In the Woods (34 page)

‘The captain.' Daniels looked at the door.

Oh God. ‘Slader?' Harper bellowed, turning, rushing into the next room.

The captain's boots protruded from a collapsed slab of concrete. Harper went to him. Found a hand in a heap of rubble. Felt for a pulse. Found none. Captain Slader was gone. Much of the ceiling, including the floor of the room above – had caved in on him.

But above them, where the ceiling had been, was a gaping hole. Which meant they had a way out.

Daniels insisted on going up first. It was, after all, his park. He pulled rank. Harper and Hank had held the ladder.

‘Careful,' Harper whispered. ‘Some of them might be up there. And they're armed. Be ready to duck.'

Daniels just began climbing the ladder, Ax's gun tucked into his belt.

‘What about me?' Angela was losing energy. ‘I can't climb a ladder in my condition – you guys aren't going to leave me alone down here.'

‘Not for long,' Hank said. ‘Only until we can get help—'

‘No – you can't – don't leave me …' Her shouts were deflated.

Daniels' head was out. ‘Mother of God,' he said.

‘What?'

‘What do you see?'

Daniels stood on the ladder, ‘Lord Almighty have mercy.'

‘What?' Harper snarled.

Daniels still didn't answer. He continued up the ladder and climbed onto the remains of the floor above.

Harper met Hank's eyes and started up the ladder. When her head poked through the opening, she saw why Daniels had been speechless.

‘What is it?' Hank called from below.

Harper bit her lip, grounding herself with pain to fight off another flashback.

‘Harper?' Hank asked again. ‘What?'

Harper couldn't think of an answer, so all she said was, ‘Damn.'

The foot was the first identifiable thing she saw. No shoe or boot. No sock. Just a seared bare foot, toes polished sky blue, ripped from the rest of its body. The past rose up, assaulting her with images: A boy whose face had been blown off. Detached limbs. The smell of burned rubber and flesh mixed with explosives. Cries of pain and horror. But Harper kept moving, climbing out of the hole. Staying in the present even as her memories clawed at her.

The compound roof had blown away, creating gaping holes above them. Exposing the night sky. Under the starlight, she saw devastation. Dust. Spots of fire where wooden beams glowed hot. An expanse of broken cement blocks, rocks, dirt, concrete chunks. And a terrible, deadly hush.

Hank climbed out behind her.

Angela's voice shattered the silence. ‘Don't leave me down here! I'm coming up.'

The ladder wobbled. Angela cried out in pain. Daniels knelt at the opening. ‘Be careful. Hold on – don't fall.' He turned to Harper and Hank. ‘She's hopping. Even with that gunshot wound, she's pulling herself up. Can you believe her?'

Harper paid no attention. She waded cautiously through rubble, crawling over wreckage, looking for survivors. Her left leg throbbed, but she moved on, examining spaces between rocks and under concrete. Hank made his way to her.

‘Anybody here?' he called. ‘Anyone need help?'

Nobody answered.

A woman's hand protruded from under a heap of concrete. Harper took it, felt for a pulse. Moved on.

Hank stopped, wiped dust and soot from his eyes.

‘You okay?' Harper asked.

He was standing near a burning beam. His eyes flickered, reflecting the flame. ‘There's a bunch of them here,' he said. ‘So far all gone.'

Harper wouldn't give up. Went in the other direction, into the far end of the space. Finding a boot. A rifle butt.

Daniels grunted, trying to pull Angela up the last few rungs as she cried out in pain. ‘Ouch – be careful – you're hurting me. Oh God, my back. My ankle.'

Up ahead, the rubble lay in a convex pile, as if covering something. Maybe someone had taken shelter under a sofa or chair. Harper hurried, listening for movement, for a voice other than Angela's. Carefully, she lifted a chunk of concrete, pushed smaller pieces aside. Saw the shiny gleam of a gong. And under it, Hiram, his eyes wide, his hand clutching a mallet.

She was looking at him when the rest of the ceiling came down.

‘Mrs Jennings?'

A light shone in her eyes. She blinked, turned away.

‘Try to hold still.'

The light came back. Harper closed her eyes again. Turned away again. ‘Stop it,' she said. Why was this kid blinding her with a light?

