Blaze

“Splint it and wrap him up warm and leave him your walkie. Over.”

“Yessir. Do you want to talk to him? Over?”

“No. I want to move. Over.”

“Yessir, I’m clear.”

“Fine,” Sterling said. “All you group leaders, let’s hump. Out.”

Blaze ran across the Victory Garden, gasping. He reached the ruined rock wall at the far end, climbed over, and skidded willy-nilly down the slope into the woods, clutching the cradle to his chest.

He got up, started to step forward, then stopped. He set the cradle down and pulled George’s gun out of his belt. He had seen nothing and heard nothing, but he knew.

He moved behind the trunk of a big old pine. Snow whipped against his left cheek, numbing it. He waited without moving. Inside, his mind was a fury. The need to get back to Joe was an ache, but the need to stand here and wait and be quiet was just as strong.

What if Joe got out of the blankets and crawled into the fire?

He won’t, Blaze told himself. Even babies are ascairt of fire.

What if he crawled out of the cave into the snow? What if he was freezing to death right now, as Blaze stood here like a lump?

He won’t. He’s asleep.

Yes, and no guarantee how long he he’ll stay that way, in a strange place. Or what if the wind shifts around and the cave fills up with smoke? While you stand here, the only living person in two miles, maybe five —

He wasn’t the only one. Someone was around. Someone.

But the woods were silent except for the wind, the creaking trees, and the faint hiss of falling snow.

Time to go.

Only it wasn’t. It was time to wait.

You should have killed the kid when I told you, Blaze.

George. In his head now. Christ!

I wasn’t ever nowhere else. Now go!

He decided he would. Then he decided he would count to ten first. He had gotten up to six when something detached itself from the gray-green belt of trees farther down the slope. It was a State Policeman, but Blaze felt no fear. Something had burned it away and he was deadly calm. Only Joe mattered now, taking care of Joe. He thought the Trooper would miss him, but the Trooper wouldn’t miss the tracks, and that was just as bad.

Blaze saw that the Trooper would pass his position on the right, so he slipped around the trunk of the big pine tree to the left. He thought of how many times he and John and Toe and the others had played in these woods; cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers. Bang with a crooked piece of stick and you’re dead.

One shot would end it. It didn’t have to kill or even wound either of them. The sound would be enough. Blaze felt a pulse thudding in his neck.

The Trooper paused. He’d seen the tracks. Must have. Or a piece of Blaze’s coat peeking around the tree. Blaze flicked the safety off George’s pistol. If there was going to be a shot, he wanted it to be his.

Then the Trooper moved on again. He glanced down at the snow from time to time, but he directed most of his attention into the thickets. Fifty yards away now. No — less.

Off to the left, Blaze heard someone else crash through a deadfall or some low branches and utter a curse. His heart sank even deeper in his chest. The woods were full of them, then. But maybe…maybe if they were all going in the same direction…

Hetton! They were surrounding Hetton House! Sure! And if he could get back to the cave, he’d be on the other side of them. Then, farther into the woods, maybe three miles, there was a logging road —

The Trooper had closed to twenty-five yards. Blaze sidled a little farther around the tree. If someone popped out of the brush on his open side now, he was dead-dog fucked.

The Trooper was passing the tree. Blaze could hear the crunch of his boots in the snow. He could even hear something jingling in the Trooper’s pockets — change, maybe keys. And the creak of his belt. That, too.

Blaze moved even farther around the tree, taking little sidle-steps. Then he waited. When he looked out again, the Trooper had his back to Blaze. He hadn’t seen the tracks yet, but he would. He was walking on top of them.

Blaze stepped out and walked toward the Trooper in large, soundless steps. He reversed George’s pistol so he was gripping it by the barrel.

The Trooper looked down and saw the tracks. He stiffened, then grabbed for the walkie-talkie on his belt. Blaze raised the gun up high and brought it down hard. The Trooper grunted and staggered, but his big hat absorbed much of the blow’s force. Blaze swung again, sidehand, and hit the Trooper in the left temple. There was a soft thud. The Trooper’s hat slewed around to the side and hung on his right cheek. Blaze saw he was young, hardly more than a kid. Then the Trooper’s knees unlocked and he went down, puffing up snow all around him.

“Fucks,” Blaze said. He was crying. “Why can’t you just leave a fella alone?”

He gripped the Trooper under the armpits and dragged him to the big pine. He propped the guy up and set his hat back on his head. There wasn’t much blood, but Blaze wasn’t fooled by that. He knew how hard he could hit. No one knew better. There was a pulse in the Trooper’s neck, but it wasn’t much. If his buddies didn’t find him soon, he would die. Well, who had asked him to come? Who had asked him to stick his goddam oar in?

He picked up the cradle and began to move on. It was quarter to eight when he got back to the cave. Joe was