Blackwood

by Celia Aaron

  I wanted to laugh. I’d seen my father’s skull a few days ago. I could handle a deer.

  The SUV rocked along the gravel road, bumping over the back way out of the Lodge. A shotgun was locked upright between the front seats, and dirt was caked along the floor mats.

  “You want music?” Rory reached over and flipped on the radio. A country song warbled through the speakers.

  I stared out the window and fought the sadness that seeped into me. Garrett. I was leaving him behind. Was he still in his room or watching me leave? Did he know that I intended to bring him down? That whatever sins he’d committed two years ago wouldn’t stay buried as long as I drew breath?

  “I used to hunt out here before they built the Lodge. Seems like now, though, they scared the game away. Too many people, you know?” Rory cleared his throat. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  “Mmhmm?” I pulled my coat closer around me as I waited for the heater to warm the small space.

  “I know this isn’t the most, um, opportune time to ask. But since you’re going to be in town for a little while, would you like to—”

  “Shh.” I peered out the window. “Stop the car!” Something in the woods caught my eye. A flash of orange.

  The SUV halted, its tires skidding a little over the gravel.

  “What is it?” Rory leaned over and stared in the same direction.

  “I saw something.” I couldn’t find the mark anymore, but I knew it had been there, the same one from Lillian’s photos.

  “What?”

  “Come on.” I yanked on the door handle and stepped out into the frozen air.

  I walked through the gravel and up onto the short bank next to the road before plunging into the woods.

  “Wait just a gosh darn second!” Rory caught up and took my elbow, but he didn’t stop me from walking. “What did you see?”

  “Orange.”

  “Elise, maybe we should go on back to the Lodge. I don’t think you’ve recovered enough.”

  I stopped and turned to him. “I’m not crazy. There’s a mark. I think it’s on one of these trees. I have to find it. If you don’t want to help me, go back to the truck, but I will find it.” I ripped my elbow from his grasp and clambered over a fallen tree, my boot slipping in the snow along the top.

  “Jeez, woman. No need to get mad.” He followed and took my elbow again, helping me along.

  “Keep looking.”

  He scanned the trees as we maneuvered around a fallen branch. “What kind of mark?”

  “It’s like a circle with a squiggle through the middle.”

  “Like the Ghostbusters thing?” He tipped his hat back on his head.

  “Yeah, kind of like that.”

  “That’s familiar. I’ve seen that in these woods.”

  “In Blackwood?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets to avoid the chill.

  “No. Never out on that side of the county. Only over here.”

  “Here? What, like at the Lodge?”

  “Yeah.” He helped me over a small stream. “I reckon that’s right. It’s just a hunter’s mark, to remind them where the game trails are.” He pulled me to a stop. “It’s nothing, just a hunter’s mark, okay?” He put a hand to my cheek. “You’re already frozen. Let’s go back.”

  “No.”

  “Why?” Exasperation colored the word, but once again, he helped me walk farther into the woods.

  “Because I saw photos of that mark. I saw a grave near one of those marks. A mass grave.”

  “A mass grave? In Millwood County?”

  “Yes,” I hissed. “There’s something out here. I thought it was at Blackwood.” A burst of orange caught my attention. “There!” I pointed.

  He peered through the woods. “Yeah, there it is.”

  We trudged over to the marked tree, and Rory ran his hand over it. “Just a hunter’s mark, like I said.”

  “No. There’s more.” I took a few more steps, my eyes trained on the ground. “A clearing. Right up ahead.” And something else, highlighted by the dusting of white. “Come on.” I hurried forward, almost jogging through the trees until I found it.

  “Whoa, what is that?” Rory caught up and stopped next to me.

  I looked from the ground to him. “It’s—”

  A shot went off, and one of Rory’s eyes exploded as the bullet cut through his skull.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  My back hit the nearest tree, and I slid down into a crouch. Rory lay face up, his legs kicking slightly before he stilled. He’d fallen sideways, his body lying at the edge of the same mass grave from Lillian’s photo.

