Nowhere to Run

There was another muffled snap, this one closer than the first. He estimated the sound coming from fifty feet away.

He raised the shotgun and lay the doused Maglite along the forward stock. His heart pounded in his chest, and he thought if it beat any harder, everybody would be able to hear it.

As he stared into the shadowed darkness of the trees, he saw a single small red dot for a moment six feet off the ground. It blinked out. Then he saw it again. Joe was sure that he was close enough that if he fired he’d probably hit the source of the light. He remembered Nate’s admonition to shoot first, but he couldn’t simply pull the trigger. Not without knowing who it was.

The roaring of blood in his ears nearly drowned out the voice of the man who said, “Joe, is that you?”

Then, “For Christ sake, Joe, don’t fucking shoot me!”

Joe said, “Farkus?” And he heard the hollow sound of the heavy steel barrel of Nate’s .454 smack hard into the side of Farkus’s head, toppling him over.

“Don’t kill him, Nate,” Joe said, sighing and getting to his feet. “I know this guy. He’s the local who owned one of the burned-up trucks back in the campground. The one who didn’t seem to fit into all of this.”

“NIGHT VISION GOGGLES,” Nate said with contempt, nudging Farkus with the toe of his boot, “and unless I’m wrong, he’s wearing body armor, too. I’m thinking this Farkus guy isn’t quite what you and Baird thought he was.”

Farkus moaned and reached up to put his hand over the new gash and bump on the side of his head.

Joe stepped over the downed log and fixed his Maglite on Farkus. The bright light through the lenses of the goggles must have burned his retinas as if he were looking into the sun itself, the way Farkus winced and pulled the goggles off. He threw the equipment away from him, saying, “It’s like you blinded me.”

“You didn’t shoot,” Joe said to Nate, ignoring Farkus.

“No reason to,” Nate said. “I watched him come down through the trees focused totally on you. He was watching you every second. I was behind a trunk and he never even turned my way.”

Farkus croaked, “Why’d you smack me?”

Nate squatted down next to Farkus. “Because we’ve nearly been killed twice tonight by people who more than likely had night vision gear. And because you were lurking around in the dark, you idiot. You’re lucky I didn’t blow your head off. Where did you get those goggles?”

Joe kept his flashlight on Farkus’s face, trying to read it. Farkus said, “I stole them. The vest, too.”

“Who’d you steal them from?” Nate asked.

“I took them off a dead guy,” Farkus said, sitting up. “He didn’t need them anymore. Being he was dead and all.”

Said Nate, “Who was the dead guy?”

“His name was Capellen. He was with the other guys from Michigan up here to find the Cline Brothers. Capellen was killed first, and I took his stuff.”

Joe said, “Start from the beginning, Dave. How did you get from the other side of the mountain to here?”

“They kidnapped me,” Farkus said. “The men from Michigan, I mean. I drove up on them at my elk camp, and they took me along with them because I know the mountains. They were tracking those damned brothers, but everything went bad for them. The brothers ambushed us and I was the only one left alive. Them brothers, they ain’t human, I tell you. They ain’t. You guys should turn around and get the hell out of here while you have the chance.”

Joe said, “What are they if they aren’t human?”

“Wendigos. Monsters. They can move through the trees like phantoms or something, and they can just appear wherever they want. I told you back at the trailhead, remember?”

“I remember,” Joe said.

“So how did you get away from them?” Nate asked with a smirk. “Did you hold a cross up and just walk away?”

“I waited until they were gone,” Farkus said, “and I managed to get untied. They’ve completely left the mountains for somewhere else. They ain’t around no more. They had me tied up in a cave, I mean a cabin.”

Nate drew his arm back as if he were going to backhand Farkus, and the man flinched and grimaced, raising his arms to cover his face, ready for a blow.

“Nate,” Joe said.

When Farkus lowered his arms, Nate slapped him hard across his face.

“Why’d you do that?” Farkus protested. “I haven’t done nothing.”

Nate said, “You scared us, that’s what. And now you’re speaking gibberish. I hate gibberish. Nobody confuses a cabin with a cave. So you’d better start telling us the truth about what’s really going on up here, or you won’t see morning come.”

Joe nodded. “Your story doesn’t jibe, Dave. Like maybe you’re making it up as you go along.” He kept his flashlight on Farkus’s face and noted how the man averted his eyes and blinked rapidly as he spoke—two signs of a lying witness. “Somebody set a trap that could have killed either one of us and later rolled a boulder down the mountain that could have taken us out. The brothers were seen clearly this afternoon by a sheriff at the trailhead where they were in the process of burning your truck. No one else would match that description.

“Plus,” Joe said, lowering the beam of the flashlight to Farkus’s hands in his lap, “I don’t see any marks on your wrists from rope or wire. Which says to me you weren’t tied up at all. Now, I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them. If I think you’re lying again, I’m going to get up and walk away and leave you with Mr. Romanowski.”