by Merry Jones
Yes, as far as she knew.
‘Do you think he was hiding evidence? Possibly covering for locals responsible for those deaths?’
She had no idea. She thought of Angela, wondered if she should tell them about what she’d heard in the bunker. Decided to wait. Didn’t have the energy for yet another line of questions. Harper rubbed her eyes, slumped in her chair.
‘Ma’am, I know you’re tired. But there are a lot of unanswered questions here, so indulge us for another couple of minutes.’
Sure.
‘We know that the explosion started just outside the compound, near the entrance. Two locals who are members of the Hunt Club were found tied up in a shed not far from there. You know anything about them?’
No.
‘These two say the shed was used to stockpile the Hunt Club’s ammunition. They say two young men ambushed them there and stole some powerful explosives not long before the blast.’
Harper said nothing.
‘They said the men were outsiders, named Pete and Bob. Do you know anything about them?’
Pete and Bob? The same Pete and Bob who’d run into her campsite, freaked out by the Bog Man? Was that possible? She chewed her lip. Remembered their burns and Angela’s suspicion that they’d set off the explosion the night before. But those guys were panicked, harmless. Running for their lives. Why would they have gone into the compound and stolen explosives?
‘Do you know anything about those young men?
Harper hesitated. ‘Not really.’ She didn’t really, other than that they’d been afraid of a guy in a Yeti costume. ‘I might have run into them earlier, but they said they were taking off. Going home.’
Byrnes eyed her. ‘You ran into them?’
‘If it’s the same two, they passed through my campsite on their way back to the campgrounds. They were leaving, so they shouldn’t have been anywhere near the compound. Were they? Were they hurt?’
A pause.
‘One survived. But he’s not conscious.’
They watched her reaction, then made eye contact with each other. Harper couldn’t read their expressions. Didn’t try. She put her head back, shut her eyes for a moment.
‘Okay, let’s wrap this up. What do you know about the Hunt Club’s arsenal?’
‘Nothing. Except what you’ve told me.’
‘What about the membership? Slader say anything about their plans?’
‘Sorry. Nothing.’ Except that they were going to either skin her and the others alive or shoot them.
Agent Meyer sighed, crossed his arms. Byrnes rubbed his eyes. ‘Well, thanks for your time, Mrs Jennings. You know, there were over sixty people there. Only fifteen survived. You were lucky.’
Yes, she was.
‘As we said, you’re still in shock. Your memory might not be functioning clearly. So—’
‘Definitely,’ she answered before he could finish. ‘I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.’
The agents thanked her and escorted her out of Daniels’ office. They invited Hank in next, which left Harper in the outer office, sitting next to Angela.
The media had gathered outside the ranger’s office, waiting for updates. They’d been joined by campers, state cops, hunters. People who lived nearby. Gas company and pipeline officials had taken over the snack shop.
Hoping to doze off, Harper turned away from the window, closed her eyes. Saw broken bones poking through flesh, auburn hair – or maybe blonde colored by blood.
In the chair beside her, Angela fidgeted. Her ankle had been set in a boot, her head wounds stitched and bandaged. ‘When will they let me go home? Haven’t I been through enough?’
Harper didn’t answer. Angela’s whines scraped the inside of her skull.
‘Isn’t it enough that I’ve lost my husband? And broken my ankle? And gotten shot, dropped on my head, and kidnapped? No. Now, they’re making me sit here for hours, waiting. Not that I have anything to go home to. How can I face all of Phil’s things? His empty galoshes? His buttermilk? I don’t know how he could stand that stuff, but he lapped it up.’
Harper didn’t engage, didn’t tell Angela that she could drop the act. That she had been busted. She watched the door to the inner office, wishing that Hank would reappear so they could leave. Thinking of Chloe, remembering the smell of her hair.
‘You’d think they’d at least have interviewed me first. I should have had priority, being as I’m a widow. Don’t they have any consideration? I can’t even move with the bandages. The doctor said the gunshot was superficial. It sure doesn’t feel that way. Lord, how long do I have to sit here? I have a funeral to arrange. Oh, and a notice to put in the newspaper. And I have to get the death certificate. Call the insurance agent. And Phil’s boss, and his sister. Poor old Phil. Well, it’s Stan’s fault. I hope he fries for killing Phil. Him and Cindi both.’
‘Oh, cut it out, Angela,’ Harper finally snapped. ‘Stop blithering.’
Angela looked slapped. ‘What?’
‘Because you did it.’
Angela’s lower lip twitched. ‘Did what? I don’t – what are you talk—’
‘Cut the crap. I’m tired. You know damned well what I’m talking about. You practically confessed when we were down in the bunker.’
‘I did not. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Angela stiffened.
Harper turned and faced her. Realized she’d have to spell it out. ‘Phil,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t Stan. It was you.’
‘What? No – it was Stan.’
‘Stan didn’t do it. He had no motive. You killed Phil.’
‘But it was Stan’s gun—’
‘You snuck into Stan’s campsite, took the gun, and returned it after you shot your husband. You knew where Stan was camping—’
‘No – I had no idea he was even there.’ Angela’s voice went up an octave. She rearranged herself on the chair.
‘Really? Because you knew he hunts here every weekend, every fall. And that he camps in the same spot. The two of you camped there for years.’
‘So? That doesn’t mean anything.’ Angela shook her head. ‘Besides,’ she sputtered, ‘why would I kill Phil?’
