Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [67]
When Kasey got back, he found Scooter had piled the cyclists’ possessions into a heap and set fire to them. The synthetic material in the sleeping bags pushed dense smoke skyward. Kasey tried to stomp out part of the fire, but a cinder burned a hole in the top of his running shoe and forced him to quit. He realized, much to his dismay, that he’d stepped on a photo of his sister and Polanski taken at a street fair earlier in the summer. They’d broken up, but Polanski was still carrying photos of his sister.
“That’s a stupid idea,” said Jennifer. “This whole area is so dry.”
“Last night was Chuck’s last campfire,” said Fred. “He had a right to it, and we have a right to this.”
“It’s a brilliant idea,” said Scooter. “Burning their shit. They come back and want something, it’ll be gone.”
“You find any guns?” Kasey asked.
“Nada,” said Fred. “They obviously took them.”
“What about that revolver?” Kasey held his hand out. “Maybe we can tell something from that.”
“I’m keeping it,” said Scooter.
“Just let me see it, for cripes sake.”
“I told you, I’m keeping it.”
“Does everything have to be a struggle with you? Jesus, no wonder they tried to push you off.”
Reluctantly Scooter handed the pistol to Kasey, who thumbed the cylinder open. The fact that there weren’t any cartridges in the gun shocked him. Scooter, who had been watching over his shoulder, said quickly, “I emptied it.”
“Let me see the shells.”
“Why do you want to see the shells?”
“I just do.”
“Why?”
“Give me the goddamn bullets.”
“I tossed them.”
“Where?”
“Off in the trees over there.” He gestured vaguely with a nod of his head.
“They were evidence.”
“Are we going to chase those fuckers?” said Fred. “Or stand around all day talking about bullets in the woods?”
It was with a renewed determination to make things right that they marched back to their own camp, Kasey once again taking the rear, casting looks back up the trail lest the bikers swoop down on them. Above, at the cyclists’ camp, the smoke continued to spiral up alongside the mountain. Jennifer was right. They didn’t need to be setting fire to the woods.
Leaving Perry and Bloomquist alone had been a mistake, because as soon as they arrived back in camp, Bloomquist said, “We’re not going to…uh, we’ve decided if you guys want to run around trying to shoot somebody, that’s your business. But we’re not going to participate.”
To Kasey’s surprise, Jennifer laid into them. “You raggedy-ass backstabbers. Chuck is at the bottom of that cliff…” She began weeping, then regained control. “Don’t you dare chicken out on us. We’re going up that hill, and we’re going to shoot them before they shoot us. We are going to do that, and you are coming with us.”
“You don’t,” said Scooter, pointing his rifle at Perry’s head, “we might as well shoot you ourselves.” After a few moments of silence, Scooter pointed his weapon at the ground and laughed.
“Jesus,” said Fred. “For a minute I thought you meant it.”
“For a minute, I thought I meant it.” Whether he’d meant it or not, it was settled. Perry and Bloomquist were coming.
Kasey had a feeling they’d find the cyclists halfway up the mountain, exhausted from pedaling, and that they would quickly surrender. They would take them back to town and turn them over to the police. Simple.
He was in the Porsche waiting for Scooter to take a leak when he saw the dog dash out to the road and race up the mountain. Fred