by Robert Brown
Then he found something more important to worry about.
The two cars became visible up ahead, parked one behind the other in the middle of the lane. Not far beyond, the road petered out into grass and then bushes. Nick figured it was yet another old road that had fallen into disuse. This entire region seemed to be made up of layers of different eras, the older ones fading with the years but never disappearing entirely.
Ahead and to their right came the sound of voices. Nick couldn’t judge how far they were, just that they came to his ears soft and muffled, so that he couldn’t pick out any words.
They stopped and stared into the blackness of the woods. Nick wondered if Clayton and Matt felt the same fear he did.
A little flame lit up in the direction of the voices. It floated between the trees like a will o’ wisp before another flame was lit. Nick could just make out that it was a candle. The flame bobbed away, winking in and out of sight as its bearer moved behind tress and underbrush. The figure lit another candle, and then another.
After a minute, a dozen candles had been lit, and Nick and his companions could see them—eight figures wearing red robes, their faces hidden by cowls. As Nick had predicted, they weren’t far from the road, perhaps fifty yards at most.
Nick moved forward, his curiosity overcoming his fear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nick moved painfully slowly, squinting in the almost nonexistent light to make sure each step made as little noise as possible. He was aware of Clayton and Matt flanking him, but he had eyes only for his path. All it would take was one twig snapping underfoot and the cultists would hear them. Every few steps, he stopped and watched the gathering in the woods.
The figures moved around the edges of a small clearing, looking confident. They didn’t try to silence their footsteps, and the noise they made helped mask the approach of Nick and his companions. They seemed to be going from tree to tree and lifting their arms.
Once he was a little closer, Nick saw why.
They were hanging the stick sculptures. In the faint candlelight, Nick could just make out the thin forms of men and dogs, a pentagram and horned heads. The cultists hung them near candles so they would be more visible. The candles were set on flat stones, or on tree stumps or in the boles of trees. Each was inside a glass to protect the flame from the breeze.
Nick’s brow furrowed. He didn’t recall finding any candles or wax at the sites he visited, and Clayton hadn’t mentioned that, either. Was this something new? Was this cult still developing its rituals?
After taking a few more steps to get a better view, Nick stopped, prompting the other two to do the same.
Matt nudged him and shrugged. Nick made a calming gesture with his hand. He wanted to see this.
He counted eight of them. They picked the sculptures, one by one, out of a large sports bag. The bright orange bag with its familiar Nike swoosh looked outlandish in such a scene. If it weren’t there, the robed figures, strange art, and candles could have been from anywhere, any time. Medieval Europe, perhaps, or Colonial America. Or something even earlier, something timeless.
A movement beyond the cultists caught Nick’s attention. In the shadows past the reach of the candlelight, he could faintly make out the form of a dog. It stood still, perhaps drugged, perhaps simply confused. Nick supposed it was tied to a tree. The cultists ignored it for the moment.
The cultists no longer spoke. Nick suspected that the lighting of the candles and hanging of the stick figures counted as the first phase of the ritual. The cultists moved in reverent silence, not speaking to one another and obviously distributing the sculptures according to some prearranged plan. This supposition was confirmed when one of the cultists moved to hang a horned head on a branch and another raised a hand, pointing to a tree beyond. The first cultist moved to the tree indicated.
Nick’s heart leapt. So, this really was an organized religion, not just some kids partying in the woods and shocking their Bible Belt neighbors. He’d stumbled on an anthropological gold mine!
But who were they? He could see nothing of them. The robes hung down to their feet, trailing on the forest floor. He couldn’t see their faces any more than he could see their bodies. All he could see was their hands. From those and their movements, he got the impression that they were young, and their hands showed that all of them were white. That last part was hardly surprising. Most people in this county, students and locals, were white.
The cultists all gathered around the bag. They pulled out various sculptures in shapes that Nick didn’t recognize. One person pulled out some twine and a pair of scissors. Cutting several lengths of twine, he or she (Nick got the impression that it was a woman but couldn’t be sure) began tying the pieces together.
