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  Abigail collapsed against his shoulder. The pain seemed to have drained her. Her voice fell to a hush. “It hurts so bad,” she said, moaning. Tears fell from her eyes. She rocked on her feet then dropped back into Frosh, who caught her in his arms. Tyler ran to his aid. Together, they gently lowered Abigail to the floor.

  “We need to wash out those wounds,” Merwin said. “Does anyone have any water? All of my supplies, and that includes my first aid kit, are back in the Jeep. So unless someone wants to volunteer to go and get them, we’ll have to make do with what we have on hand.”

  Dakota walked to the back of the room. She paused to look at all the weapons lying on the ground. She snagged a survival knife and slid it blade first into her back pocket, wondering if the weapon would have to live up to its name. The others were watching her, but she’d have been crazy not to pick one up while she had the chance.

  She lifted the table that had tipped when Mark and the twins had attacked her. A duffle bag sat behind it. She pulled a bottle of water out through its open zipper. After a moment’s thought, she shuffled back through the duffle bag for another item that she had brought to prolong Tyler’s life and his pain: gauze. Abigail would need it. She couldn’t very well deny Tyler a piece of it without drawing the ranger’s suspicion. She pulled it out and tossed it to Tyler, regretting that she was prolonging his life for reasons other than she’d intended.

  He nodded his appreciation. Dakota frowned and looked away. While Merwin and Frosh sat Abigail up, Dakota carried over the water bottle. Tyler wrapped the gauze around his abdomen. He tore it off and brought the remainder to Merwin.

  “Good. Thank you.” Merwin opened the water and handed it back to Dakota. “Now, pour it on those wounds.”

  Dakota emptied half the bottle down Abigail’s back. The black ooze washed away. Frosh dabbed her dry with his sweatshirt. When he was done, her back began to ooze shit sauce all over again.

  “What’s happening to her?”

  “Necrosis, if I had to guess.” Merwin said. “I’ve only seen something like that happen from certain kinds of spider bites. The skin literally rots away around the bite.”

  “Will she die?”

  Merwin shook his head. “She should be fine, even if it is necrosis, so long as the rotting doesn’t continue to spread. Sure, she’ll have a few scars to remind her, but that’s about it.”

  “Or she could be dying as we speak, for all you know,” the rope-burned twin blurted.

  Dakota didn’t find his negativity the least bit helpful, though she was fairly sure the mongoloid was just stating what the rest of them were thinking.

  “Yeah, you said you’ve never even seen those things before,” his brother added. “How could you know what they can do?”

  Merwin stood tall. “I can’t, and I don’t. So why don’t we all just work together to make sure no one else gets… bitten or whatever. You got a name, son?”

  “Bo, and that’s my twin brother, Luc.”

  Despite the direness of their circumstances, or perhaps because of it, Merwin couldn’t help but laugh. Dakota saw him trying to hold it back, but he failed miserably. She couldn’t figure out what was so funny.

  “Really? Bo and Luc?” the ranger said.

  “Yeah, our father was a big fan of—”

  “Oh no, I get it. It’s just terrible what parents will put their kids through.”

  “You would know, Merwin.”

  The ranger stopped laughing. He composed himself. “Fair enough. How’s your nose?”

  “I’ll live,” Bo said.

  “Anyone else here got any injury that needs tending?”

  Dakota looked around. She saw some heads shaking and heard some mumbling, but all things considered, the group seemed to be holding up fine.

  Merwin clapped his hands. “Okay, then. Now, let’s talk about how we’re going to get out of here.”

  Chapter 13

  Charlie had called one of his contacts at the Cherokee County Sheriff’s Office to find out if any vehicles had been reported stolen earlier that day. He was given the makes and models of two automobiles—a black Nissan Maxima and a red Honda Civic. He took down their license plate numbers for good measure. Tyler hadn’t told him exactly how he planned to get to the park, and Charlie had purposely not asked, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew all about Tyler’s past. At least if he saw one of the stolen vehicles at Galveston State Park, he would know Tyler was still there.

