“We can,” said Roger. “But we can’t be sure that the Horned Lord won’t raise them back up and force them to keep doing his bidding.”
She grabbed Roger by the arm. “Come on.”
* * *
After walking for several minutes, they emerged into a clearing. It was small, and it had obviously been cleared out manually, because there were tree trunks everywhere.
In the middle of the clearing was a wooden structure, like a framed-out pavilion with no roof. The center came to a point above and there was a pole in the middle. Inside the pavilion was a round table. Or maybe an altar. It was fitted together from stone, but the stone was stained dark, almost black. It could have been stained with blood.
They all stopped and gaped at it.
“Okay, who made that?” said Reilly. “Did Hawk and Major make that?”
“The crazies made that,” said Roger.
“Karen and Terrence Freeman,” said Wren in a soft voice. “It’s them, isn’t it? They’re the ones who betrayed Vivian.”
“The people who turned her in?” said Reilly. “You think they’re out in the woods?”
“I thought they were dead,” said Wren. “No one’s heard from them in years. But I’m right, aren’t I?” She turned to Roger. “It’s them. They’re the crazies?”
Roger nodded. “The Horned Lord took their sanity as punishment.”
Miller pointed at the pavilion. “Look, no crazy person built that. That’s very deliberate.” He started towards it.
“Hey, wait up,” said Reilly, hurrying after him.
Wren hesitated.
“Delacroix, come on,” Reilly said.
Wren tugged on Roger’s arm. He resisted for a minute, but then he came along with her.
Closer to the pavilion, they could see that there were piles of bones around the foot of it. The bones could have been animal bones, like the stacks on the stone circle where the girls had been killed, but Wren didn’t think so. They looked human to her.
Yes. There was a human skull.
But as much as she wanted to stop, something drove her forward. It was that curiosity within her, that perverse fascination with death. Maybe it wasinherited from Vivian. Maybe it coursed through her veins, her birthright. She yanked Roger along with her and they grew closer still.
Now, Wren could see that the middle post of the pavilion was carved in the shape of the Crimson Ram. He stood upright, gazing down at the altar beneath him, and his face was terrible. Red stains splashed against him, splashed down on the wooden floor of the pavilion, splashed against the posts that held it up. And closer now, she could smell the stench of death.
Things were killed here.
People were killed here.
They were slaughtered.
What was this place?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Reilly put a hand on Wren’s shoulder.
She jumped, as if startled out of a pleasant reverie. She was standing at the mouth of the pavilion, staring inside, transfixed. Now, she turned to him, almost guiltily. “Yeah?”
“This is something,” said Reilly. “I don’t know if you’re right, if it’s those Freeman people, and if they’re living out here in the woods, like, killing people or something, but… well, this is a crime scene. We need to report this.”
“Definitely,” said Wren, nodding. “Yeah, this is something big. It’s ritualistic. Whoever does this follows a series of very set steps. There is a definite psychosis here, but it’s highly functional. I don’t know if it’s just Terrence, or if Karen helps. Even if she doesn’t, she must be complicit.”
“The question is,” said Reilly, “should we call it in now, or just take note and keep going? Because if we bring a bunch of police officers into the woods—”
“Then Hawk will get spooked and leave,” said Wren.
“Exactly,” said Reilly. “Assuming he’s out here, this is our best chance to find him.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It is. We can’t report this yet.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” he said. He got out his phone.
“You have service?” she said.
“Uh…” He looked. “It looks like it’s going in and out. But that isn’t what I wanted to do. I have an app on here that will do the latitude and longitude. We need to note that so we can get back out here and bring a team.”
“Oh, smart,” said Wren. “I should get an app like that. Sounds cool.”
“It is.” He scrolled through his screen. He pulled up the app and let it do its thing. Once the coordinates were stored, he named and saved them.
“What about Anderson?” said Miller.
“What about him?” said Reilly.
“Well, it’s obvious that whoever’s out here is dangerous,” said Miller. “I’d say there’s a ninety percent chance they’ve got Anderson. And what are you saying? We just leave him and go on after Hawk Marner?”
“No,” said Reilly, shaking his head. “No, look, we’re here looking for Anderson. We’re going to find him. And then we get back on track to going to that house. Right, Roger?”
Roger was sitting on the grass, his back to the pavilion. He was muttering to himself.
“Roger?” called Reilly.
Roger got up and trudged over to them. “I never should have come out here with you two. I knew this was a bad idea. I could feel it. We have to stay away from the crazies.”
“All right,” said Reilly. “So, assuming Anderson got to this clearing, then where would he have gone after this?”
“There,” said Wren, pointing. “That look like a path to you?”
“It does,” said Reilly.
They left the pavilion and crossed the clearing to the opening of the path. It was narrow, but well-worn. They went single file back into the woods. Reilly went first, then Miller, then Roger. Wren brought up the rear, and she thought to herself, as they walked, that it was a particularly stupid way for them to be walking. Someone armed should be bringing up the rear.
She needed to get a gun.
Once she got out of here, she was going to do that. She was going to look into one of those concealed carry licenses too.