After a few minutes, they were done and they put up their masterpiece—a large bird with a wingspan of six feet. This they hung on a tree close to where the dog was tied.
One of the figures moved the bag out of the way and all the cultists formed a circle.
Slowly, silently, they raised their hands. Then, as one, they began a wordless chant. They sang in unison and had obviously practiced. The tones were low, from deep in the throat, occasionally rising to a higher pitch. The song reverberated strangely through the forest. Nick’s skin prickled.
Clayton nudged him. The guy’s eyes were wide, and despite the fact that he clutched a shotgun, he was obviously frightened. Clayton gestured for them to move forward and Matt nodded agreement.
Once again, Nick calmed his companions. He had to see more of this.
The chanting continued for another minute. Then the cultists lowered their hands and fell silent. After a long moment, one of their number reached into his robes and pulled out a Bowie knife. He raised it to the sky and intoned,
“Republic, we curse you. Jackson County, we curse you. America, we curse you.”
“Shall I bring the sacrifice?” asked another cultist, a woman, from the sound of her voice. She said these words not as a true question, but as part of a formula.
“Yes, bring the sacrifice.”
“Will the sacrifice be pleasing to the spirits of this land?” asked the female cultist.
“Yes,” replied the man with the knife. “It will be pleasing to them.”
The female cultist moved over to the dog in measured steps as the others began chanting in the same wordless tones as before. Nick could see that the dog was tied to a tree with a leather leash. It was a medium-sized Labrador Retriever, and it licked the woman’s hand as she untied its leash.
She led it to within the circle. The dog panted eagerly, unaware of its fate and glad to finally be getting some attention.
Another cultist moved to the Nike bag and pulled out a compact video camera. He or she got back into position and turned on the camera.
“To the spirits of the land, we give this sacrifice!” shouted the man with the knife. Two other figures stepped forward and grabbed the dog, which let out a pitiful yelp.
“That’s enough!” Clayton shouted. “Hold it right there!”
He strode forward, shotgun leveled. Matt did the same and brandished his pistol.
If they had been expecting the cultists to raise their hands and beg for mercy, they were soon disappointed.
The cultist with the camera swung to face Nick and his companions. The man with the knife grabbed the Labrador Retriever by the scruff of the neck and picked it up, using it as a shield as he held the knife to its throat.
“Back off or I’ll complete the sacrifice right now!”
“Let that dog go!” Clayton shouted.
With all eyes focused on the cultist with the dog, Nick and his companions didn’t notice two other cultists drawing pistols until it was too late.
The shots came almost at the same time, two sharp cracks that made Nick jump. Clayton’s shotgun roared, splintering a tree a few feet ahead of him. Matt fired twice but was running away as he did so.
Nick ran too.
A couple more shots cracked through the ni
ght air. Nick wasn’t sure who fired them, and he didn’t care; he just wanted out. At first, he ran for the road and the dubious safety of the country store, then realized that the cultists would chase them that way. He veered off to the left, into a darker part of the forest.
He didn’t get far. His foot hit a root and he fell flat on his face.
Nick lay there for a moment, stunned, then checked his ankle. It was sore but seemed all right. Just as he was about to rise, he heard rustling in the bushes nearby and froze.
The rustling passed. Nick hadn’t seen a thing.
He got into a crouch, trying to control his panicked breathing, afraid it would give away his position. He heard another boom of Clayton’s shotgun, and the sound of two cars starting. This was followed by a screech of tires. Headlights winked between the trees, followed by a loud crash and the crunch of glass. Nick got to his feet and stumbled back the way he had come.
The clearing was abandoned now. There was no sign of bodies from either side.
Except for the dog.
The Labrador Retriever lay on its side, a deep gash across its throat. Blood still trickled out of it, and a huge pool of dark liquid soaked its pelt and the soil around it.
Nick gagged. The sculptures hung all around him, twisting in the breeze. The Nike bag, the camera, and the weapons were all gone.
