The Devil's Colony

by Bill Schweigart

  Davis sat on a stool, arms crossed, watching the large man, named Tre, apply the finishing touch, a large Celtic cross.

  “You have exactly four friends,” said Davis. “One of them is a cat.”

  “But you’re one of them.”

  Davis smirked. “Relax, Ben.”

  “I look like an asshole.” Ben looked at his shoes, trying to conceal a reddening face. “I feel like an asshole.”

  “You are an asshole. So steer into the skid, it’ll help.”

  “Finished,” said Tre. “I’ve done some crazy-ass tats in my day, but I’ve never seen anything like this.” He nodded to the African American man who had just instructed him to ink racist hate symbols on a white man, under the roof of a stately Georgetown mansion.

  “That’s precisely what we’re paying you for,” said Davis. “You haven’t seen anything like this. Copy?”

  Tre nodded.

  “Cool. Erica will settle up with you on the way out.”

  Davis turned back to Ben, who was fumbling to get his shirt on as quickly as possible to cover up his new, massive Celtic cross.

  “Wait,” said Davis. He grabbed the shirt firmly. “Look at me.”

  After a moment, Ben met Davis’s eye.

  “This takes a lot of guts, what you’re doing.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Give yourself a little credit. You’re not an asshole, McKelvie. Not really. But if this is going to work, you have to be one. You have to be that guy. And all of this shit,” he said, pointing at Ben’s various markings, “is no big deal to that guy. I want you to spew hateful shit every chance you get, tell nasty-ass racist jokes, whatever it takes.”

  “I don’t know any nasty-ass racist jokes.”

  “Everybody knows nasty-ass racist jokes. I know nasty-ass racist jokes.”

  “Will you tell me some?”

  “Fuck no! What I’m saying is, you can’t walk into this camp or whatever the hell it’s supposed to be and act all tentative. To these people, racist jokes aren’t racist jokes—they’re just jokes. You get what I’m saying?”

  Ben nodded.

  “You have to make your own luck. In this case, that means you have to be this prick. You have to own it. Your life may depend on it. Lindsay’s life may depend on it.”

  “Any other comforting words?”

  “Don’t get fancy. No elaborate backstory. Change as little as possible. Basically, you’re the same guy you always have been. Same history, same experiences, same grade school crush…just dialed way up. The more truth you tell, the more authentic you sound and the less likely you are to get caught up in a lie if pressed.”

  “Got it.”

  Davis put his hand on his shoulder. “Three days and you’re out. Remember the protocols.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t forget, I’ll be out there too.”

  “But not too close.”

  “Close enough.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” said Davis, smiling. “Make some friends out there and have a good ’un.”

  Chapter 9

  Ben awoke before the alarm, wondering if he’d slept at all. Gus, his cat, was curled up next to him, pressed against his side like a hot-water bottle. Full of nervous energy and wanting to pace around the apartment, Ben just lay there stroking him, not wanting to wake him. The cat snored, its rumbling reminding him of the drone of the large engines he’d felt beneath his feet in the navy. Any other time, it would have helped him drift back to sleep.

  Gus protested with a yowl when the alarm finally sounded and Ben hopped out of bed. The cat didn’t meow like other cats. He seemed to speak like a lion that had done helium. The cat gave another angry, halfhearted roar then curled up into a tighter ball as Ben walked to the shower. He turned the water on, then just as quickly turned it off. He knew the water wouldn’t affect his new temporary tattoos, but he thought skipping a shower or two would probably add even more authenticity to their plan. His only concession to morning hygiene was to brush his teeth. Then he threw his toothbrush into the beat-up duffel bag Davis had provided and got dressed.

  He dressed quietly in the bedroom, but realized as he pulled on his jeans that the cat was now eyeing him suspiciously, accusingly.

  “Come on,” said Ben.

  He put a can of cat food down in the kitchen, then set off around the apartment to grab what else needed to be packed. He realized that he and Davis had packed everything that he needed to pack already, right down to the personal effects. Pictures of his father, out of his police uniform, of course. Any other trip he’d ever taken, he fretted over packing. In this case, less was more. He realized suddenly that there was nothing left to do. It was time to leave and he felt a lump in his throat and a wave of panic.

  “All right, buddy,” he said.

  The cat padded over to him and he got down on one knee. Gus threaded through his arms and legs and rubbed his head against Ben roughly. He meowed incessantly, mirroring Ben’s panic.

  “Not this time, pal. But I’ll be back in a few days. Hell, you’ll probably like Severance’s cat sitter more than me.”

  He scooped up Gus and squeezed him tight. Then he walked him over to the bed and put him down. He made a beeline for the door, grabbing his duffel on the way out. He heard the heavy sound of the cat jumping to the floor and following him, but he closed the apartment door before Gus could slip out. Most days, the cat didn’t bother to get out of bed when Ben went to work. Today, though, he heard Gus’s plaintive howls and scratching on the other side of the door. Even the cat knew this could be the last time they’d see each other.

