In the Woods (22 page)

Damn. Slader was trapped. Had no choice. He finished his coffee and was about to start for the door when the door burst open and someone dashed in, calling for the ranger, asking for help. Too many people were standing in the way; the chief couldn’t hear the guy clearly, couldn’t see who it was.

But moments later, Daniels and the state cops came over to the counter, joining him. ‘This is interesting,’ he said. ‘Angela Russo is the shooting victim’s widow.’

‘So?’ Slader’s shoulders tensed.

‘She fell. Broke her ankle. So here again, I have another emergency and no staff to help me. All hell’s breaking loose, and there’s no one but me to deal with any of it. Now, on top of everything else, I’ve got a rescue operation. If I call an ambulance, it’ll take hours.’

Slader sighed, had no choice. ‘So what do you need?’

Daniels turned to the state cops. ‘I figure you guys can help out, too. You’re going to want to talk to her anyway, so how about you help us go transport her out of there, and then you can interview her while you drive her to the hospital?’

Slader bristled. Daniels had no business telling these guys they could interview his witness without him. But then it occurred to him that they were a godsend. If he let them take over the investigation, he’d be free to deal with other matters.

‘Sounds good.’ He stood tall and spoke with authority, reminding everyone who was in charge. ‘And then we can meet in Philipsburg later. You can help me question the suspect.’

The sergeant crossed his arms, stuck his chin out. ‘Fine.’

‘So you’ve decided he’s officially a suspect?’ the corporal said.

‘Sorry. I should have said “person of interest”,’ Slader corrected himself. He looked across the snack bar at the outsiders preparing to swarm the woods. The Hunt Club members weren’t going to be happy. He reached into his pocket, left a dollar bill for Penny. Then he excused himself. ‘Before we head out, I need to use the landline,’ he explained.

He made his way through the outsiders and dashed to the ranger’s office. As he made the call, his fingers were unsteady. And as he left a voice mail, he had the sickening sense that the locals had lost control, and that his message might be too late.

Without a window or a watch, Harper had no way to measure time. Had they been there an hour? Three? More? She wasn’t sure. She alternated between staring at the trapdoor above and the steel door along the wall. Sometimes, she heard noises – voices filtering down from above. Or thumping from the other side of the door. She called out, asked if someone was there, but got no reply. She tried not to think of Chloe or Hank. Tried to focus on escape. Maybe she could take one of the cots apart, use the metal legs to … to what? Break through a steel door? Climb through underground concrete walls?

Harper closed her eyes, told herself there had to be a way out. She had survived much worse. Besides, Hank would come. In fact, he should be arriving any minute. Was it afternoon yet? How much daylight was left? Because, if he didn’t find the trail before dark, he’d have to wait until morning. Damn, maybe it was already after dark. Maybe it was already morning. She had no idea.

No, she couldn’t have been there that long. Probably it had just been a few hours. Her stomach was empty, though, so they must have been there a while. Oh God. She shivered. The room was damp and cold, and she’d covered Angela with the only blanket. Angela had quieted a while ago, seemed to be dozing. Harper leaned back, closed her eyes. Saw Chloe, her shining curls – no.

She stood up, started walking in a circle, swinging her arms. Getting her blood circulating. Keeping ready. On her twenty-third lap, the ceiling rattled and creaked.

The trapdoor opened, and slowly, the ladder came down. Hiram leaned over, peered down. ‘You down there – keep away from the ladder,’ he barked. Then he told someone it was okay to go down, but to yell if there was a problem.

A woman climbed down. She was middle-aged, wearing jeans and a sweater, her face weathered, her hair in a ponytail. Hiram lowered a shopping bag to her.

‘Stay where you are.’ She eyed Harper as she set the bag down, took a key from her pocket, and unlocked the steel door. ‘Chow time.’ She took a Styrofoam container from the bag, opened the door and took it into an adjoining chamber.

Harper stepped closer to the door, trying to see into the next room. Who was in there?

‘Keep your stinkin’ food,’ a man grumbled.

‘Suit yourself.’ The woman backed up, started to close the door again.

Harper couldn’t see the prisoner, but her adrenalin pumped and her muscles tensed.

‘Wait – no. Please. Don’t shut the door. Let me out of here.’

‘Can’t do that.’ The woman stepped out, closed the door, ready to lock it. But before she could, Harper bolted at her, knocking her to the ground. Holding her down, telling her not to make a sound.

‘Annie?’ Hiram called. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Tell him, “Yes,”’ Harper whispered, tightened her grip on the woman’s hair.

‘Yes,’ she croaked. ‘Fine.’

‘Help us get out of here,’ Harper breathed into her ear.

‘There’s no way. You’ll never get past everyone upstairs.’

