Beneath the Ashes

by Dea Poirier

  I can see that. I know it would never change the way I saw her, but guys in a station . . . it’s hard enough for them to take most female officers seriously as it is. The second a woman has a baby as an officer, all any of the guys ask is when she’s going to quit to stay home with the baby.

  “One of my friends is staying the night with her,” she says, motioning toward the house. I take that as my signal to back out of the driveway.

  As we drive, she tells me the story of how she got pregnant at sixteen and gave birth, then raised her daughter all alone. Everyone assumed Harper was Austin’s sister, born shortly before her mother OD’d. Because of the nature of small towns, Austin made sure to keep her pregnancy under wraps. She wouldn’t let herself fall into the stereotype of a teen mother. It made her determined to become something and someone else. And I understand it—well, as best as I can as someone on the outside looking in. I look at her life and wonder if it’s something Rachel could have had. When my sister died, she was pregnant. A fact I would never readily reveal to anyone who didn’t need to know. Noah understood this and left the details out of his article. But I can’t help but wonder where Rachel would be. She’d have a fourteen-year-old by now. I can’t imagine being the aunt to a kid that age. I don’t know that she’d have been the best mother, but she would have tried harder than ours. An ache grows inside me, a longing for the life that could have—should have—been.

  I pull off Route 1, my headlights illuminating the mist roiling across the highway. Darkness swallows the pine trees lining the road, coiling in front of us. In this light, the houses on either side are shrouded, soft shapes in the night. There are no streetlights. Nature grows up around us, houses becoming more scarce as we close in on the preserve.

  We turn onto a dirt road and find several cars parked along a trail that curves up through the trees. I take it as our sign to get out and hoof it. My car wasn’t made for four-wheel drive. It’s not like we could make it far if I went off road. My stomach flutters with unease and excitement as I throw the car into park.

  “There’s no cell signal. We need to be careful to stay together,” I say.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time hiking up here. Chances are I’ll be fine, but I’ll make sure to stick close,” she says as she grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

  “Good,” I say before slamming my door. If one of us gets lost in these woods tonight, with the temperature in the teens, we may not survive.

  A worn dirt path, rutted from ATVs or jeeps, stretches in front of us, cutting a gash between the trees. The pines tower above us, their iced tips catching the moonlight as they twist in the breeze. About a hundred yards ahead, figures walk up the mountain, their silhouettes outlined by moonlight. What sounds like miles in the distance, the low growl of an engine rumbles, stripping away the silence that cloaks the night. The fingertips of excitement crawl up my spine.

  We trail behind the other patrons moving through the darkness, and I’m happy I don’t have to worry about coordinates or instructions to turn at a boulder. I’ve always found landmarks difficult to follow. We’re far enough behind the other attendees that they don’t seem to notice us at all. Based on how many cars there were at the mouth of the trail, my guess is it’ll be pretty easy to blend in. Hopefully no one recognizes Austin from her job.

  “Have you ever hiked out here at night?” I ask. Strictly speaking, most of the hiking trails and preserves are off limits at night unless you’re camping, but I know most people treat that as a suggestion rather than a rule.

  She shakes her head. “I’ve thought about camping out here. But I don’t think Harper would be up for it. Maybe in a year or two.”

  I try to imagine what it would be like to plan my entire life around a child. But I just can’t picture it. Maybe I never will. After all, the world would have you believe that once a woman turns thirty, her ovaries turn to raisins.

  “So what’s the deal with you?” she asks, side-eyeing me as the trail ahead of us begins to climb. At the end, the sound of engines cuts through the night. Adrenaline buzzes in my blood as we approach. About a hundred yards ahead of us, an orange glow backlights the trees, illuminating nature and bodies alike. They’ve got a huge bonfire going.

  “The deal with me?” I ask, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

  “Are you married, involved, got seven kids hidden back on that island?”

  A low laugh rolls out of me. “I’m seeing someone; that’s it. No secret kids.”