  Chapter 10

  Before Erica arrived behind the wheel of Severance’s Rolls-Royce, Lindsay walked down into Georgetown, restless. The trees were stripped bare and she strolled up and down cobblestone streets, looking up into the windows of the beautiful townhouses. Her favorite time in Georgetown was late spring or early summer, when the streets were shaded by full, lush trees and everyone was crowded along M Street. Or after a fresh snowfall, before the plows came through. In both seasons, her little village perched above the Potomac River was picture-perfect. Now, without the leaves, on a cold and wet April morning, it was in between. Just like her. She was exhausted but couldn’t sleep, excited but terrified.

  She found a coffee shop on M Street and bought three large coffees. When she returned to her apartment building on N Street, Severance’s Rolls-Royce was idling, Erica behind the wheel.

  Lindsay threw her worn, Davis-issued duffel in the trunk and settled into the back, balancing the cardboard coffee carrier.

  “Morning,” said Erica, holding up her own tray, filled with another three coffees. They both laughed. “You have everything you need?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but Davis told me to pack light. Nothing flashy.”

  “Other than your neck art?”

  Everyone agreed that Lindsay shouldn’t have as much ink as Ben and nothing overtly racist. He was a headstrong asshole, she was his woman, just along for the ride. Play to your strengths, a small voice inside her said. She squashed it so hard her face contorted.

  “You okay?” Erica was eyeing her through the rearview mirror as she navigated the streets out of Georgetown.

  “Sorry, nerves.”

  “Really? The badass monster-hunting chick is nervous?”

  Lindsay was dumbfounded. “What?”

  “The way Severance tells it you slay dragons with your bare hands.”

  “He doesn’t tell anybody anything, and when he does, he exaggerates wildly. I’m a zoologist.”

  Erica eased the car over to the side of the road and put it in park. A few angry drivers flew past, honking horns and waving fingers. She ignored them and looked at Lindsay in the backseat, stunned.

  “Seriously, that’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “No special training?”

  “There’s no advanced degree in cryptid hunting.”
<
br />   “Not that kind of training, egghead. How the hell are you supposed to handle yourself?”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

  “What if it does?”

  Lindsay was going to protest that she was only going to gather intel. In and out. Then she remembered that was also the only thing she was supposed to do in the Northwoods. And look how that turned out.

  “I can fence. And I’m taking kung fu lessons.”

  “Fencing and kung fu, huh?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “It’s ballet. Try Krav Maga.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a little bit of everything: judo, aikido, boxing, wrestling. Developed by the Israel Defense Forces for fighting in the real world. If I’m fighting someone, I want to put them down hard and fast, not dance with them.”

  “Dancing is fun.”

  Erica shook her head and pulled back into traffic.

  “Sniper Boy will be roaming the woods, and I’ll have a bird on hot standby the whole time you’re there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let me know if you ever want to do more martial and less art. I’ll spar with you.”

  “Let me know if you ever want to dance,” said Lindsay.

  Their eyes met in the rearview mirror for a moment. Lindsay thought she detected a smirk. They crossed the Key Bridge into Arlington and were at Ben’s apartment in less than fifteen minutes. Ben was waiting in the lobby of his building and came out with his worn duffel slung over his shoulder and a tray with three coffees.

  When he slid into the backseat beside Lindsay, he looked around and saw that there were no available cup holders left.

  “Coffee,” said Erica. “I’m impressed, McKelvie.”

  “I’d hate for this to be another painful encounter between us.”

  “Your passive-aggressive coffee smells bitter.”

  “Tastes exactly the same as sincere coffee.”

  Erica navigated the car through Ben’s village to I-395 north. As they waited to get on, Ben rolled down the window and gave the extra coffee to a homeless man by the on-ramp. In another moment they were headed north, putting Arlington behind them, then D.C., then Baltimore. Lindsay was anxious. She wanted to get there, but at the same time, she wanted the ride to last forever. Even Ben was uncharacteristically quiet until the Delaware Memorial Bridge hove into view. He held his open hands in front of him, about a foot apart, and they began to shake. Lindsay looked over at him.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Lindsay.

  “My power, it’s returning. Jersey Strong.”

  Lindsay shook her head. Erica rolled her eyes from the front seat.

  They drove into South Jersey, paralleling the Delaware River. There was a haze over the state, as if it were smoldering. The last remnants of a snowstorm lay in large mounds on the side of the road, half-melted and flecked with oil, and the warming weather and light rain that pattered them released steam into the air. When Erica rolled into Salem County, it was almost noon. They found one restaurant open along the river. Erica ordered a burger and fries. Ben ordered a massive plate of eggs with scrapple. Lindsay’s nerves had masked the fact that she was actually hungry. Lindsay ordered clam chowder and a club sandwich. The waitress looked at their tattoos as if she smelled something rotten but she brought their food. They ate in silence.

  After the meal, stomach full, Lindsay began to feel claustrophobic sitting indoors with the water so near. She excused herself and walked outside to the railing of a small boardwalk. It was chilly outside, which felt nice, and the river was flat and gray, but it smelled clean and wonderful, a hint of salt in the air from Delaware Bay, to the south. For some reason, it made her heart hurt. She wondered why, then realized it was as far as she could go. When she turned around, when she left the water’s edge, it would begin. She wanted to stand and look at the river all day, but it felt like invisible tendrils were pulling her away, into the dark heart of the state, into the unknown.

