Scavenger

  “Food?” Ray looked hopeful only for a moment. “But after all these years, there wouldn’t be anything left of it.”

  “Those water bottles at the church were put there recently. Maybe food was put here.”

  Ray pointed at Derrick. “You’re supposed to be such a big-deal outdoor-survival expert. Can’t you show us how to scrounge for stuff like nuts and berries? I’ll eat anything.”

  “Scrounging expends more energy than you get from whatever nuts and berries you manage to find. Eventually, you’d starve.”

  “Yeah, I figured you’d have an excuse.” Ray yanked up an old board and searched under it. He grabbed another board, which broke in his hands. He hurled the chunks away. “Come on! Dig!”

  Amanda joined him. Splinters stung her hands.

  “I found a can!” Derrick yelled. He held it up, showing a label marked PEACHES.

  “Another one!” Viv shouted in triumph. The can she held up was marked PEARS.

  Amanda and Ray hurled more boards away.

  “Where are the others?” Ray dug down to a rotted wooden floor. “Keep searching! Where are the others?”

  Fingers raw, Amanda tossed another board into the street.

  “I’ll use a sharp rock and bang the tops open,” Derrick said.

  “You’re not doing anything until we find the other cans!” Ray fumbled through the wreckage.

  “I’m afraid there aren’t any others,” Amanda said.

  Derrick turned toward the street. “I kicked up a rock over there.” He hurried to it. “Yes! It doesn’t have a sharp end, but we can pound with it!”

  “You’re not pounding anything,” Ray emphasized, “until we figure how to guarantee we each get our share.”

  “Like how you drank the first bottle of water we found?”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  Right, Amanda thought. But everybody took two bottles of water and left me only one.

  “You bet it won’t happen again,” Derrick said. “We’ll each take a swallow of the juice. Then we’ll count how many pieces of fruit there are and share them evenly.”

  “Whatever you want. Now that you’re running the show, let’s find that other rock.”

  “I’m not running the show,” Derrick said. “All I want is what’s fair.”

  “Sure. Right. Of course.”

  “Over here.” Viv sounded like she hoped to change the subject. She picked up a rock that resembled a wedge. “We can use this to bang a hole in the top.”

  Derrick set the can on a board. He put the wedge-shaped rock on the lid and prepared to slam it with the rock that was flat.

  “Stop.” Ray wiped his mouth. “You’ll send juice flying. We don’t want to spill a drop.”

  “It’s impossible to keep that from happening,” Derrick told him angrily.

  “No,” Viv said. “The rubber gloves I took from the building.” She pulled one from a pocket, its yellow bright against her brown coveralls. “We’ll put the can in the glove. If juice sprays, it’ll stay inside.”

  Viv held the can in the glove’s long sleeve while Derrick braced the first rock and slammed it with the second.

  The impact made a dull thumping sound. The can’s lid pushed inward but remained intact.

  “Hit it harder,” Ray said.

  “I don’t want to crush the fruit.”

  “Hit it,” Ray said.

  Derrick slammed the rock down so hard he grunted. With the sound of metal breaking, juice leapt from a jagged hole but stayed within the glove.

  “We’ll drink the juice,” Ray said. “When it’s gone, we’ll knock the can all the way open and get the fruit.”

  “Is that what we’ll do?” Derrick handed the can to Viv.

  Shaking, she raised it to her lips and took a swallow.

  Ray stepped close, watching her. “How does it taste?”

  “Warm.” Viv gave the can to Amanda.

  “But not spoiled?”

  “Sweeter than I like, but it’s fine.”

  “Jesus, is that why you didn’t complain when I let Viv go first?” Derrick shook his head in amazement. “You wanted to find out if she’d get sick?”

  The thought that the juice might be spoiled made Amanda reluctant to drink. Slowly, she raised the can. The thick sweet warm liquid was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

  Now Derrick reached for the can.

  “No,” Ray said. “I’m next.”

  “You think so?” Derrick glared.

  “Let him,” Viv said. “Maybe he’ll calm down.”