  I bit the back of my hand as I searched through the woods and tried to think of a way out. If I could get to the clearing, maybe I could run through it and into the trees—

  “Elise?” A familiar voice yelled to me through the woods. “Don’t move. I’m coming to you.”

  “Sheriff?” My eyes flickered from tree to tree and then back to Rory. My breakfast rose in my throat at the splash of gore staining the snow-dotted ground.

  Approaching footsteps flicked the switch to my fight or flight, and I took off, racing through the trees. I zigged hard left into the clearing and raced across the uneven ground, the dead blades of grass slapping against my legs.

  “Elise, stop!” The footsteps behind me intensified.

  Mortal terror gripped my insides and twisted them. I put everything I had into my steps, my muscles burning as I gained the opposite tree line and hurdled a fallen trunk with a sloppy jump. Skidding as I dropped back to the ground, I lost my footing and fell hard on my side.

  “Stop!” Another voice ahead of me.

  Fuck. I scrambled to my feet and darted to the right. Another shot, and a stinging pain erupted in my side.

  I shrieked and fell against the nearest tree.

  “Stop running, you stupid bitch!” The voice from ahead of me grew louder.

  I pressed my palm to my stomach, but I didn’t know what sort of damage lay beneath my coat. Each breath felt like a knife stab, and I sank to my knees, the cold earth welcoming me as I rested my forehead against the elm tree in front of me.

  “Got another fucking mess on my hands.” Mayor Freeman emerged from the trees ahead of me, a high-powered rifle slung over his shoulder. “Am I a magnet for dumb bitches? Is that it? I feel like that has to be it.”

  “Shut your yap,” Sheriff Crow’s voice rang out behind me, his heavy footsteps echoing through my mind.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “I don’t give a fuck. Shut your mouth.” Sheriff Crow gripped me under my right arm and pulled me to my feet. “Winged you, did he?” He turned me around and pushed my back against the tree, then opened my coat and whistled. “That’s worse than a winging, darling.”

  I looked down, watching the red stain spread across my top.

  Sheriff Crow kicked his hat back on his head and clamped a hand around my throat. “I’d tell you to keep pressure on that, but it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  Mayor Freeman walked closer and leaned in toward my face. “Dumb bitches never listen, do—”

  Sheriff Crow’s hand flew in an instant, punching the mayor in the side of the face. The man stumbled back then held a hand to his jaw.

  “When I tell you to shut the fuck up, I mean it, Len. Do we have to keep going over this?” Sheriff Crow’s voice had the same friendly tenor it always did. He even smiled a little, as if reminding a small child of the appropriate way to behave.

  “Right. Sorry.” The mayor dropped his gaze.

  “Good.” He turned back to me, the intelligence I’d seen in his eyes crackling like sparklers. “Now, I think you know what has to happen next.”

  “N-No.” I pressed back into the tree, the pain in my abdomen painting everything in a surreal light—the snow too bright white, the earth a dark shadow beneath it.

  “I tried.” He ran his fingers across my forehead and through my hair. “I did everything I could. Pu
t your car back on that road so you wouldn’t keep looking for it. Left that body in the woods and claimed a hunting accident to keep you away. Even left you with Garrett so he could scare you off.” He leaned closer, his lips at my ear. “I saw you. In the woods. Saw Garrett fuck you raw. I watched the whole thing.”

  “Get off me.” I tried to knee him, but my limbs barely obeyed my commands, my life ebbing out of the wound in my abdomen.

  He pulled away from my ear, but leaned close enough for our noses to almost touch. “You know where I went wrong? I underestimated you. I did the same thing with Lillian and your daddy. They found out about what we do here at the Lodge.” He clucked his tongue. “And they lacked an entrepreneurial spirit.”

  “Wh-what do you do?” My teeth chattered as my worst fears began to roll off his tongue.

  “We run a hunting lodge. But what we hunt isn’t your average quarry.” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “It’s something special. Something people will pay for. You wouldn’t believe how much they’ll pay to hunt here.”

  “The missing persons.” The cork board at the diner, all the names and faces. Too many for such a small area.