‘Welcome back, ma'am.' The kid was in a white uniform. A sailor? Were they on a ship? ‘I'm an EMT, ma'am. You've been out for a bit. I was trying to take a look at your pupils.'

‘I'm fine.' She started to get up. Had to go look for survivors.

‘Ma'am, please lie back.'

The ground was spinning. Harper couldn't step onto it. She settled back, closed her eyes. Waited for the spinning to stop. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the inside of a large tent. Cots. Medical supplies. Oh God. She bit her lip, but nothing changed. So this wasn't a flashback? Was this actually the war?

‘Ma'am, please hold still. You've got a pretty impressive gash on your leg.'

She did?

‘It's going to need some stitches. But honestly, even with the concussion, you were lucky.'

Lucky? What had happened? Where was Hank? ‘Where's my husband?'

‘Your husband?'

‘Hank. He was with me …' Harper bolted up, looked around the tent. Saw a row of coroner's bags.

‘Is that him?' the kid asked, pointing.

Harper looked. Hank was limping toward them.

‘Yes.' She let out a breath. Sat back and allowed the kid to do his work. Hank was covered with dust and grime. His shirt was soiled and torn. He had a cut above his eye. Ragged scrapes speckled his arms. But as she took his hand, Harper's heart fluttered, and she had to slow her breath. In all their time together, Hank had never looked better.

Late the next morning, Harper sat talking to the ATF agents back at the ranger's station. Apparently, she had no memory of a chunk of time. She remembered searching for survivors, finding bodies and parts of bodies. And then, nothing until she was with the paramedic.

‘We found the body of a man in what appeared to be an ape costume,' Agent Byrnes said. ‘It was in the field just outside the compound. Do you know who that was? Or why he might be dressed that way?'

‘It was Josh.'

‘Josh.' An agent raised an eyebrow. His name was Meyer.

‘I told you. The locals rebelled against Captain Slader. Josh was the new leader.'

‘And he was dressed like that – why?'

Harper sighed. Didn't have the energy to go through it all. ‘From what I can tell, Josh liked to dress up like a Yeti and roam the woods, scaring campers away. They called him the Bog Man. He and his followers were planning to kill us and decorate the woods with our remains. Maybe Josh put on his costume so no one would be able to identify him. If they saw him killing us or distributing our bodies, they'd blame the Bog Man.'

‘The Bog Man.' Agent Meyer exchanged glances with his partner, Agent Byrnes. ‘And this Bog Man. You said he's … what? A Yeti?'

‘Like Big Foot. Or Sasquatch.' Harper explained that she didn't know much about it, except that he was an almost human creature in local lore. People said he lived in the bogs. She told them that Josh seemed to have been exploiting the legend to scare away outsiders and reclaim the woods for the locals.

‘Reclaim the woods? But these woods are state property.'

‘I know that, Agents. But I've been told that some local people believe that the government stole their land to create the park, and then handed that same land over to the energy companies, who fracked it, polluted it, and built a pipeline through it. In the process, homes were destroyed, water became undrinkable, and people became sick.'

The questioning went on. Harper felt no pain, only detached disbelief. God, what had happened? An explosion of fracking chemicals? A problem with the pipeline? Or had the locals planned a terrorist bombing but accidentally blown themselves up?

Agent Byrnes asked her again about Slader. ‘So. You're saying that the police captain was the leader of this extremist group?'

‘Yes.' They'd already been over all of that.

‘And, in his role as police captain, Slader was in charge of investigating the deaths of Al Rogers and Philip Russo.'

Yes, as far as she knew.

‘Do you think he was hiding evidence? Possibly covering for locals responsible for those deaths?'

She had no idea. She thought of Angela, wondered if she should tell them about what she'd heard in the bunker. Decided to wait. Didn't have the energy for yet another line of questions. Harper rubbed her eyes, slumped in her chair.

‘Ma'am, I know you're tired. But there are a lot of unanswered questions here, so indulge us for another couple of minutes.'

Sure.

‘We know that the explosion started just outside the compound, near the entrance. Two locals who are members of the Hunt Club were found tied up in a shed not far from there. You know anything about them?'

No.

