Those Who Wish Me Dead

by Michael Koryta

“I’m not sure. How’s the pain? On a one-to-ten scale, if you could estimate what the—”

  “He’s not been here?”

  The nurse gave her an uncomfortable look. “I really couldn’t say. He didn’t consult with me when he left. But I haven’t seen him. Would you like to call him?”

  “Yes. But I won’t get him. Could you get me the phone? I want to call the police.”

  Allison looked at Ethan’s chair. You promised. You held my hand and looked me in the eye and you promised. Then the nurse was back, a phone in hand. She dialed for Allison, then handed the phone over and left the room. Very polite lady, this nurse.

  Allison asked for Roy Futvoye. The person who answered the phone was disinclined to connect her, so she said, “You tell him this is Allison Serbin calling from the hospital and that I’d like to talk to him about the fire and the men who attacked me.”

  Funny how effective a few buzzwords could be. It didn’t take them long to patch her through to Futvoye after that.

  “Allison, how are you?”

  “Been better.” Wrong thing to say—the b’s pulled at her wounded lips in a painful way. She hated the sound of her voice. So damaged.

  “I know. Listen, we’ll get them. I promise you we will.”

  If she heard the word promise again, she was going to scream. She said, “Roy, where is my husband?”

  Pause. “He didn’t tell you?”

  “What didn’t he tell me?”

  “Um…well, I’m not sure what all has been going on with him, you know, but my last understanding—”

  “Where is he?” These words came firmer, crisper.

  “In the mountains. I just spoke with him. He’s gone to find the boy who ran away.”

  “You just spoke with him?”

  “Within the past hour. Is there a message you want me to get to him?”

  “No,” she said. “No, that’s fine.”

  “Are you feeling up to a little more talk, Allison? I’d sure love to ask a few questions about what happened last night. About those two. You know that your memory is going to be a big help to us. Really critical.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m a little off right now. Let me think about that.”

  She hung up without giving him time to respond. Sat and looked at Ethan’s chair.

  You gave your word, Ethan. Why did you pick the boy again?

  She closed her eyes and breathed and after a few minutes she realized she’d begun to cry. She opened her eyes and wiped at them with her good hand and when they were dry and she was steady, she pressed the call button again. Same nurse, same swift appearance.

  “Yes? Everything all right?”

  “I’d like to see a mirror.”

  The hesitation on the nurse’s face told her as much as the mirror would, but Allison held her eyes and eventually the woman nodded and left and came back with a round makeup mirror.

  “They’ll get it fixed so well, so fast,” she said. “You have no idea what they can do these days with burns.”

  Allison took the mirror and looked into it and closed her eyes almost immediately. After a few seconds she looked again and this time she didn’t look away.

  Most of the worst was hidden, anyhow. Bandages covered that. Her hair was the real shock—not much left of it, and what was there had been hacked away, probably by the paramedics. Her lips were lined with stitches and there was some sort of film over a split in her chin, like dried superglue. Her eyebrows were gone but a line of blisters showed where each one had been. She studied herself for a long time, and then she said, “You know I was almost Miss Montana?”

  “You’ll look better than that when they’re done,” the nurse said.

  Allison nodded. “Sure. My husband used to joke about that, though. Call me that, sometimes.” She tilted the mirror, saw the nearly bald area on the left side of her head. “He probably won’t make that joke again. And now I’ll miss him saying it, isn’t that funny?”

  The nurse looked at her and said, “Are you feeling okay, Mrs. Serbin? Maybe less painkiller? Or maybe more? On a scale of one to ten, could you tell me—”

  “Nine,” she said. “I was a nine.”

  The nurse nodded, pleased to be back on track. “You were. And now?”

  “Well, there are steps,” Allison said. “At twenty, I was a nine. And then at thirty, probably still an eight. I mean, time ain’t your friend. Then I hit forty, and then I hit last night, or rather last night hit me, and now…well, we are going to have to wait for those bandages to come off. But for the moment, let’s call it a two.”

