The Devil's Colony

by Bill Schweigart

  “He asked and I said yes.”

  Erica rolled her eyes.

  “I have to admit, from the jump, I never understood you two,” said Erica. “What the hell is so special about Ben McKelvie?”

  “We’re family.” Lindsay thought of the house she had just left, the cold people inside, and she didn’t want to damn him with faint praise. “He’s my partner. Always will be.”

  Erica pursed her lips and stared out the porthole window. “I was kind of hoping you and I might be partners.”

  “Are you asking me to go steady?” Lindsay teased.

  “Damn it, Clark. This isn’t easy for me.”

  “I’ll make it easier.”

  Lindsay leaned in, placed her hands on Erica’s face, and kissed her softly. Erica sat rigid for an instant, then wrapped her arms around Lindsay. After a moment, she pulled back.

  “I love you, Clark,” she said.

  Lindsay smiled and said, “I love you too.”

  After, they sat in the cockpit side by side. They had cleared their flight plan, were strapped in, and were awaiting final clearance for takeoff. Lindsay had taken a few flights with Erica already and this moment, the anticipation of takeoff, always made her giddy. Erica looked over at her, raised her eyebrows over her mirrored sunglasses, and gave her a huge smile, as if reading her mind.

  “First Arlington, then the world?” asked Erica.

  Lindsay answered her with another kiss. “Lead the way.”

  She looked up from the large displays and the instrument panel to gaze through the windows and saw the big, wide-open blue sky over the airstrips and the surrounding fields. It was the same sky she had seen growing up here, when she desperately wished to flee, to be free, but now the rules of gravity no longer applied.

  Erica nodded at the U-shaped yoke in front of Lindsay.

  “Want to take the stick when we get up there?”

  Lindsay Clark wanted nothing more.

  Chapter 65

  Ben awoke late Saturday morning to the humming in his hand. He had taken to sleeping with the badge in his palm, clutching it like a security blanket, but he had not felt any sensation from it since his last night in Välkommen. A night that left so many dead or missing, all dragged into the pit. The survivors had streamed into the woods, finding roads or farms or nearby towns and claiming outlandish stories of sacrifices and cannibals and the earth itself opening up and snatching people—even a glowing angel of death on horseback. However, when the authorities arrived, there was little evidence of any of it. Just an abandoned camp in disarray, some mysterious slicks of blood. The news treated the story as a cult in the woods, gripped by drugs and mass hysteria. It was an open investigation, and there was no mention in the news of Drexler’s bloody office, but Ben and his friends didn’t stick around to confirm or deny anything. As they took to the air that night in Severance’s Eurocopter, Ben clutched the badge and thought of the other survivors, fleeing that very moment from Välkommen—a place that was supposed to be their final refuge—and wondered if anything they saw that night, or ever, would change their hard hearts and minds. Both doubting it and thinking how could it not.

  Since then the badge had been dead, functioning solely as a memento, but now it activated. Alive again. Ben bolted upright in bed, which annoyed the sleeping Gus.

  The cat leapt down from the bed with a thump and meowed over his shoulder as he padded away.

  Ben sat on the edge of his bed and held the badge tight, trying to guess what it wanted. What he wanted. All Ben knew was that he had to get up, get moving, get out of his apartment. He threw on some gym gear and thought about grabbing his car keys, but thought better of it. Before leaving, he looked back inside the bedroom. Gus had sprung back onto the mattress and flopped down in the depression that Ben had left.

  “Be back in a bit. I think.”

  The cat lifted one of his hind legs straight into the air and began to clean his nethers.

  “Don’t ever change, Gus.”

  Ben rode the elevator down to the ground floor and dashed out of the building into Shirlington village. It was beautiful, a cloudless blue June day, and couples and families were eating brunch at outdoor tables and strolling arm in arm. He began to jog. He weaved through them, heading south. He clutched the badge in his hand and let it lead him. It didn’t jump or twitch like a divining rod, but Ben knew the general direction to go. The buzzing grew stronger as if to say warmer.

