THE TWO MEN DROVE OUT from Coldwater that morning in silence, like the quiet of two men going to work, content to allow each other to wake up and process the day without the aggravation of conversation. The truck motored north up the county road several miles and then headed east on gravel, and the gravel turned to dirt, and the dirt slowly gave way to a two-track heading into the woods. A developer had attempted to plot out a subdivision in the area but gave up when the market told him that city folks didn’t want to live this far in the sticks.
Coldwater was sixty miles from the nearest “metropolis.” City, really. Sixty miles from where a family could buy groceries was the more proper way to say it.
The old Ford pushed on through the woods until the two-track finally gave up its ghost and terminated in a large clearing. The truck came to a stop. The passenger, who was half slumped in the seat, spoke first.
“Go on, Kyle, check it out so we can get out of here.”
“Why me?”
“Well, I sure ain’t going to do it!”
“Why don’t we both go?”
“Come on. You know I got this bum leg in the mornings. Just walk up there, check it out, and we can head back.”
Kyle hesitated, staring into the woods. A tremor of fear slowly crept into his face as he white-knuckled the steering wheel.
“Here, take this,” James said, handing over a long hunting knife.
“What good is that going to do?”
“You serious? He’s tied up . . . underground. How much more protection you need?”
Kyle stepped out of the truck, forcing his body to move as his nerves were getting the best of him. He almost tripped over one of the ruts in the mud made by the vehicles the night before. They were all over the clearing. He was braver last night, when there were so many of them, but now, on his own, his courage was long gone.
He stood by the truck.
“Get going!” James yelled from the cab. “You’re the one that wanted to come here. Now go check it out.”
“Now that we’re here . . . I don’t know.”
“Just do it! Otherwise you’ll be bugging me all day to drive back out here. Go check it out, see that he’s still buried, so we can go home.”
“This is stupid.”
“It is stupid, but you ain’t going to leave me alone until you see it with your own eyes.”
Kyle wiped a sweaty hand on his jeans. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“I knew Haywood never should have let you come along.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said. You were all gung ho yesterday, but now you’re giving me an anxiety attack. Don’t make me get out of this truck and drag you up there. ’Cause when you see he’s still underground, I’ll be mad at you for wasting my time.”
“Okay, okay . . . calm down.”
“Just go already.”
Kyle closed the truck door and walked up the trail into the woods. About a quarter mile up, he saw the small clearing in the trees, saw the disturbed dirt. He inched his way closer, slowly. The site scared him. He was startled by sounds coming from every side of him. The birds, the insects, the sound of the swaying trees in the light wind. He approached the clearing.
He saw the spot where they had buried Michael. Saw the earth pushed aside and sunk down into the crater, saw the drag marks from the hole and the footprints that led off deeper into the woods. In one quick second, his mind had processed the whole scene. His nightmare had come true, his guilt had been telling him all night that his fear was real.
Kyle turned and ran as if his life depended on it. He would have screamed, but his voice was lost, lost in the chaos. He could see the truck through the leaves. He ran, harder and harder, until he made the clearing. Jumping in the truck, he slammed it into drive, spun around, and floored it back to the county road. James was almost ejected from his seat.
“What are you doing?” James shouted.
Kyle was mute. His face was drained of color and he was shaking uncontrollably.
“Kyle . . . Kyle!”
Kyle looked over at James. And with a ragged breath said, “He got out!”