The Devil's Colony

by Bill Schweigart

  “I don’t like it,” he whispered, looking around. “I don’t like anything about this place.”

  “I like him,” she said, nodding to Slip.

  “You better. We blew the rendezvous for him.”

  “Not entirely. Drexler and I have a standing date. He’s chatty and he likes me. Tea every night after dinner. I’ll try to get more out of him this time.”

  He looked at her. He tried to smile, but could not convince his mouth to comply and he was certain the dread in his eyes was plainly visible. Even with the uncertainty of the last three days in camp, they had clung to a plan: a time and a bearing. A vector home. Now they were improvising, and it made him feel adrift. Like when he would stand on the edge of an aircraft carrier in the ocean in the middle of the night, letting his mind wander and contemplate what it would be like to fall overboard, utterly alone in the infinite dark, as the ship steamed away, getting smaller and smaller, oblivious to him. Like the shipmates who slept while he had a night watch, the rest of Välkommen was asleep, dozing in the main yellow house or the outbuildings or cabins or Quonset huts or tents. Ben wondered if he and Lindsay were the only two people awake for miles in the Pine Barrens. The only sounds were the loud but comforting grunts and exhalations of the horses in their stalls. Beyond the barn, Ben could think of nothing comforting at all and his stomach roiled.

  “Get some sleep,” she said finally. “I’ll see you in the morning. Besides,” she said, brushing away some hay where she had been sitting to reveal a shotgun, “I’m not exactly helpless.”

  “I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

  “Sweet dreams,” she said.

  Ben grunted.

  Now he was walking to the woods, his erection fading, but the pressure on his bladder increasing. He walked down a long row of the tent city, which seemed to grow daily and was now covering a third of the massive field, then made a ninety-degree turn down another avenue until he was in the clear part of the field and marching toward the treeline. There were outhouses and port-a-johns, but the woods were closer and despite his run-ins with cryptids in the past year and a half, nothing was quite as horrifying as a poorly maintained communal bathroom.

  He unzipped at the wood’s edge, exhaled deeply, and relieved himself, hoping also to purge the residue of the dream. He didn’t need guilt for that on top of everything else. Before he could zip up, his aching head and the vapors of moonshine began to play tricks with his vision. A shaggy mass seemed to detach itself from the trees and zoom out at him, like in some 3-D movie. Before he realized it was no trick, the shaggy thing grasped him in an iron grip, pulled him off his feet, and dragged him into the dark woods.

  Chapter 26

  Davis pulled Ben into the trees and clamped a hand over his mouth before he could scream.

  “It’s Davis,” he whispered. “Settle down.”

  “Christ,” seethed Ben, who spun around to face his friend. When he saw him, he did a double take. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  “Ghillie suit.”

  It was a variation of the shaggy camouflage suit he’d worn as an operator in Afghanistan, only now adorned with pine needles and matching the muted April colors of the ghostly Pine Barrens. Dressed in the suit and with his slow, deliberate movements, he had been invisible to the cameras and the passing eyes of guards.

  “You look like a shrub. I could’ve pissed on you.”

  “And I could’ve killed you.”

  “It’s about the joke, isn’t it? I’m sorry about the joke. I had no choice…”

  “I don’t give a shit about the joke,” spat Davis. “You blew the fucking RV.”

  At first Davis thought something had gone terribly wrong. There had been rifle fire earlier in the evening, forcing him to get closer to the camp than advisable, but he was still concealed inside his ghillie and armed to the teeth. As soon as he heard the shot, he pushed toward Välkommen, circumnavigating the perimeter, scanning the entirety of the camp in his night-vision goggles, his heart in his throat as he tried to detect Ben or Lindsay. Fuck it, he thought, and took two steps out of the trees and into the open field, a crouching bush carrying an MR556 rifle. If they were in trouble, he’d grab them and shoot his way out. He was outnumbered, but he’d have the element of surprise. He took two more steps into the dark clearing when he heard the roar of motorcycle engines. He froze as tent flaps in the clearing flew open and the denizens of Välkommen began walking toward the commotion. Finally he saw Ben emerge from the barn, alone but unhurt, walking toward the roundabout in front of the main house. When he saw the man Ben was trailing, he froze. He backed to the edge of the woods and blended into the trees, his bowels quaking.

