just killed a man and probably traumatized a kid for life. That kid wasn’t supposed to be there. He’d been watching the guy for the last two weeks and he’d been camping solo. What had he done? Brought his son up for the weekend? Must have.
Giving Jeff the shock of his life. He should have backed off, should have told the others he couldn’t do it because the target wasn’t alone. Off-season. No tag. Whatever. Surely he could have come up with an excuse so they’d have given him another chance.
Maybe. Now that he knew what the others had been up to, he couldn’t even rely on their friendship anymore. Look what they’d put him up to, even when he’d sworn he’d never rat them out.
And he wouldn’t have. Man alive, he was in it up to his neck even if he hadn’t known they were acting out some of the plans they’d made. An accomplice. He’d aided them. The noose would have tightened around his throat, too.
God, why hadn’t he been able to make them see that? He wasn’t an innocent who could just walk into a police station and say, “You know what my friends have been doing the last few years?”
Yeah. Right.
He swore again as a sharp rock bit right through his jeans and made him want to cry out from the unexpected pain. He shouldn’t be struggling up the side of a mountain in the dark. He shouldn’t be doing this at all.
He had believed it was all a game. A fun thing to talk about when they gathered at the lodge in the fall for their usual hunting trip. Planning early summer get-togethers to eyeball various campgrounds, looking for the places a shooter could escape without being seen.
The victim didn’t much matter. Whoever was convenient and easy. The important thing was not to leave anything behind. To know the habits of the prey the same way they would know the habits of a deer.
Did the vic go hiking? If so, along what trails and how often and for how long? Was he or she alone very often or at all? Then Will had gotten the idea that they should get them in their tents. When there were other people in the campground, making it so much more challenging. Yeah.
He had believed it was just talk. He’d accompanied the others on the scouting expeditions, enjoying being in the woods while there were still patches of snow under the trees. He liked scoping out the campgrounds as the first hardy outdoorsy types began to arrive. And that, he had believed, was where it ended.
Planning. Scouting. A game.
But he’d been so wrong he could hardly believe his own delusion. He’d known these guys all his life. How was it possible he’d never noticed the psychopathy in either of them? Because that’s what he now believed it was. They didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything except their own pleasure.
He paused to catch his breath and looked back over his shoulder. Far away, glimpsed through the thick forest, he caught sight of flashing red, blue and white lights. The police were there.
He’d known it wouldn’t be long. That was part of the plan. Once he fired his gun, he had to clear out before the other campers emerged, and not long after them the cops.
Well, he’d accomplished that part of his task. He was well away by the time the campers dared to start coming out. But the little kid’s wails had followed him into the night.
Damn it!
So he’d managed to back out of the place without scuffing up the ground in a way that would mark his trail. No one would be able to follow him. But now he was mostly on rocky terrain and that gave him added invisibility.
The damn duff down there had been hard to clear without leaving a visible trail. It had helped that so many campers had been messing it around this summer, but still, if he’d dragged his foot or... Well, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t.
But then there had been the farther distances. Like where he had kept watch. His movements. Too far out for anyone to notice, of course. He’d made sure of that.
So he’d done everything right. They’d never catch him and the guys would leave him alone. That’s all he wanted.
But he hated himself, too, and wished he’d been made of sterner stuff, the kind that would have gone to the cops rather than knuckle under to threats and the fear that he would be counted an accomplice to acts he hadn’t committed.
Now there was no hope of escape for him or his soul. He’d done it. He’d killed a man. He was one of them, owned by them completely. Sold to the devil because of a threat to his life.
He feared, too, that if they were identified they would succeed in convincing the police that he was the killer in the other cases, that they were just his friends and he was pointing the finger at them to save his own hide.
Yeah, he had no trouble imagining them doing that, and doing it successfully. They’d plotted and planned so well that there was nothing to link them to the murders except him.
At last he made it over the ridge that would hide him from anyone below, not that the campground wasn’t now concealed from view by thick woods.
But even if they decided to look around, they’d never find him now. All he had to do was crawl into the small cave below and await daylight. Then he would have a clear run to his car to get out of the forest.
All carefully planned. He’d be gone before any searcher could get up here.
Damn, he wanted a cigarette. But that had been part of their planning, too. No smoking. The tobacco smell would be distinctive, so they avoided it unless campfires were burning.
Who had come up with that idea?
He couldn’t remember. He was past caring. He slid into the dark embrace of the cave at last, with only a short time before dawn.
Past caring. That was a good place to be. He envied the others. Instead he kept company with the remembered cries of a young boy.
* * *
BLAIRE WISHED SHE could do more. She was the kind of person who always wanted to take action, to be useful, but right now the police were in charge, using skills she didn’t have to look for evidence, so she kept an eye on the little boy in the bed of her ATV and on the scene where some officers were busy questioning other campers and the rest were busy photographing the scene and hunting for evidence. Pacing back and forth between the two locations, she imagined she was creating a rut.
At least Jimmy slept. She hoped he slept right through when they removed his father in a body bag. She hated the thought that such a scene might be stamped in his mind forever.
She knew all about indelible images. She wished sometimes for a version of brain bleach. Just rinse your head in it and the dark, ugly stuff would be washed away.
Nice wish. She was old enough, however, to realize how unrealistic such a wish was. Life was the accumulation of experiences, and you could only hope that you’d learn from all of them, good or bad.
Gus stayed close to the line, attentive as the officers questioned the witnesses. Dropping by from time to time, she heard the same story repeated by everyone. They’d been asleep. Awakened suddenly by the loud, sharp clap. At first they hadn’t even been sure they’d heard it.
Some had sat up, waiting to see if it came again. Others considered rolling over
