Did this kid even know what was out there?
“What’s with the horns? Pretty loud.”
Freddy didn’t stop. Jack followed him to the storage container.
“They warn you.” The kid picked up the lid and tossed in the jackets. “Least they’re supposed to warn you.”
“We heard them, all right.”
“Dad, can I go back to the cottage?” Kate said.
“Sure. Take Simon.”
In seconds, they had left the dock. The splintery storage container lid slammed down hard.
The attendant moved to his chair. Picked up a clipboard.
Lot of important paperwork with this job, Jack thought.
“Looks like there was a fire up there,” he said.
He studied the kid, focused on his clipboard.
When the kid didn’t respond, Jack took a step closer. “Know anything about that?”
Finally, the kid looked up, his eyes narrowed. Jack could feel the anger there. Freddy didn’t like the questions.
“Nope. Never been out that far.”
Back to the clipboard.
Jack walked away, catching up with his kids, already back on the beach, knowing that Freddy knew exactly what was on those cliffs.
But something more than that worried Jack.
The look in Freddy’s dull eyes.
The anger. Something familiar about it.
The sky remained as blue and crisp as before. A beautiful sky.
But as Jack walked back to the beach, he took no notice of it.
30
4:55 P.M.
Christie was still in the cottage when Jack came out of the shower.
“I thought you were going with the kids to the game room?”
“They’re okay,” she said. “Told them we’d meet them there before dinner.”
Jack had wrapped one towel in classic fashion around his torso. He used another to dry his hair. “So,” he said between drying, “why do I have the feeling that you’re waiting for me?”
“Simon told me about the horns. You weren’t going to mention that?”
Jack looked at her and nodded. “Yes. We heard horns. I was going to tell you. But later.”
“When?”
“When the kids were gone. The whole thing rattled them enough without them seeing us talking about it.”
She hesitated a few moments, as if weighing the validity of what Jack had said. “Okay. Probably a good idea. But Jack”—she stood up—“what the hell? Alarms? On a lake?”
“Apparently.”
Should he tell her what he had seen? Not yet, he thought. Not until he knew more.
“Alarm horns. I don’t get it. Do you? What—”
“Hold that thought—let me get dressed. Then I’ll see if the Blairs have surfaced for dinner.”
“If they’re still here.”
He went into the bedroom.
* * *
The door to the Blairs’ cottage was shut.
Most of the cabins only kept their screen doors shut, letting the cool early evening breeze blow in.
He knocked.
No answer.
Why would they have their door shut?
Kids away playing? Some adult quality time, perhaps?
Sharon Blair didn’t look like the most playful of women, though.
He started to turn away when the door opened.
Shana stood there, the mesh of the screen door giving her a shadowy look.
“Yes? Oh, Jack. Hi.”
“I was looking for the Blairs.”
Shana opened the screen door, held it a second and backed away. Jack took hold of the door as she walked back to the interior of the cabin.
Jack followed her through the living room, back to one of the bedrooms.
To see the bed.
Which had been stripped. Shana shook the pillows out of their cases, letting the pillows fall onto the bare mattress.
“Where are the Blairs?”
“They’re not here.”
The sheets lay in a pile by one wall. All the drawers of the dresser were open, empty.
Shana scooped up the pillowcases and threw them onto the floor.
“They’re gone.”
“Really? They said they were staying a few more days.”
Shana kicked the pile of sheets and pillowcases away. Now she gave Jack her full attention.
“As you can see, they’re gone.”
“What happened?”
She smiled.
“Happened? I don’t know, Jack. Not my department. Maybe problems with their credit. Paterville isn’t free.”
Her scent, so strong in the small room.
Jack became acutely aware of where they were. Shana closed the row of open drawers with a bump from her body, facing Jack as she did so.
Did Shana normally clean out guestrooms?
He looked at the sheets, left in a pile.
“Did they leave a message? We were kind of friendly.”
Shana made a look as though thinking over a thorny question.
“I didn’t find any messages. Did you check”—more steps, closer to Jack—“at the lodge?” Another step closer. “The registration desk? I hear—” Mouth open. Full lips.
Time for me to move this conversation outside, thought Jack.
“—that people do sometimes leave messages there.”
Jack nodded. He began to back out of the room.
Then a thought: Shana wasn’t here to clean the room, to get it ready for the next guests.
No. She was here giving it a once-over.
What was the word for a place cops found in this condition?
Tossed. It’s been tossed.
“Maybe last night spooked them, Jack.”
She came closer.
“Certainly didn’t spook you, now did it? We all hope—”
She put a hand on his shoulders.
“—that you’ll consider Ed’s offer. Head of Security.”
“I better go.” He looked around the room. “Wish I could have said good-bye to them.”
And asked him about any stuff they’ve seen. The burnt buildings on the cliff.