  “Is it serious?” she asks.

  I consider that, unsure how to answer, and finally settle on “I’m not sure yet.”

  We close the distance between us and the fire, and the scene begins to take shape. In front of the fire, beyond the flame, torches flicker, set up every twenty feet or so, outlining the makeshift track. Once we finally reach the ring of spectators, I see the track stretches to our left as well, cutting away into a path in the trees. Night crowds around the scene, a shifting, dark force that tickles the edges of the orange glow around us, as if desperate to press in farther.

  A line of ATVs is set up in front of us in several rows of five, about fifteen vehicles in total. Fifty or so people circle the fire like fish swarming a lure. Several stragglers move north, following the path of the torches on foot. And I realize that there must be others stationed along the track to watch. It takes a long time for them to disappear, swallowed by the night, but I watch them the entire time.

  To my right a familiar figure clad in leather pants and a motorcycle jacket is bathed in dancing light. Tegan glances at me and gives me a nod of recognition. But her stance and the look on her face make it clear I am to stay put. I have no intention of approaching her.

  I keep my eyes peeled, watching everyone who has gathered. Tension is heavy in the air, thicker than the smoke coiling up from the bonfire. Several people with helmets obscuring their identities, clad in black jackets, approach the ATVs and straddle them. Not being able to see their faces makes me study them for a long time. I’ll have to keep an eye on them when the race finishes. It takes a few minutes for everyone to find their rides. When they do, the night ignites into a chorus of roaring engines so loud it makes my teeth ache. The ground vibrates beneath my feet, and I clench my jaw as the noise rolls through me in waves.

  A woman in a red plaid jacket steps in front of the rows of racers. I’m sure she’s saying something, counting down, maybe, but it’s too damn loud to hear anything. The engines surge, roaring louder; dust skitters as tires spin. The whole line explodes into movement, a cloud of dirt and rocks hurling backward. They rush past the woman, sending her hair whipping around her. They fade into the woods, twisting around a bend, taking the deafening sound with them. But my ears still ache, as if expecting it to return at any moment.

  Instead of watching the race, I scan the crowd. Chances are I’m looking for a lone man watching the women a little too closely. As I look over the gathered crowd, they seem to shift as dancing light from the fires plays across them. There’s no one here alone. Everyone seems to have come with a group. All the groups hover around the fire, moving together like they’re in orbit around the warmth.

  To my left, the engines roar again, creeping closer, and they whiz by, doing another lap. And I realize I have no idea how long one of these normally lasts. They circle again and again, until finally a woman who’s nicknamed herself Moira the Destroyah comes in first.

  With the race over, I take the opportunity to pull Trent’s photo from my bag. I move through several of the groups, flashing the picture. In the first two no one has seen him. In the third group, a man with long dark hair and a thick black beard nods that he’s seen him before.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask, signaling for him to join me away from the group.

  He follows me. We stop a few feet away from his friends. His shoulders are hunched against the cold, his black jacket pulled up around his neck.

  “I’m Jacob,” he says, offering me his h
and.

  I introduce myself, and his eyes go wide. “I’m here investigating a crime.”

  “Oh,” he says, glancing to everyone else.

  “Not this—I’m not here to break up these meetings. This is unrelated to these meet ups. When is the last time you remember seeing this man?”

  Jacob tips his head to the side as his brows come together. “A couple weeks ago. He was here hovering around Melanie. He seemed really interested in her.”

  “Did they leave here together?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention to that.”

  “Did you see him here with anyone else?” I ask, not wanting to lead him too much.

  He shakes his head. “No, I only saw him.”

  “Thank you,” I say, trying not to let my disappointment reach my words.

  I finish up speaking with Jacob, then ask a few more people lingering around about Trent, but no one else has any information about him or someone he might have brought along. I edge over to Tegan, who is looking more relaxed than when I arrived. She eyes me as I approach. “Who manages the texts that go out for these gatherings?”

