F. Wilson - Secret Circles

High school, with all the new people it was pushing into their lives—pushing between hem—seemed to threaten that bond.

Was she now getting a taste of that too?

Everything seemed in flux—people dying, people and things disappearing … he didn‟t like change. He wanted everything to stay the same—wished Johnson could be kept in a bottle like Kandor in Superman‟s Fortress of Solitude.

Well, Jack wasn‟t going to lie to her. “Yeah. I like her. She‟s cool.” Weezy stared in Karina‟s direction.

“Cool?”

2

The state cops and the deputies divided the crowd into groups. Jack had to decide

whether to go with Tim Davis‟s group, or edge over and hang with Karina. His mother and her friends were directed toward another group. He settled on Tim. Weezy and Eddie were there and he felt they should stick together. After all, they knew Cody. Karina and Cristin did not.

“All right, listen up, everybody,” Tim said to the thirty or so people gathered around his patrol car. He had a map spread out on the hood. “We took the area around where we found Cody‟s bike and divided it into a grid. Our group has been assigned a specific square of that grid.

We‟re going to walk out to the spot, and when we get there I‟ll show you what to do.”

He took the lead on the fire trail that led away from Johnson. People followed in groups of two and three, speaking in low voices. The party atmosphere had dissipated.

“I hope we find something,” Eddie said.

Weezy folded her arms tight across her chest. “I know what I don’t want to find.”

“What?”

“Cody.”

“I second that,” Jack said. “Been there, done that, don‟t want to do it again.”

He couldn‟t help thinking about finding the body in the mound last month. What a

shock—hadn‟t expected to dig up anything like that. He and Weezy and the rest of Johnson were still dealing with the fallout from that discovery in different ways and to different degrees. No doubt about who it had affected most: Weezy.

But today was different. Today they‟d be looking for a body. Sure, everyone hoped and prayed Cody was okay, but did anyone here actually believe they‟d find him alive? Jack didn‟t. He hoped for the best, but he knew the chances were approaching zero.

Yet, if Cody‟s body was here, he hoped someone would find it today and stop the Bockmans‟

nightmare. If they missed it, the torture of not knowing would go on and on.

But not knowing allowed for hope. He wondered which was worse—eternal fruitless hope, or the short, sharp shock of the truth?

Jack didn‟t know. He did know that if Cody Bockman‟s body was found today, he wanted someone else to find it.

They turned south off the fire trail and wound their way along deer trails through trees and underbrush. Jack had worn jeans and a long-sleeve rugby shirt. Weezy and Eddie, both seasoned veterans of Pinelands exploration, also wore long sleeves. Jack felt sorry for the neos who had come with short-sleeved and even sleeveless tops—looking to boost their summer tan before fall? They were in for a morning of scratches from the brush and bites from mosquitoes and greenhead flies.

When they reached the designated area, Tim had his people line up side by side, facing south.

Next he had everyone stretch their arms straight out from their sides, then move away until each person was touching fingertips with the person on either side. Weezy stood to Jack‟s left, Eddie to his right.

“Okay, ” Tim said through a bullhorn. “Everyone pick out a landmark straight ahead of them.

Remember that landmark. Now start walking toward it, but concentrate on the ground. Eyeball every inch, looking for anything that didn’t originate in the Pines. If you see anything —

anything ,even if it looks like litter — give a holler. Same with any tree you’re passing: Examine the bark and look up into the branches. Again, if you see something, give a holler. Now, whenever you hear someone holler, stop where you are so I can go check it out and tag it if it seems like it’s worth looking into .Got that?”

He repeated the instructions, then finished with: “Be alert. His bike was found just east of here.

We may get lucky.”

All depends on what you mean by “lucky,” Jack thought.

Tim started the line moving. The going was slow—lots of trees in the way. Each had to be checked up and down, all the way around. That made it hard to keep moving in a straight line.

Open areas were few and far between, and last night‟s rain would have washed away what ever tracks had been left behind.

Someone far to the right yelled. Everyone stopped and waited as Tim hustled over, checked it out, then used a slim bamboo stick with a little Day-Glo red pennant on top to mark the spot.

“All right” he bull-horned. “Let’s get moving again. Take your time. No rush. The last thing we want to do is miss something.”

As Jack began walking and searching, word filtered down from the right that someone had found an old, flattened Wawa coffee cup. Probably litter. Good thing Old Man Foster posted his land. If people camped around here, there‟d be no end to the junk the searchers would be finding.

He wondered if anyone had asked Foster‟s permission. Probably not. No one seemed to know where to find him. And anyway, how could he have said no? Even if he had, the search would have gone on anyway.

Another yell, this time from the left. Another stop and wait as Tim planted another flag. After they were moving again, people passed word of the discovery down the line.

“Someone found a child‟s sneaker,” Weezy told him when the news reached her.

“Just one?”

Weezy shrugged. “‟ A ‟ sneaker is what I heard.”

“Boy‟s or girl‟s?”

She rolled her eyes. “They didn‟t say.”

They kept moving, searching. By the time the group had finished combing its square of the grid, Jack had found nothing. At the end they came upon another group finishing a neighboring square. No sign of Cody there either.

While people broke into chattering groups, Jack made his way back toward where the sneaker had been found. He spotted Tim squatting by a flag, speaking into a walkie-talkie as he studied a small sneaker half buried in sand. His back was turned but Jack could hear him loud and clear.

“Look, it‟s a red-on-white Keds and it‟s a kid‟s size five—just like the mother told us. Get a lab team out here. This could be it.”

Jack‟s stomach coiled. Aw, no.

A faint garble crackled from the receiver, then Tim said, “Okay. Roger and out.”

He rose and turned, then froze when he saw Jack.

“What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see the sneaker. Is it … is it Cody‟s?”

“Can‟t say.”

“But you said it fits the description.”

Tim‟s face gave nothing away. “You weren‟t supposed to hear that. And even if it does, Keds sells a zillion sneakers like that.”

“Yeah, but it‟s the right size and color and not far from where Cody‟s bike was found. What are the odds it‟s not ?”

Tim sighed. “Don‟t go blabbing about this, okay?”

“You know I don‟t blab.”

“See that you don‟t.”

Jack squatted for a closer look at the soaked sneaker where it lay on its side, half-filled with wet sand.

“How—?”

“Don‟t touch it!”

Jack bit back a duh! —he‟d seen enough cop shows to know you didn‟t touch evidence—and instead said, “Wasn‟t going to. How come there‟s only one?”

“Do I look like the Amazing Carnac?”