“I seem to recall arriving in Bayfield just as the excrement got authentic.”
“Hold up,” said Davis. He looked at Ben. “Witchy woman said she was, what, working with him?”
“The beast was off the leash. She wasn’t expecting that. I think she thought this limping man pulled a fast one.”
“Civilians,” said Davis, who took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “This is why we have a hotwash after an operation. An exchange of information. An after-action report.”
“We’re here now, Galahad,” said Severance.
“Months after the Northwoods operation.”
“ ‘Operation’?” said Erica. “Looked like a massacre to me.”
“We didn’t have the luxury of a bird’s-eye view,” shot back Davis.
“You did when I choppered your bleeding ass to the hospital.”
Davis broke off the argument before it could gain momentum, fixing his stare on Ben. “Did Alex know about this limping man?”
“He failed to mention it,” said Ben, “what with the stabbing and the fire and the monster.”
“He may have mentioned it to me,” said Severance. Before any of them could erupt, he held up his hands. “Alex and I hadn’t seen or heard from Drexler in twenty years. As far as we knew, he was an old man living in the woods. And I’ve had more success in the past year and a half finding cryptids than he and I ever did together. It wasn’t until I saw the chest that I realized we were wrong.”
“Well, this shit stops now,” said Davis. “Full disclosure, full transparency. We share everything or I walk.”
Ben and Severance stared at each other.
“You know what I know,” said Ben.
“I’m an open book,” said Severance.
“Richard, continue,” said Lindsay.
“As I said, Henry and I found each other at Princeton.” Severance looked at the bookish man on the screen and smiled slyly. Perhaps it was the power of suggestion, but when Ben studied the junior Drexler’s smile again, it seemed more pained than tentative this time. “I was not the best student,” continued Severance. “Let’s just say I likely would not have matriculated of my own accord or on the strength of my academics, but all that changed when I took one of Henry’s classes. Without him, I wouldn’t be the world-famous, handsome, and humble cryptozoologist you see before you today.
“The other students loved to get him off topic during class, discussing folklore and myth. It was like a game, like they were teasing him, but he never knew or didn’t care. He would go on and on about the myths of different cultures, folktales, things that go bump in the night. We were kindred spirits. I asked if he would advise me on my senior thesis. We spent enough time together that it wasn’t long before we both discovered we weren’t just fascinated with cryptids. We were believers.
“After graduation, we went out into the ‘field,’ touring the world, looking for evidence of our theories. We dressed them up as anthropology sabbaticals; Princeton was only too happy to let him go as long as they didn’t have to foot the bill. I had the means—my parents were stunned I had even graduated—and he had the knowledge. Occasionally, in some far-flung bar halfway around the world, he would tell me bits and pieces about his childhood, about his father, and it would make me a bit more grateful for my own overbearing but ultimately garden-variety parents. I got the sense he was running away during our adventures. He had a wife, but what did I care? We were seeing the world, dancing in the gap between science and myth. We came close here and there, we had some frights, but it was the time of my life. Until the Northwoods.”
“The wendigo affair?” said Lindsay.
“Alex told you?”
“Let’s hear it from you,” said Ben.
“Henry read a story about killings on a reservation. There was one quote, buried in the article, from an Ojibwe who wished not to be named, who speculated it was the work of a wendigo. Henry and I had investigated historical disappearances or killings that had an uncanny element before, but the Red Cliff Band was dealing with it in real time. I’ll admit that I was excited about the opportunity, until we arrived and I saw the damage that had been done to the community. The terror and the sorrow. Naturally, the Ojibwe were not terribly welcoming to two interlopers turning over rocks on the reservation, but some judicious application of money helped. More importantly, we met Alex. He made some important introductions for us and acted as our guide, chauffeur, translator, cultural attaché, whatever we needed. This enterprising kid, so full of life…you should’ve seen him back then. So Henry and I rented a house and set up shop. Gradually, when the Red Cliff elders realized we weren’t going anywhere, that we took them seriously and spared no expense to help them, they warmed to us. We stayed on until it was over.”