  As Ray brought the can to his mouth, Derrick watched carefully. Ray’s Adam’s apple moved in his long neck.

  “That’s enough,” Derrick said.

  The sun seemed hotter. Ray lowered the can. “I wasn’t going to drink from this after you put your lips to it, boss.”

  Derrick screamed. In a blur, he surged to his feet, swinging the rock.

  The attack took Ray by surprise. Stumbling back, he groaned as the blow meant for his head struck his left shoulder. Wailing, Derrick struck again. Ray jerked up a hand to protect himself, moaning from the impact of the rock against his forearm.

  “Stop!” Viv shouted.

  Derrick swung again and almost hit Ray’s jaw.

  “Don’t!” Viv screamed.

  Ray lost his balance, and fell to the dust. Standing over him, Derrick swept back his arm to hurl the rock at his head.

  “No!” Viv wailed.

  Ray kicked Derrick’s legs from under him. As Derrick landed, Ray scuttled toward him. Derrick threw the rock, hitting Ray’s chest, but the next moment, Ray was upon him, banging his head against the dirt.

  Amanda couldn’t move. What felt like a minute was only seconds, she knew. At once, it seemed that a powerful spring was released, propelling her into motion. She ran and grabbed Ray from behind, straining to pull him off. She smelled sweat. Ray’s breath was vinegary from hyperventilating.

  “Stop,” she said.

  Viv joined Amanda and struggled to pry Ray’s hands from Derrick’s neck. Amanda tugged frantically at Ray’s shoulders. Derrick’s tongue bulged from his mouth. His face had a blue tint.

  “You’re killing him!” Viv screamed.

  Ray opened his hands.

  Thank God, Amanda thought.

  Ray took his fingers from Derrick’s throat.

  “Yes!” Amanda said. “Let him go!”

  Ray moved back.

  “Yes!” Viv said.

  Then Amanda’s heart seemed to slide loose in her chest as she saw Ray pick up the rock Derrick had thrown against his chest.

  “Stop!”

  Amanda grabbed him again, but Ray swung an arm, striking the side of Amanda’s head. The blow made her see gray. Feeling weightless, she dropped to the dust. Ray knocked Viv away from him. His hand streaked toward Derrick’s head. The rock made a brutal crunching sound. Derrick moaned. The rock came up bloody. It slammed down again, and this time, the crunch had a liquid sound.

  Amanda hurled herself toward Ray at the same time Viv did. They each grabbed an arm, tugging in a frenzy. Ray squirmed to get free. They pulled him back, and suddenly he went with them, all of them dropping. With a yell, he rolled over them, his momentum twisting their arms loose. He dove toward Derrick. His hand still held the rock. He slammed with it. He slammed again. Blood dripped from the rock.

  “No black son of a bitch—” He struck. “—is going to tell me—” He struck harder. Hair now clung to the blood on the rock. “—what to do!”

  Derrick’s crushed face wasn’t recognizable. Viv shrieked and ran to him, but Derrick trembled and lay still.

  Viv, too, became motionless, kneeling next to her husband. Her features were frozen in shock. Amanda felt as if the metal spring tightened now, squeezing her.

  Ray squinted at the blood-covered rock in his hand and dropped it.

  2

  A breeze stirred up dust. For a long while, that was the only movement.

&nb
sp; On her knees beside Derrick, Viv nudged him. He didn’t respond. His cap was blood-soaked. His eyes and nose were bashed in.

  “Come on, baby. Wake up.” She sobbed.

  Ray stumbled toward the can of peaches. It lay on its side in the dirt, where Ray had dropped it when Derrick attacked him. Some of the juice had spilled. Ray picked up the can and wiped grit from the opening. He raised it to his mouth, tipped it all the way up, and drained the remaining liquid down his throat. He put the can into the rubber glove, looked around, picked up another rock, and pounded the can until it split apart.

  “Wake up,” Viv murmured to Derrick.

  Ray pulled a peach from the can and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed and stared at Amanda, silently challenging her to stop him.

  “You’ll be okay as soon as you wake up,” Viv murmured.

