She grabbed the light, then moved around the front of the cabin to the door. She paused, listening to the two voices that were talking inside. She knocked and worked at the rusted doorknob until it gave way. Powdered wood fell from the frame on to the floor.
The smell was pine pot-pourri over locker room, prison, hospital air. Her stomach shifted.
‘Hello,’ said Salem, raising his hand to wave. He was wearing a red, button-down long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of light cotton trousers. A little skinny Santa Claus.
‘Hello, Salem,’ said Ren. ‘Didn’t I tell you I’d come to see you?’ She smiled. ‘I brought you up … some soda.’ She lay a cooler box on the floor by the table. A living room/kitchen ran the length of the cabin with two rooms off it to the rear, one with a door, one without. To her right was the kitchen area, to her left was the living area with a rocking chair, a generator, some candles and the rotted stumps of two trees. Across one wall, blocking the window she had tried to look through, were six ceiling-high stacks of the Summit Daily News. She closed the door to the fresh air behind her.
Malcolm Wardwell was standing by the stove in the kitchen, heating food. There were some empty plastic containers beside him.
‘Hello,’ said Ren.
‘Hello,’ said Malcolm. He turned quickly back to the food. ‘Jason,’ he called out.
Jason Wardwell came out from the back room.
‘This is …’ said Malcolm, turning to Ren. ‘I’m sorry, what was your name again?’
‘Ren Bryce. I’m with the FBI.’ She reached out a hand to Jason.
‘Hi,’ said Jason, giving her a firm handshake.
What are you doing here? I thought you and your father had fallen out.
Salem walked her way. ‘Everyone wants to feed Salem,’ he said. ‘People been trying to put meat on these bones since I was a boy.’
‘To be fair,’ said Jason, ‘you know how to put it away. Just where, though, is the thing. That’s one of those secrets the ladies would love to know.’ He glanced at Ren.
‘Hell, yeah,’ said Ren. ‘The only places I can think to put it are on my big fat hips and my big fat ass.’
‘Well … I wasn’t including you in the ladies,’ said Jason.
Ren laughed. Oh dear – have you ever spoken to a woman before in your life?
‘Back out while you can,’ said Salem to Jason. ‘Slowly.’ He turned to Ren. ‘Take a seat,’ he said.
‘No thank you,’ said Ren. She still stood by the door, scanning the room.
Salem wandered away, half talking to himself. ‘You don’t leave people,’ he said. ‘You take hits. You take hits for yourself, you take hits for others. You take the bullets. You send ’em back. That’s the kind of shit that happens. That’s the kind of shit.’
‘You’re not wrong, buddy,’ said Jason. ‘Tell us about that time on the river, Salem.’
‘You don’t need to do that,’ said Ren.
Jason glanced at her. ‘It’s OK, it’s a funny story.’
‘Goddamn hilarious,’ said Salem, slapping a hand on his knee, then leaning on it to stand up, ‘Goddamn hilarious, the way they peppered those bullets across that water, crazy, deadly. Like stone-skimming – badam, badam, badam.’ He danced around in a circle, then sat back down.
‘Look at him dance,’ said Jason.
Ren took a deep breath.
‘You just chill out, there, Salem,’ she said. ‘We don’t need any entertainment here this evening. You just relax.’
‘Can you smell how good this is?’ said Jason. ‘My mother makes the best –’
He stopped. They all heard a loud noise out the back of the cabin.
‘Bears,’ shouted Salem, jumping up, grabbing a stick from against the wall and bolting out the door.
‘Well, shit,’ said Jason, ‘let me go get him.’
‘Let me go,’ said Ren. She didn’t give him a chance to argue. She ran around the back and grabbed Salem by the arm.
‘Salem, sweetheart, I need you to get out of here, OK? Do you know Billy down at the Filly?’
Salem nodded.
‘Just go down to him,’ said Ren. ‘He will look after you. Don’t say anything to anyone about who’s up here, OK?’
‘But I –’
‘Salem? I’m sorry, but you need to get the hell out of here.’
And I am going to hope to fuck that Paul Louderback is on his way.
‘Thank you so much, Salem. I owe you.’
She squeezed his hand and ran back around to the front of the house and closed the door. Jason Wardwell looked up.
‘Where’s Salem?’
‘I couldn’t find him,’ she said. ‘But he knows these woods like the back of his hand. And I’m guessing he knows how to handle a bear.’ She smiled.
The front door pushed open and swung wide. Salem walked in.
Ren froze. What are you doing?
‘Misty!’ said Salem. ‘Misty! Come on, girl. We’re going for a little walk.’
Oh shit.
‘Where?’ said Malcolm. We’re about to serve your supper.’
Don’t say it. Salem pointed at Ren. ‘Robin, here, told me to –’
‘Ren,’ said Ren, grasping at anything to stop him talking. ‘My name is Ren.’
‘I knew it was a bird of some description,’ said Salem.
‘Anyway,’ said Ren, ‘maybe a walk’s not a great idea right now. Like Jason said.’
‘I can’t keep up,’ said Salem. ‘You tell me to get the hell down the mountain to the Filly and –’
Ren watched Jason Wardwell’s face change. It was instantaneous. But it was Malcolm Wardwell who was holding the gun.
It was the worst possible thing to do to Salem Swade. But Malcolm Wardwell knew that. He made a haunted old vet stand with his back to the room while there was a gun somewhere behind him. Someone like Salem needed to face the room and face the door and feel safe. He started shouting; nonsense and swearing and orders and names and places and –
‘You – shut up, you crazy son-of-a-bitch, shut up!’ said Jason.
Salem stopped. But he was shaking violently, sweat soaking into the thin red fabric.
‘Let Salem go,’ said Ren. ‘Please.’
‘Let Ren go,’ said Salem.
Oh, God. ‘Salem, I’m going to be OK. You don’t need to worry about me.’
‘Stop talking,’ said Malcolm. ‘Silence.’
Jason