“There was something standing there, in the middle of the road,” Terry gulped. “It looked right at me.”
“We’re in the woods genius. It was probably a possum.”
“You think I can’t recognize a possum when I see it?” Terry flicked on the headlights and leaned forward, his eyes scanning the road. “Besides, it was too big for that, it was more like a man, bigger maybe.”
“A bear then. I don’t know.”
“When was the last time you saw a bear in these parts?”
“What else could it be?” Floyd settled down into the seat. He was growing tired of the conversation. There was clearly nothing in their way, and he wanted to get back to the business of delivering moonshine. Besides, they stuck out like a sore thumb sitting there with the engine idling and their headlamps lighting the place up like it was Christmas.
“I know what I saw.”
“Well there’s nothing there now.” Floyd pulled a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Let’s get a move on.” He opened the pack, pulled one out, and lifted it to his lips. He was about to light it when a mighty crash rocked the truck. The cigarette fell from Floyd’s lips and disappeared between his legs into the seat well.
“Shit. What the hell was that?” Terry’s eyes flew wide.
“How would I know?” Floyd opened the glove box and pulled out a .22 revolver as a second crash split the night. The truck shook. “It sounded like it came from the back. Go take a look.”
“Me? You go take a look. You’re the one with the gun.”
“You’re half my age.” Floyd held the weapon out. “Here, take it.”
“Is it loaded?”
“Well what good would it be if it wasn’t?”
“Just asking.” Terry took the revolver and weighed it in his hand. He pulled on the door handle and swung the truck door open. He hesitated.
“What now?” Floyd said. “Don’t tell me you’re too chicken shit.”
“Maybe we should go together.”
“Just get out there.” Floyd leaned over and gave the younger man a push. “And be careful with that gun. Try not to shoot yourself.”
Terry grumbled and climbed from the truck, disappearing into the black void behind the vehicle.
“You see anything?” Floyd adjusted the rear view mirror but all he saw was darkness.
“Not yet. Hold on.” Terry’s voice drifted back toward him. There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke again. “Dammit Floyd. Did you shut the tailgate before we left?”
“Course I did. What kind of a stupid question is that?” Floyd hollered back. “What’s going on?”
“We have a problem.” Terry’s voice sounded distant. “You’d better get back here.”
“This had better be good.” Floyd kicked his door open and climbed from the cab, his legs protesting the work. He reached the back of the truck and stopped, his jaw falling open in surprise.
“Son of a bitch.” He turned and kicked the rear fender of the truck, ignoring the pain that shot up his leg. “Shit.”
Sixteen jugs of moonshine lay shattered on the tarmac, the valuable liquid spreading across the blacktop and running onto the dirt at the roads edge where it soaked into the thirsty soil. His companion was nowhere in sight.
“Terry?” Floyd hollered. “What are you playing at boy?”
All he got was silence in return. A prickle of fear edged its way up his spine.
“Terry, you out here?” He whispered the words, not sure why he was bothering to keep his voice down.
Still nothing.
He turned, looking in both directions, examining the woods, the gaps between the trees, for any sign of the younger man. Terry was nowhere to be found.
“Come on son, this ain’t funny no more.” If this was Terry’s idea of a joke Floyd would kick the boy’s ass, half his age or not.
The moon slipped behind the clouds blanketing the road in darkness. Floyd backed up, stopping when he felt the tailgate of the truck push against his back.
“Terry?” He whispered into the blackness.
The clouds scudded across the sky, releasing the moon from their grip, and illuminated the road once again.
“Screw this.” Floyd muttered, turning back toward the truck. He did not want to be out here anymore. He’d always had a sixth sense when things weren’t right, it was what kept him one step ahead of the law, and this was about as far from right as it got.
“Floyd?” A voice carried on the wind.
Floyd froze. “Terry, that you boy?”
“Help.”
“Where you at boy?” Floyd kept his voice low.
