Blood Runs Cold

‘No thank you,’ said Ren. She still stood by the door, scanning the room.

Salem wandered away, half talking to himself. ‘You don’t leave people,’ he said. ‘You take hits. You take hits for yourself, you take hits for others. You take the bullets. You send ’em back. That’s the kind of shit that happens. That’s the kind of shit.’

‘You’re not wrong, buddy,’ said Jason. ‘Tell us about that time on the river, Salem.’

‘You don’t need to do that,’ said Ren.

Jason glanced at her. ‘It’s OK, it’s a funny story.’

‘Goddamn hilarious,’ said Salem, slapping a hand on his knee, then leaning on it to stand up, ‘Goddamn hilarious, the way they peppered those bullets across that water, crazy, deadly. Like stone-skimming – badam, badam, badam.’ He danced around in a circle, then sat back down.

‘Look at him dance,’ said Jason.

Ren took a deep breath.

‘You just chill out, there, Salem,’ she said. ‘We don’t need any entertainment here this evening. You just relax.’

‘Can you smell how good this is?’ said Jason. ‘My mother makes the best –’

He stopped. They all heard a loud noise out the back of the cabin.

‘Bears,’ shouted Salem, jumping up, grabbing a stick from against the wall and bolting out the door.

‘Well, shit,’ said Jason, ‘let me go get him.’

‘Let me go,’ said Ren. She didn’t give him a chance to argue. She ran around the back and grabbed Salem by the arm.

‘Salem, sweetheart, I need you to get out of here, OK? Do you know Billy down at the Filly?’

Salem nodded.

‘Just go down to him,’ said Ren. ‘He will look after you. Don’t say anything to anyone about who’s up here, OK?’

‘But I –’

‘Salem? I’m sorry, but you need to get the hell out of here.’

And I am going to hope to fuck that Paul Louderback is on his way.

‘Thank you so much, Salem. I owe you.’

She squeezed his hand and ran back around to the front of the house and closed the door. Jason Wardwell looked up.

‘Where’s Salem?’

‘I couldn’t find him,’ she said. ‘But he knows these woods like the back of his hand. And I’m guessing he knows how to handle a bear.’ She smiled.

The front door pushed open and swung wide. Salem walked in.

Ren froze. What are you doing?

‘Misty!’ said Salem. ‘Misty! Come on, girl. We’re going for a little walk.’

Oh shit.

‘Where?’ said Malcolm. We’re about to serve your supper.’

Don’t say it. Salem pointed at Ren. ‘Robin, here, told me to –’

‘Ren,’ said Ren, grasping at anything to stop him talking. ‘My name is Ren.’

‘I knew it was a bird of some description,’ said Salem.

‘Anyway,’ said Ren, ‘maybe a walk’s not a great idea right now. Like Jason said.’

‘I can’t keep up,’ said Salem. ‘You tell me to get the hell down the mountain to the Filly and –’

Ren watched Jason Wardwell’s face change. It was instantaneous. But it was Malcolm Wardwell who was holding the gun.

60

It was the worst possible thing to do to Salem Swade. But Malcolm Wardwell knew that. He made a haunted old vet stand with his back to the room while there was a gun somewhere behind him. Someone like Salem needed to face the room and face the door and feel safe. He started shouting; nonsense and swearing and orders and names and places and –

‘You – shut up, you crazy son-of-a-bitch, shut up!’ said Jason.

Salem stopped. But he was shaking violently, sweat soaking into the thin red fabric.

‘Let Salem go,’ said Ren. ‘Please.’

‘Let Ren go,’ said Salem.

Oh, God. ‘Salem, I’m going to be OK. You don’t need to worry about me.’

‘Stop talking,’ said Malcolm. ‘Silence.’

Jason Wardwell was wired, his father eerily still.

‘You,’ he said, ‘can take care of this.’

Jason opened his mouth and closed it.

‘At least,’ said Ren, ‘let Salem stand in front of the mirror.’

‘Why would I do that?’ said Jason.

So he can see the whole room. ‘What harm is it going to do?’ said Ren.

Salem started to move sideways toward it. Jason didn’t stop him.

‘Jason,’ said Malcolm, ‘put your gun to Salem’s temple and shoot him if Agent Bryce here doesn’t do what she’s told.’

Jason did as he asked.

‘Hold your arms up in the air,’ said Malcolm.

Ren held her arms up. He reached in and removed her gun from the holster under her arm, his hand brushing off her breast.

Her stomach turned. He bent down to her ankle holster. There was no gun there. He frisked her and found nothing else. He walked over to the battered old sofa and slumped down into it.

What is going on here?

Ren watched Salem. He had started shouting again. And sobbing. If Jason Wardwell, pumped-up and edgy, was going to do something, it would be directed at Salem first, it wouldn’t be directed at her. Because, no matter what, she was an agent and Jason Wardwell didn’t know yet if he was going to make it through this.

‘You need to shut the fuck up,’ said Jason to Salem.

‘He can’t,’ said Ren. ‘He’s afraid.’

‘He better get over it,’ said Jason. ‘Right now.’

Ren saw how Salem had realized he could see her face reflected in the mottled mirror in front of him. He fixed her with beautiful, terrified eyes.

Ren started humming, quietly – a John Prine song, top of the Most Played on Salem’s little iPod when she’d charged it. Everyone looked at her. Salem stilled. Ren hummed a little louder, holding him with her eyes.

Jason swung the gun her way, ‘What are you –’

Then there was no more shouting. Only the sound of Ren humming. The others turned to watch Salem, subdued. Jason turned the gun back to him. Ren could see Salem blinking rapidly, his chest heaving. Ren started to sing, ‘We lost Davey in the Korean War and I still don’t know what for, don’t matter any more.’ Her voicewas shaking.

‘Shut up, you crazy bitch,’ said Jason. ‘What is wrong with you all?’

‘Salem, sweetheart,’ said Ren. ‘You’re going to be OK. Stick with me, OK?’

Tears poured down Salem’s face. He started to sob.

Ren kept singing, ‘You know that old trees just grow stronger. And old rivers grow wilder every day.’

‘Stop,’ said Jason. ‘I mean it. Stop.’

Salem was rocking again, his sobs growing louder and louder.