The Thing in the Woods

by Matthew W. Quinn

  Phillip paused and let his words sink in. “It’s the bad influence of the carpetbaggers, that’s what. All of us have the sense He gave a turnip to keep filth like that Sixteen and Pregnant show where young men fail to take responsibility out of our homes and away from our kids. But the carpetbaggers don’t. And their kids influence ours. Sins must come, but woe to him whom through they come!” He paused for effect. “Tell me, brothers and sisters. What punishment is there for those who are stumbling blocks to others?” He searched his memory. He’d been to church to keep up appearances, but his knowledge of the Bible was a bit rusty. “Those who cause others to sin should have a great millstone tied to their necks and thrown into the waters! The dark waters! Where He dwells!”

  The worshipers shouted in response, calling for vengeance. Vengeance on the carpetbaggers for leading Bill astray. Vengeance on the perverse Mexicans who thought an eleven-year-old was a woman and not a child.

  Vengeance Phillip would soon call on Him to deliver. He turned away and strode beneath the trees to the edge of the dark waters. He knew the gentle deepening of the pond was a deception. Once one got out a ways, the floor dropped away hundreds of feet. Their god dwelt there, a god who could be summoned reliably if one knew just what to do.

  He bent downward and drew the slightly curved seven-inch recon knife he’d carried as a young Marine in Vietnam from the sheath on his calf. The lantern light danced across the shiny blade. Though it had shed much blood in the decades since he first went into the jungle, he kept it immaculately clean and sharp.

  He set the knife to his palm, on the crosshatch of scar tissue previous summonings had left. He gave the blade a push. The scarring parted beneath the blade like a barbecue roll. Familiar pain lanced up his arm, but long practice kept it from his face. Blood, dark even against the black water, dripped onto the surface of the pond and dissipated.

  Phillip waited. Although He had eaten an unexpected meal the other day, something of His size would hunger easily. Phillip had just the target in mind, and it wasn’t the Mexicans that so enraged the county attorney.

  The water moved, concentric ripples reaching for his feet. Someone else, someone less experienced, might write that off as the movement of some fish, but not Phillip. The grin snaked wider across his face. The water lay still for a moment. Then the water lapped at his feet, licking at the toes of his Army surplus boots like an affectionate dog.

  Phillip raised both hands high and shouted loud enough for those in the clearing to hear. “He has heard us!”

  Shouts echoed behind him. “He has heard us!”

  They weren’t nearly as enthusiastic as usual. Now that nobody human could see him, Phillip let himself frown. He knew just what was needed to keep the feelings high.

  The full moon watched as Sam’s red pickup truck slowly rolled up the long, empty road, lights off and license plate taped over. The Indian family’s sturdy two-story house lay ahead on the right just beyond the edge of the great pine forest. Sam drove, with Deputy Bowie in uniform in the front seat. Behind them, crammed into a space more suitable for extra storage than passengers, were Reed and Thomas. Thomas carried a revolver, while Reed bore an AR-15. Overkill for this mission, but it was always better to be overprepared than underprepared.

  Sam inhaled, then exhaled as they pulled up to the sidewalk barely in sight of the Indians’ well-lit house. Although He could fight His own battles against men doomed to die, it was a great honor to go to war in His name.

  The Indian family didn’t live far from the tree farm, so they made a logical target. Phil had ordered Sam to go collect them for the sacrifice. It would strengthen his faith and courage, the high priest said.

  Sam swallowed. He was a good soldier. He followed the orders of the legitimate authorities. What could be a more legitimate authority than the god’s priest, even if some of his more recent decisions had made him wonder? And it wasn’t like he hadn’t done anything like this before.

  The Indians’ home wasn’t the only one on this street, but it was the only one with anybody actually living in it. The houses flanking it were empty. Whoever had built them hadn’t been able to sell them. Phil said the developers from Atlanta had gone under, done in by their own greed. He’d made sure members of the congregation did their bit keeping the yards mowed and watching for vagrants and copper thieves who might make fine sacrifices to Him. That also kept the congregation informed about who was home, something that turned out real handy just now.