  “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Ben.”

  “I have a pretty good idea. I’ve been living with these shitbags, remember?”

  “We’re leaving now. Go get Lindsay.”

  “She won’t come. Not tonight.”

  Ben explained about the map he had seen in the garage with Felix and his men. Lindsay finally getting an audience with Drexler. And the real reason why they had missed the rendezvous, the horse. It was just as well, continued Ben, when the bikers came, since it solidified their status as part of Välkommen.

  “I was drinking with them. And when Breaux kicked that dude, it was suddenly us versus them. We’re in, Davis. The plan is working. I hate to say it, but we need more time.”

  Davis wanted to tell him about Breaux, but Ben seemed confident. Even if he was just putting on a show, he did seem more at ease now that he was actually in the camp than when Davis had been prepping him in D.C. Davis had to keep quiet about Breaux; he didn’t know how Ben might react. If Ben acted any differently around the man—too long a glance or some other small tell—Breaux would sniff it out. And that would not be healthy for Ben.

  “Come on,” said Ben. “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of any cryptids, but Felix and his pals definitely qualify as monsters. Trust me, they’re up to something. And Lindsay’s getting really tight with Drexler. We’re close to something, I can feel it.”

  Davis gritted his teeth. “One more night,” he said.

  “Deal.”

  “I’m not fucking around, Ben. No more improvising. And you tell Lindsay that if you’re both not walking into the woods tomorrow night—same bat time, same bat channel—I will kill that horse myself.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “Not even a little bit. You were playing with house money before. Now it’s on you. Do not get cute, do not overreach. Be cool.”

  He backed away, melting into the woods and darkness. He watched Ben standing there, his fly still open, blinking, trying to distinguish Davis from the surrounding trees and losing him.

  “And for God’s sake,” said Davis, “tell better jokes.”

  Chapter 27

  After seeing Davis, Ben slept soundly and woke in the morning to find Big Billy’s severed head perched on his sleeping bag, staring up at him with gray eyes.

  When he was not quite asleep but not quite awake, the weight of the head, suspended between his feet, reminded him of Gus, who liked to curl up there. The cat treated the dip of the blankets like a hammock and settled in at odd hours of the morning, making Ben feel guilty if he wanted to move or roll over. So as Ben was coming to, forgetting for a moment he was not at home but instead in a camp filled with fascists, criminals, and psychos, the familiar weight between his feet made him smile. The smile slid off his face in the moment he realized what he was seeing.

  In his mad pedaling to get out of the sleeping bag and away from it, he kicked the head across the inside of the tent. The head made a thumping sound as it hit the ground and rolled into the corner. The head upturned then, its neck yawning red and black with dried blood. Ben moaned involuntarily. He finally struggled free of the sleeping bag and nearly brought the whole tent down on top of him as he sprang to the corner opposite the head. His heaving breaths threatened to turn into shouts, and he clamped his mouth
shut.

  His first conscious thought was that Davis had been right. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Ben. Last night Ben had been optimistic. Despite a kick in the head, yesterday had been productive. Lindsay had gotten close to Drexler, and Ben was working on Breaux and Felix’s crew, and seeing Davis was reassuring. For the first time since infiltrating the camp, they were gathering intel, the whole reason they came in the first place. Now he felt cocky and foolish. And terrified. Next it dawned on him that, aside from Big Billy’s head, he was alone. He looked at it again, saw a flash of white that he guessed was a spinal column, and looked away. Lindsay was still in the barn. Or she had gone up to the main house for chow. Her brief stint in the kitchen, and getting tighter with the old man, had its privileges.

