“I had an aunt named Louise.”
“Aunt Louise? You serious?”
“What’s wrong with Aunt Louise? There’s nothing wrong with Aunt Louise.”
“I’m sure there wasn’t. Look, I’m not makin’ fun or anything.”
“I think you just did.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
“Better not be,” Bruno warned good naturedly. “Aunt Louise was the best. The best. That woman treated me like gold. Loved Aunt Louise.”
“Maybe she should decide,” Gus said.
Bruno consulted their backseat passenger again. “How about it? Louise okay? You good with that?”
The little girl stared.
“I don’t think she cares for it,” Gus said. “How about Lisa?”
“Lisa?”
“Yeah, Lisa.”
Bruno turned around. “How about Lisa, then?”
No reaction.
“That’s out,” he said.
“Lisa’s nice,” Gus said. “Little more modern.”
“How about… Jessica?”
“Not Jessica,” Gus said.
“Why not?”
“Knew a Jessica once. She was… not nice.”
“Isabella?”
Gus frowned. “You into classic literature or something?”
“Jeez, it’s just a name.”
“Call her Paris.”
“Paris?” Bruno asked with a note of disdain. “You give me a hard time about Jessica and Isabella—”
“—And Aunt Louise.”
“And Aunt Louise, and then you come up with Paris?”
“What’s wrong with Paris?”
“You wanna be called Paris?” Bruno asked the girl.
And to his surprise, the hint of a smile appeared on her round face.
“She likes Paris?” Gus asked, picking up on the vibe.
“She’s almost smiling back there.”
The little girl surprised them both then by tightening up her lips and grunting, “Mm.”
The two men traded looks.
“What was that?” Bruno asked. “What was that sound? You said mm. Like ‘mmmaybe’?”
“More like her name starts with an ‘M’,” Gus said.
“That it?” Bruno continued to probe. “Your name starts with an ‘M’? Like Molly? Melody?”
She didn’t take to either of those.
Bruno looked at Gus. “What other ‘M’ names are out there?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Hey, watch that.”
“Sorry. Slipped out. I’m sorry. Forgot she was there.”
That floored Bruno. “What do you mean you forgot she was there? She’s right there. How could you forget her?”
Gus ran a hand over his beard. “I’m not around children too much.” He then remembered Becky and Chad, and hoped Bruno didn’t pick up on the lie.
Bruno didn’t. He turned back to the girl. “Martha? Is that it?”
She shook her head.
“Oh wow. She just shook her head.”
That prompted Gus to glance back at her. “Mindy?”
“Mm… mmm…” she kept on, trying to unlock whatever psychological knot prevented her from speaking.
“Monica?” Bruno asked.
“That’s a good one,” Gus approved.
“I thought so, but it’s not it.” Bruno studied her. “None of these helping? Marie? Maria? Milly?”
Gus scowled.
“I’m running out of ‘M’ names here,” Bruno said. “Mary? Oh! Mallory?”
The little girl sighed. She reset herself, and, again, produced, “Mm. Mmm.”
That got Gus’s attention. “That last one sounded angry.”
And it did. Heat rose to the child’s cheeks as she struggled to produce words through lips that might’ve been sewn shut. One last mighty Mmmm petered out into a whimper, whereupon she flopped back into the gear surrounding her, mentally spent and looking more than a little pissed off.
“Don’t you worry,” Bruno reassured her. “Don’t you worry one bit. You take your time. We’ll call you ‘Monica’ for now, okay? That’s a good name. And when you’re ready, you let us know what your real name is.”
Another sad ‘mm’ and the little girl—Monica—quieted down.
The three vehicles rolled through Matheson without incident and proceeded north on Highway 11. The forest on either side was scraggly and unhealthy, which made Gus think about a bug infestation of some sort… which led to memories of fire.
