Michael Dibdin - Dark Specter

I crawled back to find David. He was terrified by now, though more by my sudden disappearance than by what was happening all around us, and I had a hard time getting him calmed down. We slowly made our way over to where Andrea was lying, going on our hands and knees. I foraged around until I found a reasonably straight length of fallen wood, which I lashed to Andrea’s forearm using strips of material torn from my undershirt. I did the work, while she gave me directions through clenched teeth. She had taken a first-aid course at some point and knew a lot more about it than I did. David looked on with interest.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked Andrea. “Did Sam throw you out?”

She shook her head.

“I walked. He sent Terri and me to get water. I saw you running up the hill, and-Ow! That’s too tight.”

I loosened the binding.

“It’s like I’ve been under a spell all this time,” she went on. “Somehow you set me free again. It wasn’t anything you did, just you being here. I guess it could have been anyone. Ow!”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t understand what I’ve been doing all these years. It’s like I turned into someone else.”

“Someone and anyone,” I said. “We’ll make a great team.”

She touched my face with the back of her hand.

“It doesn’t make any difference, anyway,” she said.

“What doesn’t?”

She glanced at David, who was watching and listening attentively, and fell silent.

When Andrea’s arm had been bound to her breast, we moved off. She obviously couldn’t crawl, so I got up on one knee, ready to provide covering fire if necessary, while she ran the remaining distance to the edge of the woods. There were only a few sporadic shots, none of them directed our way. It sounded as though the two warring parties had settled down for the long haul, and were trying to conserve ammunition.

Once Andrea had reached the cover of the trees, David and I set off, crawling the whole way. The ground was hard and hostile, full of sharp shoots, jagged branches, bumpy roots and thorny plants, and we had to move on our hands and knees, keeping as low as possible. We were soon covered with cuts and abrasions, but David was a good sport about it. The sight of Andrea’s bloodstained clothing seemed to have impressed him more than anything I could have said.

Once we reached the cover of the trees, the ground became softer, a spongy mass of dead pine needles and velvety moss. We crawled another few yards, and then at last it was safe to stand up. After that, it was downhill through the trees until we found the path running along the coast. The sun had broken out from behind the clouds, flooding the scene with a soft, warm light. The water glinted and bristled, the outlined islands receded like flat cutouts in a theater set. The contrast between that tranquil beauty and what was unfolding just over the hill was almost more disturbing than anything else.

The sight of the ocean gave me an idea. I told David that I had to go and get something, and that he was to stay there with Andrea. He agreed with surprising ease. Andrea herself was harder to convince, but I was adamant. It was our best chance, I told her, and we couldn’t pass it up.

I left them there and set off back along the path. It took me about five minutes to reach the bay where the pier was, and as long again to reconnoiter the area. Once I was sure that it was safe to break cover, I made my way down to the trail. Then I saw the body stretched out on its back, arms outflung, a huge red stain on the shirt. It was Andy.

This was the first evidence of violent death I had seen, and it changed everything. I had somehow convinced myself that Sam’s talk was just that, the ramblings of a bar-room philosopher whose portentous pronouncements get more and more extreme as closing time approaches. But this was real.

I looked down to the pier, searching for the boat which had brought Mark and the others to the island. It was nowhere to be seen. Then I noticed that the whole pier was tilting to one side, and saw the taut mooring ropes leading down into the water. Once on the pier itself, the submerged launch was clearly visible. Either Andy had managed to sink it before he was killed, or Mark had deliberately scuppered it to prevent anyone escaping. Whichever, my plan was in shreds.

When I got back, Andrea was telling David a story. He was calm again, and even seemed mildly annoyed to have the story interrupted. I took Andrea aside and told her about the boat.

“But it’s OK,” I went on. “All we have to do is lie low somewhere until the police arrive.”

Andrea looked at me with surprise.

“The police?”

“Someone’s bound to hear all this shooting and call the cops.”

She shook her head.

“The islands around here are all uninhabited, except for Orcas, and hardly anyone lives on this side. Anyway, no one’s going to think twice about hearing shots. We used to have gun practice every morning until you got here. People figure this is some kind of survivalist group. They think we’re crazy, but Sam pays his taxes and the guns were all bought legally. No one’s going to come after him.”

