by Mark Tufo
So, Hightower searched for a getaway hatch and found this backwoods world in Appalachia. No murders. Very little crime. Some vandalism and drunken Friday night brawls. Kiddy stuff. No matter what his buddies—former buddies—would have said, this beat the hell out of fat men trying tochop-chop-choppy him to death.
He had known what he was getting into when he ran for election as an outsider, but luckily the other Republican challenger had got caught with his hand in the till and the Democratic candidate had only managed a third of the vote. Still, not much respect for the badge around here, at least his badge. People preferred to take care of their own problems. So he wasn’t all that surprised when he pulled onto the road leading to Delphus Fraley’s beat-up farmhouse and saw old Delphus coming out onto the porch with a double-barrel shotgun.
On the porch, leaves swirled past Delphus, who stood there with his gun on his hip like Chuck Connors, star of that old TV show “The Rifleman.” Connors never aimed a gun in his life, always whipping his rifle out from beside his leg and winging it. A rifle was chancey. But a shotgun took away the element of luck, because it rarely missed at close range.
Hightower eased his SUV into the drive, killed the engine, and got out. “Good evening, Mr. Fraley,” Hightower said, touching his hat in respect.
Eva Dean, pulling off that fresh farm-girl look better than many women half her age, came out on the porch. At least she wasn’t armed. “Act like you got some sense, Daddy.”
“Eva Dean.” Hightower gave her a nod and she offered a slight smile.
“You got here fast, considering it’s not an election year,” Delphus said. The shotgun sagged in his arms. If he fired, the shot would probably take off Hightower’s feet.
“You want to lower that, sir? I had plans to go dancing this weekend.”
“We’ve had some trouble, sheriff,” Eva Dean said.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s why I’m here. We had a report about the camp.”
Delphus turned to his daughter. “Told ya. Nothing but trouble.”
“We suffered some vandalism,” Eva Dean told Hightower.
“At the camp?”
Delphus tossed a thumb back over his shoulder. “Looks like some of them took a little risk.”
“Daddy, you shouldn’t accuse anybody—”
“Is that why you have the shotgun?” Hightower asked Delphus. It was still ready to blow off his feet but he wasn’t about to embarrass himself again, especially with Eva Dean watching. And as wild-eyed as Delphus was, he was still a long way from Choppy Chop.
Delphus looked down and seemed surprised to find the gun in his hands. He had, thankfully, not been surprised enough to pull the trigger.
“Anything missing from inside?” the sheriff asked.
“Nothing we can tell from first glance,” Eva Dean said. “Looks like they mostly just wrecked stuff.”
“I told ‘em I’d load up with rock salt and come after them,” Delphus said. “And I keep my word.”
“We’ll do a full investigation,” Hightower promised. “But we have a more serious matter first. A mom reported a camp kid missing. He was last seen heading up Meat Camp Road. This way.”
“Lord,” Eva Dean said. “Which kid?”
Hightower removed the photo and handed it over. Eva Dean’s face revealed her surprise and immediate worry. “Wallace Jenkins,” Hightower said.
“The lawyer’s boy,” Eva Dean said in a whisper.
“Shit fire,” Delphus said. “We’ll be going all day and up all night hunting him and end up getting sued in the bargain. I figured the lawyers were going to get this place one way or another.”
“He probably ran away,” Hightower said. “He can’t officially be considered missing for twenty-four hours. But if Max Jenkins finds out, all hell will break loose.”
The thing about life around here was that it was easy to figure out who the big rollers were—who was, in many ways, above the law. Max Jenkins had backed Hightower’s election campaign, just like he seemed to have a knack for picking all the winners in the judicial races, county commission, and even the soil and water board. Hightower knew the kind of man Jenkins was. Max swung axes of a different sort.
“Do you think he left the camp?” Eva Dean asked.
Hightower shrugged. “Maybe he’s hiding in the woods. His rap sheet is one long cry for attention.”
