Clayton didn’t take long to come up with the answer his brother was looking for. “You set fire to the tree,” he said.
“Very good, kiddo.” Hal ruffled Clayton’s bushy red hair. “I think Deddy’s got you all wrong. Now stay here.” Hal put a finger to his lips and vanished into the darkness. He reappeared less than a minute later directly behind Blondie, who was now copping a squat by a small campfire, thumbing through a skin mag, his rifle propped up against a tree to his left. Hal drew back and hit the man in the temple with the butt end of his Mossberg. Blondie never knew what hit him. He went down hard, face-first into the dirt. It was the coolest thing Clayton had ever seen. His brother was awesome.
“Clayton,” Hal said, snapping the boy back into the moment, “get out here and tie this pig-fucker to that hemlock tree.”
Clayton shuffled out of the woods with a quickness. He’d always been good with the knots. He was sure Hal knew that. Hal pulled a length of paracord from his jacket and tossed it to Clayton, who bound the unconscious man in no time. Hal kicked over the huge metal boiler—the heart of the ancient still—and the coals spilled out all over the small clearing. Once some of the underbrush started to ignite from the coals, Hal used the high-octane hooch in the barrels as an accelerant, dousing the entire site. Almost instantly the small patch of woods became a blazing inferno.
“Holy shit, Hal! How we gonna put this out?”
“We’re not. They are.” He pointed to the man tied to the tree.
Clayton was confused.
Hal explained. “This fire is going to be seen by the fella Deddy sent us here to find, and I promise you he’ll be along shortly. When him and his boys are all tuckered out from fightin’ a woods fire, we’ll pick them off like fish in a barrel. It’ll be fun. C’mon, let’s go find a place to watch.”
“What about him?” Clayton pointed to the blond man, who was starting to come around due to the intense heat.
“Fuck him,” Hal said. “Come on.”
“But he’ll burn alive.”
“And?” Hal said, beginning to lose his patience. “Get your ass up that path before I leave you here to burn up with him.”
Clayton couldn’t move.
The man tied to the tree by Clayton’s knots awoke completely when the fire started licking his feet and legs. He swiveled his head back and forth, wide-eyed and frantic, taking in the scope of what was happening to him. He struggled to free himself, drawing his knees up to his chin. He screamed at Clayton to help him. He begged. Clayton just stared at him—horrified. Hal gripped Clayton hard under the arm and nearly ripped it off dragging the boy back out the way they came.
From a safer distance, Clayton watched his brother get comfortable against a tree stump and close his eyes. Hal looked rested and content as the burning man’s screams became something else. Something unnatural. Clayton would never forget that sound. He wondered if Hal could even hear it at all, or if all he heard were the hornets.
CHAPTER
6
SIMON HOLLY
2015
1.
Agent Holly shoved his key in the lock and tried to remember the last time, if ever, he’d stayed in a motel room that still issued keys to its patrons. Not those flimsy plastic key cards with the magnetic strip, but real, straight-up cut metal keys. As soon as he opened the door to room six of the Waymore Valley Motor Inn, the smell of powdered dollar-store potpourri and stale cigarette smoke rushed his face. It was strangely comforting. As were the bland mother-of-pearl walls and the dim electric-yellow light. This was the kind of thing he was used to. All the fresh mountain air and wide-open spaces were foreign and intimidating. Being out in the open country made him feel like, at any time, he could lose his footing and spin right off the planet. The tight space felt better. More controlled.