  And what are you going to do with him when you find him?

  Charlie didn’t have an answer. He shook his head. If Tyler had stolen a car, his transgressions would become that much harder to ignore. Charlie was having a hard enough time looking past them already.

  As he pulled into the parking lot, he immediately spotted the Honda Civic. After comparing its license plate number to that in his notepad, Charlie took a deep breath. He was happy to have found Tyler before he would have to report him for violating parole. But a stolen car? That was going to be harder to let slide.

  Maybe we can call it “borrowed.”

  He parked his car beside the Honda and got out. There were few other cars in the almost empty lot. The air was still, the forest silent as if time had stopped.

  Where is everybody? It’s still early in the season, I suppose.

  Technically, the park was closed, though the campgrounds farther in were always open. Since the state of Kansas couldn’t exactly prohibit people from leaving, the west gate was open twenty-four seven. At night, it was the only way in and out of the park unless Charlie wanted to do some off-roading. He had used it hundreds of times to pick up clients who were judicially inspired to perform community service. The closing time just meant that it was unlikely a ranger would be there to help him.

  The light shining through the ranger station’s windows raised his hopes. This night was going to be different. He strode toward the structure at the end of the parking area. Once there, he knocked on the door and waited patiently.

  No one came. He knocked again. He listened for footsteps or any other sounds within but heard none. The blinds on the nearby window were open. Charlie peeked into the building. The lights were on, but nobody was home.

  Unless they’re hiding. Charlie smiled. Maybe I scared everyone away.

  His smile flipped. He needed to find Tyler before anyone else did. If the young man was caught with a stolen car, he’d be thrown back in prison as a fast as the judge could swing his gavel.

  Looks like it’s time for some off-roading after all. In my Malibu. Charlie laughed and slapped imaginary dust from his hands. He jogged back to his car. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Tyler, my friend, you are going to owe me big-time.

  He headed into the campgrounds as slowly as an old man with a walker and a busted hip. The Malibu’s high beams illuminated the path, but the light ended at the heavy forest on both sides. The sky was dark, the moon and stars hidden behind clouds. He felt as if he were entering a tunnel with only a mining helmet to guide him.

  Like the parking lot, the forest was eerily quiet. Where were the owls’ hoots? The crickets’ chirps? With his window down, Charlie could only hear the sputtering of his antique engine. He figured it would survive the trip. It was his tires that worried him.

  He slapped the back of his neck. Blood and insect wings stained his palm. He found it strangely reassuring that even though he couldn’t hear them, a few bugs were still present. Charlie just wished they weren’t the kind that caused welts and itching.

  When he reached the first camping area, he flashed his headlights at the tent he found there. “Tyler,” he shouted. His watch read 11:17 p.m. “Tyler,” he called again. He hated having to disturb sleeping campers, but if Tyler was in that tent, Charlie needed to know.

  He got out of his car and approached the tent, leaving his headlights shining on it. “Tyler? You in there?” No one responded. “Hello? Anybody home?”

  He walked slowly, not knowing who might be in the tent or what they might
be doing in it. Given the total silence, he guessed they were sleeping. Hadn’t he been loud enough to wake them?

  My loud mouth could wake the dead.

  He flicked the tent, not knowing how else to knock. “Hello? I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s sort of an emergency. I’m looking for someone. I just want to talk to you for a second.”

  Still, Charlie received no answer. He thought about opening the zipper but decided against it. Invading the privacy of others didn’t sit well with him. He was about to give in when he noticed a tear in the tent.

  You can’t do that, he told himself even as he crooked his neck for a better view. As long as you don’t open it with your hands, it’s not really peeping. Whatever he could see by positioning himself just right was fair game. They were on public land, after all, a place where children weren’t only allowed but expected.

  His logic didn’t make him feel any less of a pervert. Working with Tyler was helping Charlie add new material for his next confession.

  It was all for nothing. Unless a person no bigger than a garden gnome was hiding in a corner, the tent was empty. Charlie wondered where they could have gone.

