by Merry Jones
‘What? You don’t remember your names?’ Harper poured bottled water onto some bandages. ‘So what happened to you?’
‘You mean the burns?’ They looked at each other.
‘Our campfire,’ Bob said. ‘It got out of control.’
‘We used lighter fluid,’ Pete added.
‘It got on my clothes, and Pete tried to help me, and we ended up on fire.’
‘We had to put ourselves out. Thank God for middle-school fire drills: Stop drop and roll.’ Pete tried to smile, but his face hurt. He couldn’t stop shaking.
‘You know what I think?’ Angela eyed them. ‘I think they got hurt in that explosion but they don’t want to say so.’
Harper wondered. The men were certainly hiding something.
‘We have hot oatmeal. You look like you should eat.’
‘Thanks, ma’am.’ Pete smiled, but Bob interrupted, ‘We don’t have time. No thanks.’
Bob and Pete leaned their heads together, talking in low, urgent voices. They appeared to be arguing. Harper approached them, reached out to place a damp bandage on Bob’s seared nose.
Bob jumped back, slapping her hand away. ‘Hey! What are you doing?’
‘You should cover those burns—’
‘No, we’re okay. No time. We have to go back and get our stuff.’ Bob tried to get up, teetered. Sat back down.
Pete shook his head. ‘Let’s just leave it and get the hell out of here.’
Bob set his jaw, enunciating each word. ‘We need to get our stuff, Pete.’ He tried to stand again. He grabbed onto Pete and pulled himself up, wincing. When he’d balanced, he looked at Harper. ‘You should leave, too.’
They should? ‘Why?’
‘I can’t leave,’ Angela whined. ‘My ankle—’
‘Shh,’ Harper cut her off. ‘Why should we go?’
Bob looked around again, into the trees.
‘Tell them,’ Pete said.
‘They won’t believe us.’
‘But if we don’t tell them, it’ll be on us …’
Bob nodded. He met Harper’s eyes. ‘There’s something in the woods.’
‘A monster,’ Pete said. ‘We’re not lying. Just now, it was chasing us—’
‘It was huge. And hairy. Like King Kong. A giant apeman.’
‘An apeman?’ Angela echoed.
Harper didn’t move. ‘You saw it?’
‘I swear. On my mother’s life.’
‘Me, too.’ Pete blinked rapidly. He was trembling.
So she wasn’t crazy. They’d seen the creature, too. It was real.
‘It’s been tracking us.’
‘I think it’s hunting us.’
‘When did you see it last?’ Harper gazed behind them into the woods.
‘Just now.’ Bob pointed north. ‘Like ten minutes before we ran into you.’ He held onto Pete’s arm, started back toward the trail.
‘Bob, for Christ’s sake. Why do we have to go back …?’
‘We can’t leave our stuff. Our backpacks. Think, for once. We need to take everything with us.’
Pete closed his mouth, nodded. Gave in.
‘Be careful,’ Harper said.
‘You believe us?’ Pete kept blinking. ‘I didn’t think anyone would.’
‘I believe you,’ Harper said.
Bob leaned on Pete’s shoulder as they started off. ‘You two should get the hell out of here,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Before that thing finds you.’
They hurried off, half hopping, half tottering to retrieve whatever they’d left behind.
Hopping with her stick, Angela made her way over to Harper and stood, perched on one leg. ‘You’re not going to leave me here, are you?’
Harper turned to face her. ‘No.’ She went to get the Winchester, though, just in case.
‘Because I don’t believe those two for a second. A campfire? Really?’ Angela plopped down into the folding chair, extending her injured leg. ‘If they got burned by a campfire, I’m Angelina Jolie. No, those two were up to something. Did you see their faces when I asked them about the explosion? How they tried to look all innocent?’
Harper watched the woods for movement, didn’t see anything. She couldn’t wait to tell Hank about the men, though. Now that other people had seen the Bog Man, maybe he’d believe her. She took the Winchester and sat on a fallen log near Angela, who had resumed her non-stop talking.
