42
FOR THE SECOND TIME that day, they made love. Afterward they lay in each other’s arms, neither one speaking for the longest time.
It was Nancy who broke the silence. “Promise me that nothing will happen to you.” She rolled over and looked at Decker, her hand resting on his bare chest.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me. Why would you ever think it would?”
“Because you’re going to go after whatever is killing people.” She put her head on his shoulder. “It’s your job.”
“And I have a big gun.” He stroked her hair, letting his fingers play through the soft strands. She smelled like fresh cut roses. “You worry too much.”
“I don’t think so. You don’t even know what it is.”
“Not yet.” Decker wondered if Carol had sent the claw off for testing. “But we’ll figure it out.”
“Just be careful.” Nancy pleaded. “I don’t want to lose you, not now.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Decker soothed her. “Except to pee.” He extricated himself from her and swung his legs from the bed. The floor was cold on his bare feet.
“Nice ass.” Nancy watched, grinning, as he padded toward the bathroom.
“Thanks.” Decker wiggled it playfully as he went through the door. When he returned the bedroom was empty and Nancy’s robe was gone.
She must be checking on Taylor, he thought, and slipped back between the sheets, spreading out, relishing the coolness of the cotton on his body. He lay on his back and closed his eyes, images of Nancy filling his head as he relaxed.
And then he heard a loud crash.
He jumped up, grabbed his gun and rushed from the room, pulling a towel around himself as he went, since his pants were still in the dryer.
“Nancy?” He tore down the short corridor to the living room, but she was not there. He turned right, into the kitchen, his gun raised, ready for whatever he might encounter. Nancy was standing in front of the sink, frozen to the spot. On the floor next to her were the smashed remains of a drinking glass. Water seeped across the floor. Decker lowered the gun, snapped the safety, and placed it on the kitchen worktop. “What happened?”
“There was something out there.”
Decker followed her gaze, to the window behind the sink. “Where, outside the window?”
“I went upstairs to look in on Taylor, then came in here for a glass of water. When I looked out the window it was just standing there, looking back at me.”
“What was?” Decker hitched the towel up to prevent it from slipping off and moved her aside. “What did you see?”
“I don’t know. An animal maybe, it was hard to tell, but it was big.”
Decker peered through the glass, but all he saw were the vague outlines of trees and the silhouettes of a few distant buildings amid the gloom. “There doesn’t seem to be anything there now.”
“I know what I saw. It was right outside the window.” Nancy was shaking. “It looked right at me.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Maybe. It was kind of hard to make out the features, but it had a long snout. I could see the tips of white teeth in its mouth, like it was curling its lips back. The eyes though, they were the worst. They were like two yellow slits.”
Decker remembered the description Taylor had given of the animal in the woods. “Stay here.” He went to the laundry room, opened the dryer, and took out his pants, pulling them on even though they were still damp. He grabbed his jacket, picked up the gun, and made for the front door. “Don’t move.”
“What are you doing?” Nancy looked scared. “Don’t go out there. Please don’t.”
“I’ll be fine.” Decker held up the gun. “If there’s anything snooping around I can protect myself.” Still, he couldn’t help a flicker of apprehension. Floyd and Terry had a pistol, not to mention there were two of them, and it didn’t do them any good. On the other hand, he was a trained law enforcement officer, and he was on the alert, while the moonshiners were probably half drunk and taken by surprise. He reached out and gripped the dead bolt, pausing for a moment as he collected his wits, then snapped it open and stepped out into the night.
The weather had gotten worse. No sooner had Decker stepped from the shelter of the porch, that he was instantly soaked yet again. Worse, gusts of wind blew the rain into his face, making it hard for him to see where he was going. He blinked to clear the water from his eyes and crept toward the side of the house.
When he rounded the corner he was enveloped in darkness. He wished he had retrieved his flashlight from the cruiser in front of the house, but that would have meant going back inside and getting the keys, then rummaging around in the glove box, and he did not want to waste the time. If he had any chance of catching this thing he needed to move quickly.
The side of the house was an obstacle course. He bumped his shin on a BBQ grill, sending it toppling to the ground. A little further on he stepped around an enclosed trailer, the words Cassidy’s Caterers fading away on the side, a leftover from Nancy’s ill-fated attempt at wedding catering, which, it turned out, there was not a great need for in Wolf Haven.
Beyond that he could see a pile of pavers, some plant pots, and several other things that were hard to make out in the gloom.
He found the back of the house. Light from the kitchen window spilled across a wide expanse of what once might have been a lawn, but was now nothing more than rain soaked dirt. He kept the gun high, ready for whatever might come lumbering out of the blackness, but his eyes could find no movement, no monsters waiting to provide an encore of the carnage at the Pump and Go. The yard was empty.