Two hours later, after passing only a couple of abandoned vehicles, a dirt road that might’ve led to a campground of sorts appeared on the right. Collie took the turn in a wave of dust, and the others followed. Gus wasn’t keen on going off-road again. Not five seconds before he left the highway, he glimpsed two pointed nubs of wood sticking up from a mound of crushed stone, just barely visible. It took him another couple of seconds to realize what he’d just seen.
“That was a sign back there,” he said. “Or what was left of one. You see that?”
“Missed it,” Bruno answered.
“Well, it was there. Chopped down right at the ankles, mind you. Bet plenty of folks go right by it without another look.”
“I didn’t even get a first look.”
“That’s right,” Gus said. “Can’t check something out if it doesn’t get your attention. That’s the first line of defense right there.”
Bruno scanned the gravel shoulders for hints of civilization but saw nothing. Light filtered through the patchy forest, but after ten minutes in, the trees and undergrowth began to thicken.
“The hell we goin’?” Gus wondered aloud.
“Can’t be a town,” Bruno reasoned. “Not a big one, anyway.”
“Maybe a campground?” Gus suggested. “Can’t think of anything else being out this way.”
The road curved to the north, and the rigs ahead rocked over the uneven length, summoning thick clouds of dust. The forest thinned out dramatically, revealing a plain of short, wild grass. Tall pillars of fir spotted the land, spaced out at irregular intervals, but the grass got Gus’s attention. Someone had cut down the growth and piled it up in neat stacks behind the trees.
Holy shit, he mouthed.
Lurking behind it all was the shimmering blue surface of a lake, growing larger with every passing second. Overturned canoes and row boats came into sight, all resting along a white shoreline.
“Oh my,” Bruno said softly.
The single lane they were on snaked through a park, complete with blackened barbeque pits and picnic tables.
“Campground,” Gus smiled. “Called it first.”
“You win… absolutely nothing!” Bruno exclaimed before finishing with a whispery cheer, sounding very much like a small audience. Charmed, Monica joined him, her round features lighting up.
Gus interpreted this as a positive sign. He hoped Monica would soon break free of whatever was troubling her.
The two men saw a wired fence protecting rows of tilled earth just beyond the trees and the grass. A shovel was propped up against a post. All the idyllic setting needed was a few cows or goats. Gus was about to slow down for a better peek when Bruno pointed ahead.
In the middle of the lake was an island.
At a glance it resembled a crown of dense evergreens, some hundred feet or more offshore. Rooftops and other structures peeked through the treetops there, and when the men neared the shoreline, they noticed a wooden truss bridge connecting the mainland to the little refuge. It was an old bridge, perhaps a heritage piece from the 1920s, complete with cedar slat shingles.
“Oh my, oh my,” Gus whispered, very much impressed.
Then he saw what waited for them at the bridge’s entrance.
Sharpened fence pickets jutted from the ground at an angle, pointing outwards and ready to impale anyone reckless enough to charge the fortification. The road they were on continued straight through that barrier of fat spears, right up to what resembled a med
ieval gatehouse. Sheets of iron reinforced the closed gate, while battlements ringed the top, some twenty feet high. Figures stood behind those battlements, underneath a flat, weather-proof roof. Only their heads and upper bodies were visible.
“Oh, it’s like a… like a…” Bruno faltered, not knowing the exact name of the structure.
“Like that thing in front of castles,” Gus said. “A gatehouse, Arrr.”
Bruno gave him a curious glance.
“Arrr?” Gus repeated with uncertainty. He abandoned the joke, focused on the road, and pulled in behind the stopping SUV. There was movement at his shoulder—Monica leaned forward between the seats, to see better. She spared Gus only a second before returning her attention to the gatehouse.
Ahead, Eva got out of Collie’s truck and approached the entrance. She exchanged words with the guards there, and some of those figures behind the battlements began to move. Gus watched with interest as, seconds later, those stout looking gates were pushed open. Two guards emerged, dressed for autumn, and they cleared the road for passage.
Eva returned to the pickup, and the three-vehicle parade rolled forward. Collie’s truck disappeared inside the fortified bridge.
“We’re going in,” Gus said, shifting the stick and easing ahead. “Just like going into a tunnel.”
