Y Is for Yesterday

  “I used to go to camp up here when I was a Boy Scout. I don’t know what we’re doing, man. Place is a shit hole,” he said.

  “Shut up, Fritz.” As usual, Austin’s voice was loaded with contempt.

  “I’m serious. Ask me, this is stupid.”

  “No one asked you.”

  A moment later, Fritz stumbled and the gun went off. He’d squeezed the trigger involuntarily, but of course Austin was all over him, getting right in his face. “What’s the matter with you? Put the safety on! You could have killed one of us.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t say ‘but’ to me, you ding-dong.”

  Fritz turned away, but Austin cuffed his shoulder.

  “Hey. Don’t turn your back on me. I gave you an order and I expect acknowledgment. Put. The. Safety. On.”

  “You said take the safety off. You took it off yourself when we were at the cabin.” Fritz knew his voice was shrill, but he was tired of being blamed for everything.

  “Does this look like a cabin to you?” Austin yelled. “This is the fucking wilderness. We’re climbing a trail in the dead of night. You fall down with the safety off and you’ll shoot yourself, assuming you don’t shoot one of us first. Here. Gimme that.”

  Austin yanked the Astra from his hand and made a big display of securing the trigger lock.

  Fritz thought Austin’s action was far more dangerous, grabbing the weapon and pointing it every which way. At least Fritz had kept the barrel aimed at the dirt path so when the gun as good as fired itself, he wasn’t pointing it at anyone.

  Sloan had yelped once when the gun went off, but aside from that she’d been quiet. Fritz figured she’d adopted the same attitude he had. Best to shut up and do as they were told or the situation would only get worse. If they played along, maybe the whole deal would blow over and they could all go home.

  They reached the mesa, where nature had flattened the ground to form an enormous clearing. The cabins, as well as the old assembly and dining halls, had been abandoned years before and the county was in the process of bulldozing the dilapidated structures and using the detritus to fill the old swimming pool, which had been drained but was still considered an attractive nuisance. An excavator had been parked near a dumpster, where some of the shattered lumber had been piled. In the few buildings that remained standing, the windows were boarded over; porch planks rotted through. Even in its heyday, the structures were “rustic,” which is to say badly heated and poorly lighted. Fritz still shuddered when he remembered the wolf spiders: big, very black, and very fast. By night, it was cockroaches. After lights-out, when the boys were settled, one of the older campers would yell, “Death Trap!” and flip on the light. Insects of every size and description would dart off while everyone else banged at them with tennis shoes. Another way they amused themselves was to toss lighted cherry bombs in the septic tank.

  Fritz and Bayard were both winded from the climb and Austin wasn’t in much better shape. Sloan was the only one who responded to physical exertion with exuberance. The four of them stood there, chests heaving, while Austin flashed his light across the wooden buildings. Everything looked dead except for the weeds and poisoned ivy, which seemed to be flourishing. It reminded Fritz of a movie set where a special machine had been used to spray fake cobwebs across the doorways. Austin crossed to the semicircle of dirt in front of the assembly hall. The makeshift amphitheater was used by campers when they gathered for nature talks. Crudely constructed benches, usually stacked in front of the dining hall, could be dragged into service. Fritz always stood at the rear so he could disappear once the program was underway.

  A low mist drifted across the landscape, but the sky was crystal clear above them, stars everywhere. On the far side of the mountain range, a dull glow formed a fan shape against the night sky—light pollution compliments of the city of Santa Teresa. It was cold and Sloan, in her makeshift outfit, crossed her arms to keep warm. They were all waiting for their cues while Austin extended the silence for maximum dramatic effect.

  Fritz tucked his hands in his armpits for warmth and flicked a look at Bayard. “I don’t like this.”

  “Me, neither.”

  Austin picked up on the complaint. “Bayard, you know what? I don’t care if you like it or not.”

  “I’m with him. I don’t want any part of it. You let Troy beg off so why not us? This isn’t even our deal,” Bayard said.