  He realized then the path it was leading him down: out of Shirlington and onto the Four Mile Run trail. He took it, running under I-395, and paralleled Glebe Road. He thought it was taking him to the spot where he had faced the kushtaka, but the shield still vibrated in his hand, hot to the touch, so he kept going. This was not like the all-encompassing euphoria he had felt that night in the Pine Barrens, but an echo. More local. As if he was both with his father and just a step behind him at the same time.

  He fell into a good rhythm. He felt no pain, no fatigue, as if he could run forever. The badge still pulsed as the trail now paralleled South Glebe Road, taking him past the Arlington Water Pollution Control Plant. He had no idea where it was leading him, but he felt no fear.

  The stream beside the Four Mile Run trail continued to widen. He passed beneath Route 1, the drone of the cars echoing overhead, then passed beneath the George Washington Parkway. The trail curled sharply upward and to the left and he found himself upon a footbridge that paralleled the parkway. Behind him was Arlington. In front of him, to the left, was the southernmost tip of Reagan National Airport. To the right, the widening stream of Four Mile Run banked south, emptying into the Potomac River.

  The vibration, the heat in his hand, was becoming uncomfortable. He held on tightly, but it was growing too hot to touch.

  “No,” he said, the word catching in his throat.

  But standing on the footbridge above this nexus of rivers, he understood. With each new threat, Ben pierced a veil, able to see a little bit more of the mysteries of the universe. Far more than he probably should. And each time, it came with a price. For every new vista, there would be accompanying horrors, but he knew that he could keep looking, keep chasing his father forever.

  Or he could live his life.

  Don’t be in such a goddamn hurry.

  The buzzing of the badge was nearly electric now. It had drawn him to this spot. He clutched it for another few precious seconds, holding on for as long as he could, then let it go. It disappeared, again, into the waters below.

  He put his head down on the railing and cried. After a while he looked up, dried his eyes, and blew out a shaky breath. When he breathed back in, the smell of the water was leavened by honeysuckle. He hadn’t noticed it before. He looked down again, into the river, and noticed fish leaping out of the water, arching toward the sun, then splashing down again. Overhead, he saw a great heron pass.

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the sun, breathing in the honeysuckle, until his heartbeat steadied and he felt good.

  “Ben?”

  When he opened his eyes, he saw his ex-fiancée standing there, her long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, much as it had been the day he had last seen her, the day she had moved out.

  “Rachel? What are you doing here…” His question trailed off as he looked out over the railing, as if the river were a third party who could confirm that he wasn’t hallucinating. Then he looked directly below him, into the water where the badge had sunk, and a knowing grin began to tug at one corner of his mouth.

  You sneaky devil, he thought.

  She looked at him with a single eyebrow raised, as if she were walking into a room where she expected a surprise party. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

  “Just…out for a run, I guess,” said Ben, grinning.

  “You run now?” Rachel was outfitted in designer running gear, all pink arrows on a black background. She had always looked lithe compared to his compact, bullish form, and now she looked like she could shoot
right past him, but she was rooted to the spot.

  “When chased, sure.”

  She still looked at him in disbelief, a stunned half smile on her face, as if she thought she too might be hallucinating. She shook her head then, as if waking from a stupor, and said, “Oh my God, I’m so rude. I just didn’t…”

  She came in for an awkward hug and Ben met her halfway.

  “I’m sorry, I’m all sweaty,” she said.

  “Me too,” he said. “How have you been?” he asked.

  “Good!” she said. Ben detected the “good” sounded too bright. Forced. “Normal, I guess. I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you, but I…I didn’t think…”

  Ben waved it off. “Nonsense. I’m really glad to see you.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I have a million questions.”

  “Wow, okay…”

  “I was in the old neighborhood a couple of days ago, and there’s this…”

  Ben groaned and began to nod.

  Parc de la Severance, he thought.

