by Cathy Ace
Both children nodded.
‘We should have brought the hand with us, Dad,’ said Becky quietly. ‘What if they find it?’
‘Let’s not worry about that now, eh? There’s nothing we can do about it. Let’s just try to make ourselves comfortable; we could be here for some time.’ Dave tried not to sound tired, but he was. The strain was beginning to get to him.
Dave noticed that Becky was edging toward him, so he reached out to her, and pulled her into his arms. He could see she was holding onto something; he suspected it was her stuffed dog, but he didn’t mention it.
‘Dad, they won’t . . . hurt us, will they,’ she asked, looking up at her father with fearful eyes. She might have been born thirteen years earlier, but she could have been a four-year-old at that moment. Dave’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Everything will be fine,’ he whispered, and Becky relaxed a little, but Zack still looked anxious; he, too, had become a little boy again.
‘Dad, do you think these are the people who killed the guy we found?’ asked Zack. It was the question on all their minds, and Dave supposed someone had had to say the words out loud.
‘I don’t know, son. I hope not, because I’m sure that whoever could bring themselves to do that to another human being isn’t going to be a very nice person. But I think we’ve done the right thing, clearing out of the way of whoever is on that boat.’
‘Yeah,’ said Zack sounding nervous. ‘It sounded like they had guns. We’ve got a gun, haven’t we, Dad?’
‘We have, Zack – but don’t worry, everything will be fine. I won’t have to use it,’ said Dave, hoping he wouldn’t.
Below them, down at the shore, they could hear the boat’s engines had stopped; Dave could imagine the boat being tied up at the pier. It was clear to him there were at least three men; they weren’t exactly shouting to each other, but the peace of the area was so profound that their voices rang out clear and loud. He strained to hear every word.
‘Keep your ears open for names and anything that might tell us who they are,’ instructed Becky, suddenly becoming a teenaged sleuth again.
‘And keep your voices down,’ added Dave.
Both children settled into more comfortable positions, and Dave let his daughter pull free from him; she seemed to be rallying. It was difficult to catch the entire conversation between the three men; Dave thought he heard the name Steve, but it could have been one of them talking about Stave Lake – another local beauty spot – for all he knew. The voices floated about on the cooling night air. One thing was certain – there were so many references to ‘him’ there was no longer any doubt in Dave’s mind that these men had come to either retrieve, or bury, the dead body; he reckoned these had to be the guys who’d killed the man, shot his face away, and cut off his hands and feet.
‘It sounds like they’re going to bury him,’ said Becky, astutely.
‘I wonder why they didn’t do that in the first place,’ said Zack, quite conversationally – which was, in itself, unusual for Zack.
‘Maybe they didn’t have shovels with them when they killed him,’ replied Dave, immediately regretting his words. Luckily all he got was a pair of, ‘Yeah’s’, rather than two horrified children.
‘I reckon up there’s best,’ said a man’s light tenor voice. It sounded so close that it made Dave freeze; Becky reached out for her father’s hand, and squeezed it.
‘Nah, it’s too dark. Jeez, you’ll kill yourself – it’s a hell of a hill, eh?’
‘But it’s too rocky to dig down here,’ came the first voice again.
‘Stop arguing!’ It was the third man’s voice – deeper than the other two, more assertive. Dave reckoned this guy was in charge. ‘We’ve got to get him away from the shore, so he don’t float out into the lake. And we’ve gotta get him away from this cabin. Let’s find a place along the shore and up into the trees – but not under the big trees, ’cos there’ll be roots in the way.’
Dave agreed with his logic.
‘Look, there’s a kinda clearing here,’ came the first voice again.
‘That’s not a clearing, it’s a trail. Jeez, can’t you tell the difference?’ said the second voice, mocking the first speaker.
This man’s accent wasn’t local. It sounded to Dave like a Maritimes accent; he worked with some guys from there, and that was how they talked.
‘You’re right,’ said the ‘Boss’, his deep voice booming in the darkness below them.
He’s definitely French Canadian, thought Dave.
