As his pursuer rounded the tree, Max leaped out, stake descending. He changed the angle of its scything action at the last moment, narrowly avoiding a shocked Syd as Splinter’s silver tip connected with the trunk above her head.
“Whoa, Mr. Stabby!” she cried out, arms whirling as she stumbled back and threatened to land in a nearby nest of brambles. Max reached out with his free hand, catching her.
“What the heck are you doing, following me like that, Syd? You could get yourself hurt. Or worse! Why didn’t you call out or something?”
“Call? Sure, that’s what we need to be doing, Max.” She tugged herself free from him, bristling with annoyance. “You do realize the woods back there are swarming with cops, and the woods up here are full of hunters.”
“If you shouted you were coming, that would’ve stopped the hunters from mistaking you for a wild animal. Creeping around in the forest is one surefire way of getting buckshot in your butt!”
“It’s also a surefire way of alerting the police that we’re snooping around up here.”
Max stashed his stake back inside his messenger bag. “I gave JB explicit instructions—”
“Stop right there,” she said, punching his shoulder. “You don’t get to give me instructions. Especially through poor JB. News flash, Helsing: I’m not your sidekick. I do what I want, remember?”
“Remembered.” Max rubbed his arm. “I can’t believe you’ve been following me through the woods for an hour. I thought I’d covered my tracks.”
“Through the woods for an hour? I took the creek path. I only picked up your trail ten minutes ago, and that’s because of the noise you make. I swear, a deaf, blind tortoise could follow you with ease.”
Max looked back into the emerald wilderness. His skin prickled, that feeling of unease remaining. The two of them set off, a pair of grumpy companions.
To their left, the river rushed by, the water providing a musical melody as they hiked in silence. It was Max who eventually spoke.
“How did you give Whedon the slip?”
“It wasn’t difficult. JB helped. You know, I think he might be a bit more aware of the weird shenanigans that go on than you might think. You have to watch the quiet ones, I guess. Whedon’s super worried about Boyle. I guess we all are.”
Max grunted. “Whedon’s lost it, big time. He hadn’t even told Gideon that Boyle had gone missing! He seriously thinks Kenny’s going to turn up safe and sound.” Max shook his head. “I can’t stand the guy, Syd, but if he’s out there, I’ll find him. And you’ll help me.”
“Damn right,” she said.
“Y’know,” said Max, pulling out his cell and holding it up before him. “I’ve just realized, Jed’s on his way up here. I should call and tell him what we’re doing.” He rolled his eyes. “No signal. I’ll try again later.”
“Hush!” she hissed, grabbing his shoulder and hauling him low into the bracken. She pointed through the lush undergrowth, toward the river. There, standing in the shallows, was a handsome young buck. Max let out a quiet whistle.
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” asked Syd, her smile lighting up her face. It was rare for Max to be lost for words, but all he could do was watch the buck as it drank from the river.
“It’s a whitetail,” whispered Syd. “See where he’s growing his antlers, on the crown of his skull? They shed their antlers each year.”
“Since when are you the expert on all things deer, city girl?”
“Since I read the pamphlet about the White Mountains. You know, the one they gave us before we came? Jeez, Helsing. Do you ever read anything?”
“Spell books, the Monstrosi Bestiarum, pizza delivery menus—just the important stuff.”
“He’s lucky it’s not hunting season,” said Syd, as the buck suddenly threw its head back and shook his sable coat. “Come September, he’ll want to—”
The crack of gunfire nearby made the pair of them jump, then duck down.
“Are you okay?” asked Max. She nodded as they both raised their heads.
The buck was staggering through the shallows, that big proud chest now stained crimson. It let out a pained bellow, snorting as it tried to keep its footing. A second gunshot sounded, and the deer went down with a splash, back legs kicking as it struggled with its dying breaths. Syd made to rush over to the animal, but Max held her back. From the tree line on the opposite side of the river, three figures emerged, rifles in hand.