  “All right,” Reed said. “You all remember the goddamn drill?”

  “Yeah,” Thomas said. “Bowie brings them here. We put them in the back of the truck.”

  “Alive,” Reed emphasized. “The cow-fuckers must be given to Him alive.”

  “Got it.”

  Reed looked from Bowie to Sam. “I reckon you two actually know what you’re doing.” He fixed his gaze on Sam. “Snatch and grab, that’s what they call these kind of missions. Right?”

  Sam nodded. Of course, it was all too easy for those types of missions to go to hell. He hadn’t been in Mogadishu when the attempt to snatch the warlord who’d stolen the poor folk’s food had gone wrong, but he had friends who had. Yep, that one had definitely gone wrong.

  “Good. Bowie, get them out here.”

  Bowie nodded before climbing out and making his way across the Indian family’s big green yard to the front door.

  Sam watched him, but with every step the deputy took toward the house, his own doubts grew. Bill Aiken had put Sarah in a bad way, but that was something that happened a lot in Edington. Nobody had ever been sacrificed for that.

  And what had the Indian boy and his family done? Sam remembered Indians—Pakistanis, close enough—from when he’d been in the Gulf. They seemed harmless enough, more wronged by their rich Arab employers than wronging anyone else. Their government backed the terrorists, sure, but it wasn’t the ones over here that were doing it. He had kin at Edington High School. If that Indian boy was mistreating his girlfriend, he’d know about it, and He would have a new meal.

  Bowie ascended the brick steps and rang the doorbell.

  “Please don’t be home,” Sam found himself whispering.

  “What?” Reed demanded. “What’re you saying?” For a moment, Sam didn’t have anything to say. If he told the truth, they’d know him for a traitor and kill him. But he’d always been a bad liar. “Well?”

  “I was praying,” Sam said, trying to sound as pious as possible. “Praying that justice be done upon the bad folk in the world.”

  Thomas laughed. “Isn’t that a good prayer? Who do you think deserves it more, a bunch of curry-eaters or some spics lusting after a little girl? I’m thinking it’s the Mexicans myself, but—”

  Reed’s gaze snapped back toward the deputy, but that didn’t shut him up. “Who knows if those pathetic spics will ever actually do anything?” Reed scowled. “Not that I want them to molest Brother Zebulon’s daughter, mind, but I’m willing to bet this one’s already done the deed with that stupid girl.”

  Sam ignored Reed’s ranting and watched Bowie. An Indian woman with gray beginning to streak her dark hair dressed all pretty in blue trimmed with gold stood in the doorway. Bowie was holding up his badge, but she wasn’t coming out.

  Why wasn’t he bringing the whole family down to the truck? What was taking him so long? Sam hadn’t expected the Indian family to resist.

  “Goddamn it,” Reed snarled. He pulled the black ski mask from his pocket. “This is taking too damn long. Brother John, mask up. Brother Sam, stay here and be ready to drive.”

  What the hell were they doing? Bowie was a sheriff’s deputy and the Indian family might not know in this country they actually had rights. Maybe he wanted to try a soft approach rather than strong-arming the Indians out of their stout house.

  “Brother Jeffrey—” Sam began. Reed silenced him with a glare.

  “They’re used to being slaves. It won’t take much to scare them out here.”

 
; Reed banged the door open, holding onto his AR-15 with one hand. Thomas followed after. His revolver was still in its holster, but someone of his size didn’t really need a gun to subdue the unarmed.

  “Wait!” Sam called out. “You’ll ruin—”

  He clamped his mouth shut. If the Indian woman actually saw the two masked men heading their way, all hell could break loose.

  And that was exactly what happened. Both Bowie and the woman looked toward the car. While the big deputy’s head was turned, the Indian woman retreated into the house and slammed the door behind her.

  Bowie pounded on the door. Reed raised his rifle as he approached the house, gaze locked on the windows. Sam’s mind raced. Did Indians like to own guns? If they did, things were about to go south like they had at Mogadishu.