Severance finished his drink and strode to the bar for a refill. As he poured from a crystal decanter, Ben noticed the man’s hands trembling. When he returned, he gripped the glass tightly, his other hand in his pocket.
“It proved a fundamental divide between Henry and me. Perhaps I was being too Pollyanna. I could not see how so ordinary a man could do what he did to those women and children. I believed there had to be something more at work, something supernatural. An evil spirit. Even the ‘wendigo psychosis’ the defense used. But all Henry saw was a monster—a mundane, human monster—and he was all too familiar with those. Maybe Henry was right, and maybe I just couldn’t accept that a human being could do what he did. Either way, I think it confirmed something in Henry. It was our last trip. And since then, I haven’t seen or spoken to him until yesterday morning.”
“So,” said Ben, “he was the limping man behind the kushtaka. And he knew about the chest?”
“He wasn’t surprised by it. He certainly didn’t deny anything.”
“What did he say?” asked Lindsay.
“He didn’t say much. But he didn’t have to. I could tell in his eyes. He’s up to something.”
“Not a lot to go on,” said Lindsay.
“There’s more. Galahad?”
Severance turned to Davis, and several surveillance photos appeared on the screen. The vantages were aerial shots. Ben assumed Erica had conducted the flyovers. With the pictures, Ben pieced together that it was a compound of some sort nestled in the Pine Barrens. The final shot must have been taken from the ground, which, compared to the shots from altitude, seemed brazen to Ben. It was of a painted, wooden sign nailed to an arch over a narrow dirt road in the woods, two men with semiautomatic rifles standing beneath it.
“This is Välkommen,” said Davis. “The family homestead of the Drexlers. According to county records, they own quite a bit of land in the area—hundreds of acres—legally. But the developed portion is a sprawling compound, roughly ten acres.”
Davis was on his feet now, controlling the view of slides with a remote, pointing out sites from the aerial view.
“There’s a main house, garages, stables, water purification, storage. There’s a very large field on the north side, which I took as crop fields from the air. At first glance, it all looked like an organized farm with lots of infrastructure, but upon closer inspection, it’s more like an encampment.
“First, they’re isolated and appear to be entirely self-sufficient. Also there’s near-constant construction. They’re clearing even more of the surrounding woods and erecting new structures, small and large. They’re ramping up in a hurry. My guess is that this”—Davis tapped the screen where a large wooden building was under construction—“is going to be a barracks.”
“For who?” asked Ben.
The screen changed from a bird’s-eye view to a worm’s-eye view, another shot from the main road. Davis worked the remote with his thumb.
Click. A photo of a grizzled, wary man on foot along the road.
Click. A photo of three jovial young men with backpacks.
Click. A family in a beater car with an out-of-state license plate.
“There’s a steady stream of people coming in ever
y day on that road. I surveilled the property for a week. At the beginning of the week, I estimated three hundred people on the compound. By the end, a hundred more. At least. Whatever the count is by now, there are more people than the place can effectively shelter. Some are in tents on the main field.”
“Who are they?” asked Lindsay.
“Välkommen means ‘welcome.’ And the place is putting its money where its mouth is. Drexler, or someone, went live on the white nationalist websites—your StormWarnings and such—posting invitations in the forums. The invitations are popping up in the comments sections of the so-called alt-right sites too, where rebranded Klansmen and wannabe Nazis swap out the sheets for suits and fancy haircuts, and dress their bullshit up with a veneer of phony intellectualism. Whatever the site, the messages are basically the same: Come one, come all. Bring me your poor, your tired, your crazy, hateful asses. Välkommen is advertising itself as an all-purpose, end-of-the-line utopia. In the market for a white ethnostate? You’re in luck. Hate the government? So do we. The End Times are upon us? Ride them out with us. By the way, Severance, you’re buying me a new laptop. This one’s racist now.”
“What in the blond-haired, blue-eyed fuck is going on?” asked Ben.