‘These two say the shed was used to stockpile the Hunt Club's ammunition. They say two young men ambushed them there and stole some powerful explosives not long before the blast.'

Harper said nothing.

‘They said the men were outsiders, named Pete and Bob. Do you know anything about them?'

Pete and Bob? The same Pete and Bob who'd run into her campsite, freaked out by the Bog Man? Was that possible? She chewed her lip. Remembered their burns and Angela's suspicion that they'd set off the explosion the night before. But those guys were panicked, harmless. Running for their lives. Why would they have gone into the compound and stolen explosives?

‘Do you know anything about those young men?

Harper hesitated. ‘Not really.' She didn't really, other than that they'd been afraid of a guy in a Yeti costume. ‘I might have run into them earlier, but they said they were taking off. Going home.'

Byrnes eyed her. ‘You ran into them?'

‘If it's the same two, they passed through my campsite on their way back to the campgrounds. They were leaving, so they shouldn't have been anywhere near the compound. Were they? Were they hurt?'

A pause.

‘One survived. But he's not conscious.'

They watched her reaction, then made eye contact with each other. Harper couldn't read their expressions. Didn't try. She put her head back, shut her eyes for a moment.

‘Okay, let's wrap this up. What do you know about the Hunt Club's arsenal?'

‘Nothing. Except what you've told me.'

‘What about the membership? Slader say anything about their plans?'

‘Sorry. Nothing.' Except that they were going to either skin her and the others alive or shoot them.

Agent Meyer sighed, crossed his arms. Byrnes rubbed his eyes. ‘Well, thanks for your time, Mrs Jennings. You know, there were over sixty people there. Only fifteen survived. You were lucky.'

Yes, she was.

‘As we said, you're still in shock. Your memory might not be functioning clearly. So—'

‘Definitely,' she answered before he could finish. ‘I'll let you know if I think of anything else.'

The agents thanked her and escorted her out of Daniels' office. They invited Hank in next, which left Harper in the outer office, sitting next to Angela.

The media had gathered outside the ranger's office, waiting for updates. They'd been joined by campers, state cops, hunters. People who lived nearby. Gas company and pipeline officials had taken over the snack shop.

Hoping to doze off, Harper turned away from the window, closed her eyes. Saw broken bones poking through flesh, auburn hair – or maybe blonde colored by blood.

In the chair beside her, Angela fidgeted. Her ankle had been set in a boot, her head wounds stitched and bandaged. ‘When will they let me go home? Haven't I been through enough?'

Harper didn't answer. Angela's whines scraped the inside of her skull.

‘Isn't it enough that I've lost my husband? And broken my ankle? And gotten shot, dropped on my head, and kidnapped? No. Now, they're making me sit here for hours, waiting. Not that I have anything to go home to. How can I face all of Phil's things? His empty galoshes? His buttermilk? I don't know how he could stand that stuff, but he lapped it up.'

Harper didn't engage, didn't tell Angela that she could drop the act. That she had been busted. She watched the door to the inner office, wishing that Hank would reappear so they could leave. Thinking of Chloe, remembering the smell of her hair.

‘You'd think they'd at least have interviewed me first. I should have had priority, being as I'm a widow. Don't they have any consideration? I can't even move with the bandages. The doctor said the gunshot was superficial. It sure doesn't feel that way. Lord, how long do I have to sit here? I have a funeral to arrange. Oh, and a notice to put in the newspaper. And I have to get the death certificate. Call the insurance agent. And Phil's boss, and his sister. Poor old Phil. Well, it's Stan's fault. I hope he fries for killing Phil. Him and Cindi both.'

‘Oh, cut it out, Angela,' Harper finally snapped. ‘Stop blithering.'

Angela looked slapped. ‘What?'

‘Because you did it.'

Angela's lower lip twitched. ‘Did what? I don't – what are you talk—'

‘Cut the crap. I'm tired. You know damned well what I'm talking about. You practically confessed when we were down in the bunker.'

‘I did not. I have no idea what you're talking about.' Angela stiffened.

Harper turned and faced her. Realized she'd have to spell it out. ‘Phil,' she said. ‘It wasn't Stan. It was you.'

‘What? No – it was Stan.'