“You okay? Paulie, you okay?”
“I think so. I can’t see anything. Jesus, what happened?”
Logs slams the palm of his hand against the glove compartment, popping it open. He feels for the handle of a crescent wrench, finds it, and breaks out his side window, groping for the seat belt release. He knocks out the edges of the glass, peering up toward the road at headlights beaming above their heads. The driver’s-side door of a dark SUV opens, casting a glow on the exiting driver, and a passenger following. In a split second it registers. “Run!” Logs shoulders his door, creating an opening just wide enough to slide out. “Paulie, run!”
“What? Where?”
“Get out of there!”
Paulie shoulders his door, but it’s blocked by the trunk of a thick pine. “This side!” Logs’s voice is low and tense. “Hurry!”
He pulls the driver’s-side door open a hair farther and Paulie squeezes out. “Run!”
Paulie hasn’t seen the two men moving down toward them through the waist-high grass and he starts to bolt toward the road. Logs hauls him back by his shirt collar. “Into the trees. Stay with me.”
They move quickly, mostly by feel in the darkness, until Logs stops and they stand, listening. Logs puts a finger to his lips and pushes Paulie deeper into the trees, then stops again. The voices are distinctly farther away.
“What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know,” Logs whispers, “but those guys rammed us on purpose.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, Jesus,” Logs says. “The interior light came on when they got out . . . don’t get freaked, but I think one of them is Rankin.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah. And whoever it was meant to kill us. That vehicle was moving full speed.”
“Man, you’re scaring me.”
“Good.”
“What’re we going to do?”
“We’re going to get farther into these trees and give ourselves time to think. And listen. If their voices get closer, we gotta move.”
“Shit, I quit Boy Scouts after a month. I can’t tell which direction is which.”
Logs points west. “Lake’s that way.” Then east. “Road’s that way. We can’t double back.” As they stare toward the road, the horizon brightens, shadows grow more pronounced. “Sweet Jesus,” he says, “more cars.”
He puts a hand between Paulie’s shoulders and moves him another twenty-five yards into the thickening forest.
“Logs, what is this?”
“I have a hunch, but whatever it is, we’re in way over our heads. We need help.” He slaps his head in realization. “Rankin has your cell and mine’s in the truck.”
“What’s your hunch?”
“Just believe whoever’s behind this has nothing to lose.”
“What are we gonna do?”
Logs is silent, then, “We got one shot,” he says.
Paulie gets it. “The lake.”
Logs leads them over the forested hill toward Diamond Lake. Voices behind them fade, but light patterns in the trees tell them someone is on the move.
“This is going to be cold as hell,” Logs whispers. “We can’t go to your car or the dock. Rankin knows we were headed back there. We’ll go north a couple hundred yards and get in through the tall grass.”
“Then what?”
“I’m not sure. They’ll probably check the shoreline. We might have to cross.”
“The one thing we can do that they can’t,” Paulie says.
“There’s no moon. It’s easy to get disoriented in the dark. There are cabins on the other side, but they’re back in the trees. We’ll have to find some point to fix on.”
Logs leads them well north of the dock. They emerge from the trees to see headlights back near Paulie’s Beetle.
Paulie whispers, “Fuck.”
“No, this is good,” Logs says. “If they think we’re dumb enough to go there, they’ll have to leave someone. That means fewer guys to come looking. I don’t have my glasses. Can you see how many?”
Paulie squints. “Three vehicles. Can’t see how many guys.”
“Too many, is how many.” His voice drops even lower. “Now listen. We leave our clothes here. You still have your suit on, right?”
Paulie nods.
“Me, too. Everything else we bury. There are probably sticks and rocks and all kind of shit in the grass between here and the water. I don’t care if you step on a rattlesnake, make no noise. Rankin is a cop. He’s armed.”
“Got it.”
“That water’s gonna be cold. When you hit it, you don’t even suck air. Dead quiet. Hands and knees crawling in, breaststroke for at least five hundred yards. Sound carries, Paulie, and if they hear us, we’re done.”
“I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever.”
Logs stares at him through the darkness. “I know you will. I’m just scared, just like you. We’ll be fine.”
They shed their clothes and quietly bury them beneath leaves and needles. The night air is cold and Paulie feels goose bumps rising. This is nothing, he thinks, compared to what it’s about to be.
Logs stands, looking out at the blackness that is the lake. He points—a single dim light flickers on the other side. “There’s our anchor point,” he whispers.
Paulie squints. “It’s the Thumpers,” he says. “Friday nights, Firth and the other YFC kids go right where Twisted Crick runs into the lake. Build a big bonfire and sing songs and shit.”
“Blessed be the Lord Jesus Christ,” Logs says. He breathes deeply. “Okay, stick together. Breaststroke or sidestroke until I say different.”
They crouch and move silently toward the water.
A powerful searchlight sweeps toward them; they simultaneously drop to their bellies in the tall grass. Logs watches as it passes over, then lifts his head, watches. “They’re not sweeping the water. They haven’t figured us out yet.”
Paulie shakes uncontrollably. He can’t feel the cold now, it’s all fear.
When the light sweeps past again in the opposite direction, Logs says, “Let’s do it.”