  He had no idea what to do.

  First, calm the fuck down, he chastised himself.

  This was a message. But who was sending the message and what did it mean? Whoever sent it could be watching his tent right now. He had to figure out how to play this…

  The obvious choice was Breaux. He was the chief of security and he attacked the bikers. He surprised Ben with his casual yet explosive viciousness, so who the hell else could it be? It could have been Felix or one of his crew, trying to prove themselves with Breaux, but Ben didn’t quite believe Felix would get his own hands dirty. Anson looked like a Confederate dandy, but in Ben’s few conversations, he knew the man hid a simmering rage beneath his affected southern charm. And he carried that sword everywhere.

  And then there was Hendrix. A rabid dog. Ben believed him capable of anything. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man was under a tree somewhere, eating the rest of the body.

  Or it could have been any number of hard-eyed men in the camp, trying to curry favor or somehow jealous of Ben’s proximity to the others. Or jealous of Lindsay. There were now nearly a thousand people in camp. Ben had no idea how many were capable of such a thing, but the percentage was damn sure higher than the general population, and it wasn’t like Välkommen ran background checks.

  His breathing slowly returned to normal as he stared at the head ruefully. He weighed his options and went with the one he thought might work. He wrapped Big Billy’s head in a towel and walked out of the tent, hoping the play he decided on would keep his own head on its shoulders until nightfall.

  Chapter 28

  “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Lindsay Claiborne.”

  She had been sleeping in the stall with Slip and started awake to find Henry Drexler, staring at her over the stall’s gate with a sly expression that she couldn’t decipher. He was carrying two cups of something.

  “Is one of those for me?” she asked.

  He smiled, and his expression changed, like the sun breaking through the clouds.

  “I hear I have you to thank for saving this creature’s life.”

  She looked back at Slip, who was still resting. The Banamine had worked. Within a few hours, the bay’s cramping had subsided, leaving the horse exhausted but out of pain. Still, it was not necessarily out of danger. Lindsay fell in and out of sleep all night, expecting Anson to wake her by shotgunning the horse. And maybe her along with it.

  “I grew up on a farm. I understand horses better than people.”

  A racing cloud passed across his face, but was gone again, revealing the sun once more.

  “Climb out of there and join me for breakfast. You’ve had a hell of a night, I’ve heard. Seems everyone did.”

  “Sir, I appreciate it, but I can’t leave Slip just yet.”

  He smiled, but there was steel in it this time. “My dear, I have made clear in no uncertain terms that if any harm befalls this horse, or you for that matter, I will have the person responsible drawn and quartered by Slip’s stablemates.”

  Lindsay laughed. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to, but he passed over a mug, then opened the gate for her and bowed at the waist.

  He led her to his office and gestured to the seat she had taken before.

  “I’m afraid if I sit, I’ll never get up.”

  “You don’t have to. You could hide out in here all day, get some rest.”

  “I may take you up on that.”

  She passed by the bookshelf, looked at the titles, paused in front of the shelf full of Lovecraft.

  “He was my father’s favorite author after coming to America,” said Drexler. “Something about the man’s writing resonated with him. I never really cared for it myself. Made for horrible bedtime stories.”

  Lindsay nodded.

  She finally stopped fighting the gravity of the chair in front of Drexler’s desk. She nearly sighed when she sank into it.

  “A woman of many talents,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Not really. Just horses.”

  “Still. Banamine? That was quick thinking. I never rode much with my leg. Horses were another of my father’s passions, but they’re the one thing about this place I don’t want to change.”

  “Then you have the wrong guy in charge.”

  “Anson? He was only supposed to be temporary. He fancied himself a horseman and I thought that giving him the responsibility might actually help him rise to the occasion.” He shook his head. “I’m grateful you caught him in time. I’d be even more grateful if you’d take over the stables.”

  Lindsay let the pride she felt at gaining Drexler’s trust break her face into a legitimate grin. “I’d be thrilled.” For a brief moment, she felt a pang of near sadness that she would not be sticking around to follow through.

