Afraid

deputies tin cans tied together with string.

The phone rang again. Streng craned his neck so the phone was a precious two inches higher up, that much closer to the satellite signal.

“This is Streng.”

“Sheriff, it’s Josh VanCamp from the Safe Haven fire station. We have, um, a situation here.”

Josh was a good kid, tall and strong like his late father. Kid was probably a misnomer—Josh had to be over thirty. But Streng was nearing seventy, and that meant he considered almost everyone a kid.

“Is this an emergency, Josh? I’ve got my old carcass parked for the evening.”

“It is, Sheriff. There’s been a … helicopter crash.”

Streng didn’t know of anyone in the county who owned a helicopter. He looked longingly at his chili. The cheddar cheese he’d crumbled on top had melted perfectly.

“A helicopter? You’re sure?”

“I’m standing at the wreckage site. And there’s been some … fatalities.”

Streng sat forward in his chair. “People are dead?”

“Two.”

“Did you call for an ambulance?”

“Uh, no. They’re dead, that’s for sure.”

“Where are you at, Josh?”

“Off the big lake, on Gold Star Road, two and a half miles down. I brought the tanker. Fire’s under control. We’ll keep the lights on so you can find it.”

“Gold Star, you said?”

Streng hadn’t been down Gold Star in a while. The last time was to visit his cousin Sal Morton. They’d caught some walleye, tilted a few back, and promised to do it again real soon. That had been two months ago. Streng had planned to call him, see how things were going, maybe set up a date to get on the lake once more before it got too cold. They’d been close friends since childhood, and it was wrong they didn’t try harder to stay in touch.

“Yes, Sheriff. Should I call the staties?”

Streng considered it. The state police were the ones who dealt with highway accidents, but Gold Star was a private road. They wouldn’t want jurisdiction any more than he did.

“No, this is ours. I’ll be there in half an hour. Anyone with you?”

“Erwin.”

“Tell him not to touch anything. Same goes for you.”

Streng hung up, then pulled himself out of the recliner. He dipped his spoon into the chili, blew on it, and took a single bite. Delicious. Then he put the cup into the fridge, strapped on his sidearm, and went out to his Jeep Wrangler, reminding himself that he only had three more weeks until retirement. Then it would be someone else’s job to take care of these late-night calls, and he’d be able to enjoy a little chili in peace.

Erwin Luggs made up for his deficiencies in the brainpower department by being helpful, dependable, and an all-around nice guy. He didn’t have the strong jaw and athletic build of his buddy Josh, but his oversized frame and an abundance of hair accentuated his friendly demeanor. The ladies thought of him as a big, cuddly teddy bear. One particular lady, Jessie Lee Sloan, liked him so much that she had agreed to be his wife, and their wedding was set for next month.

The wedding troubled Erwin, because it was costing a lot more than he originally thought. He had the part- time-fireman gig and taught gym at the junior high nine months out of the year, but Jessie Lee had just added a string quartet to the growing list of wedding expenses. Even without totaling up the final numbers, Erwin knew he’d need at least two more jobs to cover all the bills.

But all thoughts of money, and the wedding, and Jessie Lee, vanished as he stared into the cockpit of that chopper.

“Don’t look at it,” Josh told him.

“I can’t help it. Never saw nothing like that before. You?”

Josh was staring past the wreck, into the dark of the forest surrounding them. He shook his head and spat.

Erwin asked, “Which head belongs to which, you think?”

“Coroner will figure it out.”

“Must have been the helicopter blades, right?”

Josh didn’t answer. Erwin stepped away from the wreck, but his eyes didn’t leave it. Their fire truck—a three-thousand-gallon tanker parked a few yards away on the sand road—had its emergency lights on, teasing the crash site with alternating flashes of red and blue. Erwin and Josh each held flashlights, but even with those and a full moon they couldn’t see everything at once—the trees were too thick.

When they arrived, the fire had mostly gone out by itself. A few of the nearby pines had been scorched, but the rain from two days ago prevented anything major from starting. Debris littered an area of about twenty yards in every direction, though it was hard to see because their flashlights weren’t powerful enough. The smoking shards of metal were out of place in the woods, making it look like an eerie alien planet. Erwin didn’t like it.

He backed up until he could no longer see the corpses in detail. A twig snapped, to his right. Erwin startled, focusing his light into the woods next to him, wondering what deer or coon was curious enough to come and see the wreckage. As his beam played across the trees he saw a brief glint of two eyes, which quickly vanished.

Erwin looked over at Josh. His partner had approached the cockpit and was peering in reverently. Erwin glanced back to the woods. The eyes couldn’t have belonged to a deer, because these were side by side. A bear? Maybe, if the bear was standing up. But Erwin knew bears, and the whole forest shuffled when a bear moved past. Erwin craned his neck forward, listening.

The woods were silent. Erwin had the uncomfortable feeling that the eyes were still there, watching him.

“Hello? Someone there?”

He felt foolish saying it, and even more foolish when no one answered. Erwin moved the flashlight to and fro, trying to penetrate the trees, but saw nothing. Could someone have survived the wreck? Someone hurt and unable to answer? He glanced again at Josh, saw that he was busy examining the inside of the chopper, and decided to investigate on his own.

The woods became very dark, very fast. The canopy screened out the full moon, and the thin beam of his flashlight worked like a theater spot, illuminating only a small circle and nothing else. Erwin moved slowly, respectful of his environment. In his teenage years he’d disturbed a badger on a late-night hike through the forest, and the bite he’d taken on the knee still ached when it rained. It had been the scariest moment in Erwin’s life, and he’d been unable to fight back, his muscles locked with fear.

Since then, Erwin avoided confrontation of any sort. He stopped playing sports. He walked away from fights. Thinking of himself as a coward was much easier to deal with than the horror of being attacked.

Movement, to the left. Erwin got the flashlight there in time to see something black dart behind a large oak. Too tall for a bear. A person?

He opened his mouth to say something but didn’t make a sound. If it was a person hiding behind the tree, why were they hiding?

Erwin took a step closer, feeling his arms go goosepimply and adrenaline tingle in his bowels.

Then a deer came crashing out of the woods.

Erwin reached out his hands to ward off the impact, dropping his flashlight, bracing his legs. The blow came weaker than he’d anticipated. Weaker, and warmer. The deer’s head connected with Erwin’s chest but didn’t push back. It just sort of stopped—as if he’d been tossed a football—and then came a spray of heat that stung Erwin’s eyes.

He took two steps backward, the deer collapsing at his feet, kicking out its legs like it was still running. Then it jerked twice and became still.

Erwin rubbed his eyes, realizing the heat was liquid, and the liquid was blood. He found his flashlight in a bush a few feet away and it was also soaked in blood, the smears on the lens making it cast red light. Hand shaking, he pointed it at the deer and saw a three-foot gash in the animal’s side, so deep it cut through the