  Austin’s tone turned liquid, soft and seductive. “Are you refusing, pal?”

  Bayard said, “Come on, Austin. Let’s dispense with the horseshit and get the hell out of here.”

  Austin said, “I’m not done yet.”

  “Yeah, well, we are.”

  Austin ignored him. “Hey, Sloan. What do you think this is?”

  He angled his flashlight beam to illuminate a trench three feet deep and six feet long. A shovel and a pickax rested on the loosely packed soil nearby. He shifted the flashlight beam to a spot under his chin, which threw his features into sinister shadows. It was something kids did at night to spook each other.

  “Like you’re so scary,” she said.

  “I asked you a question. What do you think that is?” He returned the beam to the trench.

  Sloan put a hand to her cheek. “Gee, Austin. I don’t know. It looks like someone dug a hole in the ground.”

  “Why don’t you lie down in it and see if it’s your size?”

  “Not funny.”

  “You don’t think so?” he asked. “I think it’s a riot.”

  “You have a twisted sense of humor.”

  “But a strong sense of fair play.”

  Sloan laughed. “Is that how you see yourself? A guy with integrity? A man of honor? Because I know better and so do you.”

  Austin said, “You know, I’m sorry now I dated you. I can’t remember what I was thinking.”

  “Maybe you were thinking I was such a pig I’d be grateful for the attention.”

  “Good one. That did cross my mind now you mention it,” he said.

  “Let me tell you what crossed my mind. All this bad blood between us goes back to the infamous cheating incident when somebody wrote the note to Mr. Lucas. You claimed I was guilty when you knew damn well I wasn’t.”

  “You were the one who got on her high horse when you heard Poppy and Troy intended to use the stolen test answers. You begged them not to do it. Next thing you know, Mr. Lucas gets a note spilling the beans.”

  “You wrote that note.”

  Austin laughed in disbelief. “I did? Where’d you come up with that screwball idea? I think you’ve been smoking too much dope.”

  “How about this? There are five juniors up for the Albert Climping Memorial Award, including you, me, and Troy. Once Troy’s caught cheating, he’s out of the running. Then you point a finger at me, which puts me out of the running as well. The teachers are supposed to be unbiased, but it’s their vote and once they hear the rumor about me, my goose is cooked. You’re the one who benefits.”

  “Are you forgetting Betsy and Patti?”

  “They’re not serious contenders. They’re window dressing, which you know as well as I do. Troy and I are your competition and you can’t stand to lose. You want that award so badly, you’d do anything.”

  “I can’t believe you’re accusing me.”

  “Well, I am.”

  Austin’s voice dropped. “Take it back.”

  “No. Nuhn-un. No can do.”

  “Are you out of your mind? First you threaten me with the tape and now you pull this? You can’t accuse me of shit like this.”

  “I just did. What do you think, Bayard? Does it sound reasonable to you?”

  Bayard looked from Sloan to Austin. “Actually, it does. I never thought of you as a tattletale until Austin made his claim.”

  “Fritz?” Sloan asked, turni
ng to him. “What’s your inclination? Is Austin guilty or innocent?”

  “Hey. I want no part of this,” Fritz said. He laughed uneasily, hoping Austin wouldn’t rope him in any further.

  Austin leaned down to the dirt piled up near the hole he’d dug. He grabbed a handful of soil. “Eat this.”

  Sloan laughed, incredulous. “I’m not going to eat that. You eat it.”

  Austin grabbed Sloan by the hair and yanked her head back. He lifted his fist and tried to force dirt into her mouth, but she shifted her head so the dirt tumbled to the ground. Sloan made a sound in her throat and Fritz felt his heart start to bang in his chest. It was clear Austin hadn’t pictured this part of the confrontation. He probably imagined himself prevailing, stronger, quicker, and more dominant, but Sloan had a will of her own. She was accustomed to contact sports and she wasn’t afraid of impact. She kicked at him, a swift, savage delivery with the toe of her hard-soled shoe striking him in the shin. Fritz backed up a step, not wanting to get caught in the cross fire.