They weren’t walking long before they came to a cabin. It was nestled in the woods, and it looked a lot like one of the cabins that had been built on the compound. It had windows and doorknobs and all sorts of things that couldn’t be sourced from the woods. Whoever had built this would have had access to materials at the compound.
They paused outside, waiting for someone to come out of the cabin, someone to notice they were there.
But everything was still.
The only sound was a distant chirping bird, somewhere off in the forest.
Reilly looked at Roger. “Is this it? Is this Hawk’s cabin?”
“No,” said Roger.
“Major said that it was primitive,” said Wren. “No glass for the windows or anything. This has glass.”
“Right,” said Reilly. He shot Wren a glance and then he headed for the cabin.
They followed him.
They tried the front door and found it unlocked. They stepped inside.
It was set up like the cabins on the compound, living room on the right, kitchen on the left just when they came in. The living room had a couch and a woven rug on the wooden floor. The kitchen didn’t have modern appliances. There was a two-basin sink set into the counter, but no faucet. A wood stove was set into the divide between the kitchen and living room, obviously used for cooking and for heating.
There were dishes in the sink and a bucket of water sitting on the counter next to them.
Someone had been in the cabin recently.
They looked through the rest of the place. Two bedrooms, one with a full-sized bed and another with two twin-sized beds, both covered in patchwork quilts that looked hand sewn. But no one else was inside the cabin.
They went out a back door, at the end of the hallway between the bedrooms.
Behind the house, ther
e were two other buildings. One was far off, small, obviously an outhouse. The second looked like some kind of outdoor kitchen, maybe used in the summer when it was too hot to cook in the main house.
Between both of them was Officer Anderson, hanging upside down from a tree branch, his ankles lashed to the tree. His throat had been cut, and his blood was dripping down over his face into a bucket.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Roger screamed.
Reilly tackled him, mashing his hand over the man’s mouth. “Shut up,” he said fiercely. “Shut up.”
Miller was white-faced, shaking. He stalked to Anderson, yanking a pocket knife out. He trembled as he managed to get the blade out and cut Anderson down. Gently, he lay the other man out on the ground. He bent down next to him and checked for his pulse. At his neck, at his wrist.
Reilly let go of Roger. “Shh.”
Roger nodded. There was no blood in his lips.
Reilly took out his phone. “I don’t have any service.”
“You had service near the pavilion, right?” said Wren, who knew that the game had changed now. A dead man meant that they called this in. There was no way that they could keep pushing on for Hawk, not after this.
“Yeah,” said Reilly. “Okay, I’m going to head back there—”
“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t split up,” said Miller, who was still staring down at Anderson. His voice wasn’t strong.
“Well, someone should stay with the body,” said Reilly. “Probably more than one someone. You stay here with Roger, and Delacroix and I will—”
“We’ll bring Anderson with us.” Miller still wasn’t looking at Reilly.
“That’s not good,” said Wren. “We move him from the scene, we’ll screw up the evidence.”
“Whoever did this is out there,” said Miller, finally raising his head. “We can’t leave him here, and we can’t stay. We have to get out of here. We’re in danger. We’ll drag him out. If we all help, we can do it.”
“Come on, Miller,” said Reilly. “Get up, draw your weapon.”
Miller looked back at Anderson.
“Now,” Reilly growled.
Miller swallowed hard. He got to his feet and unholstered his gun.
Reilly took his out too.
They both disengaged their safeties.
“You ever discharged your weapon in the line of duty?” said Reilly to Miller.
Miller didn’t answer.
“You’ll be fine,” said Reilly. “Now, I’m going to go and call this in, and I’ll be right back.” He nodded at Roger. “You stay here with Miller, okay?”
Roger shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m getting out of here.” He scrambled to his feet and dove off into the woods, running between the trees.
Reilly opened his mouth as if to call after him. Then he thought better of it. Closed his mouth. Glanced at Wren. “Damn it.”
“You want me to go after him?” she said.
“Stay with Miller,” said Reilly. He headed around the house.
Wren watched him go.
Behind her, a grunt.
She whirled.
There was someone behind Miller. A figure. A man. He was wearing dirty, patched clothes, and he had a full beard and long hair.
Miller twisted, pulling the trigger on his pistol.
Loud bangs echoed through the forest.
Reilly yelled.
Wren twisted to see him coming back.
“Down, Wren!” he shouted.
She hit the ground.
All she could hear was gunfire.
She was face down on the ground. She twisted to try to see what was going on. Miller was lying face down on the ground, too. There was a knife his back, the hilt still sticking out. Miller wasn’t moving.
The bearded man was behind him, on one knee, clutching his shoulder. He was bleeding. He must have been shot.
But then Wren realized that Reilly wasn’t shooting anymore. Shouldn’t he shoot the bearded man again? The man was obviously dangerous. He posed a threat.
She craned her neck around to see Reilly.
Except Reilly was on the ground too, and there was someone on top of him, a figure dressed in patched clothes, but this one was a woman. She brought another knife down into Reilly’s chest, sticking him over and over again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Wren shrieked. She scrambled to her feet, but then she hesitated. She had been intending to go for the woman, knock him off Reilly, but maybe she should get Miller’s gun.