.16
Hannah can’t believe what she’s hearing. “I’m washing my hands of that girl.” Victor Wells stands facing her on the porch of the Wells mansion.
“You can’t do that.” Hannah clutches the scrap of paper onto which she copied the message from Paulie’s phone.
“She put us through hell just a short time ago. She promised me this kind of situation was finished. I will not have her embarrassing this family again. Her mother is beside herself.”
“But the text message says—”
“I don’t care what it says. It’s all lies with her recently. Why in the world would she contact Paul Baum instead of her own father?”
“Do you text, Mr. Wells? Do you? Do you have that function on your phone?” Hannah yells, glaring.
“Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t text. She knows my number, for crying out loud.”
“Read the fucking message!” Hannah screams, and thrusts it to his chest. “She’s in trouble! She can’t call!”
Wells glances at the paper.
“Out loud,” Hannah says. “Read it out loud. When this is over and they ask me if I told you what was going on, I want it known you understood.”
Flushed bright red, Wells reads the message aloud, focusing, and softening a bit with each word. “My God, what is this?”
Hannah steps back. “I don’t know. Mr. Logs and Paulie went to the police station. They tried to call you.”
“Kylie. Who is that?”
“A girl from school. The girl whose house caught on fire.”
“Why would my daughter be involved with a girl like that? I don’t think Mary even knew her.”
“She knew her! Believe the text! Believe she’s in trouble! You should go somewhere.”
“I have state-of-the-art security,” Wells says, “and a healthy respect for the Second Amendment. We’ll be fine. Thanks for yo
ur concern, though, and . . . thanks for forcing me to pay attention. I’ll call Officer Rankin right away.”
“Okay. I’m gonna tell Mr. Logs to call you if he finds out anything, so answer your damn phone.”
Wells nods. “Thank you again. I will.”
He turns into the house. Hannah hears three clicks and four digital beeps. Floodlights bathe the lawn.
She steps into her car and calls Paulie. Two rings, then a click. She waits for his voice. “Paulie?”
A grunt.
“It’s me, Hannah. Listen, I got to Mr. Wells. Jesus, what a hardass. Anyway, he’s staying there. He says he has a first-rate security system. Probably snipers on the roof or something. He’s going to call the police. Did you guys talk to the police? . . . Paulie?”
Call ended.
She tries again. Straight to voicemail.
She has only Logs’s home number in her contacts so she punches that. Three rings, then: “You have reached . . . the end of your rope. Leave your call for help” Beep.
“You might be right, Mr. Logsdon. It’s Hannah. Call me when you get this. I don’t have your cell and I can’t reach Paulie.”
Standing next to the lime-green Beetle, Officer John Rankin takes Paulie’s iPhone away from his ear and smiles. He moves quickly to his car radio, certain that Wells has called the station by now to see how the police are responding to Logs’s disclosures. When the desk sergeant tells him yes, Mr. Wells called but he referred him to Rankin as he had been instructed, Rankin says, “Don’t worry, I got it. I’ll bring him in later and we’ll get this all on paper.”
Rankin crosses to the Audi parked on the other side of Paulie’s Beetle, raps on the window. “Stack.”
The window slides down halfway. “What do you know about this Hannah?”
“Used to be Bomb’s girlfriend. I was using her to fuck with him a little. Thought I might be able to turn her, too, but she’s too tough. She’s my ace in the hole with Baum, though.”
“Meaning?”
“When Woody kidnapped Mary instead of offing her, he fucked me good. My name’s on that text. If we don’t get Bomb and Mr. Logs, and if Woody doesn’t grow some balls, I’ve gotta disappear. Hannah’s gonna be my ticket.”
“We’ll all have to do that,” Rankin says. “I’ve always known that day would come.”
“Nice of you to let me know that,” Arney says.
“Look, you psycho,” Rankin says, “if you hadn’t gone pyro on the Clinton place we might have some breathing room. I’m guessing she’s keeping quiet. I scared her pretty good—but we can’t get to her in the psych ward. So don’t lay that on me. You’ve known you were on your own from the start.”
Arney shrugs. “Whatever.”
“Well, we’ve got one chance. The only people who’ve seen that text are the teacher and the Bomb kid, Hannah what’s-her-name, and me. If we get them all, it’ll be a while before this shit gets unraveled and we can disappear. If not, our pictures are going to be everywhere. I don’t have to remind you what happens in prison to people like us.”
“No,” Arney says, “you do not.”
Logs and Paulie slip into the water, holding their breath to keep from gasping from the frigid shock of it. They breaststroke, slowly at first, silent as eels. Every muscle tightens, groins ache as they wait for the warmth that comes with numbness. Logs curses their earlier training swim: they worked hard and neither has eaten. This will be done on a diet of adrenaline. They stroke, take measured breaths, increasing the distance between themselves and the lights at the dock. Logs taps Paulie’s shoulder. “I can’t see that far, but it looks like more cars. Am I right?”
Paulie rolls onto his back and peers toward the dock. “You’re right,” he whispers.
“Five more minutes and we swim for real,” Logs says.
“Got it.”