Monica remained quiet, but she was pulling on the seats with little-kid excitement. Gus drove by the two gatekeepers—two unshaven men who gave their truck a wary glance. Gus nodded at them, trying to look friendly without coming across as an idiot. The front tires hit the planks in a rattle and creak of trusses. The three of them were plunged into shadow a second later. They all hunkered down, just so they could see the ribbed sections of the roof overhead. Narrow sun beams stabbed through in places, providing all the light to see that glorious rustic interior. A door on the left passed by, perhaps leading to a stairway that went to the roof.
“Oh, this is cool,” Bruno whispered, a huge smile splitting his face. “You seeing this, Monica?”
Monica promptly nodded, her little hands gripping the cushions.
“How old you think this thing is?” Bruno asked Gus.
“No idea, but old. New Brunswick has dozens of these things.” He checked his side. “Not much clearance, though. I got about two feet on my side.”
“That’s what I got here.”
“The whole floor is covered in planks,” Gus noted.
Ahead, daylight entered the bridge as a second set of gates were pulled open.
“Nice,” Gus said.
“All they need is a place to grow crops,” Bruno said.
“Those were the fields on the way in. All fenced off with chicken wire.”
“Not a bad setup. Not bad at all.”
Collie’s rig rolled free of the bridge. The SUV followed.
“Almost through,” Bruno exclaimed like a kid on a carnival ride.
Monica braced for a drop.
The truck emerged with a thump onto a gravel road. Cottages rose up on either side, meters back from the water and well concealed behind grandiose trees and wild foliage. A huge sign with the faded image of a cartoon wolf greeted them. The character was winking and giving visitors an enthusiastic thumbs up while poised over big carved letters: “Camp Red Wolf Welcomes You!”
“Camp Red Wolf,” Gus whispered, unable to contain his smile. “Well, aren’t you the cheese.”
“A summer camp,” Bruno said. “They’re holed up in a summer camp.”
“Not just any summer camp,” Gus pointed out. “It’s Camp Red Wolf. Best damn summer camp north of Wonderland.”
“Really?”
“No idea. I made that up.”
They drove into a wide clearing, where school buses presumably would have stopped in faded yellow zones to offload summer guests—although Gus wondered if a bus could fit through that tunnel of a bridge. A series of squat billboards was situated on the eastern edge of the island. Several crushed stone pathways led off into the woods, towards large structures partially hidden by flora. Flowerbeds flourished along the trails and buildings. A small hillside of green grass was ready for anyone wanting to spread out a blanket and sit, as well as a lengthy shoreline hedged by waist-high bluffs. There were tall A-frames and dormitories, as well as several one- and two-story cottages that might’ve housed the camp staff. Just to the left, at the end of another trail, was what looked to be a sizeable outdoor gathering area, where several granite blocks had been placed in a semi-circle facing the water.
The compound was surrounded and divided into sections by well-planned and carefully maintained curtains of fir, oak, and other vegetation.
Gus stopped behind the SUV, and the moment he did, Bruno leaned forward and pointed. “Ohhh, look at that.”
A water slide in the distance. A plastic intestinal tract built on a gut-punch of a slant and colored jungle-green. The thing looked like so much fun, Gus even had thoughts of trying it out.
Monica bounced with excitement.
“Settle down,” Bruno said with a smile. “I’ll bring you over there myself. I promise. Especially if you start talking.”
“Now I know where all the rich kids spent their summers,” Gus said.
“Oh man,” Bruno marveled. “This place has it all.”
They climbed out of the SUV and immediately felt at ease. The air was pleasant, warm, and comfortable. Fresh. About a dozen inhabitants emerged from front doors or hurried along walkways, converging on the parking area to get a look at the newcomers. Eva was already out of the pickup and embracing an older woman with long silver hair and spectacles. Davis and the others got out and the inhabitants gave them a warm greeting. That warmth turned to alarm when they saw the bruises. Several turned their attention to Collie’s group, their eyes now narrowed with suspicion. Gus could very nearly hear their thoughts. What happened? Who did this? Are you okay?
