“That you need a permit to dump that kind of stuff, and that she wouldn’t find any here.”
“This lady,” I said. “She say where she was heading?”
“Nope, just thanked me and left.”
I thanked the woman and hung up. On my phone, I googled “asbestos + Flathead Valley.” Immediately, two government websites on waste districts came up, two on asbestos lawyers, and the fifth hit was an article on CFAC. I clicked on it and scanned it quickly. I knew the aluminum plant sat abandoned, and a strong hunch washed over me.
I was torn. I asked myself whether I should go to the plant to at least check and make sure Gretchen’s car wasn’t there or get busy looking for Combs, as planned. Something told me Combs wasn’t here, and something worse whispered to me that Gretchen was in trouble. But this was all just based on my intuition, and finding Jeremy was the priority.
I hopped out of the car and ran to join Ken, who was searching through the parking area. We walked each row of cars, looking for a white Chevy Nova. Then we waded through hordes of people milling around outside the school. Many sat outside in lawn chairs drinking water and watching the eerie dusty red glow of the sky in the distance. Officers told people to go inside, that the air quality was too poor to sit out in it.
We went through the main entrance of the school into a reception area full of people. The entire place buzzed loudly with conversation. We made our way to the gymnasium. I recognized a couple from West Glacier—people I knew who worked at a café outside the park. They stopped me to ask about the fire, their eyes swimming with worry. Another woman came up to us. “I have goats,” she said. “I couldn’t bring them. They wouldn’t let me bring them because they said there wasn’t time for me to load them up. Will they be okay?”
I gave short reassuring answers, told them that the firemen would do their best to keep all structures and livestock safe, but the main priority right now was human lives and that was the reason she was here. She nodded, her face sagging. I continued to move through, searching for Combs.
People spread across the floor on sleeping bags and blankets. A lower rumble of voices rose to the high ceilings. Many sat on the floor, texting and making phone calls. Others stood against the side walls, drinking bottled water and looking dazed and scared. Several women wept quietly into handkerchiefs. Kids ran and played, their parents trying to get them to settle down. Their high-pitched giggles rose above the rumble.
Ken and I split up and poked our way through the gym, looking at everyone. No Combs. When we reached the other side, I motioned at him that we should start working our way back. After another twenty minutes of searching through the crowds, Ken and I met back in the parking lot.
“I don’t think he’s here,” I said. “I think he knows we’re onto him.”
“Especially since we can’t find his car.”
I called it in to Ali, who said there were no breaks yet. Airports, train stations, and bus stops had all been notified when we left the church. Wendy had been pulled into the Kalispell police station for further questioning by Herman, but so far he figured she was clueless. “All we can do now,” Ali said, “is hope someone spots the guy. IC has also notified the firemen in case they come across any suspicious structures, like locked sheds or small cabins, in the woods. We could use some help at this other evacuation site, though. We rounded up a number of people that know Combs who need to be interrogated. We’re short-staffed because of these damn fires.”
“On our way,” I said, but the pit in my stomach grew deeper. Deep down, I sensed that the other evacuation site was not where would find answers.
31
* * *
Gretchen
I KNEW IT HAD come down to just me. Finally, all the burdens I’d carried with me for so long fell away and I felt light-headed, batlike, as if I could swoop up into the rafters and fly away, but I knew it was not that easy. I was in a cage, and there was just me, Combs, and this boy. We could sit and wait for the FBI or the police to find us, but in my bones I felt that was unlikely. I had already kicked myself enough for not telling Ray where I was headed, but at the time it hadn’t seemed necessary.
Kicking myself—it was all I ever did, of course with good reason, but now something stronger replaced that instinct. I understood in the dark cage that Gretchen Larson—the girl from Norway who had killed her brother, as awful as she was—was not someone who surrendered. She was someone who coped. I had felt guilty in the abandoned hotel with Wendy because I had fought for my life, but it was my own bullheadedness, my instinct to survive, that was my lifeline, the rope that pulled me from the depths of the dark, cold ice.
