“Sounds awful,” Liz said.
Alan leaned back against the counter in front of the sink.
“It really was,” Alan said. “I told Bob we’d go hike in to that same spot tomorrow so we can see what’s there.”
“Not tomorrow,” Liz said. “Tomorrow we have soccer all day. Then on Sunday someone signed us up for apple picking in the morning, remember? And then we’ve got that dinner at your son’s friend’s house?”
“Oh god, I forgot all that,” Alan said.
“I can’t always be the one on top of everything, Alan,” Liz said. “At some point you have to take up some of the slack here.”
She stood up and crossed her arms.
“I know, Liz,” Alan said. “Jesus, cut me a little break, would you? I’ve had a long day.”
“And, unfortunately, I’m going to have a long night trying to finish all my Friday afternoon work from home—where it takes me twice as long to do anything—because my husband was out late with his bestie,” Liz said.
She had a razor-sharp sense of humor that sometimes masqueraded as anger. Alan studied her face for the signals. Her eyes were squinted slightly. The right corner of her mouth turned in a particular way.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty and thin,” Alan said. “Because you’d never make it very far on your personality.”
Liz walked over to him slowly. She wrapped her arms around Alan’s neck and pressed her hips into his.
“When I get done with my work, I’m going to come upstairs and you’re going to make it up to me,” Liz said.
“What? Make what up to you?” Alan asked. He put his hands on his wife’s hips. She ground into him. “I was detained by the authorities today. It wasn’t my fault.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want to make it up to me?”
She pressed even harder into him. Alan felt himself stir beneath her touch.
“I never said that,” Alan said.
“Good.” Liz said. She kissed him and then pulled away. “I’ll be up in an hour or two. You better be cleaned up by then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Liz walked out through the dark dining room.
“Dad?” Joe called from his room.
Alan had just set his foot on the top step. He pulled himself up with a grunt.
“What’s up?” he asked from Joe’s doorway.
His son sat at the little desk positioned under the window. With the desk light on, the window might as well have been painted black—nothing was visible through the panes.
“Can you tell me what happened today? You found a body?”
“It’s really nothing to be worried about, Joe,” Alan said. He revised his story down to its elements and then told Joe an easier version. “It was just some animal that I couldn’t identify, so I called the game warden.”
“Oh,” Joe said. “What did it look like?”
“It’s hard to say. I think it had been dead awhile,” Alan said.
“Was it gross?”
Alan nodded and frowned.
“Oh,” Joe said. “The kids at school talk about migrators. They said that this time of year the migrators are out there.”
“You mean like geese and stuff, moving down from Canada to go to warmer climates for the winter?”
“No,” Joe said. “They’re not like that.” Joe shook his head and then picked up his pencil again. He spun it between his fingers.
Alan moved over to the bed and started to lower himself down to sit on the edge. He thought better of it when he remembered his pants. They were dry, but still dirty from the day.
“How’s your schoolwork coming? Do you enjoy your classes?”
“I guess. I’m almost done with all my homework for the weekend. Mom made me work on it as soon as I got home. Do you think I could sleep over at Pete’s house next weekend?”
“I thought we decided that sleepovers made more sense during vacation,” Alan said. “Your mom hardly gets to see you during the week. It’s not really that fair to her if you’re gone for half the weekend.”
“I know,” Joe said. He turned back to his desk. “Can I watch TV?”
“You said you’re almost finished. Why don’t you finish your homework while I take a shower and then we’ll both go watch TV?”
“Okay.”
CHAPTER NINE
Hiking
OCTOBER 14
THE DAY was damp, and overcast, and cool, but Alan was sweating under his thin jacket before they even plunged into the woods. He unzipped it and considered taking it off. The jacket was brown and his shirt underneath was white. He kept it on. A bright white shirt might advertise their position to anyone else in the woods.
Alan stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. He shifted his camera bag to the opposite shoulder.
“I don’t understand,” Bob said. He showed his phone to Alan. The display was blank with the exception of two dots.
“No data,” Alan said. “You’ve got GPS signal, but the maps come from the network and your phone isn’t connecting. See? No bars.”
“Of course,” Bob said. “What is it with these woods and bad reception?”
“Geographically, we’re in a hole,” Alan said. “Look, we just have to make those two dots meet and we’ll be at the pond.”
Bob nodded. He led the way. Bob didn’t seem winded or sweaty at all. He had the same absurd 1950’s pants on—the ones with the cuffs rolled up to reveal the flannel lining—but instead of the red and black shirt, he work a t-shirt covered by a black shell. He was half vintage hunter and half modern jogger.
Their path led them down a sharp hill, even deeper into the geographic hole. They jumped over a little creek and climbed the bank on the other side. The bed of leaves made it impossible to move quietly through the woods. Bob climbed a log and tried to scout a better path.
“Let’s stay on top of this little hill. It will be easier than going down into those lowlands, I think. The bushes down there look thick.”
Alan shrugged. He was content to follow Bob’s lead.
After another fifteen minutes of hiking, Bob spotted the cabin. He pointed and they headed for the building.
“Score one for technology,” Alan said.
“Half. I’ll give tech half of a point. We still don’t have a map,” Bob said.
“We should circle around,” Alan said. “Make sure there’s nobody down there or anything.”
“It’s been three days,” Bob said.
“I know, but still.”
They approached the cabin slowly, walking a wide circle around the building before they closed in. Once they reached the little cabin and looked inside the windows, they crept towards the hill, looking for signs of life near the pond.
“There’s still a couple of trampled spots down in the grass,” Bob said, “but I don’t see any of the black shapes. Do you?”
“No,” Alan said. “Maybe we can get close enough to the edge there to look for footprints or something. I don’t know. Maybe we look for signs that someone took the bodies away?”
When they heard the voice behind them, both men dropped into a low crouch. They spun to see the source.
“You’ll be lucky if you don’t get shot,” the man said. He was old. He wore a red cap with a brim. It looked like a baseball cap on steroids. He had a deeply grooved, saggy face that had a casual acquaintance with a razor. Tufts of gray hair perched over his sad eyes. It matched the little hair they could see on the parts of his head not covered by the cap. He wore blaze-orange overalls that straightened the curves of his plump body. The old man scratched his chin with swollen fingers. His other hand held the barrel of a shotgun. The butt rested on the ground.
“I’m sorry,” Alan said. “Is this your land? We were just out for a…”
The man cut him off.