One guy wore full camo gear from head to foot, even his hat sporting a wide variety of twigs and leaves. The man who followed him had made less effort, his white Green Day T-shirt hardly hunting attire. The last of the trio wore a red plaid shirt with matching hat, the white fur–lined earflaps sticking out at right angles from his head.
“Did you get him?” asked Green Day.
“Hell, yeah,” said Camo, his rifle still aimed at the dying deer.
“It’s still alive, dude,” said Lumberjack, leveling his own gun at the buck in the water. Max and Syd looked away as the firearm dealt the killing blow.
“Three shots,” whispered Max. “That poor creature. One should have done the trick.”
“It’s not even hunting season,” Syd said tearfully as she watched the three men celebrate their kill.
“What do we do with it now?” asked Green Day.
“Haul it outta the water and leave it on the bank,” replied Lumberjack. “We can pick it up later.”
“But something might get to it,” said Green Day. “Y’know. Wolves, bears . . . bigfoot. That’s what we’re out here lookin’ for, ain’t it?”
“Hell, yeah,” said Camo.
“I say we drag it to camp,” said Green Day.
“Come on, that’ll take all day,” whined Lumberjack. “If something else comes along and eats it, so what? Like you say, it’s bigfoot we’re here for, right?”
“Hell, yeah,” from Camo.
“Seems like a waste,” said Green Day.
Camo shrugged and turned around, making his way back to the forest. Lumberjack and Green Day grabbed the butchered buck by its hooves and dragged it across the rocks, through the water, toward the bank. Syd fought back her anger as they unceremoniously dumped it on the grass. The hunters shared a quick high five before the other two followed Camo back into the woods.
Max placed a hand gently onto Syd’s shoulder. “We need to move, while daylight’s still on our side.”
Syd sniffed again, nodded, and followed her friend, looking back just once at the slain whitetail on the shore.
EIGHTEEN
ONE-MAN CAVALRY
Jed stood on the porch of the Greenwoods’ Guesthouse and checked his phone. He had a signal, but it was awful faint, and there sure as heck weren’t any messages from Max showing up on it. He pocketed it and looked down the street. It was a pleasant evening in early spring, and the sleepy town of Bone Creek was resting easy. He could hear kids playing in a garden that neighbored the guesthouse. He could smell barbecue across the street. The sound of an old Louis Prima hit drifted out of an open window nearby, the regular clipped sound telling him it was an old vinyl recording. Jed’s favorite. It was a tranquil, mellow world, far removed from the hustle and bustle of Gallows Hill. But it was perplexing that folks were so relaxed, considering the horrors that had so recently played out not five miles away.
Jed looked back down the porch to where Principal Whedon sat in a wicker chair, rocking back and forth, leafing through the local phone book. Mrs. Loomis, the school nurse, was in the building, keeping the students and young teachers as calm as she could, all things considered. Many of them, understandably, just wanted to go home now, but they had to stay put for the foreseeable. Since arriving in Bone Creek and getting directed to the school group’s accommodation, Jed had quickly grilled the principal for what he knew. That hadn’t taken long.
�
�Boyle went out in the night and didn’t return. And Max and Perez disappeared today. That’s all you know, Irwin?”
The principal didn’t look up from his phone book. “Boyle has come here, Mr. Coolidge, to Bone Creek. He quite clearly stated that he was seeking out alternate accommodation, as the bunkhouses weren’t to his liking.”
“You really believe Boyle’s soaking in a bubble bath and deciding what to watch on pay-per-view at this moment?”
“That’s what he said he was going to do.” His fingers were frantic as he flicked through the pages, writing down guesthouse and hotel addresses. “I simply need to pay each of them a visit and find our wayward teen.”
“There are three children missing, Irwin. Boyle, Max, and Syd. Three. Not just the chief of police’s brat. What are you doing about finding the other two?”
“The tour guide, Mr. Gideon, is searching the woods for them now. They’ll turn up,” he muttered.
