Ruin Falls

by Jenny Milchman

  Kurt had killed somebody once before. Another nobody, a classmate who thought he would match wits with Kurt for an assistant-ship. Their rivalry had gotten out of hand; Kurt would’ve been the first to admit that. He hadn’t meant his kick to land in the boy’s solar plexus when they finally came to blows. It had been an accident, but Kurt had still served time and, of course, was forced to leave school.

  It had been for the best, though. A wrong turn that wound up being right.

  Everyone maintained they were innocent when they were inside, but for Kurt’s celly it had actually been true. And the guy for whom he was taking the ride had intrigued Kurt. He learned more about Paul Daniels in the time he slept beneath Allgood’s bunk than Allgood would ever know he’d given up. Once free, Kurt made it his calling to locate the man who had never paid for his crime. Paul hadn’t spent one day in prison for murder, while Kurt had lost four years of his life to a brawl.

  Kurt lived a regular life after getting out—got married, sired a child—but he spent his leisure time tracking Paul down, then identifying the chat room Paul stared at every night.

  Kurt wanted to leave his icicle of a wife, and the chat room revealed that Paul was uniquely positioned to enable a disappearance. To a place where neither money nor resources were needed, and where Kurt and his boy would leave no tracks. The menial work of creating such a spread would’ve been beneath Kurt, but Paul had accomplished a great deal in a short period of time. With Kurt watching him every step of the way.

  He looked at Paul now.

  “Kurt …” Paul let out a breath. “You just found her here?”

  Kurt had considered this as a way out, but ultimately rejected the I-can’t-imagine-where-that-body-came-from ruse. He would’ve had to kill Madeline to make it work, and even if there’d been enough time, he rather enjoyed Madeline. More than that blabbermouth Abby. Abby reminded Kurt of one of those dogs who tagged along at your knees, tongue lolling out.

  While Terry knew how to keep quiet. If Kurt indulged the woman in her quest to take ownership of Madeline’s infant, she would avert her eyes from just about anything.

  Which left Paul.

  Kurt knew he could maintain a better hold on Paul if the man continued to see him as up-front, genial Kurt Pierson, nary a false word, certainly not a lie between them.

  He spoke with weighty seriousness. “This is Madeline’s mother.”

  Paul took a staggering step back from the body. “What the hell are you—her mother came here?”

  Kurt decided to ignore the discourtesy. Paul was in shock. It was making him stupid in multiple ways. He nodded once heavily. “She did. And not only did she try to get Madeline to leave, she physically threatened her. Assaulted her really. I was forced to step in.”

  “Step in,” Paul echoed. “Are you telling me that—you killed her, Kurt?”

  Kurt had trouble not laughing. Laughter would’ve ruined all the work he had already put in. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said gravely. “It was her or Madeline.”

  A man like Paul would not look too closely at the body. If he did, then the mode of death would’ve argued against Kurt’s explanation, or at least put holes in it.

  One hole anyway. Again, Kurt had to suppress a smile.

  The hardest part was still ahead, and after a moment, Paul set it on its course.

  “All right,” he said. “Okay. If you offer that explanation to the authorities, it will clearly be a case of defense. Not self-defense, but still, you did the right thing …”

  Kurt let him go on a little while longer.

  “… it’s not great that people will find out where we are—I can’t even imagine the battles we’ll face—but it’s not like there’s much of a choice …”

  Much, Kurt heard with some relief.

  “There is a choice,” Kurt said, and he took the measure of Paul’s response.

  “What?” Paul asked raggedly. “What else can we do?”

  “What else can we do?” Kurt repeated. “Besides reveal the empire you are building? Lose it, surely? This place of salvation in a world hurtling toward destruction? What else can we do besides sacrifice our children to that?”

  Tears were rolling down Paul’s face. “Yes,” he said. “What else?”

