollis boy.” He walked over to his desk and sat down on it, hooking one leg over the edge.

“You probably all know that I spent a good part of the morning down at Shaw’s office. He asked if I’d be willing to let you fellas help him beat the brush.” Wescott paused. “You’ll notice that I said, let you help him. That’s the first thing I want to emphasize. This is volunteer work. Nobody
has
to go. But . . . his voice trailed off significantly,”. . . the work here is through for the day, and if you don’t go out and help with the search, you ain’t gonna’ get paid for the afternoon.”

There was an undercurrent of grumbling, but Wescott knew his men well enough to know that they only half meant it.

“I don’t want any bullshit from any of you, either,” he continued. “I know you all realize how serious this is. After what happened just outside of town here last Friday night, well, I don’t think I need to get into it. The point is, that something
very serious
is happening here in town, and we’ve all got to pull together to help solve it. The first step will be to find Jeffrey Hollis.”

“How do we know this kid is missing?” Sturgis asked. “I mean, who’s to say he didn’t run away or something?”

“We don’t,” Wescott snapped back. “But we’re assuming that he’s either lost or kidnapped. And the first place we’re gonna’ check is the area where he disappeared yesterday afternoon.

“Now, Shaw and me broke down the town into sections that are gonna’ be assigned to everyone helping. What we’re gonna’ do is start down by the old mill, fan out as we go, and follow the river up to Kitchen Cove. Then we’re gonna’ move east, toward the Hollis house.”

“Wait a minute,” one of the men at the front of the office said, “I thought you said we were gonna’ be looking near where the boy disappeared. The old mill and Kitchen Cove are a pretty damn site away from his house.”

“Of course, you know there have been other parties out all day,” Wescott said. “I haven’t talked with Shaw for a couple of hours, but as of noon, the boy ain’t been found. I suppose one of the reasons we got this section is because it’s pretty rough, lots of thick brush and plenty of swampy areas. Pretty dangerous, and Shaw didn’t want to lose any Boy Scouts out there.”

“I hope
we
don’t get lost,” Sturgis said, snickering.

“You know,” Wescott continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “the Wilson boy was found out by 302. Now that’s a long ways from the Hollis house, but if there’s a connection between these two incidents, the whole—”

“Who says there is?” Les said suddenly. All heads turned around to look at him, and he shrank back.

“What?” Wescott asked.

“Uhh, who says there’s a connection between these two?” Les repeated. “I mean, like Sturg says, how do we know he ain’t run away or something?”

Wescott frowned deeply. “No one’s saying there is a connection,” he said emphatically. “And no one’s trying to make a case for it, but then again, no one says they aren’t related.”

“It’s just that you’re assuming the worst, huh?” Les said.

Wescott nodded. “Yeah. Right. Until we know otherwise, we’re assuming the worst. It ain’t my job, and it sure as hell ain’t your job, Rankin, to question what Shaw and the staties are doing. You’re just another warm body with a pair of eyes that’s gonna’ be slogging through muddy water ‘til dark or later.”

“Sure,” Les said, retreating.

“Now,
if
there’s a connection,” Wescott went on, “then they happened pretty far apart.”

There was murmured agreement throughout the room.

“So, what I’m trying to say is, the Hollis boy could be absolutely anywhere. Shaw says that he’ll leave no stone unturned.” Wescott rubbed his hands together vigorously. “So, I want you all to head on home. Get boots, jackets—in case the night gets cold—and some food in your bellies. If you don’t have a good, high-power flashlight, Davis is gonna’ let us use some from the hardware store. I want to see you all down at the mill within”—he glanced at his watch—”within half an hour.”

“Yeah, right,” Sturgis said, scoffing.

Wescott stared at him angrily and said, “We’re starting out in half an hour. Whoever ain’t there, won’t get paid for the day.”

All the men in the trailer started for the door at once, pushing their way through the narrow door. Les was the last to leave, and just before he ducked out the door, he stopped and looked back at Wescott.

“Hey, boss, Les said softly, yet with an intensity that Wescott didn’t miss, “you think there’s a chance we’re gonna’ find this Hollis boy?”

Wescott looked at him, squinted, and said, “Not if we spend the rest of the day standing around here jawing, there ain’t.”

Les went through the door and headed for his car.

VIII

D
avid put his foot onto the rusted barbed wire and stepped down, holding it to the ground as Allison carefully stepped over. The rotten fence posts sagged, threatening to give way with the pressure, but after David stepped over and took his foot away, the wire snapped back into place with a dull twang. They continued down the slope of the hill, toward the thick growth that marked the outer reaches of the Bog.

Suddenly, David latched onto Allison’s shoulder and pulled her to an abrupt stop. Allison spun around. “Wha’?!” she gasped, staring at him angrily.

“Remember you didn’t want to wear jeans?” he asked. A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Allison asked sharply.

David pointed down at her legs. “Looks like it was a good thing you took my advice.”

At first Allison didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she saw the small, brown spots—about ten or twelve of them—speckling her pants. At first she thought they were some kind of burrs; then she saw that they were moving. She screamed and beat wildly at her legs with a frail, brushing motion.

“Ahh! Ahh! Get ‘em off! Get ‘em off!” she shouted, dancing from one foot to the other. “What are they? God! Get ‘em off!”

David threw his head back and laughed loudly. Allison continued to hop wildly about screaming shrilly.

“God! David! Get them off me!” she cried. She grabbed David’s shoulders as she hopped.