“Professor!” Matt called from the direction of the road.
Nick hurried to his voice, stumbling over another root and nearly falling again. The road was lit up by Clayton and Matt’s cell phones, both of which had their flashlights on.
“Did they get away?” Nick asked.
“Smashed right through that barrier we put up,” Matt said. He swung his flashlight in that direction. The table lay broken on the ground, the rocks scattered. Broken glass twinkled in the light. “Fucked up one of their cars, though, that’s for sure.”
“Is everyone all right?” Nick asked.
Clayton nodded. “Yeah, they were shit shots. Helped that we were well hid in the dark. Wish I could say we did better.”
Nick remembered Clayton blasting a tree right in front of him. He must have flinched from the sound of the cultists’ guns and messed up his aim.
“I wounded one,” Matt said.
“Aw, you didn’t hit shit,” Clayton said.
“At least I didn’t shoot a tree.”
“Shut up.”
Nick cut off their argument.
“They killed the dog.”
For a moment there was silence. Nick led them back to the clearing.
They surveyed the scene for a moment. Clayton cursed and kicked a tree stump.
“Sick motherfuckers!” he shouted. Nick noticed tears in his eyes.
Nick pulled out his phone but couldn’t get any coverage.
“Let’s get back to the store and call the police,” he said, trying to find a signal again.
Matt made a face and put a hand around Nick’s phone. “We can’t.”
CHAPTER NINE
“What do you mean, we can’t?” Nick asked. “We have physical evidence and three witnesses. I talked to the sheriff last week. He’s overworked but he’s a decent guy. He’ll listen. He has to listen. It’s his job.”
Clayton looked around the dark woods. The candles still burned but the shadows hemmed them in like a dark wall.
“Let’s get back to the store, huh? It’s safer there.”
“Yeah, there’s a landline at the store. I saw it,” Nick said. “We can call from there if I still can’t get a signal.”
The lack of agreement from Matt and Clayton confused him. What was going on with those two?
They walked down the dirt lane, stepping over the wreckage of the table and going back to the store. Everything looked normal, with no sign of the two cars except for a trail of glass fragments. It would be easy for the sheriff to track these guys. All he had to do was call all the auto repair places in the county and find out who had brought in either a red Lexus or a gray Nissan.
Matt closed and locked the door behind them but didn’t turn on the lights. After peering out the windows for a moment, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out three beers, handing them out.
They stood under the red light of the exit sign, taking their first sips in silence.
“So why can’t we call the cops?” Nick demanded.
Matt let out a sigh. “Look, bud. What I’m going to tell you doesn’t leave this room, all right?”
“Um …”
Matt looked at him closely. “All right?”
“Sure, sure. All right.”
“I got found guilty of tax dodging a while back. It was a hell of a mess, and it took me until this year to pay it off. At least I avoided jail time.”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“Tax evasion is a federal crime,” Clayton said.
Nick shrugged. “Yeah. Look, I’m not going to judge you—”
“People convicted of federal crimes can’t carry firearms,” Matt said.
“Oh.”
The camera, Nick realized. Those cultists probably got footage of him, and he knows it.
“Wait a minute; so, we can’t get these guys arrested without you going to jail?” Nick couldn’t believe it.
Clayton took a sip of his beer. “For a genius, you’re a bit slow on the uptake.”
Nick threw his hands up. “So, what do we do?”
“Go after them ourselves,” Matt said.
Nick shook his head. “No. No way. You saw what they did to that dog. They’re crazy. We have to call the cops.”
“We can’t,” Clayton said. “Matt will go to federal prison. It’s a fucking weapons charge, Professor. He’ll do years.”
“Do you think they recognized you?” Nick asked Matt.
The shopkeeper nodded. “Probably. I bet they scope out places before they go to them. I get a fair bit of customers coming off the freeway, so I wouldn’t have recognized them even if I saw them without their hoods. They could come in any time and blow me away.”