“Lot of perks with the job, Jack.”
She emphasized his name. Ja … ck. As if there was something funny about it. Something so amusing about this cat-and-mouse game.
“You could come by my place anytime. Split more wood. Or try some other things.”
He felt dizzy. The perfume. The musty air of the living room.
And then before he knew it, something happened. Shana leaned close and kissed Jack hard. Her other arm had circled him, holding him tight. Her lips moving, opening as she kissed.
“Jack, any sign of—”
He had pulled away as soon as he realized it had happened. But not soon enough that Christie, who had entered, didn’t see.
“Christ. Oh, God—”
In a second, she was gone.
“Oops,” Shana said, releasing him.
“What the hell are you—”
He shook his head, and ran after Christie. But she was moving as fast as she could, heading down to the trails, joining other people making their way to the lodge.
He was about to run after her. Bolt, stop her and explain.
Even as he wondered: Did I want that to happen? That kiss? Am I crazy?
He looked up.
High to a nearby pine tree. Way at the top.
And he saw something. A small box. Like a birdhouse. Almost invisible amid the branches.
But clearly there. He looked over at another tree. The view blocked, so he took some steps until he saw a similar box, pointed in a different direction. Pointed. Because now he knew what they were.
Cameras. Right. Security cameras. Missed them way up there. Aimed at the camp. Just like Tom had said.
Maybe it made sense. Make sure the camp was quiet.
But why watch the guests so closely? Why the need to follow their moves?
He turned around.
> Shana still in the cottage.
Gotta stay away from her, he thought.
Stay away until we leave.
Thinking that, he knew that time would be soon. Something was wrong here, and the feeling was growing.
It was only when looking back at the cottage that something caught the glimmer of the setting sun about to disappear behind the mountains.
A few steps toward whatever was on the ground, catching the light at just the right angle.
Jack reached down.
And picked up a set of car keys.
* * *
He leaned across the dining room table. Christie had picked a seat so she wouldn’t sit near Jack, but across. The room buzzed with chatter and eating. Lowe gave Jack a wave and a smile; the happy prospective employer.
The kids were eating the food hungrily, the day’s exercise having its effect.
Jack waited until Christie, who had been avoiding his gaze, finally allowed her eyes to land on his.
“Can I explain?”
“What?”
Her voice—the word was like a dull hammer hitting wood.
“I did not do that.”
He saw Kate look over, finally catching on to the fact that in the world of her parents something was up.
“You think I’m blind, Jack?” Christie said. Then she, too, noticed Kate, chewing, listening in. “Can we talk on the way out? Please?”
Christie’s eyes were stone cold.
Then: “Okay.”
They went back to eating.
31
7:10 P.M.
They walked together. Christie looked over her shoulder.
“Let the kids get ahead,” she said.
When they did, Jack explained how it came to be that Shana had kissed him.
Christie walked on, not saying anything, until Jack stopped her, holding her elbow, getting in front of her.
“Look at me. Do you really think I would do anything like that?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Yes, you do. You know it was her. Almost like she knew you’d walk in. I pushed her away as soon I could.”
She looked right into his eyes now, then away. But when her gaze came back, he thought that maybe she finally believed him.
“Crazy bitch,” she said. Then she laughed.
Jack didn’t laugh. He started walking again.
“There’s something else, Christie. The alarms.”
“Yes. The horns.”
“Before we came back, I saw something out there.”
He described the burned buildings, the blackened timbers.
“God.”
Then: “And I thought I saw a body up there, a skeleton.”
She turned to him, and suddenly his fear, his paranoia—was hers.
“How? What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. Don’t look anywhere. Just listen to my words. Wait—then look.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Okay. Stop here. And just ahead—close to the cottages. Check out the trees. Way up. You’ll see something. Hidden. But you can tell, whatever they are, they’re not part of the tree.”
Christie took a quick look. Head moving left and right, then quickly back to Jack.
“I saw something. What are they?”
“Cameras. All around us, cameras. Fixed, tracking those walkways, all the cottages.” He took a breath. “All the guests.”
“Security?” she said.
Nothing. Then: “Right. Sure. Reason I stopped you right here, I didn’t see any camera that could pick up this spot.” He shook his head. “Could be security. Could be. After all, one bad incident here, and this place could get shut down.”
“And you don’t believe that?”
“I don’t want you afraid. I don’t want the kids afraid.”
“Tell me.”
“Shana was looking for something in the Blairs’ cabin. And outside—”
Jack looked around. No one seemed to be watching them talk. No cameras here.
“—I found these.”
He pulled out the set of car keys like it was contraband.
His wife said nothing.
“Found them outside the Blairs’ cabin. I mean, they could be anyone’s. But something feels wrong here.”
Jack could feel her fear. Her eyes darting.