“Please, help me.”
Floyd followed the voice. It seemed to be coming from his left, beyond the tree line.
“Hold on Terry, I’m coming.” He picked his way forward, toward the voice, pushing through the undergrowth as he stepped from the road.
“Hurry.” Terry sounded desperate.
Floyd picked up the pace, pushing branches aside as he penetrated deeper into the hardwoods, avoiding the trunks of tall pine trees as they loomed out of the darkness.
It didn’t take him long to find Terry. The younger man was propped up against a Hickory tree, his legs splayed out at an unnatural angle. The grimace of pain on his face sent a shudder through Floyd.
“You alright there Terry?” Floyd asked, despite the evidence to the contrary. He edged closer.
“It hurts.” Terry’s voice seemed weak, rasping. “I think my legs are broken.”
“Who did this to you?” Floyd noticed that Terry no longer had the gun. He wondered where it was. He would sure feel safer with the weapon in his hands.
“Oh God, it’s coming back.” Terry’s eyes were wide with pain and fear. His voice raised an octave, shrill and thin. “It’s coming back for me. Oh no. No, no, no.”
“Who’s coming boy?” Floyd asked. “Who did this to you?” He’d heard that some of the other moonshiners were resorting to more extreme measures to knock their rivals out of business. Times were tough. Less people wanted illegal hooch these days, but to resort to this?
“Get me out of here.”
“But your legs…” One glance told Floyd that Terry couldn’t walk. “It’s gonna hurt like hell.”
“I don’t care. For pity’s sake.” The look on Terry’s face suddenly convinced Floyd that they should leave, and sooner rather than later.
He took a step forward.
A sharp crack resounded through the forest.
Floyd spun around, searching for the source of the sound.
A branch snapped, closer this time.
“Oh god, not again.” Terry shrieked. He tried to stand but his legs buckled under him. He let out a cry of pain and sank back to the ground.
A growl rose on the night air, deep and guttural. A chilling sound that made Floyd’s blood run cold.
Instinct took over. He turned and ran, all thought of helping his nephew abandoned. He plummeted headlong through the woods, back toward the road, moving faster than he had in over two decades.
Something crashed along in pursuit, something big and snarling, and it was getting closer.
Just as he thought he would make it, just when he could see the road through the trees, it caught up.
Strong hands gripped him, lifted him high. Curved claws, wicked and sharp, buried themselves into his shoulders like daggers. He sensed hot, rancid breath on his neck, and then he felt the teeth…
4
AT NINE-FIFTEEN the next morning Sheriff John Decker drove his cruiser down Main Street in the direction of Cassidy’s Diner, where a steaming hot cup of coffee waited with his name on it. To his right he passed the town library, which occupied a white colonial style house dating back to 1806, while on his left was the park, complete with the gazebo that the local chamber of commerce had erected a few years before. The gazebo was supposed to revitalize the main drag. There were going to be monthly concerts, weather permitting, every third Saturday af
ternoon. But all the Chamber had managed were two events thus far. The fact that the town of Wolf Haven, population one thousand seven hundred and thirty, only had one live band didn’t help. The fact that the combined age of the three members of that band was over two centuries also didn’t help.
Still, that wasn’t the only thing the Chamber had done. The new spur off the Interstate would almost certainly bring much-needed business to the town. He had to hand it to them. They had done a pretty good job of lobbying the Parish and State for the road. No mean feat, especially when you took into consideration that the Chamber of Commerce was run part time by a handful of locals who all ran their own businesses too. On the day the project received the green light the Mayor held a party, strutting around puffing his chest out as though he were the architect of the entire thing, which he most certainly was not.
Not everyone was happy about the road. To put it in they needed land, and when the state surveyor came up with a route it meant buying up several tracts north of town, a few of which were owned by residents not too eager to sell for one reason or another. Most had come around, in fact they all had bar one, the old woman everyone called a witch, Annie Doucet. She seemed hell bent on keeping her land despite the best efforts of everyone from the Mayor to the County Clerk. He hoped she would come around. If she didn’t, they would take her land anyway, eminent domain, and he could just guess who they would expect to enforce that.