“No idea, but a lot of folks are taking Välkommen up on its offer. And they’re still posting messages. Even with the tide of people, they aren’t backing down. If anything, they’re doubling down. But as you can imagine, the place is only so welcoming. There are guards at the entrance to the main road, more guards roaming the perimeter, and they’re putting up sentry towers, like the kind you’d see in a prison yard. The guards are a joke, total amateurs, but it’s clear Drexler is taking precautions. Sorry, that’s all I have.”
“Sorry?” said Lindsay. “My God, Davis. You risked your life just getting this.”
“Please. I was invisible.”
“The government monitors things like this, right?” asked Lindsay. “Surely they know about it. Can’t the authorities go in and take a look?”
The authorities, thought Ben. An image flashed into his mind: the sheriff’s office in Barnabus, Minnesota. Total carnage. Half-eaten cops. It was hard to get an accurate count on exactly how many since their limbs were scattered around the room. Arterial spray on every surface, his feet sticking to the tile with every tentative step. Ben shook his head hard. No one noticed.
“I pulled county records and made a few calls,” continued Davis. “Bottom line: This is all private property. The Drexlers have been in those woods since the 1940s, paying their taxes and keeping to themselves. Model citizens. And even on the posts, they aren’t actually writing anything incriminating. Nothing overtly hateful or racist. Just stuff that’s a dog whistle to the right kind of asshole. It’s not what they’re posting, but where they’re posting it, sites running the gamut from denying the Holocaust to others that say it didn’t go far enough.”
Lindsay turned to Severance. “So Drexler never said what he was doing or why?”
“No. He showed up with a handful of rednecks and the conversation deteriorated. I’m in the dark. But I know it’s all connected. He was not at all surprised when I brought up the chest. And how many limping men have specialized knowledge in cryptids?”
A silence settled over the room. The only sound was the ice shifting in their drinks and no one made eye contact. Ben took a deep breath.
“So,” he said finally, “when do I go in?”
Chapter 7
“Wait,” said Lindsay. It took a moment for what Ben was saying to sink in. “What?”
“I’ll do it,” said Ben. “I’ll go in. Undercover or whatever. I’ll do it.”
“Dude…” said Davis, shaking his head.
Erica burst into laughter, pointing at Ben. “This guy?”
“Hey,” said Ben.
“Every expedition has a redshirt,” said Severance.
“I’ve seen him in action,” said Davis to Severance. “Undercover is not his strong suit.”
“Right here, guys,” said Ben.
“I’ve exchanged, like, five sentences with him in total,” said Erica. “Four of them have been painful…”
“That’s not fair.”
“…like embarrassing.”
Ben pointed at Severance and bellowed, “He has a tiny dick!”
All eyes turned toward him.
“What? I thought this was the point where everyone just yelled out rude shit.” He stood up and began to circle the table. “Come on. This is why we’re all here, isn’t it? Wasn’t this the whole point of your dog-and-pony show, Severance? You lay it all out and I come to the conclusion myself. ‘Ben wants to go to Jersey anyway,’ right? Fine, I’ll be your canary in the coal mine, but you’re not fooling me. I’m going in with my eyes wide open.”
Lindsay’s head was spinning. “Is he right, Richard? Was this your plan all along?” She faced Severance, but he did not meet her eye.
“I’m open to other suggestions,” he said.
“He’s not a redshirt or a canary in a coal mine,” said Lindsay with her jaw clenched. “And he’s not trained.”
“He wasn’t trained for shapeshifters or redmouths either,” said Severance evenly. “No one is.”
“I can train him,” said Davis quietly. “Enough to get in and get out in one piece.”
“You too?” said Lindsay.
Davis held up his hands. “I’m hearing this for the first time, Lindsay, I swear,” he said. He continued, glaring at Severance: “I would like to think my new boss did not just maneuver me into this situation…but given our limited options, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“I can’t believe my ears,” said Lindsay, standing. “These are dangerous people. They will kill him,” she said, rapping the table with every word. To Ben: “They will kill you.”
“Who else is going to do it?” asked Ben. “This guy knows Severance. And these two can’t exactly blend in with that crowd,” he said, gesturing to Davis and Erica. “Neither could our six-foot-tall Native American friend, if he was here. Drexler keeps sending monsters out into the world. If that camp has answers, I want in. Let’s go on the offensive for once.”