  “At first.” He nodded. “We had plenty of trash to pick from in the beginning. Then we had to expand our operation. Danny helped out, making sure our special deliveries arrived and were in shape enough to run. These people come here looking for a handout. We give them something better.” He snorted at his own sick joke. “A bullet.”

  I stalled. “Rory?”

  “He didn’t know. Shame about him, though. You killed him. When he heard your screams in the woods that day—even though I specifically told Danny to do it quiet”—He twisted his neck until it cracked—“I had to intervene. You got another chance. Then today you dragged him out to the graves.” He shook his head. “Game over.”

  “Garrett?”

  “That’s the best fucking part.” He laughed. “Had nothing to do with any of it. That basket case’s only mistake in all of this was getting involved with you. When I get done here, I’ll go to his house and hang him the same way I did his sister. Tragic.”

  “He’ll kill you.” I pressed harder on my wound, refusing to let go, to give up.

  “No, he won’t. He’ll let me in the door like he always does. He’ll leave a nice note detailing why he killed your daddy, poor Danny, and you. Won’t be able to live with the guilt.” He affected a contrite air. “Terrible shame for the community to lose that fucking nutjob.”

  “Pete?” The mayor’s tentative voice shocked me out of my horror. I had to fight, to try something.

  Sheriff Crow kept staring into my eyes, one hand on my throat. “What?”

  “Can I do it?”

  “No.” He tightened his grip on my neck, and I tried to grab his wrist. My bloodied hand slid off, but I grasped his coat sleeve.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s mine.” He squeezed harder, my breath gone as his eyes bored into mine.

  “Pete, come on. Give me a shot. I’ve been working out and practicing and—”

  “Oh, for the love of Christ.” He released his hold on my throat, and I choked down huge gulps of air. “Make it quick. We have to bury Rory and her, and we don’t have that dumb fuck Danny to do it for us anymore.”

  “Okay. I can do it.” Mayor Freeman pulled his gun off his shoulder and rested it against the front of his camouflage coat. “Run.”

  Sheriff Crow stepped back and put his hands on his hips. “Get going. Might as well use you for target practice. Waste not, want not.”

  “Fuck you.” My voice barely cut through the cold stillness.

  “Run or I’ll put a bullet in your face.” The sheriff pulled out his service pistol and aimed it at my forehead.

  An idea took root in the chaos of my mind. “I’ll run.” I coughed, and agony streaked through my body. “But you have to give me a head start.”

  Sheriff Crow smiled and slapped the mayor on the back. “We can do that, right Len?”

  “I’d rather not. We’re in a hurry, and—”

  “You want to shoot her in the back after she’s taken three steps? That’s not very sporting of you. We can do better than that.” Sheriff Crow grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me forward. “Give her the full Lodge experience.” He shoved me, and I managed to stay upright from sheer will.

  “Twenty minutes.” I took a step backwards.

  Sheriff Crow laughed, real mirth crinkling the skin around his eyes. “Five.”

  “Ten.”

  “Think you can handle stalking a wounded bitch after ten minutes?” Crow glanced at the mayor.

  “Yes.” The mayor puffed out his chest and snugged his rifle tighter in his arms.

  “We’ll see. If you can’t, then I’m going to do it with my hands.”

  “Deal.” Mayor Freeman smiled, like a child given a chance to impress a grown-up.

  Sheriff Crow took his hat off and waved it at me. “Run, rabbit, run.”

  I turned and stumbled away through the undergrowth.

  “Need to go faster than that.” Sheriff Crow laughed.

  I didn’t look back, just kept moving through the woods, back toward the road, toward the SUV with the shotgun inside.

  One foot in front of the other, I stepped as quickly as the pain in my stomach allowed, each footfall sending a jarring misery through me. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t.

  I passed through the clearing and tried to avoid looking at Rory. Until I didn’t. Until I realized Rory had a gun. Fuck. I yanked his coat up, but his holster was empty. Sheriff Crow must have already taken it. My fingers had lost feeling, but I shoved them into his pockets looking for anything I could use as a weapon. In his right pocket I found a small knife. No keys, nothing that could get me out of this frozen hell.