He reached Cassidy’s Diner and eased the squad car in between a pickup truck and a red Toyota Camry that belonged to Taylor Cassidy, daughter of the owner.
He was barely out of the car when he heard a familiar voice boom a greeting.
“Howdy Decker.”
“That’s Sheriff Decker if you don’t mind.” He turned to see Ed Johnson, owner of the County Line Saloon, walking toward him, a donut grasped in his hand. “You’re up early today.”
“Tell me about it.” He grumbled. “The walk-in is on the fritz again.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Me too.” Ed pushed half the donut into his mouth and bit down, talking as he chewed. “Repair guy said he would be over by ten to fix it.” Crumbs of fried dough fell from between his lips and onto his shirt. He brushed them away.
“Well, good luck.” Decker said.
“Thanks.” Ed took off in the direction of the saloon, a block down the street, pulling a set of keys from his pocket as he went.
Decker turned toward the diner and pulled the door open. A bell rang when he entered.
Nancy Cassidy, the namesake owner of the place, greeted him from behind the counter.
“Morning Sheriff. You’re looking cheerful today.” Nancy Cassidy had been one of the main forces behind the new road, and as owner of the only real eating establishment in town she stood to see a nice rise in business once the spur was built.
“I will be when I’ve gotten a cup of your steaming hot coffee inside of me.” Decker took a moment to admire Nancy. The way her auburn hair fell over her shoulders, her tapered waist that looked good even in an old apron. She might be pushing forty, but she looked easily ten years younger. Suddenly he was back in high school. It was their senior year, and he was taking her to the prom. He could still remember how she looked in her dress, coming down the stairs that night. Even now twenty-two years later the memory still had the capacity to take his breath away.
“You having breakfast too?” she asked in her southern Cajun drawl. “The Crawfish Scrambled Eggs are to die for.”
“Not today Nancy.” Decker looked around, his eyes roaming the familiar diner. The place hadn’t changed since he was a kid. The chrome and leather stools that lined the counter were tarnished and scuffed, the booths sported tables complete with tabletop jukeboxes that had not worked for at least a decade. Nancy said she kept them because they reminded her of the place when her parents owned it. The booths were empty, except for the one furthest from the door, which was occupied by Taylor, Nancy’s daughter. She ignored them, tapping away on her cell phone in a world of her own. “Looks like a slow one.”
“It’s Saturday morning. Everyone’s either in bed sleeping off last night or taking advantage of the fact that they don’t have to work to catch a few extra winks. They’ll come on by when they get hungry.”
Decker watched Nancy pour a tall mug of coffee and set it down in front of him. “How much do I owe you?”
“On the house.”
“Now Nancy, you can’t keep giving stuff away like this.”
“I know, I know. But the way I see it, you’re keeping the streets of Wolf Haven safe for folk to come out and eat here. Besides, I kinda like you.” She flashed him a shy smile.
“Well I like you too Nancy.” He thought he detected the faintest trace of a blush redden her cheeks. “But if you go out of business I won’t have anywhere to get my cup of coffee in the morning now will I?” Decker slid four dollars across the counter. “Besides, the worst thing that’s happened to this town in the last twelve months was a cat stuck up a tree at the old Gibbs place. It’s not like we need much protecting.”
“Long may it last,” Nancy pulled the tops from the sugar containers on the counter and refilled them one by one.
“Amen to that.” Sheriff Decker agreed. Sometimes he still found it odd that he was back here. When he’d left for college he swore never to return to Wolf Haven, but things change. People change. Still, the one good thing about coming back was Nancy. He’d always felt there was unresolved business between them. He knew how much it hurt her when he left. Maybe he should have taken her with him… But that wasn’t what happened, and he could not change the past.
