by Jack Kilborn
Duncan leaned closer to Josh, pulling out of his mother’s protective hug.
“Will you take me muskie fishing?”
“Sure. I’ll take you and your mom.”
Duncan made a face. “Mom doesn’t like to fish.”
“Mom does like to fish.” Fran tousled Duncan’s hair. “She likes sitting on a boat, casting into the water. Mom just doesn’t like to catch fish.”
“It freaks her out,” Duncan explained. “Whenever she gets a bite she screams and hands me or Dad the pole. But we haven’t gone fishing since Dad died. When will you take us?”
“We can talk about that later.” Fran suddenly became cool. “Josh is a busy man. Very busy.”
Josh winced. Fran was giving him a dig because he never called her for another date. They’d gone out only a few times, but Josh had fled from the casual relationship before it developed into something deeper.
“Fran, about that. I owe you an explanation.”
He waited for Fran to say, “No, you don’t.” She didn’t. He went on.
“I told you about Annie before.”
“Who’s Annie?” Duncan had shuffled even closer to Josh, their legs now touching.
“She was the woman I was going to marry, but she got really sick. Before she died, she made me promise something.”
“What was it?”
“She made me promise that I’d live a long life.”
Josh pictured the hospital scene in his mind, holding Annie’s hand, her last wish that he wouldn’t die young like she had. He felt his eyes well up.
“That sounds like a big promise,” Duncan said.
Josh cleared his throat. “It was. And I took it very seriously. But then I became a fireman and planned on becoming a paramedic. I wanted to move to Madison, or Milwaukee. Someplace where I could make a difference.”
“But you make a difference here in Safe Haven,” Duncan said.
“How many fires have there been in Safe Haven? Well, before tonight?”
“None.”
“Exactly, none. So I wanted to go to a bigger city, where I could really help people. Save some lives. But because I made that promise, I decided I would stay here.”
“When was this?”
“About a year before I met you and your mom. And I kept my promise to Annie, I didn’t go to the big city. But I realized that was wrong. I wasn’t happy. I needed to go someplace else, someplace where I could do some good. So I started taking paramedic classes, and as soon as I finish I’m going to move out of Safe Haven.”
“Is that why you stopped dating Mom? Because you were leaving?”
“That’s why.”
“Mom said it was because you didn’t know a good thing when you saw it.”
Josh glanced at Fran, who was trying to control a smirk. He said, “Sometimes we know good things, Duncan, but we run away from them anyway.”
“I think—JOSH!”
Josh reacted instantly, slamming on the brakes, his hand shooting out in front of Duncan so the child didn’t pitch forward. The Roadmaster fishtailed, tires screeching, and then skidded to a stop on the gravel shoulder. Josh stared at the road, wondering what animal he’d almost hit. A possum? Raccoon?
Whatever it was, it hopped onto the hood and screeched, making all three of the car’s occupants jump in their seats.
“It’s … a monkey!” Duncan said.
A small, cinnamon-colored monkey, no more than a few pounds. It walked up to the windshield, knocked on it, and waved.
Duncan clapped his hands together. “That is so cool!”
Woof stuck his head over the back of Josh’s seat and woofed at the monkey. The monkey began to hoot, sounding a lot like an owl. Woof’s ears went up, and he began to howl, low-pitched and earnest. The animals continued this off-tune duet until Fran told Woof to sit down. The dog licked her face and complied, curling up into a ball on the back seat. The monkey clapped its hands, apparently pleased with the performance.
Duncan scooted forward, putting his hands on the dashboard. “We need to catch him.”
“That’s not a good idea, Duncan.” Fran rolled up her side window, even though it was barely open a crack. “Monkeys bite. And they carry diseases.”
“But look, Mom! He’s got a collar! He belongs to someone. I bet he’s lost.”
The monkey nodded his head, like he was agreeing with the boy. Duncan poked Josh on the shoulder.
“What do you think, Josh? Should we help him?”
Josh didn’t know of anyone in town who kept a monkey or any place in the area that sold them. Perhaps some tourist had lost him during summer vacation. Ultimately, it didn’t matter where the monkey came from. They had more pressing things to do than chase someone’s missing pet.