She looked over her shoulder. David was busy stomping on a line of ants making their way across the path.

“But someone’s going to come after us,” she continued. “That’s what I meant when I said it made no difference.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just listen. The shooting’s almost stopped. Mark’s made his point. Pretty soon now he and Sam will start talking. They’ll work out some deal together.”

“But Andy’s dead!” I exclaimed. “I saw him lying back there by the pier.”

She nodded in a cool, detached way I found terrifying, a peephole into a psychological abyss.

“Andy was the cause of the whole thing,” she said. “Melissa told me the story last night, while I was trying to find out about David. She and one of the guys called Dale were an item for a while, so she was the first to hear. We were all told that Dale had killed himself. But Mark and Rick went to work on Andy the other evening and he confessed that he shot Dale. Sam made him lie to the others. That’s what Mark couldn’t stand, the idea that Sam was deceiving him. But now Andy’s dead, they’ll be able to patch things up.”

I shook my head.

“There’s still a corpse down there by the pier. They can’t talk their way out of that.”

“They’ll bury him in the woods somewhere. No one will ever know.”

“I know!”

Andrea looked at me.

“They’ll just have to make that grave in the woods a little larger,” she said.

“What you guys talking about?” demanded David.

He had grown bored with destroying ants and drifted back toward us, resentful about being left out.

“Look, a boat’s bound to come by sooner or later,” I told Andrea. “Maybe even a plane. When it does, I’ll fire a few shots at it. That’ll get the cops out here fast enough.”

“It could be days before anybody comes by. This place is very remote.”

I smiled.

“That’s no problem. I know a place we can hide up for a week and no one’ll find us.”

She sighed. Then, getting up on tiptoes, she kissed my cheek.

“They don’t need to find us. The only water on the island is down by the hall.”

“I can sneak down there during the night and get some.”

“And get shot? They may be crazy, Philip, but they’re not stupid.”

“Where’s this place you’re going to show me?” demanded David peevishly.

“We’re going there right now,” I said, taking his hand.

I looked at Andrea.

“How’s your arm?”

“It hurts like hell. But I don’t care. I’m so glad to be here. I’m so glad you’re here.”

I wanted to kiss her, but David’s presence inhibited me.

“It’ll be all right,” I whispered in her ear. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

We walked on along the path, David and I hand in hand, Andrea following close behind. The weather had turned warm and summery, bathing the woods in a benign light that seemed full of the promise of things to come, of growth and change and new life.

Eventually we reached one of the side paths which I had explored the day before. It was overgrown and steep in places, and Andrea especially made slow and painful progress. About halfway up, erosion had caused a gully to open up, almost obliterating the path. Some trees had collapsed into this cleft, coming to rest at an angle over a boulder in a way that formed a natural shelter. Inside, we would be invisible from anyone on the path, but with a good view out over the strait which separated us from the distant islands to the south.

Before we climbed down, Andrea got us foraging for food. Lisa and her friends had apparently been into living off the land and food-for-free, and Andrea still had all the old skills. Before long we had a collection of berries, leaves and nuts which looked extremely unappetizing, but which gave us something to chew on. Then I climbed down to the uppermost tree, and helped the others to scramble down the chute of dry mud. The shelter was home to a family of sea gulls the size of ducks, who squawked and flapped their wings proprietorially as we invaded their domain, but once we got rid of them we were left in peace.

The trees had retained enough of their root system to keep their leaves alive, and it was very beautiful under the canopy of foliage, the light filtering down and the sun warming every surface. Andrea resumed the story she had been telling, but before long David fell asleep. Andrea and I stayed awake a while longer. I asked her about her life, her family, her background and beliefs. She answered haltingly at first, then with increasing confidence, like someone speaking a language she hadn’t used for a long time.

The light slowly began to fade, tucking shadows in around us like a comforter. Our conversation became more and more desultory, and in the end we must have fallen asleep too. I remember waking once, and automatically reaching for the body I found beside me, without even knowing who it was. I may have mentioned Rachael’s name. If so, Andrea pretended not to notice. We huddled together and fell back into the soothing solitude of our respective dreams.

