It was just good to see him begin to enjoy this.
But later, on the way to dinner, she did tell him about the girl, the rescue—but she cut off any questions, looking at their kids as they walked to the Great Lodge.
“It was just a little strange,” she said quietly.
“You saved the girl. What was with her mother?”
“Don’t know.”
When they got to the same table they sat at the night before, the Blairs were already there.
“Hey, guys,” Tom said. “Good day at the beach?”
Christie shot a quick glance at Jack, then: “It was beautiful.”
“And tonight…” Tom looked at his wife as if this was his gift to her, to the kids. “Fireworks! When was the last time you saw fireworks?”
Simon, holding his knife and fork as though the food couldn’t get here fast enough, spoke. “I’ve never seen fireworks.”
Tom laughed. “Then you are in for a treat.”
Which is when Christie noticed something. Tom all excited, thrilled. Smiling, happy. His wife, this woman who took over the family, the kids… so quiet. Had they had a fight, a disagreement over something?
Not on the same page.
But then, are Jack and I?
Hope we don’t look like those two.
“Meet you down there after eats? Get a good spot up close?”
“Sure,” Jack said.
Tom leaned across the table, lowering his voice. “And I’ll bring… y’know.”
The servers arrived with oversized plates of what looked like a stew. And then actual bread. Small brown rolls. A real rarity these days.
Simon grabbed one off the platter before it even touched down. He opened the roll, and spooned some of the stew in.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to, um, put the stew in the roll,” Christie said.
Jack laughed. “Let him eat it the way he wants to.” He picked up a roll. “They must grow their own wheat somehow. Or something like wheat. Amazing.”
Another family, with a pimply-faced boy, came and sat down at their table with them. Christie said hi, smiled at them.
They nodded and said hi back, but didn’t seem interested in any getting-to-know-you chat.
Fine with Christie.
Soon, the whole hall quieted as everyone dug into the food.
Between bites, she looked around. Then to Jack. The room so quiet as everyone ate.
Hungry people.
Her back to the podium, she didn’t see Lowe arrive, and then was surprised by his booming voice.
“Good evening, Paterville families!”
Like a Sunday congregation, they chanted back. “Good evening!”
“Hope all of you enjoyed this amazing day, and now some great camp food. Got a few special announcements for you…”
Christie looked across the table. Kate picked at the stew, studying it.
The examination over, she took a big forkful of it.
“Any families leaving us tonight, be sure to check out with us at registration. We’ll make sure all your charges are correct and we even”—he looked over Shana—“have a special good-bye present from all of us at Paterville.”
Shana seemed less formidable tonight. Her midsection covered, though the shirt’s buttons strained against her breasts.
That is one mighty… distraction for an assistant, Christie thought.
She resisted the temptation to look over and see if Jack was watching the battle of buttons and boobs.
“Tonight’s the big fireworks…”
Ed paused for the whistles and clapping.
“Now, enjoy the rest of your meal and we’ll see you down at the lakeshore for the big show!”
She and Jack turned back to the table.
The kids had finished their meals. Servers appeared with what looked like an icy sherbet. No ice cream, with dairy being so rare, but ice probably, some sugary flavoring.
Simon grabbed a cherry-red bowl, Kate a lime-colored one.
Christie took a few more bites of the stew.
When the sherbets had also vanished, she smiled at the Blairs and the other family sitting grimly near them. She looked at Jack. “All done?”
Jack nodded, and they got up and headed out of the dining hall.
SIEGE
25. 8:46 P.M.
Night.
Everyone had gathered down at the lakeshore, all the Paterville families waiting for the fireworks to begin.
A guard, Jay Fergus, walked along the perimeter of the fence.
He thought of the kid he had chased the night before. Kids don’t get the danger that’s out there, he thought.
Fergus had seen that danger up close. Like the night the Can Heads attacked his house where he and his family used to live. Good thing he had stocked up on weapons and ammo.
Still, all that firing, the kids, his wife screaming like a crazy person behind him.
Enough to make anyone a little insane.
The bodies of the Can Heads piling up around the house, as Fergus ran from front to back, holding them off.
Like the fucking Alamo.
A few, he recognized. The old police chief, nearly unrecognizable but still with that jowly face, only with more skin sagging from his neck. His clothes tattered, spattered with red.
Fergus had initially turned down Ed Lowe’s offer.
To be penned up in here.
Taking care of guests.
But that night…
That night convinced him.
In the end, they got so close that he could barely get rounds off. A few times he had to smash the butt of his gun into their heads, sending teeth and bloody drool flying.
When it was over, Fergus stood on his porch and sobbed.
He walked back into his house a changed man.
His wife said nothing. The two little kids kept crying.
But no one said a fucking thing.
Because he was a changed man.
Now Fergus walked the well-worn trail around the perimeter of the camp. Each night the same damn thing. Soon he’d pass Billy Kemp, another guard moving in the other direction.
Billy usually with the stench of cook’s moonshine. The stuff burned like gasoline in your gullet.
The stuff worked for Billy. Cook’s booze got the job done.
Cook.
To call that fat load, the guy who used to work at—
“’Sup, dude?”
Billy appeared early. Hustling too fast along the perimeter. What good was doing this walk if you didn’t actually take the goddamn time to look at the fence?
“Nice and quiet, Billy. You?”
Same routine every night.
Billy burped. A full belly, and a good pint or so of white lightning in his gut.
He slurred the words. “Same here.”
Careful, Billy, Fergus thought. How long would Lowe let him go on like this? He might be under the radar now. Couldn’t last forever, though.
Drunk guard. Puts us all at risk.
Billy walked past him, his automatic rifle dangling loosely when Fergus knew it should be held at a 45-degree angle. Didn’t the asshole ever take any gun safety courses?
Good thing it wasn’t Billy who had stumbled upon the kid. Probably would have blown the little shit’s head off.
Then he would have made a joke.
Look, roadkill!
Fergus kept walking, looking the fence up and down. Unlikely anything would even come close. The outer fence electric, the inner fence taller, with two feet of razor ribbon at its top.
This camp is a fucking fortress.
Nobody gets in, he thought.
He heard a blast, the fireworks about to begin.