One thing he did notice, was how high off the ground the window came. Like many houses in southern Louisiana the building was raised on concrete block footings, with a crawlspace underneath to allow for floodwaters. There was no way a regular sized animal could have been up there. Whatever Nancy saw peering in at her through the window must have been at least seven feet tall. He was not sure he wanted to confront anything that large, even with his gun. He backed up, deciding discretion was the better part of valor, and retreated back to the front of the house, keeping his eyes open for the slightest movement as he did so.
When he got around front again he took the steps leading up to the porch two at a time and hurried inside, closing the door and dead bolting it, feeling much safer as he did so.
Nancy watched him from the hallway, a look of relief on her face.
“There’s nothing out there,” said Decker, walking past her to the bedroom, where he stripped of his clothes and grabbed a towel, rubbing his hair dry and wiping the wetness from his face. “Whatever you saw is long gone.”
“I hope so.” Nancy shuddered. “Don’t do that again.”
“What?”
“Leave me alone like that.”
“I won’t.” Decker drew her to him and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I promise.”
43
JEREMIAH BOUDREAUX WAITED at Floyd’s camp in his pickup with the engine running, rain pelting down on the windshield with a sound like hundreds of fingers drumming all at once, and Led Zeppelin’s Your Time is Gonna Come playing on the radio. He wasn’t listening to the music. He just could not be bothered to turn it off.
He sat there for what seemed an eternity, consumed by thoughts of Terry. Anger and frustration boiled inside him, accompanying his grief like a fine Cabernet would go along with a rare steak, not that he’d ever even contemplated such a pairing.
When he saw the twin beams of another set of headlights coming up the track leading to the clearing he shut off the engine and climbed from the cab, taking the rifle from the passenger seat as he did so.
The newcomer pulled up in a dark colored Camaro. Jeremiah could not make out the exact shade, but he had seen the car often enough to know that it was Mystic Teal Metallic, although the years in the sun had taken their toll, reducing the paintwork to something more akin to dark gray. Behind the Camaro, a Jeep Wrangle
r bobbed up the trail and came to a halt.
Three men climbed from the cars, each brandishing a weapon. Bobby Boudreaux, his cousin, carried a shotgun. He also sported a pistol, stuck deep into his belt, the grip visible above the waistline, the rest nothing more than a slightly phallic bulge disappearing into his pants. That seemed like a good way to accidentally blow your junk off to Jeremiah, but what the hell, he probably didn’t get to use it much anyway ever since his wife Shirley ran off.
Gill Maynard, the driver of the Jeep, cradled a lethal looking short-barreled rifle, which he carried as though it was the most precious thing in the world, one hand on the stock, the other curling around the stubby black muzzle. His passenger, Duke Timmons sported a double barrel sawed off shotgun that dangled from one hand, pointing down toward the dirt, the casual manner of the gun’s transportation belying the sudden death that awaited anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves at the business end of the weapon.
If this were any other night there would be some raucous banter exchanged already, and possibly a few good natured insults, the kind of thing guys said to each other when they met up for a night of carousing, but not tonight. On this particular evening Jeremiah met the occupants of the vehicles with less than his usual enthusiasm, but then, he wasn’t here to play poker and down a few bottles of gut rot. Tonight was all about Terry.
“Sorry to hear about your boy.” Gill was the first to speak.
“A real tragedy.” Duke Timmons added.
Bobby said nothing, merely placing a hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder, the gesture saying more than words ever could.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Jeremiah nodded, looking between the three of them. “Terry would appreciate you guys coming out here to do this for him tonight. He really would.”
“He was family.” Bobby spoke up. “And family do for each other.”
Duke looked toward the impounded still. “Besides, the damn thing killed Floyd, and he made the strongest hooch for a hundred miles.”
“You’re not wrong there.” Gill said, and Jeremiah had to agree with him. Despite being a despicable specimen of humanity, a man who had all the charm of a skunk, he possessed a God-given talent for making liquor that would blow your socks off.
“Tasted like shit though.” Duke added.
Again they all agreed.
“You sure we’ll find this thing up here?” Gill asked.
“Sure enough,” Jeremiah replied. “It was here yesterday. Damn thing walked right past me while I was taking a piss. Thank god I was in the latrine or it probably would have chewed me up too. I figure it must have a den somewhere here about.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Gill said.
“We ready to do this?” Duke raised his gun and pointed it toward the woods.
“Let’s go catch us a wild animal,” Bobby said, spitting a gob of saliva out of the side of his mouth. He watched it hit the ground and mix with the rainwater and mud. “Time to get some revenge for our Terry.” He slapped Jeremiah on the back. “Ain’t that so.”
Jeremiah nodded again, and looked toward the woods. “So what are we waiting for?” He hitched the gun up, and stepped toward the woods.
The four men moved forward slowly, their guns at the ready. Under the cover of the trees it was darker than any of them had imagined, especially since the moon was hidden behind a thick layer of storm clouds. At least the trees deflected some of the pounding rain, not that any of them were particularly dry by this point.
“We should split up,” Gill suggested. “There’s a lot of ground to cover and we’ll stand a better chance of finding this thing.”