As Dave looked out from the platform, with his ears straining for every word, a part of him noticed the sunset staining the sky with smudges of yellow, gold and red – the night sky darkening above it, with tiny points of light beginning to peep through the deepening blues.
‘Beautiful sunset,’ he whispered to his children who looked up at the black silhouettes of the cedars against the painted sky; they both, surprisingly, nodded and smiled appreciatively. He hoped they would remember the beauty of this trip, not the horror and fear of it.
But he was apprehensive; what if the men decided to follow the trail to dig the grave for their victim? What if they happened upon the tree house? Dave told himself there was no point worrying; he had to save all his energy for dealing with what was actually happening, not ‘what-if’s’.
‘I’m a bit cold now, Dad,’ said Becky quietly, ‘I’m going to pull the blanket around me. Do you want to share?’ she asked her brother, uncharacteristically.
‘Yeah,’ replied Zack, equally out of character.
Dave smiled inwardly; it took something like this to get them to huddle together in a blanket. Amazing.
‘Come on, let’s try up here!’ came a loud voice. It was the Boss, and it sounded as though he was pushing through the brush directly toward the tree house. Dave, Becky and Zack all held their breath.
The crashing and cracking of branches, and the cursing as one man or another fell over a root or a branch, seemed to be getting extremely close, but Dave couldn’t see the gleam of a flashlight anywhere, so he didn’t have a real fix on the men. The noises seemed to get nearer and nearer, then, after what seemed like an age, the voices grew more muffled and, as far as Dave could make out, they’d gone away to their right.
Zack started pointing silently in the same direction, and Dave nodded. There was no doubt about it, they seemed to have picked a spot to stop; then Dave recognized the sound of shovels being pushed into the soil.
Dave was embarrassed that his kids could hear the disgusting jokes the men were telling each other as they dug, and he could have killed them for the language they were using. But he knew his kids would survive all that; in fact, he suspected they probably heard much the same at their school every day, kids being what kids had always been.
By the time the men stopped digging, the darkness was total. There was a slice of moon hanging low in the black sky, but it cast very little light.
‘Let’s get back down for a few cold ones,’ the Boss said; the other two men agreed with him.
As Dave and the children stared into the darkness where they thought the men had been digging, they finally caught sight of a light, wobbling about at ground level. The men crashed their way back toward the shore. Dave wondered how they expected to get the body all the way back to where they’d been digging – he didn’t think he could have found a spot in the dark that way. But he told himself that wasn’t his problem; his problem was keeping his children safe, and, now – as the night chilled off – warm, and in some sort of comfort. He was hoping the actual burial wouldn’t take too long, but, when the men got back to the shore it was clear they were in no hurry to even begin that task.
Dave peered at his watch; the luminous hands told him the men had been drinking beer for at least half an hour. He wondered if they’d ever get on with their gruesome job.
‘Can I get some cookies?’ was Zack’s quiet request.
‘Can you reach the bag with the food?’ asked Dave of Becky
.
‘Sure,’ she whispered, and pulled one of the three bags toward them. It fell open, and the cookies in their airtight plastic box rolled out and bounced across the platform sounding like a drum in the night. Becky stopped, dead. The three of them held their breath, expecting the men at the shore to have heard the noise.
Somewhere close by a bird flew up into the black sky and cried aloud. Then there was a shot from below them. Becky grabbed her dad’s arm. She looked terrified.
‘Stop messing about!’ shouted the Boss’ voice.
One of the other men whooped and shouted, then it became clear they were, indeed, finally setting about their task of burying the body.
Dave worked out from their conversation that the three men had brought a tarp upon which they had placed the body; it seemed the Boss was leading the way, with the two other men dragging the tarp behind them. The noise was tremendous as they hauled their charge through the undergrowth; once again there were stumbles and curses along the way, but, somehow, they seemed to find their way back to the spot where they’d been digging.
‘Toss the bastard in,’ shouted the Boss; there was a sickening thud.
