The Winslow Incident (47 page)

Hazel scooted up the road, excited
to see them, Sean especially.
I’ll tell him everything. I’ll make everything
the way it was before. Better even.

She passed under the timber-framed
entrance to Matherston and struck dust with each step in the dry dirt as she
continued up Prospectors Way. When she reached midway through town she stopped
in front of Hank’s Boarding House to squint up the road, then back down the way
she had just come.

Deserted. Not a soul, dead or
alive, greeted her arrival.

But an action figure (Wolverine,
it looked like) lying on the wood plank sidewalk in front of the blacksmith
shop told her someone had been here recently. Aaron Adair, she hoped. And when
she glanced back up she caught the tail end of a diminutive figure disappearing
between the Never Tell Brothel and the Mother Lode Saloon.

“Olly olly oxen free?” she called.

Meat cooked nearby. The smell of
it reached her and sent her stomach into a ravenous growl.

She followed her nose to the
Mother Lode Saloon and peeked inside.

Empty. Then she stole a look down
the space between the Chop House Restaurant and the saloon, found it empty as
well, and tiptoed between the buildings.

She heard voices now—light,
small voices.

A section of the restaurant’s
siding had decayed away so she could see clear inside the Chop House as she
passed. Round tables and broken chairs still cluttered the interior, along with
game heads plastered against the wallpaper.
Appetizing.
That roasting
meat.

When she reached the end of the building
she stopped to listen.

“I can’t wait anymore,” a boy.

“It’s done when I say it’s done,”
an older boy.

Hazel eased her head around the
corner of the saloon.

So
this
is where the children are.
A whole clan
of them, twenty or so, possibly all the kids in Winslow. Except for her three,
the three children she most wanted to see were not among them.

James Bolinger was the older boy
she’d heard. Cynthia and Nicholas Thacker, Penelope and Tim Hotchkiss, Lindy
Spainhower and Collette Dudley were all gathered around the fire pit despite
the heat. What cooked above the pit looked like a cat carcass and Hazel’s
innards turned over.

Boo
, she thought and her stomach slid back the other
direction.

Penelope Hotchkiss wept silently
by the fire, shoulders shaking, while her younger brother Timmy tried to
comfort her, his small hand patting her shoulder. Hazel recognized Penelope’s
battered green Schwinn propped up against the back of the Chop House.

Gunner Spainhower emerged from
between the saloon and the brothel—the figure she’d caught a glimpse of
earlier. “I’m thirsty,” he declared and made a beeline for the gallon jug
crammed in with a hoard of other supplies on the back porch of the Mother Lode.

Other small forms rested beneath
sprays of hemlock within the split-rail fence enclosure.

Nicholas Thacker sat too close to
the fire, sweat dribbling off his eager face, transfixed by the cooking cat,
literally licking his lips. “It’s done,” he told James.

James stood back from the group,
leaning on a long board he’d fashioned into a walking stick, or a weapon.
Clearly he was their leader. “It’s done when I say it’s done.”

Hazel stepped out into view. James
tensed and raised the board, but then relaxed when he saw it was her—the
love of his life. He reached her in six long-legged steps.

“Hazel . . .” James’s young face seemed
to have been aged twenty years by circumstance—like his grandfather Gus
at the hotel—and his black eyeliner had smudged all around his eyes,
giving him a ghoulish appearance. “What happened to you?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
And then she was crying again. She couldn’t believe it. But the look of
sympathy and concern on his face got the better of her and it came pouring out.
She’d never been like this. It was embarrassing and made her feel like an
idiot.

“It’s okay.” He hugged her
lightly. “It’s okay.”

After sniffing it all back in she
sighed. The other kids were staring at her, curious and frightened. Realizing
she must be quite a sight she tried to smile at them but knew it was weak.

She looked at James. “Are any of
them hurt?” She glanced at Penelope. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” James followed her eyes.
“They’re all hanging in there.”

Turning away from the group of
urchins, she whispered to James, “Let’s go talk.”

“Go ahead and eat,” James told the
kids and Nicholas lunged for the meat. “But don’t burn yourself, for crying out
loud.”

James followed Hazel, who led the
way back between the structures and continued into the Mother Lode. She went to
the bar and leaned against the smooth wood, one foot up on the rail, as if
expecting a bartender to bring her a whiskey. But there were only empty beer
cans scattered around. Behind the bar, shards from the mirror Tanner broke
Saturday night still clung to the sticky wallpaper.
Guess we shouldn’t have
let him do that
, Hazel thought wearily.

James joined her at the bar to
wait for his whiskey too.

She turned to look at him. “What
was that?”

“What was what?”

“What was that cooking?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, good.”

“Do you have it, Hazel?” He
wrinkled his smooth brow.

“No.” She searched his face for signs
and symptoms. “How are you feeling?”

“Hell if I know. I can’t remember
what normal feels like.” He ran a hand through his hair, flattening his disheveled
Mohawk. “But at least I’m not as bad off as most people. Not even close.”

“That’s good,” she said, grateful
for that. “How many of the little kids have it?”

“Ten. They keep scaring the shit
outta themselves and then run outta juice for a while.”

She decided against asking him if
there were any signs of gangrene. “Tell them not to eat any more bread.”

“How come?”

“There’s mold in it—it’s
what’s making everybody sick.”

“Seriously? How did that happen?”

That question made Hazel wonder
for the first time:
Who really is to blame?
She had been so caught up in
Sean’s role she had never even considered that most basic of questions.

She frowned at James. “Seems to me
like it’s Fritz Earley’s fault. His flour, his feed. It all came from him.
Shouldn’t he know moldy, gonna-make-people-sick-as-hell flour when he sees it?”

“You’d think so. When does he come
up with deliveries, anyway?”