  The nurse said, “Mrs. Serbin, you need to stop worrying about this. Surgeons you haven’t even met yet are going to do amazing things.”

  She looked in the mirror and smiled and watched the glue tighten and the stitches tug. The bandages that hid the rest of her were white as glaciers under a winter sun. She thought they could be called beautiful; at least, they could if you’d ever appreciated a glacier under a winter sun.

  “You pretend it’s not there when you’ve got it,” she said, “but I wonder if you’re allowed to miss it when it’s gone. I was beautiful once.”

  The nurse was silent. Just looked at Allison and waited. Allison handed over the mirror and the nurse took it and left, but the images it had offered remained. Allison tried to push them away and then she looked at Ethan’s empty chair and she knew why Ethan had gone. Maybe it wasn’t about the boy at all. Maybe it was about her.

  He thought he could get them.

  He didn’t understand who they were, though. What they were. She could see them again and, worse, hear them, those calm voices in a beautiful, still night. Could smell the old smoke and the old blood. Then the fresh versions that had followed.

  She prayed for her husband then, prayed that he would not meet them, would not hear them, would not smell them. It felt too late, though. She’d slept too long, and he’d made his choice too early.

  26

  As he pulled the truck up to the Pilot Creek trailhead, Ethan felt relief. They were coming home. Out of the burned man’s terrible truck and into Ethan’s lovely mountains, which could also be very terrible, especially to those who failed to respect them.

  “We’ll start here,” Ethan said. “And we’ll need to walk fast.”

  The burned man gazed out the window without interest. They were surrounded by high peaks and steep slopes but Ethan was sure the man saw no threat there because he had no intention of getting into a situation where he might fall off a peak. But he would, Ethan believed, allow himself to get into a situation where he climbed toward one.

  What Ethan needed was a slope that rose on them abruptly, and for a short length. One that they could walk along until suddenly they needed to make a short scramble to the top. Enough to force the holstering of the gun and demand the total attention of the hands.

  Republic Peak offered that opportunity. It was a long, leg-burning hike, but a hike all the same; you could keep your hands free. Until you reached ten thousand feet. There it leveled out to a wide plateau that overlooked a glacier to the west and the drainage of Republic Creek to the north. The country to the south was blocked by the peak itself, but it wasn’t a terrible climb to the top, and for that reason Ethan often used it as a summit for the amateurs he brought into the mountains. No ropes required, no technical experience or gear. Anyone in decent physical condition could make it to the top of Republic Peak—but you couldn’t just walk to it. It required a little hands-and-knees work; you had to pick your way among the rocks. At the summit, there was an extraordinary view of the surrounding countryside. There was also, as was common in these mountains, a stack of stones marking the summit, a small pyramid of rocks left by triumphant hikers who wanted to acknowledge their journey to the top of the world, or as close to it as they’d yet been. Ethan’s boys had added to it over the years. Heavy, rounded stones and flat, jagged chunks. Killing rocks, in the right hands.

  But can I beat Luke? How fast is m
y clock ticking now?

  He was sweating even though they hadn’t yet started up the trail. It was all out there waiting for him, he could take care of the man easily if he was left alone, but he might not be left alone. He hadn’t counted on the wild card, Luke. He hoped Roy had actually radioed Luke and told him to get the hell out of the mountains.

  Then you’ll meet him coming back down. And then…

  “Ethan? What’s our plan? You seem distracted. What’s on your mind? Is it Allison? Ah, such a sweet thing, true love. But let’s not let it disrupt our focus.”

  “We’re going to have to get high, and do it fast,” he told the burned man as they left the truck. “He’ll have a light going as soon as it gets dark. If he’s on the move, it will be his headlamp or a flashlight. If he’s in one place, it will be a fire.”

  “If he’s hiding, as you believe, why would he have a light?”

