by Hart, Alana
“I think everyone is afraid of it. At least at first,” Deacon said, sadly.
She closed her eyes and the truck fell silent a moment. “What if that’s why they died?”
Bennett and Deacon both spoke in unison. “What?”
Catherine remembered the phone ringing in her Uncle’s shed, thinking it must be some coincidence, some explainable accident – “What if they weren’t hunting accidents? What if someone was hunting them because of what they were?”
Bennett shook his head, unwilling to accept such a notion.
Deacon frowned. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Catherine stared back at him as Bennett’s truck pulled up to the metal gate at the Fenn property.
“Do you remember what happened to you last night? How you ended up in my Uncle’s shed?”
Deacon frowned. “No. I got called to the shore down by the rez and when I got there, nothing. I do remember John in the shed after, though.”
“When?” She asked, and the hopeful panic was clear in her tone.
“It was dark. I think it was the middle of the night. I heard him calling me through the doors. Then I heard him drop, and a minute later, he was piled on top of me and they put me back to sleep.”
“How did he know you were in there?” Catherine asked, trying to imagine when he’d come back to the house – why he hadn’t come to get her first.
“He must’ve smelled me in there.”
She sighed, realization hitting.
“Then someone came today, and they were trying to move me, but I was still too tired. John made them take him instead. Saw him get up and go with them.”
Catherine fought to still the lump in her throat, pulling and tightening there, demanding release.
“Was it my Uncle? My grandfather?”
“Dunno. All I saw of anyone else was they had big hands when they were grabbing a box off the workbench.”
Bennett hopped out of the truck, trying to maneuver the mechanism of the massive metal gate. It made a screeching sound as he pushed it fully open, then he returned to the truck.
“Bennett,” she said.
“Yes?”
“What does Bodie keep in boxes on that workbench?”
Bennett glanced back at Deacon, then at her. “It’s a bullet making station. It’s all just bullets.”
Catherine frowned and her words came with a strange calm. It was the calm of certainty. “They’re hunting him. We have to find them now.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bennett took a moment. He wanted to protest and argue against the idea that the Calhoun men – his own family would ever be capable of that kind of darkness. Yet, Catherine could see it in his eyes that he knew it to be true.
“I don’t want to think that my blood is what ended Mrs. Fenn. I just can’t.”
Bennett pressed his palms against his eyes, as though he might push the tears back in.
Catherine reached for him, rubbing his arm. “Ben. Come on, Benny. I need you to get your head on straight and help me.”
“What can I do? I’m the son of the guy who had Deacon in his fucking shed and I didn’t know!”
“Yes, but you’re also the person in the world who knows your dad best. Come on, where would he take John?”
“What?”
Bennett’s mind was frazzled. She could see something cracking every time he mentioned his father, something dark there. She recognized the behavior well. Her mother behaved like that when she mentioned Charlie. It was the behavior of the abused.
“Did he ever take you hunting? Does he have a camp somewhere? A place he likes to go?”
“What? I don’t know! I’m not like him, I don’t know.”
Catherine swallowed, fearing that panic and the ripples of a lifetime of trauma were going to block him from being of any use. The need to stay calm steadied her, but with each lost moment she spent trying to calm her cousin, John was alone somewhere, and in danger.
“Just think. Just take a deep brea -”
“For fuck’s sake! You’re the kid who used to protect me on the fucking schoolyard. Start acting like it! My brother could be dead by the time we get there if you don’t get your shit together!” Deacon was officially awake.
Catherine cringed, but felt a strange satisfaction to hear someone speak her mind so clearly.
Bennett swallowed, and took a deep breath as he was told. “Alright. I’ll bring you home -”
“The fuck you will! I’m coming with you guys. I might be busted up a bit, but there’s no way I’m leaving the search for John to two bipeds.”
“Alright. Alright,” Bennett repeated softly to himself, nodding. Then, he threw the truck into gear.