  “Why, you know the answer better than I, Paul,” said Kurt, masking distaste at the statement. “It’s perhaps your biggest accomplishment so far,” he added. “You were just describing it to me. How most compost entails a great deal of wasted product. But not your kind. Your system, you said, produces such heat that meat, bones, whole cattle break down within months.” He paused to look at Paul. “Even big bodies are consumed.”

  Kurt could see the barrier between lawful society and the one they were creating crack in Paul’s mind. And he could also detect a shade of appreciation for the fail-safe solution Kurt had come up with.

  “Nothing we do now will bring this wretched woman back,” Kurt said.

  And then, with Paul preparing to mount his final objection, Kurt gathered together the words he knew would break him.

  Kurt had aped frustration when they had to spend a few extra hours in the pissant town of Junction Bridge before coming here. An item had been forgotten at the hotel, and Paul decided to make a quick trip back, while Kurt and the children got some sleep.

  But Kurt hadn’t gotten any sleep.

  Instead, he explored the grounds around the farm, keen and observing, the whole time Paul was gone. Keeping himself concealed, Kurt had peered into the windows of the house over which Matthew Daniels lorded. Matthew didn’t know he was being watched while he knocked back a slug of whiskey, then another and one more. Nor did he realize it as he lay down, fully clothed on his bed, massaging a sore hand. Kurt crouched on a slope of roof, so close that he could’ve caressed the man as Matthew drifted down into an uneasy sleep.

  Matthew had shut the door on his son, and in his dismissal resided all the information Kurt needed. But Kurt couldn’t resist adding a few morsels. While Mary Daniels fussed around the three children, descending with blankets and sustenance and murmured reassurances, Kurt had quietly given in to the lure of the hidden.

  “You’re going to indulge a six-year-old’s tantrum?” Kurt had asked when Paul first explained the change in plans, saying that his younger brat had forgotten some toy. Then, when Paul overrode Kurt’s objection, Paul would feel as if he’d won a small skirmish, that he was in charge.

  But in reality, Kurt couldn’t have set things up better if he had tried. The chance to scrutinize how broken Matthew was following the ejection of his son, and to view Mary, whose stooped posture and whispered declarations controlled far more than they appeared to, gave Kurt the means to control any number of situations that might come up out here.

  Like this one.

  Paul wiped his face, resolve squaring his shoulders. “This isn’t right, Kurt. We need to go to the authorities and—”

  Kurt cut him off. “It’s terrible how hard and hateful some parents can be, isn’t it?”

  Paul’s hand stilled.

  “Unforgiving,” Kurt added. “If this woman had lived, she would have driven all life, all initiative out of Madeline. How lucky we have the girl here with us. How lucky that you, Paul, can help her live the life she was meant to.”

  They carried the body between them, shuffling awkwardly up the bank, Kurt facing forward, Paul turned away. Paul hefted his part of the load as they covered the acres to a scooped-out section of ground, but transferred it to Kurt when they arrived.

  A thunderbolt shook the air, and Kurt staggered under the weight of the body.

  Paul was digging out a scum of leaves and moldering brown, exposing an underbelly that was indeed steaming hot. He came back and picked up the legs.

  “On my three,” Paul muttered.

  A similar storm swirled inside Kurt. This is my body, he thought. My killing, my plan, my disposal, and you are no more than a tool.

  But Kurt could disguise himself as others cou
ld never be disguised, and he swung in affable concert with Paul’s command. One and two and—

  Another clap of thunder came, and Kurt lost his grip on the woman’s rigid shoulders. Something was wrong out there.

  “Three!” Paul shouted.

  The body flew into the air, but nowhere near as far as it would’ve gone if they both had thrown with full force.

  Madeline’s mother landed in an undignified tumble, facedown, at the edge of the pit.

  There was a snuffling sound from behind. An animal drawn to the kill, too hungry or curious to be wary. Kurt understood its nature, the impossibility of applying caution when there was something to be gleaned.