Jeremy still slept. I could tell he had begun to dream: his fingers twitched and his head ticked back and forth. I waited hopefully, thinking he might have a severe enough nightmare to wake him screaming, and I would not need to scare him myself. But it didn’t happen. Slowly, his limbs stopped moving, and he resumed his deep slumber.
It was time. The candle had burned to a tiny stub and the flame flickered now and again as if it might give out. Combs had come over to check on us and the candle ten minutes before, mumbling something to himself that I couldn’t make out.
Now I grabbed the stool he’d given Jeremy to sit on for his meals and turned it over. I knew that it was made up of threaded legs inserted into the base of the stool. First I unscrewed the smaller wooden pieces that connected the wooden legs. Then I unscrewed the legs and kept one of them. It was about half a meter, or twenty inches long. Then I put the rest of the stool back together and propped it against the side of the cage, the missing leg in the back so that it wouldn’t be noticeable.
Holding the wooden leg, I turned to Jeremy. He lay sleeping like a cherub and every muscle in my body went rigid. I couldn’t look at him for long or I would lose my nerve. I took several deep breaths, readied myself. I pictured my whaling ancestors plundering, unafraid to charge, lifting their harpoons high. Then I lunged. I jumped on top of him screaming and yelling at him to get up. He woke terrified, shrieking, and frantically flailed his arms and tried to scurry away. But I had already pinned his arms, placed the wooden leg around his throat in a choke hold, and pulled him up. Jeremy started sobbing and his cries pierced the cavernous plant, echoing through it and reverberating off the rafters. Shadows from the little candlelight left danced and our shadows jerked like beasts in the cage.
Combs came running over, yelling, “What are you doing? Get away from him!”
I tried to show my teeth and snarl like some deranged creature, and part of me felt shocked to find that it wasn’t that hard. Years of pent-up frustration ripped through me. “You’ve misjudged me,” I said huskily. “I’m no fucking lamb.”
Combs stared at me, his eyes wide with confusion and surprise, but then he narrowed them again, and it was as though a curtain pulled aside to reveal sheer wrath. I watched the transformation from confused pastor to psycho, but I told myself to stay the course.
Jeremy’s body went rigid against mine, and he fought to get loose, yelling for help. My insides crumbled to be hurting him, and I fought the urge to whisper to him that it was an act, to be calm, that I had no intention of hurting him, but I knew the minute I did that, he’d quit screaming and fighting to break free. The more he fought, I forced myself against all instinct to ram the wooden leg against his windpipe even tighter. He kept trying to pry the chair leg free with both hands, but I remained strong.
Combs had taken the bait. He got the keys out of his pocket and went for the lock. I could see his hands shake as he opened it, and my breath quickened. I felt feral, and I saw a flash of my parents’ frightened faces when I came to after beating Per. Not now, I told myself. This is not that.
But in a way it was, and I knew it. I had hurt someone—taken a life—in the past, and I was capable of doing it again. I heard the click of the lock as it fell and the rattle of the cage as he slammed it open and l
unged forward.
“Back off,” I screamed. “Back off, or I’ll kill him.”
I looked from Combs to the gate. He’d opened it only enough to come inside and he stood before the opening. I knew it was still dangerous to make a run for it with Jeremy. He could grab him if we did. I forced myself to keep talking and tried to lure him away from the opening. “You know I will. I’ve killed before.” I snarled into the still cage and my voice echoed through the yawning darkness. Because it was true, and because it was the first time I’d said it since I was fifteen, the confession burst from me with force—propelled by fury, guilt, and a powerful, interminable will to survive. I felt Jeremy freeze, his body weakening, and I was afraid for a moment that I’d pressed too hard, that I’d choked him to death, but when I slightly loosened my grip, I could feel the back of his rib cage expand with breath against my chest.
Combs stopped and looked at me, his teeth clenched.
“This boy,” I said, “is mine.”
“No, no. You don’t understand. I need him. If I don’t do it, it will all get worse.”
“What will get worse?”