  Bowie retreated, drawing his service pistol and pulling back his foot. A lot of the new houses in town weren’t built that well. A good kick might break the lock and—

  CRACK! Glass exploded outward from the window to the right of the front door. And that was only the first gunshot. Another soon followed. Bowie threw himself down the red-brick stoop onto the cement path that crept alongside the house.

  CRACK-CRACK-CRACK. Three round burst. Reed had never served in the military as far as Sam knew, but he had good fire discipline. Windows shattered. Someone screamed. Bowie scrambled back down the yard, the knees of his uniform pants torn and bloody. Once he was close to the street, he rolled over and aimed his gun at the door.

  Suddenly sirens began wailing like the banshees in Grandma’s scare-stories. As the seconds passed, they didn’t fade out as they ought. This was unincorporated county land. The Sheriff’s Office would know not to interfere with His business.

  Blue lights flashed in the distant darkness well ahead of the truck. Whoever it was out there didn’t look like they were going elsewhere. Sam’s hands trembled on the wheel. They’d covered his license plate for the mission, but there weren’t so many red pickup trucks in Edington he’d wager his freedom on the police not recognizing his.

  He turned the key in the ignition. The engine thundered, nearly drowning out another gunshot from inside the house. Whatever his fire discipline, Reed hadn’t actually hit whoever was shooting.

  Where was He? The four men were going to collect sacrifices for Him. The oncoming police shouldn’t be a problem for a god. Sam looked behind him toward the road leading to the tree farm. Nothing stirred in the darkness beyond the taillights. He wasn’t coming.

  Sam’s eyes returned to the blue lights in the distance. They grew brighter each passing second. The congregants were definitely going to have company soon.

  Sam blew the horn. Thomas, closest to the truck, took the hint and raced back. “Into the bed!” Sam shouted. There wasn’t time for anybody to get in the cab. “Get down!” Sam threw the truck into reverse, driving quickly enough to get out of sight but not fast enough the others couldn’t catch up.

  Never leave a man behind.

  “Hey!” Reed shouted. “Where the hell are you going?”

  Sam wheeled down the window. “The bed!” he screamed. “Get in the truck bed!”

  Another gunshot from within the house emphasized his point. Reed turned and fired a burst straight through the door before he and Bowie raced away from the house. No gunshots followed. As soon as they’d jumped in the truck bed, Sam floored the accelerator. The truck shot backward the way it came. Sam shut off the headlights, but as he pulled back, he got a brief glimpse of the police cars coming around the corner down the street from the house.

  It was the Edington Police Department. There were brother congregants in it, but not many. Unlike the Sheriff’s Office, they couldn’t be trusted to not investigate the congregation’s doings.

  “Shit!” he swore. They had to get out of there now. Sam threw the truck into drive and U-turned through a vacant house’s yard. They’d get the hell out of there, find some quiet place to get the tape off the license plate, and make their way back to the tree farm. There’d be no sacrifice tonight, but they wouldn’t have risked the congregation’s OpSec either.

  It wasn’t long before blue lights flashed in his rear-view mirror. Sam’s heart leaped into his throat. They were in deep shit now.

  “Damn it!” Reed snarled through the open back window. “Sam, fucking drive!”

  Sam doubted his old truck could outrun a police cruiser, especially with those new ones the department had bought with the federal stimulus money. They were in a right pickle now, and it’d take a miracle to get them out.

  He whispered under his breath, calling on Him for aid. The god of the woods could smash a police cruiser as effortlessly as a TOW rocket could shatter one of the Iraqis’ second-rate tanks. Easier than that, in fact. Hundreds had died fighting Saddam Hussein, but nobody could hurt a god.

  The truck rocketed down the dark road, the police cruiser close behind. A second pair of lights whirled behind the first. Now the sirens were howling in the dark night. Sam’s headlights illuminated the curving country road ahead, the forests pressing against the pavement. It would be awhile before they could find an intersection or another place to turn off. And the longer the chase went on, the more likely the police would head them off.

