John Connolly - Bad Men

“Why do you say that?”

“Something he told me before the lights went out. I want you to go and get Frank Macomber and as many of the fire crew as you can round up. The phones are out, so you’ll have to do it door-to-door. Make sure Frank brings a gun. Then I want you to come back here and try to contact someone on the radio. If you don’t get any results within the next half hour, then start sending up distress flares from the dock. We need to keep people indoors and off the streets as well.”

Already Dupree could see some of those who lived off Island Avenue approaching the station house to inquire about the power cuts. Among them was big Earl Kruhm, who had a good head on his shoulders.

“Earl can take care of that,” said Amerling. “Nobody’s going to argue with him.”

“Talk to him,” said Dupree. “Make sure he understands that folks could be in danger if they don’t stay indoors. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince them, what with the blizzard and all. And, Larry, tell Frank and the firemen to stay out of the forest as much as they can, you hear? Make sure they keep to the trails.”

Amerling nodded and went to get his car. He came back minutes later, just as Dupree was filling his pockets with shotgun shells.

“Joe, my car won’t start. It’s dead.”

Dupree looked at him, almost in irritation, then took the keys to Engine 14 from a hook in his office and tried to start the truck. It turned over with a click.

“No radios, no phones, no cars, no power,” he said.

“No help,” said Amerling.

“It’s begun, hasn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“I felt it out at the Site, but I didn’t tell you. I don’t know why. I guess I didn’t want to worry you.”

Amerling managed a twisted smile. “Wouldn’t have made a difference anyway, but thanks for sparing my feelings.”

“Macy’s out there,” said Dupree. “She was headed for Carl Lubey’s place before that fire started.”

He felt a rush of concern for the young woman. He hoped that she hadn’t taken it into her head to do something stupid when she’d seen the fire. At least she didn’t seem like the type for futile heroics. He put out of his mind the terrible possibility that the fire and Macy might be connected, and that she might be hurt, or worse.

“We stick to the plan,” he told Amerling. “Go door-to-door. They’re going to have to head for that fire on foot and do what they can once they get there.”

He hefted the shotgun onto his shoulder and started for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going after the dead woman’s partner. After that, I’m heading for Marianne Elliot’s place. I think she’s in serious trouble.”

Amerling watched him go, but he didn’t say what was on his mind.

I think we’re all in serious trouble.

Time melted.

Scarfe felt it more acutely than the rest. They should have been at Lubey’s house by now, but instead they were still walking through the woods, and the glow of the fire was no longer always visible to them. Even Moloch seemed to realize it. He paused and stared around him, momentarily confused.

“We’re lost,” said Scarfe.

“No,” said Moloch. “We’re still on the trail.”

“Then the path is going in circles.”

“Powell should have caught up by now,” said Dexter.

Moloch nodded. “Head back down the trail, see if he’s on his way.”

Dexter left at speed and Moloch drew the map from inside his jacket. Scarfe, after a moment’s hesitation, joined him in examining it, while Shepherd leaned against a tree and said nothing.

“We got on the trail about here,” said Scarfe, indicating with a finger, “and Lubey’s place is here. That’s fifteen minutes on a good day, twenty or more in weather like this.”

“It has to be close. Maybe we passed it.”

But when they looked up, the light from the fire was still ahead of them.

“Makes no sense,” said Scarfe. He looked to Shepherd for support, but Shepherd was not looking at him. He was staring into the forest, his hands shielding his eyes. Moloch called his name.

“I thought I saw something,” said Shepherd. “Out there.”

He pointed into the depths of the woods. Scarfe squinted, but could see nothing. The snow was blowing in his face, making it difficult to distinguish even the shapes of the more distant trees. He could smell smoke, though.

“It’s the fire,” he said. “Maybe you saw smoke.”

No, thought Shepherd, not smoke. He was about to say more when Dexter returned from his brief reconnaissance.

“There’s no sign of him,” he told Moloch.

Moloch kicked at the newly fallen snow. “If he’s lost, he’ll find his way back to the boat.”

“If he’s lost,” echoed Dexter.

“You think a dummy with an arrow through him took him? Fuck him. If he got washed away, so much more money for the rest of you. We keep going.”

They shouldered their weapons and followed Moloch deeper into the forest.

Marianne was still shaken by her encounter with the new female cop. She had been afraid that the woman would make her follow her to the station house, that something in her face or behavior had revealed the truth of her situation. She could see it in the cop’s face. Why else would she have come after her?

She knows I’m running. She knows I’ve been bad. She’ll make me go with her and I’ll break down and tell them everything and they’ll take Danny away and I’ll go to jail for stealing the money and-

Marianne forced herself to stay calm. She fumbled with the car key a couple of times before she managed to fit it into the ignition, and watched in the mirror as the cop seemed to pause and consider her once again. Then the key clicked into place and the engine purred into life. Marianne was maybe a little too heavy on the gas as she drove away, but the cop appeared content to let her go. She relaxed a little when she saw the Explorer move down toward the ferry, until the enormity of the situation she was dealing with came back to her, and she gripped the wheel so tightly that the veins stood out on her hands, the knuckles blanching beneath the skin.

She had been so distracted these last few days that she hadn’t bothered to watch anything on TV except light comedies, and her absence from the market meant that she hadn’t picked up a newspaper since the previous weekend. Something terrible had happened and now he was free, because he would not allow others to punish her on his behalf. No, he would want to do it himself. If they were in Maine, then he was with them. They had found her, and Moloch was probably already on his way to the island. Maybe he even had men here already, waiting for her. She would get back to Bonnie’s and find Danny crying, in the grip of strangers, and Bonnie and Richie hurt or dead. There would be nothing for her to do but comfort her son while they sat and waited for Moloch to come. She thought again of her sister, Patricia, and her useless husband, whom she suspected of cheating on her yet with whom she continued to stay because, despite it all, she loved him and felt that there was still something worthwhile and decent within him. Perhaps she was right, for when she had told them both of her plan to run, and reminded them that if she ran, then they would have to run too, they had accepted it with equanimity, and Bill had held his wife’s hand and told his sister-in-law that they would support her in any way they could. True, Bill had lost his job, and there was nothing to keep them where they were, but Marianne could still not disguise her surprise at his reaction. The memory of it made her ashamed, for she knew in the quiet dark places of her heart that they were both dead, and that they had died because of her. Yet part of her suspected that they were not the reason that Moloch had found her. Bill didn’t know her exact location, and Patricia would never tell.