  Ray hooked another peach from the can and crammed it into his mouth, hardly chewing before he swallowed. “It’s not my fault. He attacked me.”

  “You provoked him,” Amanda said.

  “He shouldn’t have given me orders.” Ray took the last peach from the can and ate it. Juice dribbled down his chin.

  “Do you remember when Ray kept insisting he wasn’t a hero?” the voice asked, startling Amanda. “That was the truth.”

  Slowly, Viv pivoted toward Ray. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Oh, his jet was shot down the way I described,” the Game Master said. “And he survived for ten days on bugs and pools of stagnant water while Iraqi insurgents hunted him. But the reason he didn’t use his location transmitter wasn’t to stop the rescue helicopters from flying into an ambush. No, he didn’t use his location transmitter because it was broken. The truth is, he’d have done anything and risked anybody’s life to survive.”

  “That’s what I did!” Ray shouted to the sky. “I survived!”

  “Two months after his rescue and return to the United States, Ray got in a fight in a bar. This wasn’t the first such incident, but it was the first time he killed somebody outside his duties as a military pilot. Nasty temper, Ray. However, there was enough evidence to suggest that the victim was drunk and fell and hit his head in what amounted to a mere scuffle. The incident occurred on base. The military chose not to prosecute. Ray was given a medical discharge. His temper became the civilian world’s problem.”

  Viv’s features hardened.

  “Not that Amanda and Viv haven’t killed also,” the voice said.

  “What?” Ray looked at them.

  “Amanda had to kill to survive the Paragon Hotel,” the Game Master continued. “As for Viv and Derrick, I told you about their heroism on Mount Everest. I neglected to explain why they were so determined. On a previous expedition, they led climbers across a glacier. Everyone was in a line, connected by a rope. A chasm opened. The climbers at the back fell into it, dragging the others with them. Everything happened so fast, there wasn’t time to use ice axes to hook into the side of the chasm. The gap kept spreading. People kept dropping, their weight dragging the next people on the rope. Viv and Derrick slid across the glacier, desperately trying to keep from being pulled into the chasm. They were the last two. At the final moment, Viv…or perhaps it was Derrick…cut the rope. The climbers attached to it fell a thousand meters. None of them survived. An investigation stopped short of finding fault. After all, were Viv and Derrick supposed to let themselves get sucked into the chasm and die along with the others rather than do anything they could to save themselves? When it comes to survival, difficult choices sometimes need to be made—and made quickly. It has nothing to do with heroism. Isn’t that correct, Viv?”

  “Yes.” Viv scowled at Ray. “Nothing to do with heroism.”

  Ray picked up the can of pears.

  “Get your hands off that,” Viv warned. “We’ll stone you to death if we need to, but you’re not eating what’s in that can.”

  Ray ignored her. He turned the can, examining it. When he looked at its bottom, something attracted his attention. Immediately, he pulled out his GPS receiver and programmed numbers into it. He looked dismissively at Viv and dropped the can. Then he picked up the empty can of peaches and stared at its bottom. Again, he programmed numbers into his GPS unit, then headed away down the sagebrush-dotted street.

  Amanda hurried to the cans. She upended them and saw a sequence of numbers marked LT on one and LG on the other. “More latitude and longitude directions.”

  Viv glared at Ray, who walked faster along the street.

  “Help me,” Amanda said. “I’m still learning how to use my receiver. You need to program these numbers for me.”

  Viv didn’t blink, just kept watching Ray, who studied his receiver and turned to the left, heading down the remnant of another street. When she did blink, tears streamed down her face.

  “You need to help me,” Amanda insisted. “I need to smash this can open, but I can’t do that until you program the numbers. Otherwise, I might destroy them.”

  Viv turned toward Derrick, stroking his arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “Help me!” Amanda said. “Don’t you want to get even?”

  With a furious glance toward Ray, Viv came to her feet and stumbled toward Amanda. Revenge was as effective a motive as any to get her moving, Amanda decided, but she herself wanted to punish more than Ray. The Game Master, she thought.