  A gunshot popped from the truck bed behind him. It sounded like a revolver. Sam’s gaze snapped back. Somebody—probably John—was actually shooting at the police!

  “Stop!” Sam demanded, urgency boiling in his voice.

  “Why?” Reed demanded. “It gets these bastards off our ass!”

  “Brother John’s gun is something he bought legally, right?”

  Reed shrugged. “As far as I know.”

  Sam nearly screamed. “They find bullets, they’ll be able to trace them! They’ll send the EPD right to his house!”

  That got Reed’s attention. “Shit, man.” He turned to John. “Cut that the fuck out!” he demanded.

  There were no more gunshots. Sam’s gaze jumped back up to the rearview mirror. Both police cruisers kept coming. Sam allowed himself to sigh in relief. He didn’t know how he could live with himself if they actually hurt or killed a cop. He hoped the bullet was buried in a tree or the mud where it’d never be found.

  Where was He? Surely He would know they were fighting in His name and help them emerge victorious? Even though they’d failed to get the sacrifice, their arrest would put His worshippers in danger.

  Reed stuck his head through the back window. “Brother Sam, they’re still coming.” For the first time, he actually sounded frightened. “If we can’t shoot them, what the hell are we supposed to do?”

  Sam wanted to tell Reed to have faith in Him. The one who’d protected Edington from the soldiers over a century ago would surely protect His warriors. But as the police cars continued nipping at their heels, He did not come. A lump rose in Sam’s throat. Could He not extend His power beyond his lair?

  The truck bounced as it hit what must’ve been a pothole. Sam immediately looked back up at their pursuers. Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or was that a third police cruiser behind them? How were they going to get out of this pickle?

  His gaze flickered over to the dashboard. The burning red triangle of the hazard light button sat there clear as day. He swallowed. He didn’t want to hurt the police. But he didn’t want to be arrested and get the congregation into trouble neither. He wasn’t coming to help His folk. So Sam would have to get them out of this situation all by his lonesome.

  “Brother Jeffrey! The hazard lights!”

  Reed grinned. “Great idea!” The big man reached past Sam and jammed a thick finger down on the red rectangular button.

  Red lights blazed behind them. The police cruisers immediately fell back with the screaming of brakes. Metal crunched a second later as the trailing police car slammed into the first. Sam winced. Hopefully those were the brand-new cars. Those would have the most effective airbags.

  He floored the accelerator. The police cars vanished behind them. Once a minute
had passed, and they hadn’t reappeared, he dialed down the headlights as low as they’d go and still light the way ahead. They’d have to find somewhere to hide and wait for the police to start looking for them elsewhere.

  Phillip had already smashed a sapling flat into the mud with his booted foot, but his rage still hadn’t been expended. Not only had the raiding party he’d sent out not brought back the Indian family for sacrifice, but they’d gotten into a gunfight and had to fucking beat feet from the Edington police! They’d returned safe and sound after evading the cops and laagering up in a field with their lights off for an hour, but this was still an intolerable fuckup!

  For a moment he considered cutting Reed’s throat himself. Reed was younger and stronger, but he wouldn’t expect this. The authority Phillip had as the leader of the congregation should keep him from fighting back. That would show everyone the price of failure, especially when the stakes were this high.

  He looked back through the brush tangled amidst the trees into the center of the lantern light where the congregants gathered. The muttering was loud even a dozen yards away. Phillip bet there were congregants already wondering if they should turn traitor, buying mercy from the law that would surely come down on them now. The congregation might fail this very night, all thanks to Reed.

  Phillip shook his head. Reed was an idiot, but command responsibility was ultimately on his shoulders. He should have remembered that the area had been annexed by the carpetbagger-influenced city and they’d put a police substation in that half-vacant strip mall nearby. He should have realized Reed was an impatient ass and might FUBAR a mission requiring delicacy.

  Still, Reed would have a part to play in the drama that would help keep order in the congregation. Phillip turned to face the brute.