‘I lived with Stan long enough. I learned how to tell when a man’s hiding something,’ she said. ‘And Bob and Dixon, or whatever their names were, they’re hiding something. I wonder what they’re really running from.’
‘They told us.’ Harper checked the rifle, made sure it was loaded. ‘They’re running from a—’
‘Please stop, Harper. That’s bull. There’s no such thing as a Bog Man. Just like there was no campfire. No. I don’t know why they’re denying it, but I’d bet my ass those two got burned by that danged explosion.’
The sector chief’s landline was ringing again. Another call from the compound. He’d been there most of the night, calming everyone down, organizing them into task groups. He’d finally come home around an hour ago, hadn’t slept all night, and here it was, barely six a.m., and someone was calling to report more trouble. He swallowed the last of the whiskey in his glass, watched the phone ring. What if he didn’t answer it? What if he just let the Hunt Club do whatever it wanted? Seemed like they were doing that, anyhow. How far would they take things? What would they achieve? He was beginning to doubt himself, his aptitude for leadership. Hell, he was beginning to doubt the whole effort. No way they’d really be able to overcome big corporations like the pipeline or gas company. The government was just a puppet of big money, and, if there was money to be made, they weren’t going to let a little local militia stop them from confiscating and destroying God’s natural forests.
He sat in his hand-carved chair, watching the still-ringing phone. Finally, with a sigh, he reached out and picked it up.
‘I found the bastards.’ It was Josh. ‘The bombers for sure, maybe the shooter, too.’
‘Yeah? Who are they?’ The chief sat up, energized.
‘Outsiders. They were having a meeting – that guy who’s been taking water samples? They were all at his tent, having a meeting. A couple of them were hurt – looked like they got burned – must have bungled the detonation. But it’s obvious. We’re dealing with a conspiracy. Outsiders who are planning something. More explosions or more shootings. I don’t know who they work for, but somebody must have sent them.’
‘When was this?’ The chief ran a hand through his hair, processing the news.
‘Maybe twenty minutes ago. I came straight here to call you, but on the way I ran across the bomber’s stash. Guess what was there? Backpacks with a couple of walkie-talkies wired as detonators. Blasting caps. Paraphernalia for setting off explosives.’
Shit. Hot seething rage churned in the chief’s belly, rose up through his chest.
‘So what do you want me to do?’
The chief needed to steady himself. But there was no time. What he wanted Josh to do was capture the perpetrators and rip their limbs off. But he was a leader, not a thug. He needed to remain calm. ‘First, grab their belongings. Take everything.’
‘Done. I couldn’t carry all of it, so I told Ax and Moose to pick it up.’
‘Any identification in it?’
‘No.’
No, of course there wasn’t. There wouldn’t be.
‘Okay. Gather up everybody. Let’s meet again. The compound in half an hour.’
When he hung up, the chief went to the sink, splashed cold water on his face, ran a razor over his cheeks. Was Josh right about a conspiracy? And if so, who was behind it? He toweled off the extra shaving cream, figuring that whoever was behind the bombings wanted to terrorize the locals and convince them to scatter. Could be the government, the pipeline company, the gas company. They were all the same, really; all trying to take over the land and
steal its minerals, and all of them would silence anyone who resisted them.
He peeled off yesterday’s shirt, pulled on a fresh one. Replaced his socks. Grabbed his pistol and some ammunition. Headed for the door. The landline rang again. The chief picked it up, saw that caller ID identified the ranger’s station.
But it wasn’t the ranger who was calling. It was Hiram, using the ranger’s phone, and he was whispering, his breath raspy.
‘Has Daniels contacted you?’ Hiram asked.
‘No.’
The chief couldn’t hear what Hiram said, had to ask him to repeat himself. When he did, the chief understood why Hiram was keeping his voice so low.
The ATF had arrived, along with state police and the media. They were at the ranger’s station, and they were about to enter the woods.
The chief couldn’t take a lot of time, needed to rein in the locals and get in touch with Daniels. He scanned the room, estimated forty or so had shown up. And every single one of them was steaming mad.