“Where you going?” Catherine asked.
Bennett rolled away from the Fenn property, no one caring that the gate was left open.
“Parkhurst Lake,” Bennett said.
She glanced back at Deacon, working to flush the image of John in the lake from her mind. From the look on Deacon’s face, he was busy doing the very same thing.
No one spoke on the drive across Blackrock, Bennett careening down the familiar roads as he always did. Yet, something had changed in him as he drove through the center of town. There was a stillness to him now, like a man with a purpose. The emotional wreck he’d been a few moments before had given way to a stone golem, only answering questions in grunts of yes and no. Catherine didn’t have the mental fortitude to worry about him. She didn’t have room for worry, at all.
She was keeping a vigil in her mind; a constant chant to summon whatever gods might be listening.
He’s fine. He’s safe. We’re going to find him in time. He’s fine. He’s safe. We’re going to find him in time.
“Stop the truck!”
Bennett slammed on the brakes as they rounded the southern end of the Parkhurst Forest. This patch of woods surrounded the lake on three sides, covering a dozen square miles of land. Deacon leaned forward from his seat, the previous groggy behavior now gone, and in its wake an almost unnerving awareness. He pushed his head past Catherine’s ear, inhaling deeply. Then he was out of the truck in a second, climbing the shoulder of the road toward the woods.
“Where are you going?” She called after him, hastening to unbuckle her seatbelt and follow suit.
“John was here. Don’t know how recent, but it’s strong enough that I’m pretty sure it was today.”
Catherine’s heart leapt. She began to look at the woods with new eyes. Every tree trunk, every leaf had the potential to be sacred. Had he touched this? Had he brushed past? Was he hurt, was he running? Was he a man, or was he -?
Bennett hopped out of the driver’s side and stopped at the truck bed, going through a built in compartment before stuffing something in his pocket. When he finally joined them on the hillside, he trudged past them, his work boots leaving gouges in the pine needles on the forest floor.
“Where are you going?” Catherine asked as she and Deacon followed him.
He jutted out his chin, gesturing ahead. “The logging road’s up here about a mile. Dad parks the truck there when he’s out hunting. If they’re here, we’ll find the truck.”
Deacon glanced at her, his brow furrowed with concern, but they both followed in silence. The flat ground cover of fallen pine needles made for fast movement, the three of them making good time through the woods. They didn’t speak, but instead moved up and down the hills, creeping through the woods, as Deacon lifted his head from time to time, breathing deeply.
Catherine listened for any sound, any movement in the trees. Yet, the forest seemed strangely quiet, as though it too was craning to listen for something.
Suddenly Bennett crouched down behind a tree, moving forward a few more feet before reaching back to her. She joined him, her face just at his shoulder, following his gaze down the hill. The chrome and black paint job of Uncle Bodie’s truck glinted in the little moonlight visible thr
ough the trees. Catherine gasped, aching to scream John’s name and hear him respond. She turned back to share this moment of hope with Deacon.
Deacon was gone.
“At least we know they’re still out there,” Bennett said before spitting on the forest floor. “Come on. Let’s go check the truck.
Catherine glanced back again, scanning the woods for a sign of Deacon. Yet, he was gone, as silent as though he’d never been there. Bennett marched right up to the truck, throwing all caution and discretion to the wind. He opened the driver’s side door, the sing song chime of the truck echoing through the quiet forest, proclaiming the door open and the keys still in the ignition. Bennett leaned in and pulled them out, tucking them into the pocket of his jeans.
“What are you doing? Sh!” Catherine hissed, coming around the truck to him. She darted her eyes down the logging road in each direction, waiting to catch a glimpse of Uncle Bodie – or John. Despite knowing Bodie her whole life, he suddenly felt like a stranger – like a dangerous thing.
Bennett slammed the truck door shut, his demeanor so strange, so apathetic that she was beginning to grow angry with him. He snapped his fingers at her, holding his hand open to her.