“I think we should leave him here, Duncan. Maybe his owner is nearby, looking for him.”
“But you said you wanted to help people. He needs our help. He’s all alone out here.”
Josh looked at Duncan and felt his will bend.
“Okay, we’ll help. I’ll check to see if he’s tame. Wait in the car.”
If the evening hadn’t been surreal enough, chasing a monkey put a nice capper on everything. Josh exited the vehicle and closed the door behind him, gently to avoid the loud noise. He smiled at the monkey and slowly held out his hand, feeling more than a little ridiculous.
“Hey, little fella. My name is Josh. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The monkey walked up to Josh, stuck out his own hand, and gripped Josh’s finger.
He wants to shake hands, Josh thought, amazed. He complied, keeping the motion easy and deliberate. The monkey then hopped onto Josh’s arm.
Josh stiffened. His first inclination was to shake the creature off, as he would any strange animal that latched on to him. But this monkey didn’t appear hostile. If anything, it seemed completely at ease. Josh kept still while it climbed up to his shoulder. Then it sat there, tiny hands running through Josh’s hair.
“I think he’s tame!” Josh heard Duncan yell through the car door.
Josh stood there for a moment. The monkey made no attempt to bite his ear off and didn’t seem sick or lethargic. Josh glanced at Duncan’s face, which had lit up to 120 watts.
“He seems safe,” Josh said to Fran. “But I won’t bring him in the car unless you say it’s okay.”
Duncan spun on Fran and began hitting her with mile-a-minute begging. Josh watched Fran sigh.
“Okay. But only until we locate his owner. And if he gets uppity, he goes.”
Fran received a big hug from her son, and then Duncan was opening up Josh’s door.
Josh sat down carefully, trying not to jostle the primate. Before he’d gotten halfway into the car, the monkey had leapt off his shoulder and into Duncan’s lap.
“Easy, Duncan,” Josh warned. “Don’t try to grab him. Let him get comfortable with you.”
The monkey held out a hand, just as he had with Josh. Duncan took it.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Duncan.”
After a customary shake the monkey reached out for Fran. She grasped his tiny monkey paw with two fingers and introduced herself. He pumped her hand up and down. Fran’s laughter filled the car, sweet and musical. Josh grinned.
“He’s got a tag on his collar,” Duncan said. “His name is Mathison.”
Upon hearing his name, Mathison chattered in an obviously social manner. It sounded like a bird chirping. This prompted Woof to stick his nose over the seat for a sniff.
“Be good, Woof,” Duncan commanded. “He’s our friend.”
Mathison extended a hand to the dog. When it wasn’t shaken, he patted Woof on the head. Woof apparently decided the proceedings weren’t that interesting, because he withdrew and went back to sleep.
“Mathison is a New World monkey,” Duncan said. “We studied them in school. They come from South America. You can tell because he has a tail. I think he’s a cappuccino.”
“That’s capuchin,” Fran gently
corrected. “And it looks like he’s got a scar on his head.”
Fran moved to touch it, and Mathison screeched at her, batting her hand away.
“Sensitive little guy.”
“I bet he’s hungry,” Duncan said. “Capuchin monkeys eat fruit and bugs. We should stop someplace.”
Josh marveled at Duncan’s resilience. Earlier he’d been shot at by his babysitter and almost burned alive. Children were remarkable. Josh and Annie had talked about having kids. If things had turned out differently, he would have wanted one like Duncan.
Josh started the car, checked his rearview, and then pulled back onto JJ. The turnoff onto the main highway was in a mile or two. Then, on to the ER. Josh wondered what would be open this late where he could get some monkey food. A gas station, probably. Pick up some peanuts, or raisins, or maybe fresh fruit. There was a Farm and Fleet that sold livestock feed. Maybe they would have—
“Thank God.”
Fran pointed to the road ahead. Josh saw the blinking red and blue lights in the distance. Lots of them. He cut his speed, waiting for them to approach.
Oddly, they stayed still.
“Why aren’t they coming?” Duncan asked.