  Chapter 11

  Erica handed Ben the keys to a very old and rusted car—he couldn’t even identify the make—parked at the foot of the boardwalk. She gave Lindsay a spare, then told them that she would be setting up camp at Winchelsea Airport, that Severance had set up shop in a cabin on the outskirts of the Pine Barrens, and that Davis was already in place, somewhere in the woods. All of them had open communications with one another.

  But he and Lindsay would be isolated, Ben thought but chose not to say. Erica was trying to be reassuring, so he kept his mouth shut. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, not knowing how to say goodbye. Erica and Lindsay gave each other an awkward hug and Ben thrust out his hand. Erica shook it.

  “Watch each other’s backs. First sign of trouble, just walk the hell out on the bearing Davis gave you. Or send up a flare and the air cav will come running.”

  “We don’t have flares, do we?” said Ben.

  “Figure of speech.”

  “I know. I make bad jokes when I’m nervous.”

  “You make bad jokes all the time, McKelvie.”

  “I’m always nervous.”

  Erica smiled at him. Not a rueful smile, but a warm one. Perhaps her first directed at him.

  “Okay then,” she said. With that she turned on her heel and strode toward Severance’s Rolls. In another minute she was gone and Ben and Lindsay were left alone on the sidewalk.

  He glanced at Lindsay but could barely meet her eye. Aside from the nerves, he felt a flush of embarrassment that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. They were in yet another strange situation, terrified, and it was all his fault.

  “I suppose we should go…”

  Lindsay bent to peer inside the car, then straightened again with a disgusted look on her face. “Have you had your shots?”

  Ben drove since he was more familiar with the back roads of South Jersey. Once they were in the car, the light rain stopped and the afternoon sun began to burn off the haze. He tried to ignore the roiling in his stomach, the nerves causing his shoulders to seize. He had felt abject terror before, but this was different. It reminded him of how he felt during the summer of his high school graduation, when his father drove him to Great Lakes, Illinois, to report for boot camp. Though they had made a vacation of it, driving through the country, Ben was scared to death. Every state they put behind them, every mile they drew closer to an unknown life in the navy, his dread grew. He tried to remind himself that at the height of that fearful week, the night before he was to report, had also been one of his most treasured memories. His father standing alongside him on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan, as vast as a sea, trying to reassure him. Big Ben had only been able to mutter, “Son, they can’t hurt you,” before his voice cracked and he broke down and swept his son into his arms.

  That was then, thought Ben. They can very much hurt me now.

  The car began to buck violently, pulling Ben from his memories. It made a knocking sound and smoke began to pour from beneath the hood.

  “Whoa,” said Ben.

  “Davis,” said Lindsay.

  “Too much of a coincidence otherwise.”

  Ben thought of how Galahad had told him to let things happen naturally. He had cautioned Ben and Lindsay over the course of the last week to remain loose, to be like water. He let the car coast to the shoulder of the road and he and Lindsay got out. Ben looked up and down the blacktop road. There were no other cars. The silence was nearly overpowering. It had shaped up to be a beautiful day. Blue sky, green pines, a single dotted yellow line bisecting the blacktop, years’ worth of tiny glass fragments ground into the road glowing like diamonds. Ahead there was a crude wooden sign tacked to a tree with the letter V.

  Ben popped the hood and a volley of smoke poured out. He made a show of poking around and spewing curses, while Lindsay tried to keep a straight face. When he kicked the fender and it fell off, Lindsay couldn’t restrain herself any longer and Ben laughed too
. After a few minutes, they retrieved their bags and walked toward the sign.

  They stared at the deep V cut into the wood, then at each other.

  “It’s not too late to turn around,” said Ben.

  “You’re not going to pull that macho shit on me now, are you?”

  He smiled. “The offer was perfunctory. I’m really glad you’re here.”

  “Where else would I be?”

  She held out her hand and he took it, and they turned down the dirt road. They walked along, hand in hand, joking and laughing, with the sun high overhead, a woodpecker hammering hypnotically in an Atlantic white cedar. It was so different than the city streets of Washington, D.C., even the suburbs of Arlington. As they walked, Ben realized they could have been anywhere, but something about it was unmistakably southern Jersey. The sand in the ruts of the road, the stunted pines, the hint of ocean salt on his tongue. Hand in hand with Lindsay, out for a stroll, surrounded by so much that he loved, he felt at home. The dread receded for a bit and he savored the moment, pretending that things were just as they appeared. He did not hear the men with rifles emerge from the woods behind him until they ordered him to stop.

  They turned to see two men, weapons leveled at their chests. When they turned back, two more men revealed themselves. They were surrounded. Before he had a chance to be scared, the image of highwaymen from old westerns entered unbidden into his mind, stepping out onto the road, bandanas over their mouths, demanding their valuables. Ben put his hands in the air slowly and Lindsay followed suit. He glanced at her and saw her jaw clench.