  Following their adventure in the Northwoods last year, Severance had made good on his promise and purchased Ben’s old house, as well as the house next door, and leveled them both. Instead of selling the land, however, he turned the property into a park. It was modeled after his favorite park in Barcelona, Severance had explained. In addition to the statues of the mythological creatures that Severance had replicated, he had also commissioned likenesses of his friends with lightning speed. In one corner of the park stood a resolute statue of Davis, holding his knife aloft. In the other end of the park stood a stone Alex, brandishing his mighty war club. In the center was Lindsay, sword in hand, looking heroic. And before her, on his knees, head thrown back, was Ben, a jet of water spewing from his mouth high into the air.

  “My boss has an outsized sense of gratitude,” said Ben. “And a fucked-up sense of humor.”

  “Richard Severance is your boss? The insanely rich and richly insane Richard Severance? That Richard Severance?”

  Ben nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What do you do for Richard Severance?”

  “I run a nonprofit for him.”

  “You? A nonprofit?”

  “We specialize in conservation.”

  “Animals? The environment?”

  “A little from Column A, little from Column B…”

  Rachel pretended to swoon and grabbed the railing. “I feel like I’ve fallen into a parallel universe.”

  “It’s entirely possible,” said Ben.

  They stared at each other for a moment and she asked, “Are you seeing anybody?”

  “Just Gus,” he said. Her jaw dropped and then he laughed. “Ha, no! He’s my cat.”

  “You hate cats!”

  “Not this one.”

  “How is Bucky handling that?”

  Ben looked at the ground and shook his head. She brought her hands up to her mouth and told him how sorry she was. He gave her the big beats of what had happened to their neighborhood two autumns ago, but skipped the details that would give her nightmares or make her question her sanity. She confessed that she had called him during the “Beast of Barcroft” attacks—when she had seen the names of their neighbors on the news—and he confessed that he had gotten the messages, but had been preoccupied.

  “What about you?” he asked, changing the subject. “Are you seeing anybody?”

  “Up until a couple of months ago. Didn’t work out. No sense of humor.”

  “That’s rough, I’m sorry.”

  She made a face at him.

  “No, I’m not being a wiseass. It’s just…if there’s anything I’ve learned it’s that everything happens for a reason. It’s cliché, but clichés become clichés because they have a pretty good batting average. You’re awesome and you’ll find someone who deserves you. Mark my words.”

  He meant it and it felt good to say so. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  “Hey, I’ve held you up long enough,” he said. He gave her another hug, this one much less awkward. “It was great to see you. Really made my day.”

  He turned to head back down the trail.

  “You want to get coffee sometime?” she called after him. “Tomorrow afternoon maybe?”

  Ben made a face. “I can’t tomorrow afternoon. I have tai chi.”

  “What?” It was an explosive sound, almost a guffaw.

  Ben shrugged.

  She was going to say something, then shook her head, her eyes wide. He had to admit, it was fun to blow her mind. Just a little.

  “Look, it’s last-minute,” said Ben, “but I’m meeting some friends at a Greek festival at St. Katherine’s tonight . You want to come along?”

  “You hate Greek food. And all people.”

  “I just never tried it. And there’s…power in it. It’s nice.”

  “Gyros, you mean.”

  They laughed. “No,” said Ben. “Community.”

  She stepped forward and thrust out her hand. “Hi, my name is Rachel. You look an awful lot like a guy I almost married. Care to explain?”

  “Look…I was a real asshole to you. And I’m sorry. You tried as hard as you could to be there for me, to offer me help, and I just kept slapping your hand away. The things I said? I was horrible at the end. But everything after that…as far as explanations go? That has to be earned.”

  She considered this, and after a moment, she nodded.

  “So, is the baklava any good?”

  —

  That evening, Ben nervously awaited his friends in the courtyard of the big Greek church. The sounds of live music escaped from inside the main hall. There were scores of folding chairs and tables and children darted between them, past old women engaged in animated conversations. Long lines snaked around the courtyard for gyros and Greek fries and calamari. A pair of firefighters loaded up on food for the rest of the engine house. A booth at the far end of the courtyard sold wine and loukoumades, Greek honey puffs, and inside the hall, old women sold homemade baklava, diples, and biscuits called paximadia. In truth, Ben didn’t know the first thing about the church or its tenets, nor did he care. Lindsay had turned him on to the place, and as he stood beside Rachel, scanning the parking lot, he wondered if she would come through for him again.