“Are you crazy?” Bobby hissed. “That would be suicide.”
“He’s right. We should stick together, at least for now,” Duke said.
“Keep it down. We’ll never find anything if you keep yapping.” Jeremiah shot them an angry look.
Bobby opened his mouth to reply, but when he saw the look on Jeremiah’s face he decided against it. The old man had a legendary mean streak, and he didn’t intend on running foul of it, especially right now. He had a feeling Jeremiah would not think twice about using the rifle for more than hunting wild animals given his current state of mind.
They walked on in silence, all four of them listening for any sound that didn’t belong, but only the sounds of frogs and the sporadic hoot of an owl greeted their ears.
At first they skirted the camp, following the perimeter as it curved around, but then, directly behind the old cabin, they moved away from the clearing, pushing deeper into the forest. The ground was wet and treacherous underfoot, and more than once one of them slipped, reaching out for a tree trunk to steady themselves.
The forest was thick with brush and low branches, making it hard to navigate, but soon they came upon a trail, and followed it deeper into the woods, away from the camp. For an hour the three men searched, conversing only when necessary, until they reached a point where the trail split in two, the twin paths forking off at forty-five degrees from each other. Unsure which way to go, they paused to catch their breath.
“Which way now?” Duke adjusted his raincoat, pulling it tight to keep the water out.
“We’ll take the left fork first. If there’s nothing doing there we’ll circle back and explore the other path,” Jeremiah said.
Gill spoke up. “This is crazy. We’re never going to find anything out here. There’s just too much ground to cover. Damn thing could be anywhere.”
“I’m not ready to give up just yet.” Jeremiah kept his voice low. “My boy’s dead because of this thing, and I want to see it suffer.”
“We don’t even know what we’re looking for.” Gill protested.
“Doesn’t matter.’ Jeremiah’s face was set in stone. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
“Another hour, then I’m done,” Bobby whispered. “I want to get out of these wet clothes and get some vodka down my gullet. We’re wasting our time out here.”
“We’re done when I say we are,” Jeremiah hissed, annoyed at the change in mood. A few hours ago everyone was gung-ho to find the beast that killed Terry, now they were just about ready to give up. “And I ain’t said it yet. Let’s keep going.”
“Not before I take a piss,” Duke said. “Anyone else need to shake a leg?”
“Dammit Duke, why couldn’t you do that before we got in the woods,” Bobby said.
“I did. I need to go again.”
“Goddam. Well make it quick,” Bobby grumbled. “I don’t want to be standing around out here like this. It feels wrong.”
“Just give me a minute will you,” Duke stepped away and disappeared into the thick undergrowth, pushing his way through until he disappeared between the pines.
44
DUKE TIMMONS LEANED his shotgun against a tree and unzipped his pants, freeing himself and aiming at the ground, even though he could not see exactly where he was urinating, and let forth. The relief was instant.
He wondered how long they would have to stay out here, tromping around the woods in the pouring rain. He was cold and wet, and wanted nothing more than to get back home and climb into bed. It wasn’t like they stood much chance of finding the animal that attacked Terry anyway. There must be thousands of acres of pinewoods stretching across this part of the state in all directions, and it could be anywhere. Chances were that it was miles away by now, and even if it wasn’t, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Hell, for all he knew Terry deserved what he got. They probably pissed the damn thing off somehow. The boy was dumb as dishwater, and Floyd Benson was not too far behind. Rumor was that the years of drinking illegal hooch had addled what little brains god gave him, and having tasted the stuff on more than one occasion Duke thought it was probably the truth.
That was beside the point though. It didn’t matter if Terry brought it down upon himself, or if the beast was still around. What mattered was that Jeremiah wanted to go chasing ghosts in the middle of the night, and Duke knew bett
er than to say no, so here he was, stuck in this miserable forest until his friend either found what he was looking for, or gave up.
Duke finished up and shook to remove any errant drops of pee, then slipped it back in his pants. He was about to zip up when something moved in the darkness between the trees. It was nothing much, just a slight shift in the gloom between the pine trunks, almost imperceptible, but it was there, none-the-less.
He froze, looking to pick out the cause of the movement, his ears straining to pick up any unusual sound, but there was no sign of whatever he thought he had seen.
Feeling vulnerable, Duke backed up.
It was probably just his imagination, he reasoned. There was nothing to be afraid of. Yet strangely, he was afraid. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt his heart pounding in his chest.
He reached for the gun, eager to rejoin the rest of the group. At that moment there came a faint shuffling off to his left. He swiveled, scanning the woods for the cause of the sound, and then he saw it, crouched between the trees, watching him with curious fascination, yellow eyes, little more than slits, holding his gaze.
The beast tilted its head to one side, never breaking eye contact with him.
Duke held his breath, unable to look away despite the fact that every fiber of his body urged him to flee. He closed a hand around the gun, picking it up as slowly as he could to avoid spooking the creature.
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