  “What is it?” asked Drexler.

  “I was just thinking of Eva and Donna.”

  “I’ll handle them. You can’t let anyone stop you when you find your purpose. Speaking of the kitchen, I’m sure you’ve heard there’s a party tonight.”

  “I heard there’d be a couple of bands playing.”

  “I usually precede them with a few words. Most everyone calls them my sermons.” He smiled. “Not without resistance, I’m afraid. I’d be curious on your opinion afterward.”

  “Of course, but I don’t think my opinion matters much.”

  “It matters to me. You sell yourself short, Lindsay.”

  Lindsay thought about it. “You could be right.”

  “So much of our self-image and sense of worth is the reflection we see in our parents’ faces,” he said. “I’m here to tell you: It doesn’t have to be any longer.”

  They looked at each other for a few moments. She had been leaving out key details in their conversations, and perhaps he was too, but she knew they were telling each other as much truth as they could.

  “You could leave,” she said abruptly. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not your job to turn everyone around.”

  He smiled, but shook his head. “I had a wife, you know. Marigold. Felix’s mother. She was beautiful and kind. I met her when I was younger, on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. I was a morose young man, but I enjoyed sitting and watching the ocean. It was infinite and reminded me just how small and insignificant me and my problems were. A speck in the cosmos. Oddly enough, that brought me comfort. One day I was sitting on a bench, and I heard this raucous laughter. I turned around to see this breathtaking girl jogging backward, laughing at the seagulls overhead. But there was a loose board and before I could even warn her, she stumbled over it and hit her head. I hobbled over to her as quickly as I could and I was the first one by her side. She didn’t know who I was. Amnesia is not like you see in the movies, you see. It’s terrifying to be unmoored like that. To not know who you are or where you came from. But she seized on to me. She told me later she sensed a kindness in me.”

  Drexler stumbled on the word kindness. It took him great effort to get the word out and he took a breath and let his eyes clear of tears before he continued.

  “It only lasted a few hours, but she wouldn’t let me leave her. Honestly, there was nowhere else I wanted to be in all of the world. I rode with her to the hospital. I held her hand while the do
ctors looked her over and we talked deep into the night while she sat in her hospital bed trying not to fall asleep. I vowed I would never leave her side.”

  “That’s a beautiful first date,” said Lindsay.

  “It was magical. I was a speck of dust and she was lost in space. We were just two souls in a quiet room. It was the happiest night of my life.”

  Lindsay hesitated, but she knew she had to ask, knew he needed to tell her.

  “What happened?”

  “We married. I brought her home. It was fine at first. Lovely even. My father was so astounded that a woman—any woman, let alone this kind, beautiful woman—could fall for his hobbled and bookish son, that he was actually charming at first. When he wanted to, he could be the sun.

  “I found teaching positions. Professorships. The jobs took me away from her. We began to argue, but we were actually in violent agreement. We both wanted to leave. As bucolic as this place was, the darkness was unmistakable. It wasn’t long before my father’s thin veneer of civility began to crack. And the constant presence of his cronies and hangers-on didn’t help. I was his son, but still an object of derision to most of them. That was the worst part, she always told me, having to listen to their taunts behind my back. She was hurt on my behalf.

  “By now she was pregnant, and even though she would have left immediately, I was too scared, too stubborn. I wanted to have enough money to support my wife and new child. And in the meantime, I figured I needed all the help I could get. This was home—there was food, shelter, safety. Even wives of the other men who could help out. To hell with the money and help, she told me again and again. All we needed was each other. Then Felix came and it was too late. She made the best of it for a while, and he was a bright spot at first, but even a baby could keep the darkness at bay for only so long.”

  Lindsay swallowed hard. She felt as if the darkness were tangible, that it had tendrils that snaked among the pines, and that they were slowly closing in on her. She wanted to leave, but knew she couldn’t.