It was dark outside when we were awakened by a loud roaring noise, and a lurid glare which made our shadows revolve like a carousel.

Joe Quinlan was driving a truckload of hay back to the barn when his pager sounded. The low beams of early evening light which showed up every detail of the meadows to his right had turned the woods on the other side to a jagged sheet of black. Quinlan swung into the Cooks’ drive, backed out facing the way he’d come and jammed the pedal to the metal, swooping around the curves and over the belly-wrenching undulations of the two-lane blacktop that meandered the length of the island.

The grass in the fields was burned to a deep ochre, the driest Quinlan could remember for years. Lying in the rain shadow of the Olympic mountains, the San Juans had a microclimate totally unlike the prevailing conditions along the rest of the coast. Tourists, off-island immigrants and elderly convalescents loved this “banana belt” effect, but for the islanders themselves it was a mixed blessing. After a month in which the sun had blazed down almost every day, water supplies were now dangerously low. The whole county was like a primed barbecue waiting for a flame.

It took him twelve minutes to reach the outskirts of Friday Harbor, and another five to get through the convoy of cars, trucks and RVs which had just disembarked from the ferry. When he finally pulled up outside the Fire House, the doors were closed and both engines still inside. In the office, he found Jim McTafferty and Ed Boyle sipping coffee. McTafferty was wearing jeans and a Hawaiian shirt, Boyle a pair of combat pants and a T-shirt inscribed “Accordions Don’t Play Lady of Spain-People Do.”

“What’s the idea?” he demanded.

McTafferty looked up with a pesky smile.

“Hi, Joe. We got a reported blaze at the old camp on Sleight. Thought we might take the boat over, have ourselves a look at the situation.”

Joe Quinlan stared at him incredulously.

“You drug me all the way down here for that? Sleight’s private, you know that. Those hippies don’t pay taxes. Fuck ’em if they’ve got a fire. Let it burn itself out.”

“What day’s it today, Joe?” asked Ed Boyle.

Quinlan frowned.

“Hell’s that got to do with it?”

Boyle looked at McTafferty.

“He don’t get it,” he said sadly.

Jim McTafferty shook his head.

“I guess he don’t.”

“OK, Joe,” said Boyle, “you better run along now. Wouldn’t want you to be late for charm school.”

Joe Quinlan felt a sinking sensation in his gut. He’d forgotten all about the function that evening. At seven o’clock, they were all supposed to assemble at the high school to attend a “Communication Skills and Stress Management Seminar.” Some salesman had gotten to the Chief and convinced him that the “emergency response capability” of San Juan County would be “enhanced” if all personnel participated in an “interactional growth experience providing a neutral space in which to ventilate feelings and promote team cohesion through the development of problem-solving strategies and coping mechanisms.”

“This facilitator they brought in from the mainland sounds like she really knows her stuff,” McTafferty said. “That seven-page questionnaire they sent around sure made me realize my communication skills need to be upgraded. I couldn’t understand a goddamn word.”

“I hear they’re going to have role-playing too,” Ed Boyle chimed in. “I sure hate not to get a chance to express my true feelings. I remember going to those Lamaze classes when Jean was pregnant. That was so much fun. I really miss all that touchy-feely stuff.”

He wiggled his fingers in the air.

“Hell, yes,” said McTafferty. “We’ll be thinking of you, Joe.”

“Let us know how it goes,” added Boyle.

Joe Quinlan looked at them.

“The Chief said it was mandatory.”

“Mandatory this!” said Boyle, stabbing a finger in the direction of his crotch.

“Thing is,” McTafferty explained, “we’ve had this report of a fire on Sleight, like I said, and in my capacity as deputy I consider it incumbent on me to investigate personally and if need be inform the state authorities pertaining to the risk of environmental damage.”

“Way to communicate,” murmured Ed Boyle.

“I’m taking Ed here along ’cause it’s getting dark and he knows the waters around here better than anyone, and I was also hoping to draw on your considerable experience, Joe, to assist me in any decision I might feel called upon to make. Plus I know you just love watching things burn. But it would mean missing out on this seminar, and I can see you don’t want to do that.”