Josh didn’t know, and he didn’t like it. He slowed down even further, then had to brake. Both lanes were blocked off with orange traffic cones and neon-yellow barrels. Josh pulled up to them and noticed two rows of steel stinger spikes on the asphalt, extending out into the woods on either side of the road. Josh had watched enough TV to know that police used the spikes to blow tires during high-speed chases.
Josh gazed beyond the roadblock. Parked fifty yards ahead were four police cars, several army Humvees, and an honest-to-God tank.
“DO NOT GET OUT OF YOUR VEHICLE! TURN AROUND AND HEAD BACK IN THE DIRECTION YOU CAME FROM!”
“Why do they want us to go back?” Duncan asked. He scooted closer to Josh again.
“I have no idea, Duncan.”
Josh reached for the door handle. Fran grabbed his arm.
“Maybe you shouldn’t do that, Josh.”
“What are they going to do? Shoot me?”
He opened the door and three shots punched through his driver’s-side window. The megaphone boomed again.
“STAY IN YOUR VEHICLE AND TURN AROUND!”
Josh’s pants were peppered with tiny square bits of glass. He noticed his hands were shaking. Next to him Fran and Duncan were ducking down, covering their heads. Mathison had jumped into the back seat, where he and Woof huddled together on the car floor.
What the hell were these people doing, shooting at civilians?
“I’m driving a woman and child!” He yelled through the open door but decided to keep his head inside the car. “They need medical attention!”
“TURN YOUR VEHICLE AROUND!”
“Damn it, we need help! We’ve been attacked! We need to get to a hospital!”
“YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO TURN AROUND, THEN WE’LL OPEN FIRE.”
Josh stared impotently at Fran, not knowing what they should do.
“We have to go,” Fran said.
“Where?”
“Maybe we can park someplace and walk to the road.”
“There are at least thirty army guys out there. They have a tank.”
“I thought the army was supposed to help us,” Duncan said.
“YOU NOW HAVE FIVE SECONDS!”
Josh had no choice. He backed up and continued driving backward until he felt safe enough to close his door and make a three-point turn.
“Now what?” he asked Fran. “This is the only road in and out of Safe Haven.”
“We could go back to my neighbor’s house. There’s obviously something going on. It looks like the authorities are aware of the situation. Maybe we should lie low, wait it out.”
Josh wasn’t convinced. He tried to come up with a scenario where the military would put up roadblocks. A quarantine of some kind? Were Bernie, Taylor, Santiago, and Ajax here to spread some sort of germ or poison? Or was this a media blackout, ensuring news didn’t spread? That could explain the phone problems they’d been having—someone might be jamming the signals and blocking the land lines.
“You need to see a doctor.” Josh stared at Fran so she could see how serious he was. “As soon as possible. Duncan does, too. And I’m not sure going back to Safe Haven is a smart idea.”
“How about Doc Wainwright?” Duncan asked. “He gives me my shots every year.”
Doc Wainwright had a clinic in town, open Tuesday and Thursday. The other days of the week he divided his time between Shell Lake and Eau Claire.
“He won’t be open now, Duncan,” Fran said.
“Can’t we go to his house? He told me he lives on the lake.”
Josh considered it. Wainwright had a house on Big Lake McDonald, on the shore opposite the Mortons’. But Fran needed more than a few stitches and some antibiotics. She needed surgery.
Still, Wainwright was better than not doing anything.
“Doc Wainwright it is,” Josh said. He hit the gas and then had to slam on the brakes once again to avoid hitting the man standing in the middle of the road.
Streng and Erwin walked the still-docile Bernie over to the sheriff’s Jeep. Streng locked him in the back and tossed the McDonald’s bag full of Bernie’s things onto the floor of the front seat. Then Streng turned his attention to Sal Morton’s house.
“He twisted off Sal’s head, Sheriff. Like a bottle cap.”
Streng had no reason to doubt Josh. And he really didn’t want to go back into that house and see what his cousin had seen. But he’d dropped his .45 on the roof, and he’d feel much safer riding with Bernie if he had it back.
