John Gilstrap - At all costs

She took a breath to argue, but he cut her off again. “No, wait. Listen to me. We’ve been planning this day for fourteen years, okay? You’ve got to believe that we’ve worked most of the bugs out. The place is ready for us, and we have to be ready for it. If you start losing confidence now, Travis is going to come unglued.”

“What about Travis?” Carolyn shot. “We talked about schooling him ourselves, but I don’t know what eighth graders are supposed to learn. Suppose we screw it up?”

Jake sighed. His planning had always centered around escape and a decent hiding place. The rest was just too unpredictable; and because it was so unpredictable, it was irrelevant. Now, in the heat of it all, she wanted a specific plan for every conceivable contingency. Why couldn’t she see that this was a time for flexibility? Ever since this whole thing started yesterday, she’d focused on nothing but the negatives, and he was sick of it.

What difference did it make if something went wrong at this point? They’d either recover or they wouldn’t. It was that simple. Worrying about it only made everything seem more complicated.

“Carolyn,” Jake said, making his voice suddenly much softer. “If we screw it up, we screw it up. Then we move on. Our hand is dealt, honey. It’s too late to worry about a stacked deck.”

She bowed her head toward her chest, and her voice got very small. “This is just all so unfair to Travis,” she said.

“Carolyn, look. Family first, remember? Everything else second. If we do our jobs right, Travis will grow up remembering this as one huge adventure.”

She breathed through her mouth to rein in her emotions. It didn’t take long. “God help us,” she whispered.

Travis awoke fifteen minutes later, as Jake slowed the van at the top of Falls Ridge to make the left-hand turn onto a dirt road that would ultimately take them to Donovan’s Den. “Where are we?” he asked groggily.

“Almost there.”

“Where’s ‘there’?”

The answer became apparent soon enough. “There” was about two miles east of nowhere. The dirt road, such as it was, ended abruptly about a hundred feet in from the highway. From there it was grass and gravel; paradoxically smoother than most of the paved roads they’d traveled that morning. The aqua and white trailer-the Den-sat in the middle of an overgrown field, looking like a giant striped mushroom against the spatter-colored backdrop of the forest. Field grasses obscured the wheels entirely, reaching nearly all the way to the bottom of the high windows.

It had been too long. Carolyn remembered the place as being primitive, but no way was she prepared for this. Travis spoke her thoughts for her: “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Be it ever so humble,” Jake announced, trying his best to conceal his own horror at the condition of the place, “there’s no place like home.”

“No way,” Travis said emphatically. “No friggin’ way!”

As the van came to a stop, the boy helped himself to the back doors and climbed out. His mouth agape, he led the family through the weeds toward the front door. If he used his imagination, he could swear that he saw a path leading right to it.

“What is it?” Travis asked.

“It’s our home,” Jake replied, his voice leaden with a threatening undertone. He’d already been through this discussion with Carolyn. He didn’t relish a second round with his son. “Here, let me get the key.”

“No need,” Travis said, pushing the door open with a fingertip. “It’s already open.”

Jake drew his Glock from under his jacket and took over the lead, entering the door carefully, with the pistol stretched out in front of him and Travis close behind. “Anybody in here?” he called. The only response was the taunting buzz of a cicada.

Inside, the Den smelled like an old sponge, wet and dirty. Up front, in the kitchenette-which looked for all the world like a camp stove with a counter-the jalousie windows were opened just enough to let the rain enter and soak the Early American cannons-and-drums foam rubber seat cushions. The linoleum on the floor had peeled up around the base of the cabinets, exposing two parallel lines of yellow glue, which ran the length of the short hallway leading to the single bedroom at the other end from the kitchen. The total length of the place was maybe twenty-five feet.

“Looks like we’ve had some visitors,” Jake said, holstering his weapon. A look from side to side constituted a complete search.

Travis slipped past his father, wedging belly-to-belly in the narrow galley. He said nothing; but the look of disgust on his face spoke volumes.

“I’d forgotten there’s no electricity,” Carolyn grumbled, eyeing the gas jets on the stove and the cotton mantles on the wall sconces.

“Oh, gross!” Travis exclaimed, ducking back out of the bedroom. “There’s used rubbers all over the place!”

Carolyn gasped, momentarily curious about how Travis would recognize such a thing, and walked with Jake the eight paces to take a look. Sure enough, used condoms littered the mattress and the floor-seven of them, at first glance-looking like so many miniature crashed zeppelins.

“That’s disgusting!” Travis declared again, making his way back toward the front.

“That it is,” Jake mumbled. His words drew a look from his wife. “At least we know why our visitors were here.”

Travis seemed headed for the door when he stopped short. “Wait!” he said, suddenly very agitated. “Where’s the bathroom?”

His parents shared another glance. “Out back,” Jake said simply. “I dug it myself.”

Travis glared, his face a mask of disbelief. “No way,” he said. “In the woods?”

Jake shrugged, suddenly ill at ease. “More in the field than in the woods, actually. It’s got a shed around it.”

“No way,” Travis said again. He looked close to tears. “No fucking way!”

“Travis!” Carolyn gasped.

“No fucking way am I gonna shit in the fucking woods like some fucking animal!” He threw the door out of his way, catching it with his elbow as it rebounded off the cabinets, and stormed out of the trailer toward the woods.

“Oh, God-Jake, where’s he going?”

Jake took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll go get him,” he said.

“I’ll go with you.” She hurried to get ahead.

He grabbed her by the arm. “No,” he said gently. “This one’s for me, okay? He’ll be all right.”

Travis recognized the sound of his father’s gait. He didn’t even look up.

The reason he left the trailer in the first place was so no one would see him cry. Now they were coming to watch, anyway. As he swiped at his face, a stab of pain reminded him of Terry Lampier’s gift from just two days before. As much as he thought his life sucked then, nothing compared to this level of hell.

When his dad sat down next to him on the deadfall that served as his bench, Travis ignored him. He hated this man-this liar. He hated them both. When his dad tried to touch his arm, Travis shook himself free and rose to his feet again.

“You knew this was going to happen one day, didn’t you?” The boy made no attempt to disguise the accusation.

When Jake answered, his voice was just a whisper. “I guess I did.”

Travis turned and finally made eye contact. The anger and the hatred were right there, burning red streaks into the blue eyes. “All these years, everything you told me-a lie. Was that story about the massacre a lie, too? Did you kill those people?”

“No.”

Travis took a step closer, daring his father to fight. “I don’t believe you,” he spat. “You’re a liar and a murderer, and I hope you get killed and go to hell!” He saw his father recoil under the impact of his words. Good, Travis thought, I hope it hurts bad!