Becky’s eyes were wide with fear when she looked up at her dad. He winked at her, and she smiled, weakly. They were all getting used to the dark by now, and the light from the rising moon, even though it was just a slim silver hook in the sky, was bright enough for them to at least see each other.
As Dave looked across the platform at his children he could see two worried little faces poking out of a large, heavy blanket. They looked so small, huddled together, swathed like that; so scared. And he had brought them to this. He wondered if they’d ever forgive him; he could live with not forgiving himself, but if they blamed him for this, what would that mean for their relationship? It had been tough enough to get them to come with him in the first place; now there was . . . all this. Dave’s stomach churned; what if they never wanted to go anywhere with him, ever again?
He was back to pondering ‘What-if’s’, and he told himself not to worry, but he did. He didn’t think things would ever be ‘fine’ again. Not really.
They listened as more shoveling took place, then the Boss finally agreed that a good enough job had been done to deter the wild animals from digging up the corpse. Once again the men blundered their way back toward the shore.
Maybe now they’ll leave, hoped Dave. But he was wrong.
It seemed that more beer needed to be consumed to celebrate a ‘job well done’ as the Boss put it, and the men sat around talking and laughing for ages. Dave wondered at their callousness, then told himself he shouldn’t be surprised, not after what they’d done to their victim in the first place.
Dave’s watch told him it was just gone eleven o’clock when the murderous trio finally started up the boat once again. The relief of their departure washed over him when he heard the boat finally pick up speed to head off into the main part of Pitt Lake, having cleared the extensive shallows.
Dave and his children shared a group hug and all cheered – but still at the whispering level. It had been the longest four hours of Dave’s life.
Daring a slightly louder whisper Dave said to his children, ‘Look, I know they’ve gone, but I still think we should stay here.’
‘But Da-ad, it’s real uncomfortable up here,’ whined Zack, ‘and I’m starving.’ Dave was delighted that his son seemed to be back to his usual self.
‘Have a few of these,’ said Becky, offering her brother a handful of trail-mix bars.
‘I’ve had loads of those today – I’ll have the most painful crap of my life when they all come out,’ said Zack glumly.
‘Hey – enough of that sort of talk,’ chided Dave. ‘I know we’ve been treated to some pretty bad language tonight guys, but I don’t expect that type of thing from you.’
Zack grunted.
‘I won’t tell Mom about the language,’ said Becky, meaning to be helpful, but reminding Dave that, somehow, he’d have to explain all this to Debbie when they got home.
‘Good girl,’ replied Dave, grateful for at least that small mercy.
‘Why can’t we go back to the cabin, Dad?’ asked Zack.
‘Because it’s pitch dark down there and I covered the trail with branches; it’s too dangerous to risk it in the dark. It’s better if we stay here till it’s light, then we can safely get back to the cabin.’
‘Da-ad,’ said Becky hesitantly, whispering close to her father’s ear, ‘I’ve got to go. Now. I’ve been holding it for ages, but I can’t wait any longer. Can I just go down the ladder and go pee in the bushes?’
Dave could have kicked himself; of course, they’d probably all have to pee before settling down to sleep. Indeed, now that Becky had mentioned it, he realized his own need. He’d better do something about it.
‘Okay – we’ll put the ladder in place, and we won’t stray very far. Zack – you stay up here while I go down with your sister, then, when we come back, you and I can go together while Becky holds the fort up on the platform, eh?’
Two ‘Okays’ met this suggestion, and they carried out their plan.
When Zack and his dad returned to the bottom of the ladder, their own missions accomplished, Dave heard a noise in the brush. He was beginning to hate the wilderness – it seemed to be full of things designed to ambush his spirits, just as they were rising. There was no question about it: something was crashing through the trees lower down the hill, and heading straight for them – he was sure of it. Zack’s face was a picture of terror.
‘Up the ladder, quick, Zack,’ said Dave in his normal voice, which sounded loud in the stillness of the night, and Zack leaped onto the ladder. His foot slipped and he fell, with a crunch. He let out a yelp, which was followed by a growl from the darkness. Zack was immediately on his feet and up the ladder in a matter of seconds. Dave followed him, and, together, they pulled up the ladder behind them.