  He turned around slowly. “Paul.”

  Paul saw, too. They both began to back away.

  Suddenly, the coyote went loping off in the other direction.

  Kurt lifted his head, scenting something from the same deep, instinctive place that had driven the coyote.

  The children were out of the barn.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  They kept to the perimeter of trees for as long as possible before breaking out into open space. There the rain fell down in long arrows. They had no protection and were instantly soaked. The children seemed to know enough not to screech or yelp, but their discomfort was clear. At first they tried to wring out their sodden clothes, wipe off their faces, but when neither did any good they gave up, trudging along, each covered by a dripping veil.

  The meadow was enormous and otherwise untrammeled. Indian and switchgrasses stood tall, only their tips bowed by the weight of the rain. Liz had never felt more vulnerable, like a game piece on a board. She kept the children huddled close. Spread out, they made a whole host of pinpricks, any one of which might be spotted.

  Although together they were one big moving target. No one knew they were here. They couldn’t. The Shoemaker would’ve had no reason not to have descended upon them by now, and even he couldn’t be so noiseless, unapparent. The only sound was a faint hum of bees; there must be an apiary somewhere.

  They had honey.

  For the first time, Liz’s gaze roved, trying to take in the place to which her children had been brought. She blotted her face with a drenched corner of shirt, but couldn’t make out anything that justified Paul’s treachery. Justified her pain.

  Their small group trudged along, wicking moisture from the field.

  She was aware, as she checked on the children, of a feeling she hadn’t experienced since Reid and Ally were younger and she’d hosted playdates. You looked after each child equally, of course, but there was inevitably a deep vein of preference for your own. So you compensated. You called your own kid’s splinter a trifle, but doctored the guest’s as if it required the greatest mercy and care. You suppressed a pang of frustration when yours wanted yet another snack, but jumped to appease the other one’s hunger. Reid and Ally had been snatched from Liz, however. Stolen. She couldn’t take their childish selves for granted; having them back was a gift more precious than life. She gripped a damp hand in each of hers, keeping contact with the others with her hips or elbows instead. When she scouted, counting the brood over and over again, her gaze sought out Reid and Ally before landing on the other three.

  She recalled the fight she’d had with her best friend, how Jill had ignored Andy’s stabs at revelation about Paul. Jill too had gotten her child back from the brink.

  Oh, Jill. I hope I get a chance to tell you I understand.

  They walked on, Liz at a painful precipice of alertness, squinting through the rain for any hint of human invasion. Her clothes stuck to her like wet paint, but the downpour finally seemed to be easing up, and it had accomplished one merciful thing. Liz’s eyes hardly pained her at all anymore. Her vision had been reborn, washed clean.

  A glint of color flashed to the left. Not sunflowers or devil’s cone or Indian paintbrush, the coppery, yellow tones of almost autumn. This was synthetic, a bright teal piece of clothing.

  Liz pulled back on Reid and Ally’s hands, and they reined in the rest.

  Her gaze flew up to the clouds, slowly spreading themselves out against the sky. The woods were a half mile away. There was no place to hide except amongst these tickling grasses. She was just about to direct each child to lie down, hoping that the motion when they dropped wouldn’t give them away, when it occurred to her that whatever had summoned her attention wasn’t moving itself.

  It was an unnatural color, and also unnaturally still.

  Liz herded the group a little closer, an uneven amoeba of bodies.

  And then she was pulling them back.

  “Children, don’t look!”

  An idiotic command—its only consequence to make everyone do the exact opposite—but shock had stolen any knowledge of childhood psychology away.

  There was an enormous pit dug out of the pastureland here. And by its edge, a coyote’s head was moving up and down. It looked like a piston, so regularly did the beast pull and chew and swallow. Liz would’ve assumed it was eating a deer or even a bear, the fruits of a kill, except she’d seen that spark of color.

  “Children, hurry up!”