‘Josh says they found the bombers’ equipment.’ Mavis barged up to him, right as he was about to call for order. ‘What are you going to do? I say we find those sons of bitches and string them up, set an example.’
‘That would be murder, Mavis.’ He pushed her aside, stepped over to the gong. But she wouldn’t be dismissed.
‘Don’t you dare push me. You may be sector chief and you think you’re the law, but you’re no better than anybody else.’
‘Mavis, please. Sorry if I pushed you. I want to start the meeting, that’s all.’
Ax was yelling at him, too. In fact, it seemed like everyone was. Angry shouts, bared teeth, fiery eyes all focused on him.
Be calm, he told himself. Set an example. He nodded at Hiram, who sounded the gong. People didn’t quiet down, didn’t give a damn about the gong.
Hiram hit it again.
The chief raised a hand, refusing to speak until the room quieted down. Gradually, it did, but even then the tension remained, electrifying the air.
He presented the information he had about Josh’s findings and Hiram’s call. People interrupted, calling out questions. Hiram asked them to wait until he was finished, but they couldn’t contain themselves. He recognized their energy, knew that it was valuable, a resource to be channeled. He reminded them that they were stronger united together than alone and apart, that they shared the same goals. That they were fewer in numbers than their opponents, but that they were powerful in their resolve. He heard the timbre of his voice rise and the vibrato of his words; he marveled at the fluid unplanned phrases that flowed from his mouth like a battle flag in the breeze. When he finished his call to action, the members sat silent, moved. Then they stood, clapping and cheering, lining up in front of Hiram to volunteer for the tasks he’d outlined.
The chief’s vision blurred. His people were responding. He had united them, motivated them. He was really their leader.
Angela kept going on, insisting that the woods were haunted. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you why I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the explosion. Even before that, I could sense evil. Like restless spirits.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Every time I even started to doze off, I swear I saw Phil. I’m serious. He was there, floating out of the woods all bloody and dead, coming back to me.’
Harper tried not to listen. She packed up the supplies Hank had laid out, filled a bag with everything the creature hadn’t destroyed. Hank had already bagged up the rest.
‘And now those boys and you all say you saw a monster last night? Obviously, I don’t believe that. But the fact that all three of you had the same dream or hallucination or whatever you want to call it—’
Harper stiffened. She was sick of having her perceptions challenged. But she didn’t say anything, wasn’t going to engage with Angela.
‘—it tells you that this place is evil. You can feel it, can’t you? It’s in the air, all creepy and damp. Like the dark water and chill of the bog. You can actually see it if you look around you.’
Harper didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it. She gazed into the woods. The sunbeams seemed exaggerated, off balance. The colors of the leaves were too bright, the shadows of the trees too harsh.
‘I don’t see anything,’ she said. ‘You’re just tired. You’ve been through a lot.’ Wow. She was doing to Angela what Hank had done to her – dismissing her impressions.
‘Hah. You wish you didn’t see it, but you do. It’s not just me being tired and imagining things. You see it, too. I can tell you know what I’m talking about. This place is tainted, Harper. Or possessed. The air is filled with evil. It didn’t used to be this way when Stan and I came up here. Then, it was fresh. Clean. It was our retreat from life. But something’s happened. It feels like the forest is alive. Like it’s watching us. I can feel it – like there are eyes in the trees.’
‘Okay, enough,’ Harper snapped. ‘One minute you’re saying there’s no such thing as the Bog Man, then the next you’re saying that trees are watching us? Please, Angela. Stop. You’re only scaring yourself.’ She’d been up all night, thinking about the creature, the explosions and the murders. She didn’t need Angela telling her ghost stories. She went to the tent, took out the rods. Collapsed it.
‘I’m not making this up, Harper. I swear Phil came back last night. I saw him. And I heard his voice, talking to me in the dark.’
Harper didn’t say anything, didn’t want to listen. Wasn’t interested in what Phil had said. Was sure Angela would tell her anyway.