  But Lindsay Clark always came through. When Ben saw them all strolling up, relief flooded his chest. There was Lindsay leading the pack, with Erica holding her hand. Behind them were Alex and Davis, taking a rare night off at his invitation…and a free ride courtesy of Erica. Ben was making the introductions when a jet-black Tesla pulled up and Richard Severance emerged.

  The team quieted as the man approached Ben, but Severance broke into a wide grin and tapped his fist on Ben’s chin in a mock punch. Then he bent at the waist to kiss Rachel’s hand.

  From there, the night came to Ben in flashes. At some point the full moon rose over the dome of the church to illuminate the courtyard. He sat at the center of it, drinking too much wine, and watched the festival swirl around him. From his vantage, he could see everyone and everything and he felt as if time had slowed. People of different backgrounds and colors, eating, laughing, dancing. He saw Davis in line for a second gyro and a beautiful, dark-haired woman handed him his change with a slip of paper, her cheeks blushing the color of Ben’s wine. He saw Severance sitting across the table from him, taking it all in much like Ben, then Alex flopping into the seat next to him with two bottles of beer. He passed one to his old friend and Severance took it with a grateful smile. They tapped bottles and hoisted. He saw Rachel chatting with them, her head spinning, a smile lighting up her face.

  And sitting beside him, he saw Lindsay. Lindsay watched Erica, who was returning to the table with another bottle of wine in her hand. When Erica noticed Lindsay watching her, she gave her hips the slightest shimmy just for Lindsay. It was a move Ben had seen Bacall give Bogart in To Have and Have Not, one of his and Lindsay’s favorites. His face split into
a wide, goofy grin. Smiling came easier to him these days. Everything did. Laughter, tears, even grace.

  At that moment, Lindsay saw him catch Erica’s little dance. Ben clapped a hand over his eyes, then split his fingers to peer through. Lindsay burst into laughter and so did he. After a moment, their laughter faded and they looked at each other.

  Lindsay reached over and put her hand on Ben’s. She nodded and he nodded back.

  For my girls

  Acknowledgments

  I began writing The Beast of Barcroft in January 2012 with no real plan. I had no idea it would become a trilogy, but fortunately, much like Ben McKelvie, I encountered some amazing people along the way who helped me accomplish things I never could have on my own.

  First, my heartfelt thanks to the entire team at Random House. They gave my stories a home and showed me the true power of collaboration. To my editor, Sarah Peed, whose every note was spot-on and made my stories stronger; marketing masters Erika Seyfried and Alex Coumbis; copy editor Tom Pitoniak; and David G. Stevenson, whose covers consistently dazzled…you all have spoiled me. I’m ruined for other publishers. And to my indefatigable agent, Barbara Poelle, your humor and relentless positivity are almost enough to make me forget that our last business meeting was at a rooftop bar, in the rain, where exactly one-and-a-half of us was covered by an umbrella.

  To Danny LaDuke, who kept my powder dry when it came to all things Galahad, thank you for always having Davis’s six, as well as mine. And to Susan Runco, queen of the equine, thank you for your friendship and helping me add some veterinary verisimilitude to the proceedings. Go Slip go!

  In the Love and Support Department, I am eternally grateful for the extreme cheerleading and party planning of Jaclin Madarang and Linda Schweigart, as well as the remarkable kindness of the Hansens—Betzy, Larry, and Paul. But the true unsung heroes of these novels are my wife, Kate, and our daughter, Sidney. Not only have they done all of the above and more, but for years my girls put up with my crabbiness when the words wouldn’t come easily, when deadlines loomed, and when I disappeared into the basement or my own head for too long. I love you both so very much and I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you for showing me the world and proving that magic really exists. And of course, I can’t forget my faithful co-plotter, the mighty Bear, who helped me break story on our daily walks. As always, good boy.