“Everything. Kyle, the drugs, prison.” From the glow of the dwindling candle, I could see a thick layer of sweat shining on his neck. “It will hurt Wendy,” he said, almost in a whine. “The fires, the end is near. I have to stop all of this with the sacrifice. God has asked me to do that. You don’t understand, everything could end. I am helping him. I am helping everyone.”
“No,” I screamed. “You don’t understand. Don’t you feel the heat? Don’t you see the flames? The men, the firemen, are coming. Can’t you hear the engines?”
He nodded blankly at me.
“It’s already here. The end is already here. Where will you be going, Mr. Combs?” I said in a low voice.
He stared at me, one side of his brow drawn downward in confusion.
“Answer me! Where will you be going? To heaven or to the fires? Because it’s too late for a sacrifice. Don’t you see the end is already here? The devil has sent me to ask you if you want to go down to the flames or up,” I lifted my eyes to the dark, shadowy ceiling, imagining the dirty, oppressive sky above. “If you want to rise, you must let this boy go.”
“No, no, that doesn’t make sense.” He shook his head and glared at me.
I began to shuffle myself and Jeremy to the side of the cage to make our way toward the door. Combs went to close it. “Don’t,” I commanded, “or I’ll kill him.”
He stopped but didn’t move out of the way. He began to breath rapidly, angrily, and I could see I’d confused him. Time seemed to slow. He looked at me with distress and hatred. I’d thrown a monkey wrench into his plans, but I could see I’d also activated him. Suddenly a deep roar erupted from him and he charged toward us. I released Jeremy, gave him a push toward the open cage door, and screamed for him to run. Combs had his sights set on me and he came slamming down on me, tripping Jeremy. My head hit the ground and I saw stars, but I forced myself to yell, “Run, Jeremy! Run!”
I tried to get up to run too, but Combs’s full weight was on top of me. He tried to shift positions to reach out and grab Jeremy instead, but I kicked wildly, my legs pumping and landing random blows on clothes and sweaty flesh. “Jeremy, run!” I screamed. Combs hit me, his fist crashing into the side of my face. My head snapped to the side, but I didn’t black out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeremy make it through the open gate of the cage and fade into the darkness of the hallway, his footsteps smacking the floor, hitting scraps of metal, and eventually fading in the direction of the huge door at the far end of the plant.
32
* * *
Monty
KEN AND I made our way to the other evacuation site, but I couldn’t fight my concern that Gretchen not answering her phone had something to do with the case. I pulled over and texted Ali: Any information about the aluminum plant on Combs’s computer?
She texted back: No. Techs haven’t mentioned anything, but I can double-check.
Ken and I will quickly go check out the place, I responded. No stone unturned.
I turned the car around and drove in the opposite direction, through the center of Columbia Falls toward North Fork Road, without waiting for a reply. Before the bridge, there was a roadblock making sure nobody entered the North Fork area.
I showed my badge and said I needed to get through to search for a missing person. The deputy manning the roadblock let me through, just warned me to be careful. He told me that the fire was being contained on the other side of the river from the plant, but that they were afraid it might hop the river with the wind conditions. He asked if we needed assistance and I told him no, feeling silly for acting on a hunch, but Ken had agreed it would take only a few extra minutes to check it out and it was worth the peace of mind.
We drove down Aluminum Drive and pulled into the parking lot at the plant. Only traces of firelight showed through the opaque air and we couldn’t see anything but the flames of the raging fire across the river on the side of Columbia Mountain. Above, the fire shone an ugly tarnished light into the sky. It had spread dangerously close to the road we’d just driven down earlier. I hoped everyone had safely cleared through.
I knew the parking lot was huge, and we couldn’t see from one end to the other. “Looks empty, but hard to tell with all of this smoke,” Ken said.
“Let’s just drive around, make sure we scan the whole area since we’ve bothered to come out here.” We continued toward the plant, and when we neared one of the buildings, I saw a car and pointed to it. Ken squinted in that direction and we drove up to see it more clearly.