“Erwin, you and Olen come with me, help find my gun.”
Erwin’s face pinched. “I really need to get to the junior high, Sheriff. If those soldier guys have the mayor, then that whole lottery story could be BS. My fiancée is there.”
From what Streng understood, much of the town had gone to that lottery thing. Surely there was safety in numbers. But Streng wasn’t going to prevent Erwin from looking after his own.
“Okay. I’ll meet you there after I drop off Bernie at my office. If anything strange is going on, grab your girl and run.”
“You don’t need to tell me twice. See you later, Sheriff.”
“Good luck, Erwin.”
The men clasped hands, but it felt forced. Or perhaps final. Then Erwin headed back to the Honey Wagon, and Streng again focused on the house. His recent bad experience prompted memory flashes of fear and panic. He pushed those memories aside, shined Olen’s dirty flashlight at the front door, and made himself walk toward it.
Darkness and silence greeted Streng as he entered. Though the commonly accepted veteran stereotype spoke otherwise, Streng never had posttraumatic stress disorder, never had any kind of flashbacks. He’d seen some horrible things in the war and still had occasional bad dreams, but he managed to escape Vietnam with both his mind and his body intact.
Stepping into Sal’s house, though, brought back a feeling he hadn’t experienced in more than thirty years. The hell that was patrol.
Streng hated patrol. You had an equal chance of dying no matter how quiet you were, how careful you were. During those nighttime missions Streng felt like he had a hundred bull’s-eyes on his body, each one with rifle crosshairs zeroing in on a different body part. Nowhere to hide, and running was useless. The Cong were part of the jungle, and every tree, every rock, every shadow had deadly potential. All you could do was stay low and hope.
That same feeling enveloped Streng as he crept into Sal’s house for the second time that night. The feeling of being watched, hunted. Except this time he didn’t have a gun, just a Ka-Bar knife. Not that it mattered much. If Santiago was waiting in the shadows, Streng doubted anything less than a rocket launcher would keep him at bay.
He took the stairs slowly, shining the light on each step so he didn’t trip, pausing every three steps to listen. Stren
g’s injured kidney throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Halfway up the staircase the odor of death hit, and hit hard. Streng switched to breathing through his mouth, which didn’t help much. He pressed his hand hard against his aching side and ascended to Sal’s bedroom.
A snatch of childhood skipped across Streng’s mind, him and Wiley and cousin Sal, climbing the fence to the Safe Haven cemetery on Halloween night to prove their preteen bravery. Streng, the youngest of the trio, had been terrified, and before they took more than a dozen steps on hallowed ground he froze, refusing to move.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Sal had told him. “Everyone here is dead.”
“I’m not afraid of the dead,” Streng remembered saying. “I’m afraid of what made them dead.”
Streng thought he’d come a long way since those childhood years, a long way from being a grunt, from being a rookie cop. But much as a man matured, he stayed the same man. With the same fears.
The sheriff of Ashburn County steeled himself as best he could, pure will forcing emotional detachment, refusing to be swayed by the horrors that he would witness. Then he went into the bedroom.
There was blood. A lot of blood. Painted in black Jackson Pollock madness, thrown across the bedspread, the walls, the carpet.
But there were no bodies.
Streng’s shoes made squishing sounds as he walked to the closet, its sliding door closed. He opened it fast, stepping back, pointing the flashlight inside. The beam exposed some hanging shirts and a laundry hamper.
Where were they? Who could have taken them? Santiago and Ajax didn’t have time to dispose of the bodies—they’d been right behind Streng and Josh. Unless …
Unless they came back for them.
The gray hairs on Streng’s arms pricked out like a porcupine, and he had that tingle/surge in his belly that brought instant flop sweat. He could feel the sniper rifles aimed at him, ready to fire, and knew he had to get out of there as fast as possible.
Streng spun and saw Santiago standing in the doorway.
“I guessed you’d come back for your car,” he said.
I’m going to die, Streng thought. Horribly.
He wanted to ask what happened to Sal and Maggie, but his throat closed up. That was good—it prevented him from weeping. From begging.