  He examined the tear. That’s a great way to get eaten alive. He slapped his arm, not sure if the bugs he felt crawling over him were real or imagined.

  He got back into his car and drove to the next clearing. In it, he found a Winnebago parked next to a dwindling fire. Aluminum crunched beneath his foot as he stepped out of his vehicle to investigate. A beer can curled around to his shoe. A few dozen more littered the camping area.

  For the first time, he hoped he wouldn’t find Tyler, at least not in that camper. Adding “passed out drunk” to the boy’s list of indiscretions would not be a step in the right direction. Charlie hesitated, preparing himself for the worst, then knocked on the Winnebago’s door.

  No one answered. His patience started to fail him. He knocked again, loudly. Cheese and crackers! What’s going on? Where the heck is everybody?

  “Fudge it,” he muttered and tried the latch on the door. It was unlocked. He opened the door and went inside.

  “Aw, come on!” Charlie covered his nose with the crook of his elbow. The camper’s interior was filthy. It reeked of vomit. Pizza boxes were strewn about the floor and atop the sofa bed and counter. More beer cans had been tossed into random piles or stacked in towering tributes to alcoholism.

  The camper had certainly been lived in, but its residents were absent.

  Charlie stepped outside. He slammed the door shut, the anger of his youth rearing its ugly head. The sound of beer cans tumbling came from inside. His outburst embarrassed him. He took several deep breaths, slowing his heart and cleansing his mind.

  Then he stood silent. He listened for clues, any indicator of where society had retreated. At that point, Charlie would have been happy to find any human at all, never mind Tyler. The campgrounds were as quiet as a cemetery. The atmosphere felt nearly as bleak. For whatever reason, he was getting some seriously gloomy vibes from the place, as if God were trying to tell him to get the heck out.

  Tyler, you are going to be in a heap of trouble if you don’t have a darn good explanation for this.

  He took a step. Another beer can crunched beneath his foot. A mosquito bit his neck. “Fudge!” He almost said the other F-word. Charlie slapped the bug and stared down at the can. It was flat at one end. He kicked the other end, and the can sailed into the Winnebago.

  Anxiety replaced fury. That’s not good, he thought, for the first time noticing the camper’s flat tires. The vibe frequency lowered from gloomy to downright bleak. His moral compass commanded him to find his ward, to guide him from this desolate place. But that inner compass’s point was also spiraling madly, unclear as to which of them was really in trouble.

  Charlie hurried to the next lot. He no longer cared about respecting privacy or being polite. His mind told him he was being unreasonable, but it was his gut that he trusted, and it warned him of danger. But from whom or what?

  What have you gotten yourself into? Charlie meant the question for Tyler, but by the time he finished the thought, he wasn’t sure if he was asking himself instead.

  They’re all probably just partying deeper in the woods. Maybe they took a late-night swim. Charlie’s gut wasn’t buying it.

  Finding the third and fourth lots empty, he drove deeper into the forest. His car squeaked like loose box springs as it bounced down the trail. After a couple of minutes, he came to a smaller lot, its opening almost entirely blocked by overhanging branches. Charlie had nearly passed it. The entrance was dark like an open mouth.

  He angled his Malibu to shine as much light as he could inside the camping area. He dared not drive the car in for fear he wouldn’t be able to drive it back out. A tent sat on the far side of the lot. Charlie hustled toward it, calling Tyler’s name.

  He didn’t announce himself again before unzipping the tent flap. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t find anyone inside. He was right.

  As his hand reached the bottom of the zipper, it brushed against something wet. It painted his fingers dark. He wiped them on his pants.

  Tyler, where are you?

  Charlie considered leaving. He had already done more for Tyler than anyone else in his profession would have. He had probably done a whole lot more than Tyler’s friends or family would have.

  He sighed. Tyler didn’t have any friends. He didn’t have any family, either. He had Charlie.