“Yeah,” Delphus said. “If you want to fit in, go where they’s a lot of the same things as you. In this case, drug-addled, snot-nosed misfits.”
Eva Dean ignored him, stepped forward. “Should we ride over with you?”
“Might be best. Help keep them calm. Most of these kids have had trouble with the law and may get spooked if I show up flashing a badge and blue lights.”
They started down the porch. Delphus swung the shotgun onto his shoulder. “Maybe we can grill ‘em on who busted up our place.”
“Leave the shotgun, Mr. Fraley.”
“What if they’ve gone crazy?”
“They can’t be half as crazy as you,” Eva Dean said to her father.
“Shit fire.” Delphus tossed his shotgun into the rusted pick-up in the driveway and locked the door.
“I heard Max Jenkins was trying to buy you out,” Hightower said to Eva Dean.
She looked at him with youthful blue eyes. The creases around them fell away as she burned him with their radiance. “He made an offer, but Daddy shot him down.”
“I hope you mean that figuratively instead of literally.”
“Don’t go using them big words so I can’t understand,” Delphus said. “I ain’t as dumb as I look.”
Good thing. The sheriff smiled at Eva Dean. “It’s probably a coincidence, but I like to have all the puzzle pieces.”
“Well, if his kid wrecked my place, you can be damn sure Max and his little brat will end up in a lot of pieces,” Delphus said, getting into the backseat of the sheriff’s SUV.
Hightower was glad Eva Dean sat up front. Not only did the old man smell a little, Eva Dean’s figure stood out pleasingly when she strapped herself in. Hightower started the vehicle and met Delphus’s eyes in the rear-view mirror through the metal grill. “Sir?”
“What?”
“Your seatbelt.”
“Shit fire,” he said, reluctantly complying.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sinking sun was still breaking through the treetops and dancing leaf-shaped shadows skittered across the ground, but the forest still spooked Jenny so much that she started at every noise. She walked hunched over, arms across her chest. She hugged her breasts enough to hurt and that, at least, was something she could focus on. Something she could control.
The world isn’t a magic place waiting to fulfill your dreams, Mom had said. She might as well have added,The world is a cruel, awful place where bad things do happen to pretty girls. It was surprising, actually, that Mom hadn’t.
Tough love. It didn’t seem like there was any other kind. Sometimes it didn’t seem love itself was possible, only the delusions that masqueraded as love but usually came down to selfishness and need.
She was so angry at Mark she nearly forgot to be afraid. She’d spent plenty of time out in the woods, but never alone. Was that because she was needy?
A wet snuffling sound came from her left. Leaves scuffed. Something was approaching.
She walked faster. She wasn’t letting the fear get the better of her, just hurrying because it felt better to move faster, move with conviction. Motion gave her purpose. Calmed her.Are you calm? Is that why you’re shaking?
A branch snapped.
Jenny ran. She couldn’t stop herself; she just went. Footsteps raced behind her, coming up quick. She wanted to scream, to start hollering like she used to do when she was young and had those nightmares where her dolls came alive and tried to bite her face.
“Who’s there?” she called behind her, remembering she was a leader and a role model. Or, at least, it was her job to masquerade as a leader.
Footsteps thumped rapidly across the ground, coming right for her. She ran faster but her legs didn’t seem to be cooperating and she was back in those childish nightmares trying to run from those dolls with angry eyes and razor teeth and no matter how hard she ran, they still gained on her. The woods swirled around her as if trying to engulf her. As if the woods themselves were alive, all the branches reaching for her.
She opened her mouth to scream and someone grabbed her. The grip was strong and violent. She was spun around and Mark clamped a hand over her mouth as the scream crested her throat. Her eyes were huge and her chest heaving and the woods still spun around her but she started to calm. Even as she raged inside, she sagged with relief.
Only Mark. Just him being an asshole.
He lowered his hand and she shoved him away. She backpedaled from the force, her heel caught a rock, and she wobbled back and she hit the ground hard on her bottom. She squeezed her eyes against the emerging tears. Why was she crying so easily lately?