“Take it easy!” David said, still smiling. “Calm down. They’re just ticks.” He steadied her with his hands and then bent down. “They won’t hurt you.”

“They’re gross.”

One by one David pulled the ticks away with his fingers. He looked down at his own legs and popped away the few that had started to crawl on him.

“God, they give me the creeps!” Allison said with a whimper in her voice.

“If you give them half a chance,” David said, standing up slowly, “they’ll bit into your skin and suck your blood until they get good and bloated. Then they lay their eggs. Only way to get them out is to touch a burning cigarette to them. That makes them pull out their stinger.”

“Uggh.” Allison shook her head with disgust. “Let’s go back. I’ve seen enough of your grandmother’s land. More than enough.” She started to backtrack, but David grabbed her.

“But you haven’t seen the Bog yet. That’s the best part,” he said, putting a touch of sinister glee in his voice.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Allison replied. “Besides, it’ll be dark soon.” She was using her poor-pitiful-me voice. Sometimes when she used it, David would let her have her way; other times he wouldn’t—but he was never fooled by it. He gave her a bracing clap on the shoulder.

“Come on, Bucko, you can make it,” he said.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Allison whined. “The last thing I want is
those
things crawling on me when I can’t see them.”

She pulled away from David and started back up the hill. But with a few quick paces, David caught up with her and tugged her shoulder. “You know, really, we’ve come far enough so it would probably be longer going back than it would to complete the circuit of the property.”

Allison frowned and looked at the darkening woods. “Probably?” she said accusingly.

“For sure.” David made a move toward the woods. “I know this Bog like the back of my hand. I bet I could run around it blindfolded.”

“Well, don’t try it. Not tonight, anyway,” she said, starting to follow him.

They moved rapidly down the slope until the field ended. With the sun setting behind the hill, the wooded area around the Bog had a strange, foreboding feeling. Both of them felt it, but neither spoke their mind as they entered the darkening woods.

“God, I can’t believe you used to play in here,” Allison said. David could barely hear her above the cacophony of spring peepers and night birds. He nodded and continued to plow through the brush until they came out onto a path and began following it.

“It explains a few things that I’ve always wondered about you,” Allison concluded to herself.

They had been walking in silence for about five minutes when David said, without looking back over his shoulder, “I just can’t believe how
small
everything is.”

Allison grunted and then swatted blindly at her legs, hoping to knock away any ticks that might have settled on her pants legs. The sky was still blue behind them, but it was dark enough in the woods to make the trail indistinct and the footing unsure.

“When I was a kid,” David continued, “it seemed like this place was
unbelievably
big. Running around and playing in here, God, we thought this Bog covered half the state of Maine.”

“When are we going to be out in the open?” Allison asked with an edge to her voice. The ground was soggy underfoot in places, and once she stumbled and almost fell. She heaved a sigh of frustration and trudged on after David, who hadn’t even broken his pace. The thick, marshy smell almost gagged her.

“I guess, overall, the Bog covers more than two hundred acres. About thirty or so are on my grandmother’s property. The rest is owned by the state, I think.”

“That’s interesting,” Allison said, cynically. “When the hell are we going to be out of here?” The darkness was pressing in closer, and she was feeling increasingly edgy. “Are you
sure
you know your way out of here?”

“Don’t worry, huh?” David stopped short in the path, and Allison bumped into him before she could check herself.

“Will you watch it for Christ’s sake?” she shouted. “Goddamn, I’m having enough trouble finding my way as it is. Just keep moving, will you?”

David moved forward, walking with longer strides, making Allison hurry all the more. “Just be thankful the black flies are mostly gone,” he said. Allison huffed.

The sun was now completely down. The chorus of the spring peepers grew, swelling and filling the night. The sound made Allison think of jingle bells ringing chaotically.

The path started to slope upward, and Allison hoped this meant they were on their way to open country and, please God, maybe even a road.

“I think it’s pretty damn beautiful,” David said. “You don’t get shit like this in New York.”

“It reminds me of goddamn Africa,” Allison muttered. Then, suddenly, she shouted, “Oh shit! God-fucking-damn-it!”

“Huh?” David asked, turning around, but he knew from the loud squishing sound what had happened.

“I stepped in some goddamn water,” Allison cried. “My feet are soaked.”

“Well, watch where you’re going.”

“Yeah, right,” she sputtered. “Well, lead on Livingston.”

David turned to walk, but before he had taken a step, he grunted and grabbed Allison by the arm. “Look,” David said, pointing off into the woods.

“I don’t see a—oh, Jesus.”

Through the twisting trees and brush, they caught a flash of light, drifting and flickering through the darkness. It seemed to float, disembodied, sweeping the darkness.

“What the fuck—” Allison started to say, but David hissed and she fell quiet. He dropped to a crouch and squatted there on the soggy ground, watching as the light swept back and forth in tight arcs.

“Who is it?” Allison asked, bending low and whispering into David’s ear. She spoke just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the peepers.”

David shrugged his shoulders.

“What are they doing?” Allison asked.

“I don’t know,” David replied. “I can’t tell if there’s one or two people. They’re probably—” He cut himself off when he saw the light point in their direction and begin to move toward them.

Whoever it was, David figured, he really didn’t want to be seen by them. He wondered what he would say to explain why he and Allison were out walking in the Bog at night. After what had happened to Billy Wilson and with Jeffy Hollis missing, it might look strange. If this person was part of the search party, well, that was one thing; but if, by chance, this was the person responsible for the boys’ disappearance, he certainly didn’t want to be found.