Gus tuned it all out, focusing on a few menfolk armed with shotguns of the combat variety. Weapons designed to punch holes in people while knocking them back a dozen feet. He noted more than a few handguns as well, kept in shoulder and thigh holsters. Some of the women carried sheathed knives in addition to their firearms. One bearded guy wore a cowhide vest with a wide straw sombrero, and Gus noted the collection of sidearms he had on him. Two under the arms, two on his hips, and one on the left side of his chest.
The gunslinger eyed Gus in return, none too friendly.
“They saved us,” Eva finished explaining, waving a hand at the new arrivals. “If it weren’t for them… I don’t know what would have happened. We probably would never have seen you again.”
The suspicious glares softened into guarded curiosity, but that was a lot better than outright hostility in Gus’s mind. He summoned what he hoped was a friendly smile, keeping his mouth closed for fear of unnerving the folks.
“No Carson?” a man asked, tall and skinny and wearing a ball cap. His hair hung in a braid at the back. He had a long chin whisker that resembled tufts of cotton, but his upper lip was shaven.
“We were captured,” Eva explained. “Like I said. By a group of savages.”
She regarded both groups and decided introductions were in order.
“This is Collie, Gus, Bruno, and Cory. I don’t know who the little girl is.”
“We’re calling her Monica,” Bruno said. “Until she lets us know otherwise.”
“This is Ben Garrett,” Eva said, introducing the tall guy with the mangy cotton beard. “And over here is Sarah Burton, Rich Trinidad, Jeremy Walton, and Jane Wong. Alfred Laredo—”
Sarah Burton was the older woman with long silver hair, who could’ve been the lead screamer in a ‘70s rock band. Rich Trinidad was the grim gunslinger who might’ve had his face scrubbed by a ball of barbed wired. As for the others, about a dozen more, Gus forgot the names almost as soon as he heard them. They were a wiry group, all fit and lean. There were others, standing away from the little reunion, casually armed and keeping close watch on the newcomers. Gus d
idn’t blame them for being careful, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
Two dozen at least, he figured, even spotting a couple of teenagers in the mix. A little pocket of humanity dug in and doing whatever it took to get by.
Ben Garrett finally managed a smile. He nodded at the newcomers before focusing on Collie, who stood with the sun glinting off her shades and her thumbs hooked into her belt.
“You’re a soldier?” he asked.
“How can you tell?”
“The fatigues.”
“These old things?” she asked. “Hell, anyone could have a set of PJs. Plenty of them around if you know where to look.”
“You’re not a soldier?”
“Oh, I am. I’d give you references but… they’re all dead.”
That was met with silence.
“Thank you so much,” Garrett eventually said. “For bringing them back. We thought… well, we didn’t know what to think. Except maybe it might be wise to not leave camp for a while.”
“You’re welcome,” the operator said. “Quite the setup you have here.”
“This? Well, yes, I suppose it is. I’m the head administrator here… or I was, back before everything went to hell. When the dust started to clear, I figured this was the place to be. And you? Where are you folks from?”
“Back east,” Collie said. “Nova Scotia. Like you, we survived the worst of things and found a safe place to call home. Now we’re searching for others.”
“Searching for others?” Garrett asked. “Really? You’ve come a long way to be looking for people.”
“There aren’t too many people left. Not the kind we’re looking for.”
“And what kind of people would that be?” Sarah Burton bluntly asked.
“People to start over with,” Eva answered. “We’ve already had a talk. They seem decent enough to me.”
“And to me,” Davis added.
“Well, they brought you back,” Garrett noted. “That certainly counts for something. No Carson, however?”
Collie shook her head. “Sorry. We’d very much like to find him, though, if what Eva tells me is true. He’s quite useful to have around.”
The camp islanders tensed just a little, as if some great secret had just been revealed. Carson was important. Even valued.
Mountain Man (Book 5): Make Me King Page 14