Jed crouched, hiding the discomfort he felt in his stiff bad leg, his face up close to Whedon’s.
“Why so fixated on the Boyle kid? Scared of what his father will do when he finds out the golden child is missing?”
“He must be in a bed-and-break—”
Jed’s hand smacked down onto the phone book, stopping the principal’s search with a loud clap.
“And if he doesn’t turn up in town? What then? Have you informed Boyle Senior of what’s happened? Have you called Mrs. Perez? Do any of the parents know what’s going on here?”
Whedon’s wild-eyed sweaty face told Jed all he needed to know. Max’s guardian narrowed his eyes.
“What’s Chief Boyle got on you, Irwin? I get that he’s a powerful man, but there’s something more, isn’t there? Did he do you a favor, Irwin? Is that it? What did he make go away? What will he do when he discovers you’ve lost his only son?”
A tear broke from Whedon’s eye, racing down his cheek and disappearing into that bristly mustache. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Jed growled. That was all he was getting from the principal on this occasion, but there was clearly a lot more to the story. When he got home, he’d start digging.
Jed rose tall, his back creaking as he straightened it.
“Looks like it’s up to me to haul your sorry ass out of the mire. I’m going to bring these children back—all three of them. You can thank me later.”
“If Chief Boyle finds out about this—”
“He won’t, Irwin. But I need you to understand that not only has Max stuck his neck out for this kid, but he’s stuck his neck out for you, too. When all this is over, and your little world returns to its hunky-dory state of play, I hope you can think about cutting Max a break.”
Whedon nodded, but Jed was already walking away from the principal. From his vantage on the other end of the porch, he saw a jeep pull up outside the guesthouse. A short middle-aged white guy in a khaki shirt and shorts jumped out and tried to grab four huge tubs of fried chicken out of the backseat. Jed made his way down the steps to lend a hand.
“Bless you, kind sir,” said the flustered man as Jed caught a bucket about to topple.
“No problem. I’d hate for you to lose your dinner . . . or part of it.”
“Oh, they’re not for me,” said the man. “I can’t get away with this kinda food.”
To Jed’s eyes, he looked like Curly from the Three Stooges. As they walked toward the inn, Jed shivered.
“Bit chilly, are you?” the man asked.
“Not used to this chill evening air.”
“Yes, the temperature really drops at nighttime,” said the man. “You feel it up in the woods for sure.”
The man led Jed back toward the Greenwoods’ Guesthouse. “These Southern fried offerings are for the school group that’s staying here.”
“You mean the kids from Gallows Hill? I’m one of the parents. Jed Coolidge.” Jed extended a hand, which the little fellow managed to shake while still balancing three buckets of wings and drumsticks.
“I’m Gideon! I was their activity coordinator until this morning. Awful business.” He sighed, shaking his head.
“Of course, you’re the tour guide. Whedon mentioned you to me.”
Gideon glowered in the direction of the principal, who was sitting at the far end of the porch.
“Do you know he didn’t tell me right away that the children were missing? I’ve been rushing around all day, trying to track them down in the woods. I’m only here now to drop off some food for the other kids, and then I’m heading back out there. So long as these students are missing on my watch, I’ll do all I can to find them.”
He was silent for a moment as he continued to glare at Whedon. “He’s a character.”
“That’s one word for him,” said Jed with a growl. “You can’t imagine how much it pains me to say this, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s just spineless.”
“Which of the little angels is yours?”
“I’m Max Helsing’s guardian.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d seen what he was up to sooner.”
“Up to?”
“Indeed,” Gideon whispered, his little goatee beard bristling as he chewed his lip with embarrassment. “Young Max was picking my brains about Bone Creek. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was interrogating me about where to search for his friend!”
Jed’s grin was humorless. “Yeah, he’s a cunning little swine, isn’t he?”
“Your words,” said Gideon, “not mine. But what a pleasant young man. I hope to goodness he and Syd find young Kenny. I can’t bear to think of what might befall the three of them.”