  I could stay here. Just wait. The end was coming—either a bullet, bleeding out, or the sheriff’s hands around my throat. The row of graves blurred as I swayed on my knees. No. I pressed my palm against the wound, the pain dragging me back to the present, to the cold eventuality of my death if I failed to move.

  How long? I didn’t know how much time had passed by the time I forced myself back to my feet and began stumbling toward the road. My forward progress took all my effort. One step, another step. If I was moving, I had a chance. So I kept pushing forward, even as my vision began to dim and my legs felt as if they were fighting against quicksand.

  I saw the glint of the truck up ahead when the Sheriff’s voice cut through the woods. “Ready or not, here we come!”

  Step, step, step. After an eternity, my feet hit gravel, and I fell against the truck. With what was left of my strength, I yanked the passenger door open. Leaning across the seat, I grabbed the shotgun and tried to pull it free. I couldn’t feel it, couldn’t tell if I had even moved it. My knees hit the running board just as the back passenger window shattered, a rifle shot roaring through the trees.

  They’d caught up. It was only a matter of moments. I didn’t have time to cry. And all I could think was that I’d finally found what I’d been looking for, but the price of knowledge had turned out to be far too high. I pulled myself into the passenger side and closed the door. Curling into the fetal position in the floorboard, I stared at the sun-dappled woods through the driver’s side window as my eyes began to flutter closed.

  Another slug lodged into the side of the truck. The faint sound of gravel crunching beneath boots told me I was done. All done. And I was…relieved. I let my eyes close as more shots rang out. So many shots. Someone yelled my name.

  No, not my name. The color that soaked my shirt, my coat, my hands. Red.

  “Garret!” The sheriff yelled. “It’s me. Come on. The mayor’s hurt bad. You got him in the head. I need to call it in. You’re looking at murder one. Let me help you.”

  “Go fuck yourself!” The driver’s side door opened.

  I turned my head and saw Garrett. He crouched down and reached out for me as the glass in the passenger
window shattered.

  “I’m sorry.” I said it, but he didn’t seem to hear me. Did I say it? I meant it. More than I’d ever meant anything in my life.

  “Shhh.” He yanked out the floor mat, then reached up and pulled the visor down. A set of keys tumbled onto the driver’s seat. “Stay down.” He raised a pistol and fired three shots through the window over my head.

  “Fuck!” The sheriff screamed. I hoped Garrett landed a kill shot.

  Sliding into the driver’s seat, he shoved the key into the ignition and started the truck. Another, even louder shot rang out followed by the hard thunk of punctured metal. We surged forward, Garrett leaning down as he floored it on the rough road.

  “I’ve got you. Red, you’ll be fine.” He reached out and took my bloody hand.

  I couldn’t feel him. I felt nothing at all.

  Chapter Thirty

  Déjà vu. The term wasn’t strong enough for when I woke up in a hospital room with Garrett sitting next to me, my hand in his. I tried to speak to him, but something blocked my voice. His head was bowed, and he pulled my hand to his lips.

  I squeezed his fingers.

  His head bobbed up, his eyes wide. “You’re awake.” He turned his head to the side and yelled, “She’s awake!”

  He pressed his palm to the side of my face. “Red.”

  I leaned against his steady pressure. Tears gleamed in his eyes as the nurse—the same one from our last visit—hustled into the room.

  “Ms. Vale?” She leaned over the other side of my bed and spoke clearly and almost too loudly. “You lost a lot of blood. Dr. Turner repaired the damage to your liver caused by the bullet, but you’ll need to stay here for several days to recover. You’re still intubated to make sure you keep breathing well. We’ll take the tube out once you’re awake for a bit. You can’t talk, though. Blink one for yes, two for no. And press the call button if you need anything. Understand?”

  I blinked once.

  “Good. I’m going to let the doctor know you’re awake.” She tinkered with one of my monitors and took my blood pressure, then left, her shoes squeaking with each step.