“What?” She asked, her frustration clear in her tone.
“Phone. I need a light.”
Catherine offered up her iPhone and Bennett quickly turned it to the ground, shining it along the road side in either direction. He walked in one direction a few feet, then back. Finally he stopped by the truck door again and handed her phone back.
“He took off that way. Single set of footprints. They didn’t chase him.”
Catherine exhaled a shaky breath. “Are you sure?”
Bennett rounded the end of the truck and glanced into the bed. “Was a scout until I was nineteen, cuz. Guns are gone, too. We need to be careful.”
She swallowed a cry, watching Bennett move with this new, strange confidence. Then a thought struck her. “They? They didn’t chase him?”
Bennett shot her an expressionless look. “Grampy wasn’t home, either.”
Oh God, she thought. I made him breakfast this morning! Please God, don’t do this to me.
“Now, the question is – do you want me to track him, or do you want me to track them?”
“Him! I want him!”
Bennett nodded. “I know, but I’m concerned that if they’re tracking him, he may have made efforts to throw them off. They’re not gonna be expecting anyone following them. Easier to find.”
Catherine nodded, following his logic. “And if we find them, we can maybe buy him time to get away?”
“Where the hell is Deacon?” Bennett asked, finally noticing his absence.
Catherine shook her head. “He’s gone.”
Bennett took a deep breath, then turned down the logging road, deeper into the forest. Catherine followed close behind, silent. She listened, trying to be everywhere, to see everything as they made their way another hundred yards down the road before turning into the brush and trudging off trail. Catherine kept pace with Bennett, handing him her phone as he made his way through the trees. He flashed the phone’s light ahead of him, suggesting it after Catherine voiced her concerns for getting shot at. The woods gave up so little of her secrets as they trudged along, Catherine keeping close to Bennett’s heels, despite glancing over her back, constantly hoping Deacon would catch up. He could smell them after all.
“God damn it, Pop! I’ve heard enough out of you!”
Bennett and Catherine dropped to the forest floor instantly, ducking so as not to be seen. They could hear the heightened voices, but could not yet see them. They were moving, Bodie’s familiar voice railing at Grampy Calhoun.
“You tired old fuck, I’ve told you again and again. I know what I saw. Now you step up the pace and shut up or he’s gonna hear us. I swear to god if we lose him because of you, it’ll be your body they find washed up tomorrow.”
“There ain’t no reason to do the fellow harm. He ain’t done no harm to us.”
Bodie’s voice seemed strange, a different nature to it. Bennett had often spoke of his father’s temper when they were younger, but Catherine had never witnessed it herself. Now, she could hear a cold edge to his words, and the sound sent shivers up her spine.
Catherine caught sight of movement between the trees; two figures moving through the woods. As her eyes focused on the shapes, the smaller one turned on the bigger one, and punched him square in the gut. Grampy Calhoun crumpled into a tree, doing all he could to hold himself up. She thought of the bruise on his back that morning when she helped him into his sweater and her blood boiled.
“Hey!” She screamed, not knowing the word was coming until it was loosed.
The figures startled around, looking into the darkness. She didn’t bother flashing her phone at them, she was too pissed to think clearly.
She took off in their direction, marching like a pissed off drill sergeant. “You think you’re some kind of tough guy, hitting an old man like that?”
“Jesus Christ, Catherine. I could’ve shot you out here,” Bodie said, and though his tone had softened, an almost syrupy sweetness to it, it was clear he wasn’t happy to see her.
“Grampy, are you alright?”
Catherine crossed the distance between them in another four strides, reaching for her grandfather. His fingers tightened around her wrist as his eyes met hers. There was urgency to the look and he spoke softly, as though for only her to hear. “I’m fine, dear. You go on home. You go on home right now, alright?”
“What the hell are you doing out here, anyway?” Bodie asked, setting his hunting rifle over his shoulder.