After only two, Logs taps him again, feeling urgent. The stress on his body is taking its toll. “Let’s do it now. Stay together, we gotta listen for each other all the time. Keep the fire straight ahead of you. You’re faster on the front end of these swims, but don’t get too far ahead. We need two brains.”
Paulie nods and they start their run. Grateful for their hundreds of hours in the water together, Paulie visualizes Logs’s pace and falls into it. Every twenty strokes they breathe to the front, holding the growing firelight dead center. Bodies numb now, false warmth allows a quicker pace as muscles loosen and they pick up speed.
CRASH! Paulie involuntarily yells “Shit!” as his head strikes the corner of an anchored ski float. Logs whirls in time to see the powerful searchlight sweeping toward them. He shoves Paulie’s head down as he goes under himself, watching the surface from below as the light sweeps above them. He guides Paulie to the far side of the float.
“Fuck!” Paulie whispers. “Did they see us?”
“I don’t know. Are you all right? Don’t move.” The light sweeps harmlessly back and forth while they hide behind the float.
“Wait,” Logs says.
“Logs, man, we gotta keep movin’. We’ll fuckin’ freeze to death out here.”
“Wait,” Logs says again.
The searchlight points back toward land and they start again, zoning in on the fire.
Paulie rolls over in time to see two cars pull out. He watches them speed down the dirt road leading around the lake. He catches Logs, taps his leg. “They’re going around,” he says.
“Damn! They heard us.”
“Man, I’m sorry.”
“It happened. Could just as easily have been me.” They tread, Logs’s mind spinning and his energy draining. “If they go to the fire, we’ll see them,” he says finally. “The trees are about as far from the shore over there as they are on our side. If they show up there, we’ll swim in to the north. How many cars, do you think?”
“Only saw two.”
“Better odds. Let’s move.”
Logs stays even with Paulie for a few hundred yards, then, without warning, it all comes crashing down, the cold and the earlier workout, his energy swirls out. With one last burst, he catches Paulie’s foot.
“What?”
“I’m not gonna make it.”
“Logs, there’s no choice.”
“I can’t, Paulie. I’m done. It’s shutting down.”
“Oh, God.”
“Don’t do that. Listen . . .” His voice quivers. “I can make it back to the ski float. Keep swimming. Remember, if you see car lights at the fire, stay north. Firth and his friends won’t know what they’re talking about. Wait them out, then get someone to call 911 and get somebody out to me. If I can get out of the water I’ll be okay.”
“Man, the air is forty degrees. You’ll fucking freeze to death, if you can even find it.”
“This is our only choice. If you don’t get across this lake and get the word out about Rankin, a whole bunch of people are screwed. Now do it.”
“I’ll get somebody to you. You get on that float and hang on.”
“I promise,” Logs says, desperately hoping he can keep it. “Listen, remember how I always say we’re a trial-and-error species?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, not tonight.”
Paulie watches Logs disappear into the night, then, powered by fear he strokes toward the far shore. He forgets Logs and Mary and poor goddamn Kylie and Hannah. His parents don’t exist. Just get your ass to that fire.
Twenty strokes and look; twenty strokes and look; twenty strokes and look. The fire is directly in front of him each time. Thirty strokes and look, thirty-five.
Distance over water is hard to judge. Distance over water in the dark, nearly impossible. Paulie believes he’s about a football field away from shore; maybe another twenty yards to the fire. But the fire dims.
A puff of white smoke.
Fuck. They’re putting it out! They’re leaving.
He strokes faster, stops. He treads, listens to the voices of kids as they head toward their cars.
He starts to yell, just as he sees two sets of headlights emerging from the trees, lighting up the dirt parking lot. He cuts immediately right—north—almost sprinting, amazed at what strength comes from terror. They won’t hear him as long as their engines are running and they’re talking. He can make it.
Paulie barely feels the grass against his skin as he crawls onto the shore like a gator. He lies still, listening. Friendly voices; some laughter. He thinks he hears his name.
Fucking hurry! he thinks. I’ve got five minutes, maybe ten before my body goes into fucking seizure.
He lies still, willing the numbness to remain, brings himself to his knees as a car engine revs. The two cars that just arrived turn slowly, sweeping the shore with their headlights. Paulie hugs the ground, then watches them move slowly back up the road.
He stands and runs, stumbling, falling, and scrambling back up.
“Firth!” It’s a whispered yell.
Nothing.
He stumbles toward the lot. The numbness is subsiding.
“Firth!” Louder.
A car door slams, a flashlight sweeps the area, finds him.
“Bomb?”
“I need your help, man.”
“Sweet Jesus, what are you doing? You here to get baptized? We do it with our clothes on. You know Arney was just here looking for you? Lemme see if I can catch him.”
One of those cars was Arney. “No!”
“He was with some—”
“No,” Paulie says. “Get me in your car and turn up the heat. I’m about to have a freeze-out. Some really bad shit has gone down that you’re not gonna believe. You got your cell?”
“Yeah, but there’s no service over here.”
“Then haul ass. Mr. Logs is out in the lake and if we don’t get someone to him in a hurry, he’s gonna die. You drive and I’ll explain. What did that fucking Arney say?”