  “Okay, they’re programmed.” Viv stared at Ray’s receding figure.

  Amanda put the can of pears into the rubber glove. She picked up two rocks and pounded. Once. Twice. Harder. The lid broke inward.

  “You first,” she told Viv.

  “Not hungry.”

  “Then you won’t have the strength to pay him back.”

  Eyes raw, Viv nodded with determination and gripped the can, drinking. “I took two swallows.”

  “Okay.” Amanda raised the lid to her mouth and tasted the warm, sweet pear juice.

  They went back and forth until they drained the can. Amanda shoved it back into the rubber glove and used the rocks to split it open. Four pears. They each took two.

  “Chew them slowly.” Viv sounded weak.

  Amanda understood. She might get sick if she ate too fast.

  Viv turned toward her dead husband.

  The wind blew stronger. The storm clouds obscured the mountains to the west, their shadow entering the valley.

  3

  “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Balenger demanded. He and Ortega stood outside Professor Graham’s faculty building. The trees of Washington Square were across from them.

  “Wrong?”

  “When you came into the office, we almost had an argument. At the library, you talked about another part of the investigation. You wouldn’t be specific, but your tone made clear I wasn’t your favorite person. What on earth’s the matter?”

  “You mean other than the way you act like you’re running the investigation? This morning, I mentioned that my partner and I made some inquiries yesterday. Perhaps you wonder why you haven’t met him.”

  “I assumed today was his day off.”

  “He’s been checking your background.”

  Balenger was taken by surprise.

  “Earlier, you told me this happened to you once before. Your wife was kidnapped. The same man also kidnapped a woman who looks like her.”

  “Amanda. So what’s your point? Psychopaths often fixate on women who resemble one another. The victims tend to remind the killer of his wife or his mother or another female who so traumatized him, he’s been getting even ever since.”

  “And what makes you such an expert?”

  “If your partner’s been checking my background, you already know the answer. When I was in law enforcement, my specialty was investigating sex crimes.”

  “Ever been to a psychiatrist?”

  Balenger felt heat rise to his face. “I assume your partner told you what happened to me in Iraq.” A car drove by. Balenger waited for the engine noise to recede, using the time to try to calm him
self. “In the first Gulf War…Desert Storm…I was a Ranger.”

  “Nineteen ninety-one. Check,” Ortega said.

  “I got headaches. Muscle pains. Fever.”

  “Gulf War syndrome. Check.”

  “Some people said it came from a disease spread by sand fleas. Others said it came from the depleted uranium we use in our artillery shells. The army doctors tried various treatments. When those didn’t help, they suggested I talk to an army psychiatrist to see if the illness was psychological, a form of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

  “That was the first psychiatrist,” Ortega said.

  Balenger almost walked away, but he kept telling himself that Amanda was all that mattered. I’ll do anything to get her back, he thought. “After the war, I became a police officer in Asbury Park.”

  “Where you took psychology courses about sex crimes.”

  Balenger worked to keep his voice steady. “Then my wife disappeared, and after a year, when the authorities couldn’t find her, I quit my job so I could look for her. Eventually I needed a lot of quick money so badly that I signed on as a private security operator in the second Iraq war. Twenty-five thousand dollars a month. All I needed was a couple of months guarding convoys and I’d have enough cash to keep searching for my wife. You could have asked me about this.”

  “Tell me about your second time in Iraq.”

  Balenger sensed the old panic taking control. “You know what happened. Shortly after I got there, the convoy I was guarding came under attack. An explosion knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I was being held prisoner by a bunch of Iraqis wearing hoods, one of whom threatened to cut off my head if I didn’t look into a video camera and denounce the United States. After a Ranger unit attacked the compound where I was tied up, I managed to escape, but even when I was safe in the States, I didn’t feel safe. I had nightmares. I couldn’t bear being closed in. I broke out in sweat.”

  “Post traumatic-stress disorder,” Ortega said.

  “Check,” Balenger said, mocking Ortega’s earlier expression. “So, as you know, I went to another psychiatrist.”

  “Who had an unusual method of therapy.”