Because the only way to make it in this world is to be a bitch, Mom had said in one of her moments of drunken epiphany.And you are not a bitch. No matter what Mark says.
Thinking of Mom helped keep the tears away. Jenny’s best friend had said it was a shame she was born to that woman.Some people get screwed when it comes to parents, she’d said.
“Sorry I was a jerk back there,” Mark said and offered his hand.
She took it and stood slowly, her legs suddenly wobbly, and Mark brushed the leaves and dirt from her shirt. His hands lingered over her breasts. When she noticed what he was doing, he grinned.
She shoved him off again. “You scared me.”
“Well, I was mad. You know how it is. Want me to walk you the rest of the way?”
She hugged herself. “It’s not far.”
“You don’t know what’s out there. Bears, mountain lions, wolves. Evil dolls.”
She shouldn’t have told him about that. Now, he was all cocky grin and arrogant chuckle.
“I’ll manage.” She turned her back on him and resumed walking. Her emotional solitude fell more heavily upon her with every step.
“Evil dolls,” he called.
“Asshole,” she murmured. That’s what she got for trusting him.
“They’ll get you, Jenny,” he called.
“Maybe you can get an evil blow-up doll,” she said and walked faster.
- - -
Mark watched how Jenny’s hips worked the fabric of her jeans. What would she do if he ran to her and really pulled out all the stops? What if he said he not only loved her, but wanted to marry her?
That might do it. She was dumb enough to fall for it.
She wanted it. He could tell.
But even if she turned out to be the lay of the century, Kate Upton with a splash of Jennifer Lawrence thrown in, it wouldn’t be worth the drama. He only had a few more weeks here, and then he’d be free to chase skirt all day long.
Still, her silhouette looked mighty fine walking away and vanishing into the shaded forest.
“What a waste.”
He turned around to see a pale, nearly-naked kid squatting a few feet away.
Blood smeared his face and dirt caked his feet. Deep wet grooves marked his knees and elbows. More scratches and red weals sliced his chest and neck. The kid’s shorts were matted with filth.
Mark fought off his shock, grappling for logic, which was not one of his strong suits. Holy crap. Is that one of our campers?
The kid licked his lips and made a soft, vibrating sound, something close to a growl. His bottom lip hung low in two lumps, the injury stretching halfway down his chin, like he’d tried to eat a razor blade.
He’s scratched up from running through the woods, Mark thought, mentally flipping through his training manual to find any section he could apply to this situation.Maybe he’s lost.
“Uh, it’s almost lights out,” Mark said. “Maybe you should get to your bunk.”
The kid’s red eyes whirled in their sockets as if he were trying to take in everything all at once, or unable to focus on anything. His fingers scraped along the dirt between his legs and he grunted in successive huffs.
“Oh, man,” Mark said slowly as shock gave way to realization. “Billy?”
Those mangled lips peeled back from blood-caked teeth. Some of those teeth were fractured into fangs. His gums were swollen, which made his mouth look even larger. What the hell had happened to him?
“Billy,” Mark said, in the “leadership” voice he’d practiced to command respect among the youths. Billy wasn’t impressed.
So Mark tried the fallback “We’re all pals” approach. “Dude. We need to get you to a—”
And the kid pounced.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Delphus sat in the back of the SUV behind the metal grid separating the back of the vehicle from the front. Eva Dean and the sheriff had been talking the whole way but Delphus hadn’t been able to think of anything to add except that none of this ballyhoo would have happened if his well-intentioned but somewhat delusional daughter hadn’t allowed those city-trash kids to come here.
She was doing what she thought best in the name of saving the farm, he knew this and had very reluctantly accepted it, but why “at-risk” kids? Why not a retreat for corporate executives to practice team building? Maybe they should talk to Max Jenkins about that. Ha.
“Something funny, Dad?”
He grunted.