She turned to look at him. Where was it? He’d been holding it, but he wasn’t holding it now. If he’d dropped it—
Damn it, what about Reilly?
She turned back and hurled herself at the woman on top of him.
They struggled on the ground together. The woman got over Wren and tried to push the knife into Wren’s skin. Wren grabbed the woman’s wrist and held the tip of the knife just far enough away.
They both grunted, evenly matched as far as strength.
“Not the girl,” said the man’s voice. He sounded as though he was in pain.
“That’s right,” hissed the woman. “He wanted you alive.”
“Who wanted me alive?” said Wren. “Hawk? Is it Hawk? Have you seen Hawk?”
The woman threw her head back and then slammed her forehead into Wren’s nose.
Wren screamed in pain. Blood gushed out of her nose.
The woman stood up and kicked her over, back on her stomach. Wren felt the woman gather her wrists together. She was being tied up.
She struggled, but she didn’t manage to get away. Her hands were tied. She looked at Reilly, who was motionless on the ground, his eyes closed, his shirt turning bright red. She thought about how she didn’t usually see him in casual clothes, hiking clothes, how he was usually wearing a suit, and she thought that he looked good in a t-shirt. Or he had, anyway, before he’d been stabbed.
The woman wrenched Wren from behind, forcing Wren to her feet.
Now, the man was getting to his feet. He came over to her, lifting her chin. “You’re all grown up.”
“It is you,” said Wren, recognizing him. “Terrence Freeman. You’re not dead after all.”
“You were just a little thing when it happened,” said Terrence.
“Doesn’t matter,” said the woman. “We have her, now what do we do? Do we take her to him?”
“No, you know we have to do the sacrifice first.”
“But what if he hurts them before we’re finished?”
“If we go to him without the skin of the black man, he’ll kill them. You heard him say that,” said Terrence. “Karen, please, get the knives and prepare. I’ll tie Wren up in the house.”
“Skin?” said Wren. “The skin?”
“Quiet,” said Terrence. He forced Wren back into the cabin.
“Listen,” said Wren, “if Hawk is threatening you, you should let me free. Let me talk to him. Whatever he’s doing, trust me, I’m the best person to talk him out of it.”
“We can’t take any risks,” said Terrence. “I’m sorry about your friend.” He brought her into the living room of the house and stretched her arms up. He tied them to a hook in the ceiling. The ceiling wasn’t that high in the cabin.
Wren struggled, but she couldn’t get free. This was going to be hell in five minutes. She was going to lose all the blood in her hands. “Please, Terrence,” she said. “Let me go. Is it Hawk? Can you at least tell me that?”
Terrence walked out of the cabin.
“Hey!” yelled Wren after him, trying to kick out her legs, to touch the walls or the furniture or something. She couldn’t.
* * *
Reilly was going in and out of consciousness. When he’d been tackled by that woman, he’d hit his head on a rock. He was pretty sure he had a concussion. His head was pounding in a painful way—the kind of pain he’d never even really knew existed. Nothing in his life had ever hurt him this bad.
Other thing
s hurt too, but not as much.
He was being dragged over the ground, and whenever they went over a stone or a bump, it made everything hurt worse. His head, his chest…
Oh, fuck, he’d been stabbed, hadn’t he? He was bleeding. He was bleeding a lot. He was pretty sure the blood loss wasn’t really helping with his consciousness. But, well, they seemed to have missed anything vital, whoever had done the stabbing. His heart was still beating. His lungs weren’t punctured.
Always something to be grateful for, as his grandmother would say.
He wasn’t sure why he was thinking that, not in this moment. It was a stupid time to be practicing gratitude. No, now was the time for action. Of course, he was tied up. His arms were tied above his head. They were being dragged behind him. Someone had him by the feet, which were also tied. That was how he was being dragged.
Gun, he thought. Where’s my gun?
Gone, of course. Whoever had done this to him wouldn’t have tucked his pistol back into its holster or anything like that.
He groaned. He didn’t mean to. It just came out of his mouth.
The dragging continued. He was dragged out of the woods and back into the clearing, back to the pavilion. He could see the man that was dragging him had a ponytail. Long, dark hair. And a beard. He remembered that from when the guy was stabbing Miller.
Was Miller all right? Hell, if he started getting uniforms killed, it was going to be harder than ever to get people to volunteer for the task force.
Of course, Reilly was pretty sure that being dragged onto this pavilion was a bad sign in terms of his own life expectancy.
The man—Terrence Freeman, right?—hoisted Reilly up onto the altar in the center. He was strong. Terrence wrapped Reilly around the center post, tying his arms and his legs together, painfully bending Reilly’s back.
Reilly let out another grunting noise.
“Sorry about this,” said Terrence. “It’s not a racial thing, I swear. I got nothing against black people.”
Reilly glared at the man. “Yeah? Really?”
“Sure,” said Terrence. “It’s not even personal. We catch what we can out here. We have a mandate. Got to sacrifice the ones we do. We tried to get out of it before. You can’t run from God, though.”
Wren Delacroix Series Box Set Page 51