  How would he find Tyler? For all he knew, his charge was long gone. Maybe he didn’t come back to the house because he didn’t want to come back. Charlie couldn’t force him to, but Tyler’s failure to report in when scheduled was a violation of his parole. Maybe Tyler was one of the lost causes after all. But what if he hadn’t returned because he couldn’t?

  Just a little farther in. Just in case.

  In case of what? Try as he might, Charlie couldn’t conceive of the kind of trouble Tyler could get himself into out there. The last time he was in these woods, he shot somebody.

  Charlie laughed uneasily. You’re being foolish. He’s a different man. No matter what he told himself, though, Charlie could not shake his feeling of dread.

  He drove up to two stone markers, one on each side of the trail. A rope lay near the right one. Charlie assumed it had once blocked the path. Someone had been through there.

  He had only traveled a few more yards when he slammed on the brakes. A family of deer sprang onto the path and vanished—all except their smallest. The Malibu clipped its leg in midflight, and it fell.

  Great. Now I’ve killed Bambi. He hopped out of his car to check on the animal and inspect the damage. As slowly as he’d been traveling, he might have only knocked it off-balance. He hadn't heard a crunch or a snap.

  The deer was small, probably only a fawn. It lay on its side, its stomach contracting and expanding as it took short, quick breaths. Otherwise, it remained still. Its big brown eyes watched Charlie as he approached. The animal looked terrified, but it made no attempt to flee.

  It must be hurt. Charlie looked the deer over and squatted beside it. He could see the upper half of its body, from its nose to its tail and most of its belly, illuminated by his headlights. The belly was so fat and round that Charlie would have thought the deer pregnant had it not appeared to be so young.

  He peered into the shadows, scanning what he could make out of the deer’s legs. No bones seemed broken. A sort of wildness twinkled from its dark pupils, yet they were soft, gentle. They gleamed in the light, wide with fear.

  “Now I know why they call them doe eyes.” Charlie spoke softly, trying to put the creature at ease. He made no sudden movements. The deer’s panic seemed neither soothed nor accelerated by Charlie’s presence.

  Slowly, cautiously, he reached out to touch the animal. He knew he shouldn’t. It could have been sick or carrying germs or worse. They call them “deer ticks” for a reason. Still, those parts of human nature that made one want to pet the soft and fluffy a
s well as comfort the afflicted compelled Charlie’s hand forward.

  The deer let out a low whimper when Charlie’s hand found its side. It stayed put as Charlie gently stroked it. He wondered if he was doing anything to relax the creature.

  “Think you can walk? Your legs seem okay.” Charlie continued to pet the deer. “Maybe if I just back away, you’ll—Jesus!”

  Charlie’s hand recoiled. He laughed at his jumpiness. “You are pregnant, you little hussy.” The baby had kicked right where Charlie had been petting.

  “No wonder you can’t walk. That thing’s about ready to pop.” He stared at the deer’s belly, fascinated. The baby had awakened, and it was moving.

  A lot.

  “That fawn’s coming out, isn’t he?”

  The deer’s stomach bulged and receded. “He’s kicking like crazy. I think you’re going to be a mommy soon… really soon.”

  Charlie wondered how he might move the deer. It lay in the middle of the trail. There was no safe way around it. He returned his hand to the deer’s belly. A wave of compassion washed over him. This deer needed his help. God had made all life on the planet, and that made all life important. After hitting the poor thing, the least he could do was make sure that it gave birth safely and didn’t get run over. Like Tyler, that deer had become his responsibility.

  “Fuck!” Something stabbed his hand. He pulled it away, asking God to forgive his vulgarity.

  A small black hole dotted his palm. It looked as though he’d been stabbed by a pen and the ink had emptied into the wound. His blood mixed with a black, oily fluid. It spilled from the cavity, streaking across his hand.

  The deer convulsed. Charlie stood. He took two steps back. He didn’t know what was happening, but he no longer thought the deer was pregnant. At the least, it wasn’t carrying anything natural. As its stomach ripped open from the inside, Charlie had the most peculiar thought.