  “Moira,” she says, gesturing to the woman who won.

  “You notice anyone here out of place?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “Or someone who was at the last two of these?”

  She glances around the group, doing a slow turn. Then she offers me a shrug. “No one that stands out.”

  “Keep an eye out for me?” I ask. Austin hovers at my side. I turn to her, but before I can say anything, Moira saunters over. She flashes a toothy grin to Tegan, her teeth so white they look bleached.

  “Did you see that shit?” Moira booms as she grins at Tegan. Tegan laughs, an authentic belly laugh. These two are clearly friends. “Who’s this?” Moira asks when she finally notices Austin and me.

  “This is Claire and Austin. They’re friends of mine,” she says.

  Moira raises a brow at that. “Friends?” She scrutinizes us, as if trying to see if we pass a litmus test.

  “You manage the texts that get everyone here?”

  She nods. “Why? Who’s asking?”

  “I just want to know if you keep a list of names and numbers, so you can match up who is who,” I say carefully. Moira seems a bit edgy, and I don’t want her to think that I’m here to shut her down.

  She crosses her arms as best as she can with the helmet dangling from her right hand. “Nope, it’s all completely anonymous.”

  I pull out the picture of Trent. “Do you remember this man signing up for the texts?”

  “No,” she says a little too quickly. Her attention snaps back to Austin. “Do you two ride?” she asks, motioning toward the ATVs while looking between me and Austin. Clearly, she’s not interested in answering any more of my questions.

  I shake my head, but Austin takes a step forward. “No, but I’ve always wanted to.”

  Moira looks her up and down. And based on the pucker of her lips, I can’t tell if she approves until she asks, “Well, isn’t it about time?” She holds out her hand, and Austin takes it. I want to ask if it’s a good idea, if she should, but she’s swept away too quickly.

  Moira climbs on her ATV and signals for Austin to climb on the back. She hops on without hesitation, slinging her arms around Moira’s waist.

  “Is that safe?” I ask Tegan.

  “As safe as anything else.”

  She retrieves a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lights one. The cherry glows in the low light, a thin flame compared to the pinpricks of light all around us. The fire blazes and crackles, the heat of it lashing against me. My body seems to be at war, the cold nipping at my back while waves of fire heat my face.

  The engine roars, and Moira charges into the darkness with Austin clinging to her back, hair flowing behind them. As they disappear, I search the spectators again. The small groups are dispersing, everyone headed in separate directions.

  The sound of the engine growing again draws me back from my thoughts. Austin clings to Moira as they come around a curve in the trees. The ATV lurches as if it’s hit something, maybe a hole in the dirt. My heart jumps into my throat, and time seems to slow as I watch Austin fly from the back. She hits the ground, and I swear somehow I can hear the hollow thud of her body slamming against the dirt over the roar of the engine. For what seems like a full minute but is probably seconds, everything stops. The ATV, the movements of everyone around me. It’s as if the world is holding its collective breath.

  Moira hops off the back of the ATV and shouts something, but her voice is drowned out by the engines still roaring all around us. She rushes to Austin, and then her eyes flash to me and Tegan. This time I read her lips.

  “Help.”

  Austin doesn’t move. She’s on the ground about thirty yards from me. The bonfire crackles to my right and breaks the trance shock shrouded me in. Everyone runs to her at once. My mind flashes to every single corpse I’ve seen laid out before me. And she looks no different. Her pale skin glows orange from the fire. Her hair is matted in the back, and red seeps from her scalp. Blood. I know the risks of moving her, but I have to get her to the hospital. There’s no cell service out here. She needs help and fast. My training kicks in, adrenaline organizing my scattered thoughts.

  “Tegan, Moira, we need to get her on the ATV so we can move her to my car. I’ve got to take her to the hospital.” The idea of taking her to that hospital makes my stomach turn. But there aren’t any other options—where we are is too remote. I’m not even sure we can find her an urgent care facility at this time of night.