  Bayard had both hands in front of him, gesturing downward as though he could diminish the conflict by sheer dint of will. “Hey, come on. Don’t do this. Let it go. Let’s everyone just calm down, okay?”

  Fritz was spellbound, paralyzed by indecision. Violence was usually directed at him by reason of his father’s temper and his quickness to strike out. His automatic response was an accelerated heartbeat, which is what happened now. Fight or flight were two options, but Fritz was in the habit of rolling over and playing dead.

  A silence fell as Austin and Sloan fought on with a series of grunts and the occasional cry of pain. Sloan was getting the best of him, but Austin was tough in his way and not one to give up. The two paused. Sloan was panting, blood trickling from her nose. Field sports had taught her to fight hard and she wasn’t afraid of pain. Austin assumed in a pitched battle with a girl, he’d have size and weight on his side, but Sloan was strong and well-muscled. And she was mad. Austin was sweating with the effort. He reached down for a broken limb and smacked it against a rock. The branch splintered, leaving a gaping wound of raw wood. He was upping the ante, ratcheting up the game. Sloan backed up and then got a running start, heading straight at him at full speed. She lowered her shoulder and plowed into him before Austin could put up a defense. She was on her feet in an instant and when he regained his balance, she shoved him hard. He went down on his butt and Sloan started to run.

  Austin screamed, “Fritz!”

  Sloan reached the near side of the clearing where a tangle of construction debris provided screening. Fritz didn’t have time to think. A wonderful clarity sharpened his perception. The darkness limited the visual information coming to him, so all he had to work with was the sound of her running. He felt expansive, puffed up, all instinct with no time to reflect. For a moment, he was free of self-consciousness, free of worry, free of any concern about other people’s opinion of him. He knew this was what combat felt like: intense, immediate, and base. Austin seemed to fade, Bayard disappeared, and Fritz was left with a thrilling sense of the present. Sloan pounded into the woods.

  Fritz could see that she’d disappear within another ten or fifteen steps. His hands were shaking so hard the gun nearly flipped out of his grasp. He pushed off the safety and chambered a round. He held the gun in both hands, doing a fair imitation of a police officer facing a thug. He fired, bearing down with his trigger finger so the bullets sprayed the underbrush, cutting a line as though someone were trimming brush with a weed whacker. In the darkness, he could hear Sloan running and he followed the sound of her crashing across the terrain, gasping now and then as though she might have tripped. He could hear her humming with fear and sorrow. He zeroed in on the noise, anticipating her path. She didn’t even know enough to zigzag like they did in the movies, dodging bullets, as though that were possible in real life. He wasn’t thinking about what he did, only that he was suddenly competent, filled with a feeling of power. There was a brief shriek and then he heard her hit the ground. Silence after that. He turned to Austin with a flash of triumph. “Whoa, baby! We did it, man.”

  Exhilarated, he looked at the Astra in wonder. “Wow! This thing has power. Did you see that? I thought it would jump out of my hand. That is so cool.” He whooped with excitement, reveling in his accomplishment. He glanced at Austin, expecting an “Attaboy!”

  “Shit. What did you do that for? Now we’re screwed.”

  Caught off guard, Fritz stared at Austin with bewilderment. “You told me to shoot.”

  “I did not! I wanted you to stop her, not shoot her. Now get out there and find her and we’ll see how bad she’s hurt. Here, take this.” He passed Fritz the flashlight and gave him a push.

  “I couldn’t have hit her. I was just ‘bang, bang, bang,’ you know? I don’t think I scored.”

  “What, like you won a stuffed monkey? You better hope not.”

  “But she’s faking, right?”

  “Would you get out there and find her! Shit, I can’t believe you’re this incompetent. What are you looking at me for? Go see if she’s okay.”