‘How should I know? Was there an insurance policy?’
‘How dare you!’ Angela blanched. ‘I’m not talking to you any more.’
‘Fine.’ Harper leaned back against the wall, slumped down. ‘But you’ll be talking to the agents. And then to the cops.’
‘Oh God, what have you told them?’
‘I told them nothing. Slader figured it out for himself and the others will too.’
Angela hesitated, eyed Harper. ‘Well, you might think you know what happened. But you don’t. And you can’t prove it.’ Angela’s voice was low, like a growl.
Harper didn’t comment, saw no reason to.
‘And neither can Slader, being as he’s dead.’
The crutch swung up in an arc and came down fast. Harper wasn’t expecting it, wouldn’t have thought Angela strong enough to assault her or foolish enough to try it with ATF agents in the next room. But there it was: the crutch speeding straight toward her skull. Harper’s reflexes kicked in, and even before she’d comprehended what was happening, her arms went up, deflecting the blow, sending the crutch clattering onto the floor. And Angela along with it.
By the time they got back to campsite to pack up, it was late afternoon. Hank helped Harper finish folding the tent. They didn’t talk much as they packed up the stove, the coffee pot. The folding cots and sleeping bags. Tarp. Chairs. Rifle. Hank’s soil and water samples.
When everything was tied into bundles, they took a final walk down to the creek, sat on a fallen log. Hank put an arm around her. Harper leaned against his shoulder.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘You?’
‘I’m glad we’re alive.’
Harper took a breath, felt her lungs fill. She was glad, too.
‘That was something.’
What was? Which thing?
‘You broke Angela’s friggin’ arm.’
Harper looked up at him. ‘It wasn’t me – she fell on it.’
‘You sent her flying.’ Hank’s eyes twinkled. He gave her a squeeze.
‘I’m glad they finally let Stan go. But honestly, I pity Angela’s cell mates. Having to listen to her for life? That’s cruel and unusual punishment.’
Hank chuckled. They were quiet for a moment, watching the reflections of red and yellow leaves on the water. Harper watched the colors morph into bobbing blood and flesh, bits of exploded bodies. She thought of Ax and Moose. Annie. Captain Slader. Josh, the Bog Man. The other locals, so many of them dead. She clutched Hank’s arm.
‘I keep thinking that I should have sensed something in those guys, Pete and Bob. I should have stopped them—’
‘What could you have sensed? You couldn’t have stopped them.’
Obviously, Hank was just saying that. Trying to stop her from feeling responsible for what had happened.
‘They didn’t seem even a tiny bit threatening. They were running away from the Bog Man, practically wetting their pants they were so scared. It’s hard to believe they were here setting off bombs.’
And yet, police had found maps of the pipeline and anti-fracking literature in their car. Along with blasting caps and walkie-talkie packaging. According to Daniels, who’d spoken to Pete, the survivor, the two had set off the first two explosions trying to blow up the pipeline, and then had broken into the Hunt Club’s arsenal, tying up the guards and stealing substances far more powerful than they’d realized or known how to handle. In the end, they’d blown up not the pipeline, but the compound and dozens of people, including one of them.
Water rippled over rocks and mud, along tree stumps. A squirrel darted across a branch. A spiderweb glistened in the sunlight. The woods were busy and alive, as if nothing had changed.
‘Ready?’ Hank asked.
Very. Harper stood. Hank started up the path, but, hearing a rustle in the bushes across the creek, Harper glanced back. And froze.
It was at least seven feet tall, covered with fur that was dark as a shadow, camouflaged by the shade of the trees.
Maybe she was imagining it. She blinked, but it didn’t disappear. It stood by the creek, watching her with shiny eyes. Neither of them moved.
Harper tried to call for Hank but couldn’t open her mouth. Couldn’t make a sound. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself; it was just a costume. Maybe Josh’s – but no. Josh had been killed in the blast, his costume burned and torn, the leg extensions destroyed. So, if not Josh, who was she looking at? Harper stared. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Couldn’t trust her eyes.
‘Harper? Coming?’ Hank called.
The creature startled, let out a sound that was neither a bark nor a howl. And as swiftly and silently as it had appeared, it dashed away.
Harper kept blinking, peering into the woods.
Hank came back down the hill. ‘What’s up? We ought to—’
‘I know. It’s nothing.’ She still didn’t move. ‘I’m coming.’ The Bog Man. She’d seen it, hadn’t she? Should she tell Hank? Would he believe her?
The woods across the creek didn’t stir.
But the leaves rustled overhead. Trees surrounded her, obstructed her view. Closed her in.
Harper turned, hurrying, almost running up the path. ‘It will be late when we get home.’ Her voice was faint.
‘What did you say?’
‘Chloe. She’ll be asleep.’
‘Let’s stop by Trent’s and pick her up anyway. She probably won’t wake up.’
No, she probably wouldn’t. Harper thought of Chloe sleeping, her steady breathing. Her trust that her world was safe and loving.
‘That way she’ll wake up in her own room, and we’ll all be together in the morning.’
Harper picked up her backpack, the folded chairs and the tent. Hank got the rest. She kept her mind on the morning. On Chloe. They would say goodbye to Ranger Daniels, dodge the press, and take off, leaving the woods and what happened there behind. All that mattered was that they were together. And alive.