  Tegan and Moira help me load Austin on the back, and we drive her slowly down the slope of the trail to my car. Cold wind lashes at me as we pull away from the bonfire. My stomach twists, and unease floods me. My skin is clammy from the horror welling inside me. I keep my hand on the side of her neck, feeling the subtle flutter of her heartbeat. She’s alive—for now. Hot, thick blood oozes onto my hand, my arm, soaking through my shirt. I know that head wounds bleed—a lot. But still, seeing it like this makes a lump swell in my throat. When we get her close to my car, I throw open the back door, and we carefully lay her on the seat.

  She groans, a low, pathetic sound, as we set her down. But I take this as a good thing. The dead don’t groan. Tegan climbs into the passenger seat while I shove the key in the ignition. I flash her a look.

  “You’re going to need help getting her into the hospital,” she says.

  “Are you sure you’re not just coming to be sure I don’t squeal about your club?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “I don’t care that much about it. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” Tegan glances at the back seat as I throw the car in gear. “Or worse.”

  Dirt and rocks are spit out from my spinning tires when I pull out onto the trail that led us into the preserve. I haul ass back toward town. Once my phone has service again, I call Sergeant Pelletier and the hospital to let them know we’re coming. Sergeant Pelletier has the same reservations about the hospital I do. But there’s nowhere else to take her. All of the urgent care options are too far away or closed at this hour.

  I fly down Route 1 and turn into the medical center fifteen minutes later. Every few minutes, Tegan has checked Austin’s pulse and breathing to be sure she’s still with us. I pull through the parking lot and under the emergency awning and honk the horn several times. I shut off the engine and open the back door just as several nurses emerge with a gurney.

  “This is the officer?” the first nurse asks me, a tall woman with auburn hair, pale skin, and deep-brown eyes.

  “Yes, this is Officer Harleson,” I say. It occurs to me that after she’s all checked in, I need to go to Austin’s house to let her friend know what’s going on. Austin will need someone to stay with her daughter while she’s here.

  They whisk her off. I pace the waiting room, a twenty-four-hour news channel blabbering in the background, but it does nothing to distract my racing mind. Twenty minute
s later, Sergeant Pelletier arrives, and after I catch him up, I take a few minutes to call Noah.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice thick, groggy. Clearly, I woke him up. I glance at the time on my phone—nearly three thirty in the morning. I should have checked before I called.

  “I’m in the hospital,” I say, but before I can continue, he cuts me off.

  “Shit, are you okay?” His voice is clear. He’s wide awake now.

  “It’s not me. It’s Austin.” I explain to him what happened at the ATV race.

  “Do they know if she’ll be all right?”

  “We don’t know anything yet. They’re still evaluating her. Having her in this hospital makes me so nervous.”

  “I know,” he says; then the words seem to die on his lips. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “But this could be a good thing. It could draw someone out.”

  Though I can’t deny that I’ve considered it, I’m not going to play games with her life. “Noah.” My voice is sharper than I mean for it to be. “I’m not using her as bait.”

  “I didn’t mean as bait. But if someone approaches her . . .” He trails off.

  But I won’t cling to what he said. I won’t. I’m never going to knowingly put someone I’m working with in danger. Especially not my partner. However, I will make sure that Austin is on guard. Though Trent may not be able to get to her, if he was working with someone else, that person could still be looking for victims. We all need to keep our eyes open to see if anyone who shouldn’t takes an interest in Austin.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back. So get some sleep,” I say, wanting to derail this line of thinking before it really gets started.

  We say our goodbyes and end the call. I return to the waiting room just as a doctor approaches Sergeant Pelletier. He’s got on teal scrubs, a color much too cheery for the situation. It’s a doctor I’ve never seen here before. The badge clipped to his pocket reads Dr. Haresh. His dark eyes are grim when I approach, and my stomach bottoms out. Anxiety settles inside me heavier than stones, and a cold sweat prickles my brow.