  Fritz turned on the flashlight. The beam was strong and seemed to wash all of the color from the landscape. He was hyped. Adrenaline flooded his system and he felt charged with excitement. It was an energy he’d never experienced before, what he imagined cocaine or heroin must be like. His whole body felt light, like he’d levitated, like he was outside himself looking on. Austin was nothing. He was nobody. Fritz was larger than life.

  His heart thundered in his ears. He crossed the clearing, following the path Sloan had taken. She was faking, pretending to be hit as a ruse to persuade him to quit firing. She was fast and he had no experience with a firearm. She could be easing through the underbrush at that very moment, slyly moving herself out of range. He wasn’t even sure how he’d find her in the dark.

  He waded into the bushes, which were dry and thick, snagging on his pant legs. The ground was cushioned with pine needles, a dense carpet of rotting plant material that slowed his progress. He was almost sure Sloan pretended to be hit so he’d quit shooting. That’s what he’d have done in her place. He saw the low-hanging tree limbs snapped off and broken branches she’d trampled as she ran. He came across an empty shoe she must have lost in her haste. This was a pair she’d stolen from Austin’s father; probably didn’t fit right to begin with.

  He came to a foot with a cotton sock. Her right leg. He moved the beam upward. He was relieved there was no blood though her bare leg looked very pale, with a harsh scratch across her calf. Hips and torso. He shone the light in a sweeping arc that illuminated the white of her flesh, half concealed in the overgrown vegetation. All he saw was blood and bone and the wreckage of her face where the bullet had torn into her.

  She lay twisted, the lower portion of her body resting on its side, the upper portion flat on the ground with her arms spread wide. Much of the left side of her jaw was gone, a great, gaping burst of torn flesh with mangled teeth, like a goofy grin. She must have turned her head to the right because it looked like the bullet had ripped along her jawbone, taking everything in its path. Her jaw and cheek were raw meat, dirt clinging to her face, stuck to her flesh like mud.

  For a moment, he stood and blinked, uncomprehending.

  He couldn’t think how to undo this.

  Could he be blamed when he hadn’t meant to do it? Would they understand how unlikely it was that he could hit a moving target when he fired? It was just a crazy accident—a tragedy. Something that happened in the moment with no conscious intent on his part.

  “Austin?” Fritz could feel his voice break. Though his lips had moved, no sound came out. He coughed once and cleared his throat. “Austin?”

  Austin’s voice came back, laden with annoyance. “What’s the matter with you? Shine a light over here. I can’t see jack shit.”

  Fritz redirected the flashlight beam, pushing back the
underbrush so Austin could find his way. He heard trampling in the underbrush behind him. Austin thrashed over the rough ground as Fritz had done moments before.

  “Where?” Austin said.

  Fritz moved the beam. Austin caught a glimpse of Sloan in the harsh beam of light, a tangle of long dark hair showing blood at the roots. He moved the light to Sloan’s ruined face.

  Austin said, “Oh, Jesus, man.” He started shaking his head. “We are so fucked.” He turned on Fritz in a fury. “What the hell have you done?”

  Fritz dropped to his knees beside her, blinking. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to hit her. What are the chances I would hit her? I don’t know anything about guns.”

  Austin said, “All right. Shit. What’s done is done. Let’s just get this over with. Gimme a hand here.”

  “I don’t want to touch her!”

  Austin stared at Fritz, his expression dark with disdain. “This is your mess. I’m not doing this on my own. Get in here and help!”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose. You know that. It was just my dumb luck, right? You yelled and I started shooting, but how did I know she’d take a bullet in the face like that? You yelled and I just started firing—”

  “I didn’t tell you to kill her, you stupid shit. Did you hear me say that? Did I say anything at all about shooting her?”

  “She was escaping. You yelled and I fired because I thought you wanted me to.”

  “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. We have work to do. Get Bayard over here. You have put us in a world of hurt with this.”

  Fritz seemed transfixed.

  “What are you waiting for? Get Bayard!” Austin screamed.

  Fritz scrambled through the bushes and burst into the clearing just as Troy appeared, coming up the trail from the road below.

  “What’s up?”