‘He said he didn’t understand what had happened, but he knew something was wrong with him. He didn’t feel good. He asked me to help him.’
Harper began folding the fabric. She wanted Angela to shut the hell up. She didn’t need to hear about a talking murder victim, had her own head full of restless ghosts to manage. Trying to ignore Angela, she focused on going home. On playing with Chloe. Or on riding her Ninja through the hills of Ithaca. But Angela’s voice pierced its way into her thoughts.
‘It was like he didn’t get it that he was dead. I told him, I said, “You’re dead, Phil.” He couldn’t comprehend it. I had to go through it all, explaining that Stan shot him.’
‘You can’t be sure it was Stan.’
‘Oh, yes I am. It wasn’t some local survivalist or a random hunter. It was Stan. I promise, Stan would do anything to mess me up. He saw Phil out there near the clearing and took his shot.’ She was adamant. ‘Hey, Harper. Can you get me more coffee?’
Harper got Angela’s cup, refilled it with hot water, stirred in some instant.
Angela sipped, commented that it was bitter. ‘No offense, but your husband makes it better. But I need something to warm me.’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘I can’t stop shivering.’
Harper left the tent half folded, unfastened a sleeping bag and wrapped it around Angela’s shoulders. The woman was annoying, but she’d just lost her husband and was injured, possibly in shock.
‘Hank will be back soon with help,’ she assured her. ‘They’ll get you to a hospital. You’re going to be fine.’
‘Will you sit with me?’
Of course she would. Harper went to the stove to fix herself a cup of instant, reached for the pot of hot water. When it exploded inches from her hand, she didn’t think. She reacted in combat mode, hitting the ground and rolling away, seeking cover, looking around for the Winchester. Angela was screaming, but Harper couldn’t help her yet, had to assess the situation. What had made the pot explode? Maybe it was nothing. Maybe the stove had malfunctioned, startling them. But damn, where was the rifle? She lay flat beside a log, peering out over the top. Saw nobody, but found the Winchester beside the tent, ten feet away. Crawling toward it, she glanced at the stove. Saw the pot on the ground, dented. Shimmied ahead, belly to the ground, listening to Angela moan that she’d been right, that the woods were possessed by evil spirits. Harper kept moving; the Winchester was almost within reach.
But she
didn’t get there. In the same moment, two things happened: Angela stopped shouting, and strong hands took hold of Harper’s ankles, hoisting her into the air.
There were four of them. All men, all dressed in flannel shirts, down vests, caps and jeans. And three of them pointed rifles at Harper as she hung upside down.
‘Put me down,’ she commanded, trying to sound powerful.
The guy holding her was laughing. ‘Look. She squirms like a trout,’ he said.
Angela was wailing.
‘Anybody else here?’ One of the men walked toward the stream, searching, aiming his rifle into the trees.
‘Don’t see anyone.’
‘Where are the others?’ The question came from Harper’s ankles.
‘Put me down,’ she demanded. Blood was rushing to her head. She swung her arms, pounding her fists against his legs. He jiggled her.
‘Tell me where your friends are.’
‘What friends?’
He started twirling, letting Harper fly around him like a tetherball on a string. She sped, the ground racing under her – blurred fallen leaves, the edge of their tarp. The other men’s shoes. The man holding her was laughing.
‘Ax, enough. Put her down,’ someone said.
‘Hell, no. This is fun.’ He whooped.
‘I said, enough.’
When he set her down, the world kept spinning. Harper seethed, trying to get her balance back. Trying to locate the Winchester. Had they found it? Could she get to it? Who were these men? She needed to take them down.
‘What do you want?’ Angela’s voice had risen an octave. ‘We’re just weekenders. We haven’t done anything. Don’t hurt us …’ She was yammering.
‘Shut up. You’re worse than my old lady.’ One of the men aimed a rifle at her face.
‘I’ll ask you again.’ The one they’d called Ax stooped beside Harper. ‘Where are your friends?’
‘What friends?’ Harper glowered.
