Jeffery Deaver - The Bodies Left Behind

“The fuck you talking about? She was a cop, Hart. You get your head around that? There could be a dozen of ’em in the woods. We’ve gotta leave, my friend. Leave!”

Breathing hard from the run, the men had slowed and were walking through the dense woodland, toward where they’d seen the car go off the road after Lewis had sent a load of shot into the driver’s side. They moved carefully, looking around like soldiers on patrol. They had no idea if the woman was out of commission from the crash or was in hiding, waiting for them.

And they couldn’t forget about Michelle either, who might’ve been drawn out of hiding by the ruckus.

“She wasn’t in a cruiser. And she wasn’t in a uniform jacket.”

Lewis scrunched his face up skeptically. “I didn’t see what she was wearing underneath. I was a little busy.” Again sarcastic. “And I’m not panicking.”

“I’ll bet she was probably off duty and came up here to check out that nine-one-one. Didn’t get the message it was a false alarm.”

Lewis snickered. “You say she wasn’t on duty, my friend. But she was on enough duty to nearly blow your fucking head off.” He said this as if he’d won an argument.

Your head too, Hart corrected silently. He said, “A lot of cops have to carry their pieces. All the time. Regulation.”

“I know that.” Lewis gazed at the lake. “I heard the bang, you know. Like a crash. But I wasn’t sure if there was a splash.”

“I couldn’t hear it go in the water.” Hart nodded toward the Winchester and tapped his ear. “Loud. I don’t usually use shotguns.”

“You oughta learn ’em, boy. The weapon of choice. Nothing like a scattergun. Scares the shit out of folks.”

Weapon of choice.

Crouching, they continued walking slowly. In this morass of trees and tangled brush Hart grew disoriented. They could see the road but he now had no idea where the car had gone over the side. With every step, it seemed, the vista changed.

Lewis paused, rubbed his neck.

Hart looked him over. “You hit?

“Nope. Right as rain. I dodged in time. I can sense when bullets’re coming. Like in The Matrix. Now, that was a good flick. I have the whole set. You see it?”

Hart had no idea what he was talking about. “No.”

“Jesus. You don’t get out much, do you?”

A crinkle in the bushes nearby.

Lewis swung the shotgun toward the sound.

Something low was in the grass nearby, moving fast. Badger or coyote. Maybe a dog. Lewis aimed for it, clicked the safety off.

“No, no, no…Give ourselves away.”

And you never shoot anything you don’t have to…human or animal. Who the hell was this boy?

Lewis muttered, “We take it out, whatever the fuck it is, it won’t spook us anymore.”

You’re spooked; I’m not. Hart picked up a rock and flung it nearby. The animal, an indistinct shadow, moved off.

But it moved off slowly. As if the men weren’t worth bothering about. Crouching, Hart saw a few paw prints in the mud. Not normally superstitious, he couldn’t help thinking that the prints were a warning sign of sorts. Telling them that they’d strolled casually into a very different universe from what they were used to. This is my world, the creature who’d left the prints was saying. You don’t belong here. You’ll see things that aren’t there and miss things that’re coming up right behind you.

For the first time that night, including the gunshot at the house, Hart felt a trickle of real fear.

“Fucking werewolf,” Lewis said, then looked back to the lakeshore. “So she’s gone. Gotta be. I’m saying, we gotta keep going, get out of here. After that”-he nodded back to the Feldmans’ house-“all bets are off. This thing is very fucked up. We’ll get a car on the county road. Take care of the driver. And we’re back in the city in a couple hours.” He snapped his fingers theatrically.

Hart didn’t respond. He gestured down the road. “I want to see if she went for a swim or not.”

Lewis sighed, exasperated, like a teenager. But he followed Hart. They walked stealthily toward the rocky shore in silence, pausing every so often.

The younger man was looking over the lake. It was completely shaded by dusk shadow now, the water rippling in the breeze like black snake scales. He announced, “That lake, I don’t like it. It’s freaky.”

Talking too loud, walking too loud, Hart thought angrily. He decided he had to get some control of the situation. It’d be a fine line but he had to. He whispered, “You know, Lewis, you shouldn’t’ve said anything back there. About the keys. I could’ve gotten up behind her.”

“So I gave it away, huh? It’s all my fault.”

“I’m saying we’ve gotta be more careful. And when you were in the dining room you started talking to her. You should’ve just shot.”

Lewis’s eyes were good at being defensive and surly at the same time. “I didn’t know she was a cop. How the fuck could I know that? I stood my ground and nearly took lead there, my friend.”

Took lead? Hart thought. Nobody ever said “took lead.”

“I hate this fucking place,” Lewis muttered. He rubbed the bristle on his head, poked the lobe where his earring had been. Frowned, then remembered he’d put it away. “Got a thought, Hart. It’s what, a mile back to the county road?”

“About that.”

“Let’s get the spare on the Ford, the front, and drive her to the county road, drag the bad wheel behind us. You see what I’m saying? It’s front-wheel drive. Won’t be a problem. Get to the county road. Somebody’ll stop to help. I’ll flag ’em down, then they’ll open the window and, bang, that’s it. Fucker won’t know what hit ’im. Take their car. Back home in no time. We’ll go to Jake’s. You ever go there?”

Eyes on the lake, Hart said absently, “Don’t know it.”

Lewis scowled. “And you call yourself a Milwaukee boy. Best bar in town.” Peering along the shore, he said, “I think it was there.” He pointed at a spot about fifty yards to the south.

“Hart, I hit her in the fucking head. And her car’s in the water. She’s dead, either way, from buckshot or drowning.”

Maybe, Hart thought.

But he couldn’t shake the image of her back at the Feldmans’ house, standing in the driveway. She hadn’t scurried away, she hadn’t panicked. She’d just stood tall, brownish hair pulled back off her forehead. The car keys-keys to safety, you could say-in one hand, her weapon in the other. Waiting, waiting. For him to present a target.

None of that meant she wasn’t drowned, trapped in a two-ton automobile, of course, at the bottom of the spooky lake But it did mean she wouldn’t drown without one hell of a fight.

Hart said, “Before we go anywhere let’s just make sure.”

Another scowl.

Hart was patient. “A few minutes won’t hurt. Let’s split up. You take the right side of the road, I’ll do the left. If you see anybody, it’s got to be either one of ’em so just draw a target and shoot.”

He was going to remind Lewis not to say anything, just shoot. But the skinny man was already bunching his mouth up into a little pout.

So Hart just said, “Okay?”

A nod. “I’ll just draw my target and shoot. Yes, sir, captain.” And gave a snide salute.

HER CHEEK RESTED against a rock, slimy with algae. Her body was submerged in breathtakingly cold water, up to the neck.

Teeth clicking, breath staccato, cheek swollen. It seemed to push her eye out of the socket. Tears and sour lake water covering her face.

Brynn McKenzie spat blood and oil and gasoline. She shook her head to get the water out of her ears. Had no effect. She felt deaf. Wondered if a piece of buckshot or glass had pierced her eardrum. Then her left ear popped and tickling water flowed out. She heard the lapping of the lake.