They were driving up the camp road, headlights boring twin yellow holes ahead of them. Gravel bounced off the bottom and along the doors.
“The counselors didn’t report anyone missing,” Eva Dean said to Hightower.
“The report came from Mrs. Jenkins. Said her son had a cell phone and didn’t make his bedtime call.”
“Cell phones aren’t allowed in the camp. Can’t get a decent signal, anyway.”
“Candy-assed lawyers make their own rules,” Delphus said.
“You got something against Max Jenkins?” Hightower asked, like hating a lawyer was suddenly a crime.
Damn liberals. DamnYankee liberals.
“Sure,” Delphus said, “him and that squid-faced developer been trying to buy out our property for a while. But not while there’s an ounce of red blood left in this ornery hillbilly.” Christ, he could really use a gun in his hands right now.
Hightower didn’t care about right and wrong, he only cared about his duty. “Well, right now his son is—”
“Look out!” Eva Dean shouted.
Hightower slammed the brakes and the SUV skidded. Gravel kicked up along the sides, bouncing across the windows in a loudrat-a-tat. The car thudded into a tree and Delphus smacked into the metal grid. A dark-skinned boy, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, flitted rapidly past the headlights. His clothes flapped off his body in bloody tatters.
Something dangled from the kid’s mouth, flopped against his chin. It looked like a chunk of raw meat, like something freshly pulled from an animal’s innards. Then the kid was gone into the woods.
“What in tarnation?” Delphus said. This situation was getting stranger by the second.
“Probably a deer,” the sheriff said, sounding a bit confused as he climbed out of the stalled vehicle.
“Running on two legs? Damnedest deer I ever saw.”
The sheriff got out first and Delphus almost asked if maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, but then Eva Dean got out and she was holding her forehead where blood oozed from a fresh cut, so Delphus got out and dug in his pocket for a handkerchief.
“Is that sanitary?” the sheriff asked as Delphus flapped his handkerchief against his leg and went to work on Eva Dean’s wound. “I got a first aid kit in the back.”
“Don’t get uppity,” Delphus said. “We was takin’ care of our own long before you Yankees come along.”
“The Civil War’s over, Daddy.”
The sheriff went back to the SUV and Delphus wiped more blood from his daughter’s forehead. H
e examined the blood on the handkerchief for a moment.
“Did you see what I saw?” Eva Dean asked. “Or did I hallucinate?”
He tossed the bloody rag on the ground. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say us grown-ups are at risk, too.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dr. Samantha Little talked a good game, but when it came time for the cutting, she handed Lewis the scalpel. It would have been pointless to make a flirtatious comment—her eyes had that serious, okay-let’s-get-down-to-business look. Not that this kind of work lent itself to flirtation anyway.
Bracing against the smell, he slit open the dog’s belly and set the scalpel down on the table. Samantha helped him open the animal, so the intestines sluiced out, a bloody mess that stood out brightly for a moment against the metal table reflecting the examination light overhead. Then the glimmer was buried in slop.
They examined the intestines and folded them out of the way.
“Normally, I’d suspect some kind of poisoning, but the change in behavior is a little alarming,” Lewis said, all business now. “Going from harmless to vicious in the space of hours.”
“Sort of like a frat boy at closing time,” Samantha said without cracking a smile.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the funny one in this marriage.”
Samantha raised her bloody gloved hand. “If you keep surprising me with these little romantic moments, we’ve got a great future ahead of us.”
He smiled but she was expressionless, looking a little pale. Her joking in this moment meant she was trying to Keep It Together. Samantha was the most serious of people until something really bad happened, like when a heart attack took her father, and then lame humor became her coping mechanism.
He picked up the scalpel again and sliced through the dog’s stomach. It erupted with a squelching squish and sprayed foul fluid across Lewis’s medical apron. He backed up and stood there looking like a little kid who just made a mess and had no idea what to do next. Bloody clumps slid down his apron. A pungent, rotting odor wafted from the dog.