  They heard the fierceness in her voice, and even Tom listened, backing away from the depression in the ground.

  The coyote lifted its slowly bobbing head.

  It had scented them, but it must’ve been satiated, for it turned and loped off into the woods. Coyotes were pack animals and this one was probably summoning its compatriots to the feast. Liz prayed the children hadn’t seen what it was devouring.

  Lying half-buried by a silt that Liz recognized as Paul’s own composition, uniquely adept at breaking down organic matter, was the body of a woman.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  The whole time they’d been walking, Tom had kept moving away from the group. Now she was glad for that. Of all the children, he would be the one with the most ability to understand what they’d seen.

  Also, she suspected it was Tom’s father who was responsible.

  They had to leave this place. Now. Whatever was happening here was far worse than Liz had feared.

  “Tom!” Liz called out with quiet urgency. “How close are we? Where are these falls?”

  He either didn’t hear her, or didn’t choose to respond.

  It didn’t matter. A few minutes later, the drone of bees was replaced by a far louder roar, and vapor joined the remaining rain in the air.

  They had arrived.

  Liz walked to the bank and stared down, the backs of her thighs immediately weakening. A forked tongue of waterfall flicked over the mountainside. Liz had trouble hearing anything, and she could feel a misty spittle on her skin. She started to shiver.

  The children were also shivering, huddled together in an attempt to conserve heat.

  She had to get them out of here.

  “Tom.” Liz turned to the boy with a slowly rising feeling of horror. Had he deliberately entrapped them? Led them to a dead end? There was no way they could cross beneath that pounding water. “You said something about a way out?”

  He nodded, gesturing. If he was a liar, he was an awfully good one.

  Then again, he’d learned from the best.

  “See that pool over there? We have to climb down to it. It’s easier to cross. And there’ll be a path on the other side.”

  Liz peered over again. Downstream, the water did calm. If they could get there, it might be possible to traverse—even for non-swimmers, as the youngest were likely to be. Tom and Reid could wait with Ally on the opposite side while Liz helped the smaller ones across—

  “Liz.”

  It wasn’t that it had been so long she had forgotten the sound of his voice. It was that whole worlds had been rounded since then, entire lives changed, and at first she didn’t recognize what had once been the most familiar of sounds. For a moment, Liz thought that Tom must have learned her name. But he wouldn’t be talking to her in such a low, resigned tone. A voice that held the weight of those worlds.

>   She looked up and saw Paul.

  “Reid, Ally,” Liz whispered. “Children. Go wait for me away from the edge.”

  Peripherally, she caught a glimpse of Tom at the head of a straggly line. He did seem to know this creek, and when he turned his back on the others, he appeared to be headed for a safe spot, where the force of the falls was damped and the bank sloped at a less steep angle.

  Paul looked down at her, and despite everything, Liz still felt the force of that gaze.

  “You could stay,” he said, a bright, shallow note over the deeper thrum of sorrow.

  Liz let out a laugh.

  “You never really believed in me, did you, Liz?”

  Liz laughed again, incredulous. “Is that what this is about? My not believing in the great Paul Daniels?”

  He looked as much surprised as distressed by her tone.

  “What was there for me to believe in?” Liz continued. “You think you’re a leader, a ruler of men? Of our marriage?” I suppose it was old-fashioned, Liz heard her mother say.

  Paul was regrouping, his gaze hard again now.

  Liz saw the return of that forcefulness, and fought it with everything she had. “You’re a coward who slunk away in the middle of the night!”

  “Only because you undermined me at every turn.”

  “So you just cut me out? Rather than stay and have a real battle?” A wind kicked up, sending a blast of spray over her face, and Liz spat disgustedly. “Why did you come back to the hotel anyway? You didn’t have to lie down beside me, wait until morning, make me think the children—” She broke off with a sob, but gathered herself before Paul could speak. “—the children had been kidnapped. Why didn’t you just take them and go?”