She wrapped an arm around her grandfather, trying to make him lean on her, but he pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. “Go on home, Catherine. Go on now.”
“Why don’t you two take me, then?”
Grampy’s mouth fell open, but he couldn’t speak.
Bodie met her gaze, sporting a smirk she wanted desperately to knock off his face. “Well, you had to have gotten here somehow? Who are you with?”
Catherine glared him down, smiling in an expression her mother called her ‘wiseass face.’ “John Fenn brought me.”
Grampy grabbed her arm, urging her again to go home.
Bodie just chuckled to himself. “Shut up, Pop. She’s not going anywhere. Come here, girly. Let me show you how to track. Maybe you can help us catch something.”
He took hold of her arm, pulling her toward him. She fought to free herself, but he dug in his fingers, bruising her with his malicious grip. This was the Bodie Bennett told her about.
“You’re hurting me!” She cried, meeting his gaze as he glared at her, as though gaining some relish in watching her pained reaction.
“You should’ve stayed at home,” Bodie said, shoving her into a nearby tree. Her forehead slammed into the tree bark, splitting the skin there before she toppled onto her ass. She pressed her hand to her face, feeling the warmth of the blood seeping there. Despite the knowledge of what Bodie intended to do to John – to Deacon - somehow the thought that he could hurt her had never crossed her mind.
Suddenly, the woods were more terrifying than any bear.
“Enough now, Bode. She’s no trouble to you. Leave her be.”
Bodie turned on his father, pointing a finger. “Do you want another go?”
Grampy’s big hands splayed before him, he shook his head. The great goliath she’d once known was now timid and afraid, old age having made him frail and dependent on this beast of a man. Catherine felt her throat growing tight, thinking of the years since Grammy Calhoun died; years that her grandfather must’ve spent locked away in Maine with a son that abused him, and no one to know, no one to come check on him, save for a grandson just as beaten down as him. She remembered how startled she was when he beamed at her, agreeing instantly to the thought of her moving in. She’d thought he just wanted a maid, someone to c
ook for him – what he really wanted was to be saved.
Bodie nudged her with his knee. “How’d you get here, Catie?”
“I told you already.”
Bodie nudged her again, this time with the butt of his rifle. “Answer me with the truth now, girl.”
She glared up at him, letting the blood drip down the bridge of her nose. “Or what? You gonna hurt me? Fuck you. I’ve had Charlie Meeks for a stepfather for the past eleven years. I’ve seen worse than you could ever dish -”
Bodie took two steps past her and socked Grampy Calhoun in the jaw. He dropped like an anchor in calm seas.
“You fucker!” She screamed, jumping to her feet, ready to lunge for him. He braced, smiling.
“Enough!”
They both froze, turning toward the source of the sound. Bodie moved quick to turn the gun, but Catherine knocked it from his hands, sending it skittering into the brush as John Fenn stepped out from the trees.
Catherine let loose a sob, the sight of him stirring something so deep that it took all of her to contain.
John was alive.
Bodie stood there a moment, watching John like a man watches a storm. She glanced between them, waiting for someone to speak.
John glared at Bodie. “It takes a special kind of man to hit his elders.”
Bodie snorted, spit toward John, and as they both watched the spit falling toward the ground, Bodie lunged across the brush, headed straight for his gun. Catherine took off, grabbing John as she barreled past him, pulling him with her, deeper into the woods. A sound like thunder broke the quiet of the woods, followed by splinters of tree bark and wood flying over her head and raining into her face.
Her own Uncle was shooting at her.
Grampy Calhoun cried out after them, begging Bodie to stop, but Catherine could hear the man behind them, running through the woods on some hell bent mission, crashing through the brush. John held her hand tight in his, his long legs carrying him faster than hers could. Still, he wouldn’t leave her behind.
“Go! Just go! Get to the road and get help!” She said, forcing it out between labored breaths.