‘Maybe we can. We have a hostage now.’

‘Me?’ The woman’s eyebrows raised. ‘You don’t want to keep me down here. I’m the only one who gives a hoot about you. You hurt me, you’ll be dead within a minute. Face it, you’re outnumbered.’

‘Annie?’ Hiram called. ‘Where the hell are you?’

Behind her, Harper heard the steel door open. ‘Let her go,’ the guy said. ‘In a second, they’ll be down here shooting.’

Harper looked up, recognized the pipeline walker. The dead guy’s partner.

‘Hurry up.’ He pulled at her. ‘Get off her.’

Harper glanced at the ladder, then back at the woman.

‘He’s right,’ Annie said. ‘Ax and some of the others will be happy for an excuse to kill you.’

Harper took a breath, released the woman’s hair, then stood. The woman hopped to her feet, brushed herself off. Pocketed the key.

‘Moose and I are coming down,’ Hiram yelled.

Annie ran to the ladder, began climbing. ‘I’m on my way. No need.’

‘What took you so long?’

‘That one woman.’ Annie reached the top, and Hiram pulled the ladder up through the hatch. ‘She’s not doing so hot. I think she needs a doctor.’

‘Fuck that,’ Hiram said. He went on, but the door slammed shut, and Harper couldn’t hear what else he said.

Jim Kinsella’s eyes were bloodshot and his hands unsteady. Harper made him sit down.

‘Did it take you, too?’ he asked. ‘The Bog Man?’

The Bog Man? ‘No. It’s not real …’ Harper began.

Jim was on his feet. ‘Oh yes it is. It brought me here. Dragged me.’

Harper shook her head. ‘No, Jim. He’s upstairs. I saw him myself. It’s a guy in a monkey suit.’

Jim bent over, leaned into her face. ‘I don’t care what you say; I know what I know. It spotted me this morning and stalked me like a hunter. It must have hit me with something and knocked me out because when I came to, it was dragging me across a field to some locals, who brought me down here. So don’t tell me the Bog Man isn’t real. It’s real. And the local people? They know all about him. In fact, they’re working with him.’

Harper didn’t disagree, didn’t want to antagonize him by arguing. Jim was agitated, angry. He smelled of fear and sweat; his body was bruised and his clothing torn. She nodded, tried to calm him. ‘I believe you. In fact, I saw him, too. Last night. In the woods.’

‘You saw him?’ Jim stood up, staring at her, breathing fast. ‘So how can you say he isn’t real?’

‘Because I saw him upstairs before, taking off his costume. He’s just a guy.’

‘No. He’s huge, too big to be a man. Too strong.’

‘Look, I was fooled, too. I figure he’s got artificial limbs or some kind of prosthetics to extend his legs.’

‘No, that’s crazy.’ Jim ran a hand over his head, turned in a circle. ‘Christ. What the hell is this? Why did they bring us here? What are they planning to do with us?’

Harper didn’t know, didn’t answer. She opened the bag that Annie had left them. Took out a bottle of water, handed it to Jim. ‘Drink.’

He looked at the bottle, then at her. Finally, he took it. Drank. Eyed Angela. ‘What’s with her?’

‘She’s in and out. Head injury.’ Harper tried to sound unconcerned. To create some sense of normal. She took out Styrofoam cartons, plastic spoons. ‘Looks like chili.’ She took a bite, mostly to help Jim focus on something besides their predicament. ‘Not bad.’

‘You’re eating?’

‘I’m hungry.’ She wasn’t, really. Her stomach was empty, but she had no appetite. Even so, she forced another bite. ‘We need to keep up our strength.’

‘So the Bog Man. You really think it’s fake?’

‘I didn’t when I saw it in the woods. But now I know better.’ She motioned for him to sit down. When he did, she offered him one of the chili cartons. ‘He vandalized our campsite. Not only ours – and I’m not the only one who saw him. A couple of guys camping near us did, too.’

‘So is that what happened to her?’ He looked at Angela. ‘The Bog Man?’

‘No, no. She fell, running away from the explosion and broke her ankle. One of the locals dropped her on her head while they were taking us here. But the Bog Man? He’s really just one of the locals. He was upstairs, drinking coffee. But it’s no wonder we thought he was real. His fur and head – even in daylight, everything looks real.’

‘You’re saying the Bog Man is part of the Hunt Club.’

‘Yes. He’s just a guy.’

Jim didn’t move.

Harper met his eyes. ‘Look, he fooled me, too. When I saw him in the woods, I was so scared, I couldn’t move.’

‘Phil?’ Angela stirred. ‘Is that you? Are you here?’

‘It’s me, Angela,’ Harper said. ‘Harper Jennings. Try to rest.’