Jed handed the fourth bucket of chicken back to the man, balancing it on top of the other three and obscuring Gideon’s face from view. As the adventure camp coordinator took the first tentative step up to the guesthouse porch, Jed remembered he was missing one crucial bit of information. He snapped his fingers, which in itself almost caused the man in khaki to drop a hundred pieces of chicken all over the steps.
“Sorry, Mr. Gideon.”
“Just Gideon,” said the curly-haired man, hovering on the steps.
“Yeah, I meant to ask: how far did you get with your search?”
“You’re not thinking of going out there, are you?” Gideon said, catching the brief glance Jed gave Whedon.
“I’m not the kind of guy who can sit back and do nothing.”
“I tried to warn Max: the woods are an awful dangerous place, especially after what’s gone on. I know the forests and hills of Bone Creek, as do the police who are out there. With all due respect, it’s no place for an amateur. You really are best leaving the manhunt to the professionals, Mr. Coolidge.”
Jed tried not to react. There was nobody better equipped than he to find the kids. Gideon, the police, the sheriff deputies, the park rangers . . . they didn’t know what they were dealing with.
“Where d’you think he went?” Jed asked once again.
“Higher into the mountains. There’s a hermit who lives up there; maybe he’s gone to pick his brains. I’m sorry I’m so vague; you must think I’m a real ninny!”
“Don’t worry—you’ve been a great help already.”
Jed turned to leave. Gideon’s voice stopped him.
“I’ll be informing the police about the missing students, Mr. Coolidge. The principal may be a good man, but I can’t stand by and let these children remain in peril.”
“Gimme until the morning, Gideon. Max and Syd are mighty resourceful. You never know; they may actually find Boyle. If they’re not back by sunrise, go ahead and call in the SWAT team.”
Gideon wasn’t smiling. “I’m making no promises.”
“Hope the kids enjoy their chicken,” Jed said, before turning and setting off down the sidewalk toward his station wagon. It was rocking as he approached. In the passenger seat he could see a
n excited Eightball hopping around, slobbering all over the upholstery and licking at the windshield. He was going to need wipers on the inside of the car at this rate. And air fresheners. Lots of air fresheners.
He passed by the excited pup toward the back of the vehicle. There was a real nip in the air, and Jed had been in such a hurry, he wasn’t even sure he’d packed a jacket. He flipped the trunk and looked inside at the clutter of gear, everything a self-respecting monster hunter might need. Pickax, short sword, crucifix, crossbow, holy water, smoke bombs, silver darts—it was all there, and more. And there was his old duster, the trench coat that had been with him on more horror-hunting escapades than Max had enjoyed hot dinners. He grabbed it, yanking it out of the trunk with a snap.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Jed as he saw what lay beneath.
“Surprise!” said Wing Liu, waving from his hiding place.
NINETEEN
UNEXPECTED ANSWERS
The hike to High Crag felt more arduous than it had when they’d first arrived in Bone Creek. Knowing there was a monster loose in the forest with a taste for human blood had a way of sapping one’s energy. Combine that with two days of pretty much solid stress, and Max felt like he needed a vacation after this vacation was over. The ascent up the cliff path, with the sun beating down from above, was a killer. Thankfully, the spray from the waterfall helped cool them while they climbed. More than once he found himself looking back, down the steep rocky path. Try as he might, Max couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.
They paused for a drink once they’d reached the summit of High Crag, filling their water bottles from the creek before it tumbled over the cliff top. In the distance, below, red and blue lights flashed in the heart of the woods, no doubt at the camp parking area. A little beyond that, they could see the rooftops of Bone Creek town. Whedon and the kids must be there by now. Jed, too, hopefully. Max checked his phone for a signal once more; no luck. Screwing the lids tight on their water bottles, the two monster hunters set off once more, following the creek. They were glad to get a bit of shelter from the sun as they dipped into the tree line for shade.
Max Helsing and the Beast of Bone Creek Page 11
