Two men came out from the side. Jack hadn’t seen them at all. How long had they been watching him? Did they know he was coming? Or did they just hide in the shadows, waiting for the stray visitor?
“Yeah. Right. I’m—”
“Lost? Yeah, you’re lost, all right. You’re not in the camp anymore, friend. This is a restricted area. Didn’t you see the sign?”
The polite “sirs” of the previous guards had vanished.
One of the men took a step onto the path, directly in Jack’s way. Big guy, burly arms that his shirt—even with sleeves rolled up tight—was barely able to contain.
“Sorry. Had—”
What? He fished for something that explained all about going places where one wasn’t supposed to go.
“—insomnia.”
“Restricted area,” the man repeated. “You have to leave. Now.”
“Okay. Thanks. I will.”
Thanks? Stupid thing to say. Thanks … for what?
The other guard had also stepped into the clearing of the path, picking up a bit of the scant light.
Jack saw that this guy held an automatic rifle.
So, Paterville never had problems with the Can Heads outside?
Then why the heavy firepower? All the guards?
To keep guests from wandering onto the service road?
How safe
The two men in front of him didn’t say anything more, which made the noises from behind them even more pronounced. Laughs, voices, an engine starting.
“G’night, guys. Thanks for watching out for us.”
They didn’t respond to that.
Jack turned around and started down the hill.
Downhill now—always harder on his leg.
All his exercises couldn’t make up for the damage and pain that he’d have to live with for the rest of his life.
To the parking lot.
His eyes better adjusted to the murky blackness, and it seemed brighter.
He’d have to pass more guards on the way back to the cottage. His night walk would probably be a big topic of conversation with Ed Lowe and his team.
The parking lot, an open dirt plain, was at least flat. He had no trouble spotting the path leading back to the center of the camp.
He didn’t worry about greeting any of those guards on his return.
But he did worry about Christie; he hoped that he could slip back into the bed, under the cool sheets, his body with its slight sheen of sweat, and fall asleep without her waking.
Without her asking any questions.
In minutes, he was there, back in the cabin as if he had never left. He got into the bed, slowly lowering his head onto the pillow.
And though he had questions—things that confused him, things that he wanted to know more about—he quickly fell asleep.
22
Morning
Christie looked at her watch. Nearly ten A.M.
Not like Jack to sleep in. Though at home, after a rough week, he could sleep well past ten. And after getting wounded, getting up didn’t seem as easy for him.
But there was something else …
Last night. She had heard him slide out of bed. Thinking he was getting a drink of water. Going to the bathroom. Instead, she heard him slip on clothes and step outside their cabin, so quietly.
She didn’t turn over. Didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to be asking him all the time,
She had drifted off again, only waking when she felt the mattress tilt as he slid in.
Again, she just lay there. Keeping her eyes closed.
But time also to get over what had happened.
And that’s what she was doing.
She emptied her straw bag filled with beach towels. After a cool night, the sun was already hot.
She looked around at the other families on the lakeshore.
* * *
Simon kept digging a massive hole only feet away from Christie’s blanket.
Sharon Blair sat nearby in an aluminum beach chair with circus stripes. Floppy hat, oversized shades, lost in a book.
Which was good, since Christie had had enough talk.
Now she was just as glad to sit, listen to the kids squealing in the icy water, and watch the occasional cloud hit a mountain peak.
Simon kept on digging.
While the two Blair boys went in and out of the water as though performing some kind of drill.
“Simon, why don’t you go in? Cool off.”
Another scoop of sand came out. “I will. Digging now.”
Christie made a small laughing sound. Keeping it light.
“That is one big hole.”
Christie remembered how at the Jersey shore her dad would always make the joke whenever she dug.
Time to retire that, Christie thought. The thought of those days at the beach, her whole family, didn’t bring her any sense of joy.
“You go in later, I’ll go in with you, ’kay?”
“Sure,” Simon said.
Christie turned back to the water.
Obviously something had happened with Simon and the other two boys. Bit of bullying, perhaps? Teasing? Did he get scared?
Christie guessed he’d eventually tell her.