“What are you going to do?” Clayton asked him. “I’d let you stay at my place, but I don’t have any room.”
“Don’t you worry none about that. I can stay at my cousin’s in Blue Springs. It’s a bit of a commute but I don’t see what else I can do.”
“You’re not going to keep the shop open, are you?” Nick asked. “They could come in any time, like you said. Wait for a time when no one else is in the store and slit your throat.”
Matt patted his pistol. “They’re welcome to try. I’ll blow the head off each and every one of those lowlifes, and I don’t care how much time I do.”
“That’s crazy. Close your shop for a while.”
“And how do I pay the bills? Even if I had all the money in the world, no bunch of freaks is moving me from my home.”
“You’re running a serious risk.”
Matt shrugged. “Well, I won’t be hanging around here tonight, that’s for damn sure.”
Nick had a sudden thought. “Every time they set up a ritual, they take it away as soon as possible, as if they want people to see the results, but they don’t want to leave evidence. Well, they got more than they asked for tonight.”
Clayton cut him off by whooping and raising his beer. Matt grinned and took a slug of his own drink.
“We sure scared the shit out of them, didn’t we?” Clayton asked.
“Sure did,” Nick said, although what he really wanted to point out was these two guys’ bad shooting. “But as I was saying, these cultists are going to come back to clean up. We should wait for them and try to arrest them.”
Matt studied him for a moment, then nodded.
“You’re right, Professor. I’ve got some energy drinks to go with the beer. We’ll stay up all night and wait for those motherfuckers. But I don’t think they’ll come through the way they did just now. They must figure that the people who attacked them will be watching from this shop. I bet they’ll park som
ewhere on the access road and sneak through the woods. We’ll have to wait out there. It’ll get a mite cold, but I’m up for it.”
“I’m up for it too,” Nick said. He thought of Cheryl asleep at home. “Oh, crap. I told my wife I was going out to help a friend and would be right back.”
Clayton shrugged. “Think of some other bullshit story.”
“My wife isn’t like Trisha. She’s a university professor. She’ll see right through me.”
Clayton socked his head. “You saying Trisha is dumb?”
“Well … um … no, I mean …”
Clayton laughed. “That’s all right, bud. Trisha ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Hot bod, though. But seriously, if your old lady is going to give you trouble, head on back. We’ll hold down the fort.”
Nick felt tempted but shook his head. He wanted to see this thing through, and he didn’t want to look like a coward. “No, I’ll stay with you.”
He pulled out his phone and texted Cheryl, knowing she wouldn’t see the message until the next morning. Those sleeping pills made her a sound sleeper.
“Hey Cheryl,” he wrote, “something came up and I won’t be back until the morning. I’m fine. I’ll explain when I see you. Love, Nick.”
Nick bit his lip as he pressed Send. How was he going to explain this?
He’d deal with that in the morning. In the meantime, he had to survive to see morning.
He shuddered, almost dropping the beer, his hand was shaking so much.
“You all right, Professor?” asked Matt.
“Never been shot at before,” he muttered.
Matt put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a scary thing. No shame being all shook up about it.”
Nick looked at him. “You’ve been shot at?”
“Old fight. Long time ago. No one got hurt, thank God.”
Matt didn’t look like he wanted to elaborate, so Nick let it drop.
Clayton chuckled, draining the last of his beer. “I got shot at once, by accident. Almost made me stain my shorts, I tell you.”
“What happened?” Nick asked.
“Aw, not much. I was out in the woods just fucking around, collecting mushrooms and berries one summer a few years back. There I was, just minding my own business, when BLAM, a rifle goes off almost next to my fucking head. Took a big chunk out of the tree next to me. I hit the dirt, and then another rifle goes off not far from the first one. Me, I start screaming and howling to wake the fucking dead. The gunshots stop and these two guys come stumbling out of the bushes, drunk as all get out. When they laid eyes on me, they got all embarrassed and said sorry. Said they thought I was a deer.”