“Fridays, usually. But he’s
already here. Somewhere.” Hazel pondered where that might be. If her Uncle Pard
had figured it out, she imagined he’d have something major in store for Fritz
Earley. She turned her attention back to James. “How long have you been out
here?”

“Since Tuesday.”

“That’s only yesterday, you know?”

He looked puzzled for a snap
moment. “I guess you’re right. Seems longer.”

“Sure does. Who knows you’re
here?”

“Nobody, I don’t think. Except
some sick carny guy we chased out.”

“Who?”

“Some greasy-haired guy and his
moustache wandered in totally messed up and we told him to get lost, we didn’t
want him here. But he didn’t get it so we chased him and threw stuff at him
until he ran up Silver Hill and disappeared.”

Hazel would have laughed if she weren’t
so scared. Instead, she nodded. “The vampire. He’s holed up inside the Second
Chance mineshaft. Stay away.”

“Don’t worry.” He blew out a sharp
breath. “But I seriously hope nobody else knows we’re here. Don’t tell anyone,
Hazel.”

“I won’t,” she promised. Then she
said, “The bridge is closed.”

“I know—your uncle’s
henchmen have it barricaded. My mom and I tried to take off but they turned us
back.” He winced as if the memory pained him, then he looked sadly at Hazel.
“Do you think anybody’s coming to help us?”

She wished she could tell him yes,
that at any moment they’d be rescued, she was sure of it. But she wasn’t. “I
honestly don’t know, James. I hope so. If some of the tourists or carnies came
down sick after the rodeo, maybe somebody will trace it back here.”

His expression told her how
disheartened he’d become. “But how long will that take?”

“I have no idea.” She sighed,
suspecting that it might take a while—probably too long. Plus, she’d read
in the encyclopedia that ergotism is caused by
excessive
intake of
ergot, so people have to eat infested bread repeatedly. To her, that meant that
even if tourists had eaten some of the bread, they wouldn’t be anywhere near as
sick as everyone here who’d kept eating it.

James sighed too, a defeated
sound. “The ranch hands are patrolling the streets,” he said, “rounding up
everybody and taking them to The Winslow. Did you know that? It’s really scary
up there.”

“Really scary,” she agreed.

“Everybody’s gone completely
psycho. I hope they don’t find us, Hazel. I hope they don’t drag us up there.”
He was looking at her with profound worry.

The last time she’d seen James was
at the Crock and he’d been worried about his upset stomach. Now he was worried
about insane parents and ruthless cowboys and haunted hotels.

“I hope they don’t find you
either,” she said, her unease so great that she was incapable of reassuring him.
“Hey, I just saw your mom and she’s feeling good. She’s with other people
tripping out in the woods.”

“Really? I’m so glad you saw her.
She almost jumped off the bridge before she took off and then I couldn’t find
her.” He shook his head, looking relieved. “Isn’t it weird? My mom’s acting all
groovy while everyone else is having a bad trip.” But the relief on his face
was quickly displaced by the worry again. “I wish I knew where my grandpa is.”

Hazel didn’t have the heart to
tell him she’d seen his grandfather Gus at The Winslow and that he wasn’t
feeling good at all. Instead, she asked, “Why did you come to Matherston?”

“Better here than in town. Except
that all the little squirts followed me.”

“Cool of you to look after them.”

“Yeah, guess so. What happened to
your arm?”

“Wiped out on my YZ. Bike’s
completely tweaked. Crazy Doc Simmons shot at me and Jinx and we ate it.”

“Oh that sucks, Hazel. That totally
sucks.” James put a hand on her shoulder and she winced. “Maybe we should sling
it, take the pressure off?”

“Okay . . .” She didn’t have the
energy to tell him about Aaron’s Vanpire t-shirt and how the vampire in the
mine had ripped it apart. “Got any good drugs?” she asked as he took off his
own shirt and tried to figure out how he was going to accomplish the sling. It
was his vintage Mudhoney concert t-shirt—a sacrifice beyond measure.

“Just dirt weed.” He pulled the
collar of the t-shirt over her head and gently swung her arm away from her
body, then ran her hand through one sleeve and eased the rest of the shirt
around the back of her arm to cup her elbow.

“Ice?” Tears stung her eyes. The
pain registered different now, deeper and more acute.

“Let’s try the assay office.”

They retook the sunlight and dusty
road and headed for the far end of Prospectors Way.

“Why was Doc Simmons after you,
anyway?” James asked.

“We went to his place for help but
he was out of his mind, completely bug-eyed with it. He killed Jinx.” That last
part rode out on a whimper.

“Jinx is here.”

“What?”

“He showed up last night when we
were roasting hotdogs.”

Hazel shook her head in confusion.
“Is he okay?”

“He’s acting hurt but I looked him
over pretty good and couldn’t find any gushing wounds or anything. And he ate
three hotdogs so I figured he’s all right.”

She was afraid to get her hopes up.
“Are you sure it’s him?”

“Oh, I’m sure. He scared the hell
out of Patience Mathers.”

“Wait, wait, back up—when
was Patience here?”

“About an hour ago. She gave us
the ghost town tour. She wasn’t looking too good though. Had on her barfy rodeo
clothes.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No, just flew down the road
screaming like a total freak. But before she ran into Jinx in the Mother Lode,
she said something really bizarre.”

“What?” Her gut got that doomy
feeling again.

“That she’s gonna tell everyone
what Sean did.”

Hazel froze.

“What did he do, Hazel?” James was
holding open the door to the assay office for her.

She wasn’t surprised to see it
empty inside. No Sean, no Dad, no dripping ice cream. It had been a nice
daydream. Avoiding James’s question, she asked him the one she felt doomed to repeat
the rest of her sorry life: “Have you seen Sean?”