Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“Let’s get a fix,” Mike said after twenty minutes of walking.

Bill powered on the detector and ran a sweep. His big arc showed the strongest signal in the direction they had been walking. “Good job so far,” he said. “Right on target.”

“Good,” said Mike. “We’ve got one more small hill before we should see something.”

“I can smell something already,” said Bill.

“Yeah,” agreed Mike.

As they crested the small hill, Mike had his head buried in the map as he shuffled along. Bill caught him by the collar and stopped him. On the other side of the bush, just past where Mike would have pushed through the branches, the hill was cleared all the way to the sewage facility.

“Thanks,” said Mike.

“Let’s circle it,” suggested Bill.

Mike nodded.

Bill powered up the device and the two men headed south, staying in the woods and skirting the clearing. By sweeping a narrow arc every few steps, Bill was able to point accurately at the origin of the signal. They crouched and had a decent look at the buildings and pools.

“Is this place manned?” asked Bill.

“I don’t know,” said Mike. “Wait—yeah. Look at the cars.” He pointed towards a small parking lot sticking out from the other side of a low building. They could see the hoods of three cars.

“Maybe we could pretend to be inspectors or something. Get inside the place?” asked Bill.

“I don’t think that would work,” said Mike. “These guys are going to know who’s supposed to be here. We’ll never be able to bullshit our way through that. I wonder where he’s hiding?”

“Must be some underground part of the place,” said Bill. “Maybe where the pipeline comes in from the town?”

“I guess,” said Mike. “We could wait and see if everyone goes home, but it’s already after five. Maybe they run multiple shifts here?”

“I don’t think we can afford to wait here,” said Bill. “Assuming that thing’s in there, we don’t have of the ropes and stuff. We’ll have to go back for those at least, and it’s too far to carry them. I mean, what are we going to do—knock on the door with a bag full of ropes and straps and ask to search the place?”

Mike laid out the map on the leaves and roots. The two men crouched down in front of it.

“Looks like this road must have the entrance to the place,” he said. “Why don’t we move the car over here and wait to see if everyone leaves at eight?” he asked.

“Yeah, okay,” said Bill. “But what if they don’t?”

Mike thought for a few seconds—“Well, if they don’t leave then he might have a hard time getting away undetected. He’s been keeping a low profile lately. Perhaps we can catch him while he’s trying to sneak away.”

“Or maybe he’ll decide to kill everyone in the place,” said Bill.

The two men started to crawl backwards away from the clearing. Without resolving the discussion, they headed through the woods in the direction of the car.

“So we’ll just wait,” said Mike. “We’ll be able to tell if he’s moving from the device.”

“You’re saying we might have to just follow him tonight and go after him tomorrow when he rests again?” asked Bill.

“Could be,” said Mike.

BILL PULLED OFF on the shoulder again. From their position, they could just make out the entrance to the sewage treatment plant, marked by a weathered wooden sign. Not long after they took their position, several cars pulled out of the plant.

“Eight,” said Mike, checking the clock. “Must be the end of the shift. Sunset should be in about twenty minutes—should we go see if we can get in?”

“It’s too late,” said Bill. “I’m starting to think we should just use this opportunity to find out if the theory is right. We’re making a lot of assumptions here.”

“So you think there’s some other source of strange energy in the sewage treatment plant?” asked Mike.

“No, I don’t, but you’re the scientist. Come on—is breaking into a municipal facility warranted by what we know so far?”

“Yes,” said Mike. “I thought that’s why we were here.”

Another vehicle pulled out from the driveway and exited the plant.

“See there,” said Bill. “If we had gone in we would have been busted by that guy. Who knows how many others are still coming. Hell, we could have missed a shift change while we were driving over here. There could be dozens of workers in there.”

Mike only half paid attention to Bill’s words of caution. He studied his watch and made an announcement when Bill had finished—“Sunset. Right now.”

“Seems too light out. Are you sure?” asked Bill.

“Yeah, but it will still be light out for some time,” said Mike. “I don’t know precisely when it will move.” Mike shifted around in his seat with the detector on his lap. He angled his head against the window, as he had earlier when he slept.

“Are you still tired?” asked Bill. “You slept most of the way up here.”

“I didn’t sleep at all last night,” said Mike. “I was waiting for this thing.”

“Well you can’t sleep now,” said Bill. “We have to be alert in case we see movement.”

“Fine,” said Mike, shifting upright.

Within five minutes, Mike leaned his head back against the seat and struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Tell me when you were most frightened,” said Bill.

“What? Why?” asked Mike.

“It’s a great way to stay awake. We used to use it on road trips in college. Just describe when you were most afraid and it will help you wake up,” said Bill.

“I can’t think of anything,” said Mike.

“Are you kidding? What about what happened at my house? Didn’t that scare the shit out of you?” he asked.

“The first time, maybe. The second time was just tragic,” said Mike. “I guess there were a few moments when I was a kid.” Mike thought about his brother.

“I figured you paranormal investigators were all fear junkies,” said Bill. “You know—living for that rush.”

“I know what it was,” said Mike. He sat up straight in his seat and looked down the road as he spoke. “It was when I was in my twenties.” He collected his thoughts for a second. “I was living with my grandparents. My parents both died before I was a teenager, so I lived with my grandparents and we were really close. Actually, the story really starts when I was in my teens.”

“Yeah?” prompted Bill.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “My grandfather was a really proud man—former Air Force Colonel. We saw this disabled vet in Augusta and he pulled the car into a parking spot and nodded at the guy. He said ‘Mikey, if I ever get that way, I want you to help me end it.’ I didn’t know what to say. My dad always told me that being handicapped or disabled didn’t mean you couldn’t live a good life.”

“How old were you when this happened?” asked Bill.

“I don’t know, maybe sixteen or so,” said Mike.

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” continued Mike. “Ten years later, he was in pretty bad shape. He wasn’t in a wheelchair, but he might as well have been. He had a catheter, had to use a walker, and he had this terrible skin condition to go along with all his other problems. These big, painful blisters of pus and blood would form all over his skin and then burst if they came in contact with anything.” Mike circled his thumb and forefinger and demonstrated the size of the lesions on his own forearm.

“Oh, man,” said Bill.

“It’s called bullous pemphigoid,” said Mike slowly. “Pretty rare.” Mike swallowed and stared down the road. “He was in terrible shape: helpless, completely dependent on healthcare workers, in pain all the time. My grandmother wanted him to move to a nursing home, but he just wanted to die at home. That’s when he asked me.”