“It’s hers,” I said, jamming our car into park. We both hopped out and looked in. It was empty, with nothing of note on any of the seats.
“What’s our move? This place is huge.”
“Call for backup. I’ll go in—” I had just lifted my hand to motion toward the main entrance when I heard the sound of a faint cry and saw a flash of something moving quickly in the dim light. “You see that?”
“Yes, that her?”
“I’m not sure. It’s too dark.” I grabbed my flashlight, and we started to run in that direction when I heard a yell for help, and saw another shape—a flash of blond—exiting the main entrance.
“Gretchen,” I called out.
“I’m here,” she yelled, running toward the parking lot.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Jeremy,” she said, breathlessly. Her face looked injured—shocked and in pain. Her hair was wild and messy, as if she’d been in a scuffle. “Do you have him? Do you have him?”
“No, I just saw someone run that way, toward the woods. Was that Jeremy?”
“Yes. it’s Combs, Monty. It’s Combs.” She grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked desperately on it. “We fought. I kicked him back, and he fell. He hit his head, but I’m afraid he might get up. He’s in there, near the back.”
“Ken, call for backup and an ambulance and go try to find the boy now. I’m going in for Combs.” I said, still holding my light and reaching for my gun with my other hand.
“No,” Gretchen said. “I’ll find Jeremy. You two go in together. You might need backup. I’m not sure if he has a gun.”
33
* * *
Gretchen
I DIDN’T WAIT FOR Ken to make the calls. I took off running in the direction Monty had pointed, along the edge of the plant and into the woods. The wind pressed the heat into the side of my face, unbearable and persistent. Lights of fire trucks shone on a back road that led to Teakettle Mountain. Firemen fanned out down by the river to fight the fire in case it hopped. Red lights strobed and I could see the movement of men working to stop this inferno from coming any closer to the toxic plant.
I yelled into the blazing night: “Jeremy, Jeremy, I’m so sorry. Jeremy, I didn’t mean to
hurt you. Jeremy, where are you? Jeremy, please, where are you? You’re safe now. I promise.”
I wondered if he could have gone to the firemen, but they were still a good distance away and it was so hot, frighteningly hot, and the air was thick with smoke. I hacked as I ran. I thought he would be too scared to approach them. I turned and went farther into a darker patch of woods to my left. Large pines loomed above me, and branches lashed against my face and arms. As I ran, I felt one whip my left cheek. It stung as if it had drawn blood. “Jeremy!” I called, and somewhere behind me, I could hear Ken yelling my name, but I didn’t care. I needed to find this boy.
I ran farther, then circled back and went a different direction. My voice sounded like someone else’s, and I kept calling his name until I realized hot tears streamed down my face. I tried to swallow them back. If Jeremy could hear me, I didn’t want him to think I was crazy like Combs, but I couldn’t help it, and it was probably too late anyway, because of what I’d done to him. “Jeremy!” I howled, “I’m so sorry.”
I ran some more, frantically looking around, and when I didn’t see or hear him, I tried yet another direction. The hot, oppressive woods seemed to be waging battle against me. Divots, lumpy rocks, and wild, tangled grass tripped my feet. The heat seemed to swallow me, and I felt lost, even though I could see the river in the distance, red flames reflecting on the rippling water like blood. I continued to call out, my voice drowning in the wind.
It wasn’t until I realized what I was saying that I understood I needed to stop, to quit running around so desperately. I had become aware of my own frantic breathing even among the loud noises from the helicopters above. I heard my own voice, distant and tinny, calling out, “I’m sorry, Per. I’m so sorry.”
I stopped yelling. The absence of my calling gave way to a great void. My heart pounded in my chest. I looked back and saw flashlight beams sweeping low and wide in various directions. “Oh, God,” I said out loud and crumbled to my knees on the hot, brittle ground, holding my stomach, realizing that I’d unwittingly begun to replace Jeremy’s name with my brother’s. My insides felt as if they were dissolving like Combs’s candle wax with the hot flames surrounding me.
The Weight of Night Page 37