He could get a refill of coffee though.
He was about to slide his mug across the counter when his radio squawked. It looked like he wasn’t going to get a second coffee, not this morning.
5
TAYLOR CASSIDY WATCHED the sheriff flirt with her mother. It made her want to throw up. He was ancient. A dinosaur. Not that her mother was any spring chicken herself. She’d be forty-one in a month’s time. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Taylor turned her attention back to the phone, to her conversation with Jake.
‘What are you up to?’ The words appeared in a gray bubble.
‘Nothing much,’ she typed back, watching the screen update with her own blue text box. ‘The sheriff is here hitting on my mom.’
‘Yuck.’
‘I know. Gross.’
‘Maybe they’ll get together and then he will be your dad.’
‘Ew. Don’t even go there.’ She glanced up. The sheriff was watching her mother, his eyes following her as she went about her business behind the counter.
Her phone buzzed. She looked back down, at the new message that had appeared.
‘You want to do something later?’
‘Maybe. Do you have anything in mind?’ She typed quickly, her fingers dancing over the on screen keyboard.
‘We could catch a movie.’
‘IDK.’ She hit send.
‘Bowling?’
‘Really?’ She stifled a snort. Like she wanted to spend the afternoon in a moldy old bowling alley watching Jake and his buddies roll spares and do high fives.
‘What then?’
‘Sullivan’s Pond.’ She glanced back toward the counter. Her mother was there, but Sheriff Decker was gone. When she looked through the plate glass window fronting the street she noticed that the parking spot his cruiser had occupied was empty now. Good. He wasn’t coming back.
‘When?’ The phone buzzed.
She read the message and tapped out an answer. ‘Pick me up at eleven. I’ll wait outside.’
‘OK.’
‘Bring a towel.’ This was fantastic. She hadn’t been to the swimming hole since last summer. It was a gorgeous day outside, and the temperature was supposed to hit ninety. She put the phone down on the table and settled back into the booth with a grin on her face. This was going to be so much fun.
6
>
BY THE TIME DECKER arrived at the abandoned truck out on Route 16 Chad Hardwick, his deputy, had already set up warning flares on each side of the pickup and was busy rooting through the glove box, no doubt looking for something that might indicate to whom the vehicle belonged.
When he heard Decker approach he extracted himself from the cab. “This is a pretty mess we have ourselves here.” He wiped his hands on his trousers then inspected his palms as if he expected to see something untoward there. Finally he looked back up at Decker. “There’s no registration in the glove box. Although there is an empty gun holster.”
“I don’t need a registration.” Decker said, eyeing the pickup. “I recognize this truck. It belongs to Floyd Benson.”
“The moonshiner?”
“The very same.”
“Well that would explain some things,” Chad said, his eyes straying to the road. “Take a look over there.”
Decker followed the deputy’s gaze. Strewn across the blacktop behind the pickup was a mess of smashed jugs. Broken glass glinted in the sunlight. The stench of alcohol lingered even though most of the liquid had already evaporated. “Looks like Floyd lost his load of hooch.”
“Seems odd that he’d leave the evidence laying out here in plain sight.” Chad leaned against the truck bed and adjusted his hat to shield his eyes from the glare.
“Little bit.”
“So where is the old bastard?”
“Maybe he broke down. He has a few acres of land not far from here. He could have hiked back up the road.”
“And left his truck running? The keys are still in the ignition and the gas tank is empty. Besides, there must have been two people in the truck. Both doors were open when I arrived on scene.”
Decker leaned into the cab, his eyes alighting on the headlight controls. They were stuck in the on position. “He left his lights on too.” He reached out and turned the knob for the radio, but nothing happened. “Battery’s dead.”
“So we’ve got an abandoned truck with a dead battery and no gas, smashed alcohol containers all over the road…”
What Vengeance Comes Page 2