  “Because I spent the past several days scaring him. In order to get the kids to take things seriously, I share some war stories. Trust me, none of them are comfortable up here at night. Not at first. And if he’s moving, which he may be, then a light is simply required. He’ll have to see where he’s going. I watched this boy start a fire. He’s good at it, and he likes it. I’m sure he’ll want one going. The fire will give him a sense of strength, of security. You’d be surprised at the feeling that comes with starting a fire.”

  “Oh, I’m rather familiar with it, Ethan.”

  Ethan didn’t look at him, didn’t react. Told himself not to think of Claude Kitna. Not to think of the source of the smoke they’d passed. Instead, he thought of the fire that Allison had started. That was a survivor’s fire. That was the heart that he had to match.

  “So we hike fast, and we get high,” he said. “I’m telling you this so you won’t question where we’re going or what we’re doing.”

  “I’ll question everything, actually. But carry on.”

  The wind freshened and blew at them warm and dusty from its journey over dry terrain. There was a thickness to it, a humidity that felt misplaced in the high mountains, and Ethan knew there was a storm behind it. The days had been too hot and too dry for too long this early in the summer. It had fed the fires, and now rain would come in and maybe help, maybe hurt. A good drenching downpour would be a blessing to the firefighters; a lightning storm might be a disaster. This wind did not feel as if it came from a savior. “Feel that?” Ethan asked.

  “The breeze. Yes, Ethan. I feel it.”

  “Not a breeze. That’s a warning.”

  “Is it, now?” The burned man managed to keep his voice drawling and uninterested even when he should have been out of breath. He was hurt and they were moving fast and it had likely been some time since he’d slept, but he did not show any of that. Ethan was concerned by this. Ethan had the feeling that the burned man was a survivor himself, and that was trouble.

  “It’s coming ahead of a storm,” Ethan said. “And we’re two miles up in the air. It doesn’t take long for lightning to connect with the earth when you climb this high to meet it.”

  “I’ve come through a fire already today, Ethan. I’ll welcome the storm.”

  They continued to work their way along the trail, flashlights on now because darkness had settled, and when the burned man moved, he was loud, too loud, and Ethan smiled. No, this was not his world. Ethan had made the right choice. They would reach Republic Peak and there the burned man would die. It was a matter of hours, that was all. Two hours, maybe three. That was all the burned man had left, and he did not know it. Ethan had made the right choice, and he would prove it in blood.

  “You say the searchers have not sighted him, but the fire lookout did,” the burned man said. “Yet we aren’t going to the lookout. You’re ignoring that. Seems unwise.”

  “I’m not ignoring it. One person has seen him. How? By having the elevation advantage. If we get to Republic Peak, we’ll be higher than him, no question. I don’t know how you’re feeling, how much you’ve got in you. If you want to sit it out and let me make the climb, then we’ll do it that way. Running away from you won’t help me, so you know I’ll come back down for you.”

  “Your concern is touching,” the burned man said, “but I have plenty in me, Ethan. Don’t you worry about my resources. You just set the pace, and I’ll keep up.”

  This was the answer Ethan had been expecting, and it was good. He’d wanted to goad him a little bit. Ethan would attempt to discourage him from the summit again when they were closer, and the burned man would hear that and commit to reaching the top because he would not want Ethan to think he was weakening.

  “You believe he hid from the searchers, don’t you, Ethan?”

  “Yes. Because he thinks you’ll be with them, or near them. An ordinary boy would try to get out of the mountains as fast as possible. He’d seek help. Connor—that’s the name I know him by, at least—is not interested in finding help, because he doesn’t trust help. From anyone. As long as he knows you’re here—and he does—then he will not willingly give himself up. He made that clear when he ran off last night.”

  “You can find him?”

  “I will find him.”

  “And what do you think will happen to him then?”

  Ethan hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “Yes, you are, Ethan. Yes, you are. So admit it. If you find him, what will happen to him?”

