The Flame Alphabet - Ben Marcus [58]
I circled quietly, keeping my distance. From behind a tree I watched as he went in and out of the hut, sweeping his flashlight in small arcs of discovery.
Occasionally the flashlight settled on something and he dilated the lens. He’d stoop over, pick something up, examine it in the light, then, invariably, he’d toss it to the ground and resume his search.
LeBov circled behind the hut, dragged over a crate, and climbed up on the roof. From there he crouched, seemed to pick at the shingles, and then slid down and disappeared, the glare from his flashlight strobing in the high branches.
I dug in against the embankment. LeBov’s flashlight retreated into the far woods behind the hut, and then I heard nothing, saw no more light.
I sat back to rest. I’d give it a little bit more time.
I should have gone home. At home there was still so much to do. We had to pack, ready the house. Claire would need help. Perhaps I could lift her into the bath, let her soak. More than that, she might need persuading. I had to think about how I would explain our next move, how to remove all choice from my presentation.
She’d want to stay. Beg to stay. But I couldn’t let her.
Staying wasn’t staying. They’d find you and wouldn’t have stayed at all.
Beyond that were my medical supplies, just a bare minimum, and where to put them. The key gear, and then at least a suitcase’s worth of medicine. I’d want to resume my work as soon as we relocated. To lose momentum now would be a mistake.
But I didn’t go home. The woods were fully quiet now, the light was gone. LeBov had no doubt finished with his defilement and moved on to other fine projects. I’d missed my chance to confront him and I will admit that I was relieved.
I groped into the darkness toward the hut. In front of me I could not even see my hand. With each step I braced myself for a collision, something sharp to strike my face.
I’d spent so many days here, thoroughly explored the grounds, dug shallow holes each time I buried the listener. Claire and I had walked home thoughtlessly, paying no attention to our surroundings, and we’d never been lost, never felt scared by unexplained sounds in the woods.
Now in the darkness, hours before we would leave town for good, I was completely helpless just steps from the hut. I wish to remark on the darkness of this place without resorting to hyperbole, but I do not think that is possible.
I reached out my arms, leaned, then fell into the dirt.
It was easier from there to move on hands and knees, but I needed to keep one arm up to guard my head. I crawled through frozen mud, butted into a tree stump, then corrected my attack and crept forward. Finally I struck the wall of the hut, and from there I guided myself until I collided with the staircase.
When I opened the door, a flashlight switched on. LeBov had wedged himself into the floor, his legs dangling down the hole.
“There you are,” he said.
Across the hut floor he slid the grease tin, and I scooped some of it into my mouth.
He gestured to his neck, so I spread some there as well, pasting the white collar tighter on my skin.
It took hold in my face, softening my mouth, and my vision sharpened. When the tightness in my throat released, I found I could speak more easily, even if the ability brought nausea along with it.
“This is private property,” I said quietly.
“Oh? I’d love to see your deed.”
I stepped inside, leaned against the doorway.
“Maybe first you could let me know to whom I am speaking,” I said.
“You’re not the only one who can use a fake name.”
“Apparently not.”
His legs seemed trapped in the hole.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
I wanted him to be aware that I could take two steps up to him and deliver a sweet kick to his face. He would not be able to get away from me in time.
“No, thanks,” he said, oblivious that I was sparing him. “I have everything I need.”
He reached across the floor and grabbed a duffel bag, which clanged as he dragged it.
“I was saddened to hear of your death,” I said. “It’s a great loss. For all of us.”