Becky was shaking again; Zack was as white as the moon. Dave could see blood oozing through Zack’s sock. There seemed to be a lot of it. Dave sucked in a deep breath, and took control.
‘Becky, break out the medical kit. Zack, sit down and let me get your sandal and sock off. Stop wriggling.’
‘I’ll be fine, Dad,’ said Zack, in a voice that told Dave he’d be anything but.
‘Here it is,’ said Becky, putting the little medical bag next to Dave, and shining a flashlight onto her brother’s leg so Dave could see what he was doing.
‘Oh dear,’ was all Dave could manage.
‘That’s nasty!’ exclaimed Becky, looking at the four inch shard of wood sticking out of Zack’s flesh, just above his ankle.
‘Open up the kit – let’s see what your Mom packed for us, Becky,’ instructed Dave. He searched for something with which he could grip the splintered shard, uncertain that pulling it out of his son’s leg was the right thing to do, but knowing that Zack couldn’t sit on a platform halfway up a tree all night with it the way it was.
‘Does it hurt much, son?’ he asked Zack.
‘Not really,’ was Zack’s pained reply. Dave suspected pride was stopping him from crying like a baby, but that might not last for long.
Beneath them they heard a long, low growl. Dave hoped it wasn’t a cougar; if it was, well, he suspected they were pretty good at climbing trees – being cats – but he had a more immediate problem to deal with.
‘Son,’ he said directly, ‘it’s going to hurt like hell, but I have to pull out the wood. Then we can clean up the wound and put a bandage on it. Tomorrow we’ll get you to the hospital and they can check for slivers – eh?’
Zack didn’t reply, but nodded; his mouth was set in a thin, determined line.
‘Use the blanket to pull it out, Dad,’ suggested Becky, ‘you don’t want to get a sliver yourself.’ Dave knew she was right, and protected his hand with the blanket.
‘Ready?’ he asked his brave son.
Once again Zack nodded. The growling was now directl
y beneath them. Dave pulled the wood out of his son’s leg. Zack didn’t make a sound, but Dave could see a tear trickle down his grubby face.
‘Well done, son,’ said Dave, and hugged Zack, allowing the boy to wipe his tears on his dad’s shoulder, without his sister ever seeing them.
‘You’re real brave, Bro,’ said Becky, smiling at her brother, but looking worried. ‘Dad – the growling thing, it’s right on our tree, down there,’ she said, looking almost as pale as her brother.
‘Give me the flashlight,’ said Dave in a commanding voice. Becky handed the flashlight to her dad with a trembling hand.
Dave shone the light over the platform and saw a pair of eyes looking up at him. It was a bear. A big one, by the looks of it. And it was starting to climb the tree. The eyes blinked in the bright light.
‘Make a noise, kids – as much as you can,’ shouted Dave, and, with no further encouragement needed they both let rip, screaming, shouting, and banging on the platform; Dave suspected they were enjoying the release of all their tensions as much as he was.
The bear didn’t look afraid, but after a couple of minutes of sustained clamor it ambled off into the bush.
Dave turned his attention to his son once again, shining the flashlight onto his injured leg. The cut was deep, no question, but the bleeding was slowing. Dave suspected Zack had been lucky. He sprayed the cut with the antibacterial Debbie had packed, and mentally thanked her for her foresight. After several minutes, when the bleeding had pretty much stopped, he carefully placed a gauze pad on the cut, and wound a long bandage around Zack’s leg, securing it with some of the surgical tape from the pack. He didn’t think there was much more he could do. But he wasn’t happy. They couldn’t go down to the cabin, that was obvious, but it was clear that his son was in for a painful and uncomfortable night.
There were still several hours ahead of them before the sun would be up, and he felt completely helpless. Once again his mind went to the place where his kids would never forgive him for putting them in harm’s way – and where his ex-wife would probably forbid him from ever seeing them again.