Lindsay looked at him, then looked into the faces of everyone else around the table. “He’s right. And I’m going with him.”
There was an uproar, everyone yelling at once. Severance was on his feet. “Absolutely not!” he said.
Lindsay looked back at Ben. “You going to try to talk me out of it too?”
“Hell no,” he said, smiling. “I know it’s not very chivalrous, but I’ve tried going my own way before and it never works. If there’s one thing I know, I’m better with you than without you.”
Severance shook his head. “No. Lindsay was right the first time, this was a bad idea. We keep thinking.”
“No,” said Lindsay, finally taking her eyes off of Ben to stare at Severance. “That’s the plan. We go in together. End of discussion.”
“The hell it is,” he said.
“I hate to admit it, but it makes more sense than sending Ben in solo,” said Davis. “Sending in a couple is less suspicious than sending in one random guy. I’ve seen others there, families. They could watch each other’s backs. It could work.”
“Is that the professional assessment I pay you for, Galahad?” spat Severance.
“Yes, it is. And when you earn a call sign, then you can mock mine.”
“I think ‘Tiny Dick’ is still on the table…” said Ben.
Davis turned to Ben and Lindsay. “If we do this, I have total operational control. You go in when I say you go in. If I feel you’re not ready, we scrap the mission. If you get in, they will take your phones, so we won’t be able to talk, but I will have a communications protocol in place. You stick to it or I will pull you. If I feel you’re in over your head at any time, I will pull you. And there will be a clock. When the time is up, we will have a strict exfiltration plan and you will stick to it. If you don’t, I will p
ull you. This is pure intel collection, so no heroics or I will pull you. Basically, if I don’t like the fucking weather, I will pull you, do you copy?”
“Copy,” said Lindsay.
“Aye,” said Ben.
“And to be clear, when I say I pull you, that means I come in guns blazing, and people will get hurt. And if I get my ticket punched by a bunch of rednecks after surviving Afghanistan, Agua Prieta, and the Northwoods, the next supernatural creature you fight will be my righteously pissed ghost. This is not a game and it’s not a monster hunt. You two have gotten by so far on luck—”
“Luck?” said Ben, screwing up his face and looking at Lindsay. “We haven’t exactly hit the Powerball over here…”
“I’m serious, Ben,” said Davis.
Ben looked down at the table. “Never mind me. Nervous energy. You’re in charge.”
“Lindsay?”
“Intel collection only, got it.”
“Boss?” said Davis, looking at Severance.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Negative.”
“Very well then.” Severance downed the rest of his drink. “Should make for an interesting spring break.”
“And one more condition,” said Davis, eyeing Ben and Lindsay.
“Name it,” said Ben.
“No cats.”
Chapter 8
“I have a ton of black friends, you know,” said Ben.
It was a week later, and he was sitting in a chair, shirtless, while Davis looked on as a bald man with sleeve tattoos applied an adhesive stencil to his upper back. Ben was already covered in runes and other symbology on his body. A pit bull head, a common white supremacist symbol, was on one forearm, and “Lindsay Forever” was on the other, with a black circle around his ring finger. Lindsay’s ink session had concluded and she was back at her apartment, paying bills, watering plants, and preparing for her week’s adventure. She sported a corresponding “Ben Forever” tag on the same arm with a matching black band. Ben had a few small letters of a rune alphabet here and there on his body for good measure. For every mark, Davis grilled Ben on its meaning. Together the tattoos were an all-encompassing personal canvas: a map of his history, a declaration of his politics, a covenant of his beliefs. For Ben’s “character,” they settled upon an extremist sovereign citizen, believing the U.S. government to be illegitimate, with some racist leanings for good measure. After his surveillance, Davis concluded the camp was not unlike a prison with its diverse population—philosophically speaking if not racially—and this cover would be enough to get him in, but not enough that he’d end up with a hardcore crew inside.
The Devil's Colony Page 5