Then: “All right.” Christie took a breath. “So, now what?”
“For now, tonight—nothing. Place seems to go into lockdown mode at night. Tomorrow morning, I think we leave.”
No words back from her this time about the job offer, about the crystalline lake, the clean air.
Christie nodded. “We can play some board games with the kids. Nice and quiet. Get them to bed. Get up early. Go home.”
“Right. Listen. It could all be nothing, Christie. We live in a strange world; that makes places, people strange. Maybe it was too much to hope that we could find some place peaceful. Some place to escape.”
She turned and looked down to the lake. Getting dark. Kids skipping stones, a small fire.
“Say nothing to the kids, okay?” he said. “For now.”
“Of course. Maybe we’ll feel differently in the morning.”
“Could be.”
They started back. She grabbed and held his hand.
Holding it, giving it a squeeze every now and then, letting him know that they were together in this.
the last day
32
12:55 A.M.
He might have dozed off.
But each time sleep came close, Jack would pull himself back to alertness. He listened to Christie’s breathing, always the gentlest of sleepers. While she complained that he, on the other hand, snored like a bear through the night.
She had been asleep for a while. But he wanted to wait.
Let that sleep deepen.
Let other people in Paterville go to sleep.
Let it get as quiet as it can.
He looked at the glowing face of the travel alarm clock. Nearly 1:00 A.M. He pulled off the sheet and thin blanket. He slowly swung his legs out and moved his feet to the floor.
The pain immediate. A Vicodin would be so good.
But not now. Not tonight.
He walked over to the dresser. He had thrown his pants there. He grabbed them, and then slowly opened the drawer to recover the flashlight and his small .44.
Now that he knew how well Paterville’s security worked, he wouldn’t go anywhere on this property without a gun.
He went out to the living room, taking care to quietly shut the bedroom door behind him. Not closed so tight that there would be a telltale click. Just enough so that any noises he made would be masked. He didn’t put on a light.
He put on his running shoes.
He was ready.
Jack looked out the front window.
He could see guards out there. Back on duty. Watching all the good sleeping vacationers.
He knew that going out the front door was out of the question. Before he had gone to bed with Christie, he had checked out another possibility.
First, though, he picked up the car keys he had found off the coffee table.
He walked to the small bathroom at the back of the cabin.
Straight to the window. Open now, assorted bugs mashed up against the screen. Might just be big enough.
The toilet right next to the window.
That would give him enough height. But could he fit?
The screen—an old-fashioned piece of mesh held in place by primitive metal clips—had to be removed. Jack would need to pop it out and let it fall to the ground.
Jack put down the toilet cover and stood on it. The bowl wobbled, bolts in need of tightening.
He steadied himself on the bowl.
Then he pushed two clips on the side of the screen, and then one at the bottom. The three released, sending the screen falling back and away from the window.
It made noise hitting the brush outside
.
Jack hesitated.
Not much of a noise. Not a bad noise, he thought. Not anything that could attract attention.
Now the hard part.
He brought his arms up and wedged them on either side of the open window.
Pressure to either side. He’d need to pull himself up, then somehow through the window.
Then pressure. A curl from the biceps, lifting his dead weight up and off the toilet, into the air. Now with a combination of the lift from his arms and wriggling his chest, he was able to get his upper torso part of the way through the window.
He unlocked his arms and reached outside the frame to the walls on either side. Grabbing there, palms against the wood, while he squirmed more, pressing his feet against the inner wall of the bathroom.
No purchase there, but the rubbery toes of his running shoes got some traction.
Had to be done in one move, he knew. And no grunts. No sounds.
One smooth move to slide out.
His landing would make noise. Nothing he could do about that.
He started pressing with his hands as he pushed with his sneakers, attempting to use the wall. And all the time, he wriggled from side to side.
Like being born, he thought.
But it worked. He slid through the hole. The frame scraped his chest, then his stomach, maybe drawing blood. It would at least leave nasty bruises. His right knee banged the inner wall, kicking, squirming.
He kept on going. This was the only way out.
And I’m getting out.
One last push with his hands against the wall, and finally gravity did its work and he tumbled, headfirst, down into the brush, the sound of his landing seeming so loud.
For a few seconds, he just lay there.
Listening to see if his maneuver had aroused any attention.
Nothing.
He got to his knees and then, urged by pain, quickly stood up.
He double-checked his gun. Secure in its ankle holster. A pat to the pocket to guarantee that he still had the keys.
He headed into the woods behind the cabins, away from any paths, away from any light, away from any guards.
Deep into a stand of pines, Jack went off the path and navigated around the side of the camp, away from the lake and the lodge.
At one point, the strip of woods narrowed and he came close to the fence.
He moved slowly there.
A thought: What if they have motion detectors out here?
Vacation Page 17