  Ethan was silent, and the burned man said, “You’re wasting time. Answer the question.”

  “You’ll likely kill him.”

  “I certainly will kill him. It’s not a matter of likelihood. It’s a matter of certainty. And you know this, but still you’ll find him for me. So you are willing for him to die.”

  Ethan turned back and looked at him. The burned man was smiling, his face pale in the glow from the flashlight.

  “I don’t desire it,” Ethan said. “But I also don’t know him. I don’t love him. I love my wife. If sacrificing him allows me to save my wife…”

  “A noble husband.”

  Ethan turned from him, away from that smile. He looked again at the shadow of Republic Peak and thought that they could not get there fast enough.

  “Let’s get to it,” he said. “We need to cover ground.”

  The voice that floated out of the blackness then was so calm, it didn’t even startle Ethan, though surely it should have. It just entered the conversation as if it belonged there.

  “Would you prefer I join your party at this juncture, or should I stay with the others?”

  Ethan looked in the direction of the sound but the burned man did not. His eyes remained on Ethan.

  “If they haven’t found him yet,” the burned man said, “I suspect it’s unlikely that they will. And I have the utmost confidence in my friend Ethan here. So why don’t you join us.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The way they say things. Like they’re alone in the world. Like it was built for the two of them and they’re lords over it, Allison had said. And then she had begun to cry.

  The second man emerged from the woods soundlessly. He was armed with a rifle. Ethan watched him walk and realized that he had heard nothing from him until the man had wanted to be heard and he understood then with immediate, terrible clarity that these men were the same in awful ways and also different in awful ways. The burned man was not familiar with the wilderness. His partner was. As bad as it was that there were two of them, it was far worse to know the nature of the second man. All of the advantages Ethan had believed he held were gone now.

  The second man walked to within ten feet of them and then stopped. He was shorter and more muscular and had close-cropped hair but he looked a great deal like the burned man. Brothers, Ethan thought, they were brothers.

  “Good to meet you, Mr. Serbin,” he said. “Had the pleasure of making your wife’s acquaintance last night. You weren’t at home.”

  Ethan didn’t speak. Far ahead, Republic Peak stood against the night sky. The perfect pl
ace to kill one man.

  Not two.

  27

  It was never full dark in a hospital room. There was always the glow of some monitor, a night-light in the bathroom, a bright band under the door. Allison eyed the shadows and hoped for sleep and had no luck, and then the old shadows vanished and new ones emerged as the door eased open a few inches.

  For a moment, it held there, just cracked, and whoever was on the other side was silent. Allison knew then that it was them, knew that they’d finished with Ethan and had returned for her, and she wondered how it was that this was a surprise to her, because of course they were not men who let you walk away; it was not enough for you to be burned and beaten. They meant to put you in the ground, and she wasn’t there yet.

  There was a scream in her throat when the door opened wider, and then it stopped again and there was something so tentative in its motion that she was certain it didn’t belong to either Jack or Patrick, her last nocturnal visitors. They moved in unusual ways, but never tentatively.

  The door opened farther, letting a broad beam of light fall into the room, and Allison blinked against it as a tall blond woman entered.

  Allison said, “You bitch.”

  “I know,” Jamie Bennett said, and closed the door behind her.

  The room was silent for a few seconds, and dark again, and Allison thought, Do not say that you’re sorry, I don’t want to hear that, don’t you dare say it.

  Jamie Bennett said, “May I turn on the light?” A click of a switch, and there she was. Tall and blond and beautiful. Unbeaten and unburned.

  “Do you know where my husband is?” Allison said.

  “I was hoping you might.”

  “I don’t.”

  Jamie nodded. Allison looked at her face, saw the red eyes and the deep fatigue, and was pleased by them. At least it was costing her something. Not enough, but something.

  “They came because of you,” Allison said. “Because you screwed up.”

  “I know it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Serbin. I know more than you do about how much blame there is for me.”