Vacation полностью

He didn’t mean to go somewhere he shouldn’t.

For a moment, the man didn’t say anything.

“Now you just turn around, son. And walk back. That way.”

Simon made a pointing gesture somewhere over his shoulder.

“Over that way? There?”

“Yeah. Nice and straight. You’ll come to one of the paths. Make a left on it. Keep walking.”

“Okay. I’ll do that.”

Simon wanted to ask, Will you tell my parents?

But instead he started to turn, feeling the man with the gun, this guard, looking at him.

He walked as straight as he could.

Step after step.

Nice and straight.

Almost all the light faded here.

And the other kids? Had they run away when they saw the guard? Or had Simon gotten so lost that they had never been around here at all?

He blinked.

Hoping he could tell when he reached the path.

He made promises to himself. Going to stay only on the paths. And maybe he wouldn’t play with those bigger kids. He’d stay close to his family, their cabin.

The crunchy covering of the forest changed. A path. Barely able to be seen, but he could feel the smooth flat dirt of a trail.

Simon turned left.

*   *   *

“Hey, where’s Jack?”

Tom and Sharon had walked close to Christie, near the warm glow of the bonfire.

“Oh, he’s coming, Tom.” Then: “Think the kids are okay? It’s getting dark…”

Tom nodded. “Sure. But I’ll go find the hide-and-seekers and bring ’em back alive!”

He walked away.

Christie stood alone with Sharon.

“So, where do you guys live?” Christie asked.

“Yonkers. Know it? Quieter than the city. If you know what I mean. You?”

“Staten Island. Same thing. Quiet. Isolated.”

Quiet. A new code word.

Meaning no break-ins. No attacks. With the flames flickering, reflected on the water—that world seemed so far away.

“Good for the kids there. I know that’s what’s important to Tom.”

“Got to think about your kids.”

Sharon turned to her. “Well, yes. But they’re not my kids.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Tom—his wife died a few years back. She died when the drought came. Some illness. They didn’t understand.”

“Did it have anything to do with what happened? To the crops, the farms?”

“The doctors didn’t know. I was her friend. And I, well, I helped him through things. Just a friend. At first. But then … we got married.” The woman, now seen in an entirely different light by Christie, took a breath. “Seemed to make sense. Now, they’re mine. They know that. Tom knows that. That’s how I feel. They’re my kids now.”

“Good for you.”

Silence. Then: “The boys, your boys—they seem happy.”

“I hope so. It’s hard. But I try my best.”

Tom’s voice rang out: “Got them. Safe and sound.”

Christie turned to see the two Blair kids walking side by side, and then off on his own, yards away, Simon.

Christie’s instincts told her something had happened.

But that could wait for later.

*   *   *

Back at the open trunk, Jack aimed the light at the storage compartment key hole.

He saw something—stray marks around the hole. Small scratches.

All the marks of someone trying to break in.

I would have seen those marks before.

Jack turned to look over his shoulder. If there were cameras, they would pick up his light, his bending over the compartment. The hesitation.

But as soon as he had the thought—someone tried to get in here. Maybe someone did get in here—he pushed it away.

Who knew if the marks had been there, made by his key trying to find its way in.

And if there were cameras?

He hunched over the compartment as he put the key in and unlocked it. The metal cover popped up.

Jack held the flashlight in his hand as he opened the lid.

He tried to shield what lay below with his body.

The armory. His indulgence to his concerns and fear … and his paranoia.

He sure as hell couldn’t tell where legitimate concern ended and paranoia began.

Everything looked in place. The guns neatly nested in the foam. Boxes of shells on the side. The small, timed explosives. A larger flashlight.

Crazy, he thought, to be traveling with this.

But then he thought, Crazier not to.

Then back to his paranoia: If someone had gotten in here, saw this, what would they think?

Or had they only tried to get in?

Jack shook his head. No way he could answer that one, no possible way.

He turned around.

Sensing someone looking at him. His flashlight made a random pool of light in front of him.

The sound of the insects, cicadas—so rhythmic, so loud—could drown out a lot of sounds. How did they survive here?

No such summer sounds back home. They were long gone.

He took a breath, then went back to the compartment. All the goodies safe and sound. He shut the lid and heard it snap into locked position. He turned off the flashlight and put it in his back pocket

As he walked away, back to the main area of the camp, he pressed the electronic key and heard a chirp as all the SUV’s doors locked.

It was fully dark when he got down to the lake.

20

Night

“What—no marshmallows?”