‘I told you,’ Angela muttered. ‘A hundred times.’ She lay back, mumbling something unintelligible. It sounded like ‘fracking war.’ Or possibly ‘frickin’ worm.’

Harper lowered her voice. ‘She’s delirious. Phil’s her husband. He was killed yesterday morning, same as your friend. She keeps talking to him.’

‘Shit.’ Jim leaned back against the wall, pressed his hands against his temples. ‘That other guy was her husband? Damn. So that explains it. These people holding us – they’ve got to be the ones who shot my partner Al and her husband – what’s his name? Phil? And if that’s the case then guess what – they’re going to kill us, too.’

‘Wait, slow down.’ Harper put a hand up. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘I get it about Al.’ Jim stood, began pacing. ‘They killed him because he worked for the pipeline – people around here hate us. They’ve torn up our campsites, messed up our equipment. They blame the pipeline for all their problems – if not the pipeline, then the gas company and the frackers. So I get why they’d mess with me and Al. But why would they kill this woman’s husband? He had nothing to do with any of their issues. And why have some guy march around in a Bog Man suit, attacking and terrorizing campers? Why kidnap someone like you? What do they want? It’s like the whole lot of them are declaring war on everyone who’s set foot in these woods. And that’s serious. Because these people have a militia. And the shootings make it clear they don’t mind bloodshed.’

Harper thought of Ax, his cold eyes following her along the trail. She had no doubt that he’d been willing to shoot her.

‘So we have a big problem.’ Jim stopped pacing and faced her. ‘I’m thinking there are two reasons they’re keeping us. One, to hold us hostage as bargaining chips. Two, to use us as part of their scare tactics. Either way, the outcome’s the same.’

‘What do you mean?’

Jim’s eye twitched. ‘Don’t you get it? It’s obvious: We’re dead.’

Harper put aside her carton of chili. She put her hand on Jim’s arm, gently tugged on it, guiding him to sit down. ‘No.’ She met his eyes. ‘We’re not dead. Not even close.’ She lowered her voice as if someone might hear. ‘My husband is coming.’

He looked at her. ‘What?’

‘I left a trail. He’ll find us. He’ll bring the police.’

‘You left a trail?’ Jim repeated.

Harper nodded, smiled. ‘Have some chili. You’ll need your strength.’

‘When’s he coming?’

Harper started to say that she wasn’t sure, but that it would be soon. But Angela sat up suddenly, looked into the air, and spoke clearly. ‘Go to hell. All of you.’ She lay back down, moaning. ‘Stan,’ she groaned. ‘Stan.’

Harper opened a bottle of water, brought it to Angela, and lifted her head, trying to get her to drink. Angela slapped it away, refusing it. ‘Phil? Stop – what are you doing?’

‘It’s not Phil. It’s Harper.’

‘No.’ She squirmed, grimaced. ‘No, go away.’

‘Angela, take a drink,’ Harper said. ‘It’s water.’

‘Stop it, Phil.’ Angela swung her arms, batting the bottle away. ‘I said, go away. Don’t touch me!’

Harper watched Angela, tried to make sense of what she was saying. She didn’t sound very fond of Phil, telling him not to touch her. Was it possible that Angela had shot him? After all, she was an experienced hunter, could have easily picked him off. But why? What would be her motive? Besides, Angela’s rifle hadn’t held the kind of ammunition that had killed Phil; it hadn’t even been recently fired. Stan’s rifle had been fired, had the right ammo. More than likely, he’d been the shooter and Angela’s ramblings meant nothing.

Harper retrieved the water bottle while Jim took napkins from the chili bag, began wiping up the spill. Above them, furniture scraped the floor. Harper looked at the ceiling, listening to the commotion. The Hunt Club must be holding a meeting. Jim stopped mopping and, eyes popping, pointed upstairs.

‘Your husband better get here soon.’ Jim stood up, holding the napkins. ‘You hear them? They’re up there gathering their forces. Getting ready.’

Footsteps pounded on the ceiling. Oh God. Maybe Jim was right. Maybe neither Stan nor Angela had shot Phil. And maybe Phil and Al had been the first casualties of a violent uprising by the Hunt Club.

‘Stan?’ Angela shrieked. ‘Is that you? Stan?’ She looked directly at Jim. ‘Who the hell are you? Did he send you? Go away. Go away!’

Jim introduced himself, said that he was also a prisoner. But Angela didn’t seem to hear. She rambled, unsettled and restless, seemingly in a world of her own. It took Jim and Harper both to get her to drink a little water. She resisted, but with some effort, Jim got her to swallow some ibuprofen, too. He and Harper agreed that ibuprofen might not be the right medicine for whatever was ailing Angela, but it was all they had. And while it might not help her, it certainly wouldn’t hurt.