“Or ran into something bigger and hungrier than they were,” Charlie said.
“You do see the odd thing out there at night,” Otis said. “Just shapes in the trees. A flash and flicker. What’s born wild stays wild despite us being here, you know? All God’s creatures.”
Charlie had spat in the dirt when he heard that. Minerva noticed he had a way of spitting that conveyed total disdain.
“Dogs are one thing,” Otis went on, “but we got kids about, too. Not that they’re foolish enough to scramble under the fence, especially come nightfall, but…”
“We dug the pit ten feet deep.” Charlie hitched up his pants, which were swimming around his hips. “We hit a seam of caliche at eight feet. After that it was hard slogging. Busted a few shovels. Our hands had blisters on top of blisters.”
Otis said, “Ten feet—what’s going to get out of that?”
Charlie said, “Well, something did. We come back one morning to find the top brush all busted. But the pit was empty.”
“Maybe it didn’t fall in,” Minerva said. “What if it just kind of carried over the top, like over thin ice as it’s breaking?”
Otis said, “No, it was in there.”
“The bottom of the pit was all torn up,” Charlie told her. “Claw marks dug deep into the clay. A lot of them, too. Like they were put there by an animal made entirely of claws.”
“And teeth,” said Otis.
“Yeah, teeth, too,” Charlie said.
“Bear?” said Micah.
Charlie shrugged. “Could only be. But they aren’t supposed to be that size in this state. You got browns, blacks. They can be ornery, yeah, but not too big.”
“Could be a Kodiak roamed over from California,” Otis hazarded. “A rogue.”
“Anyway, we dug the pit deeper.” Charlie spat again. “Another five feet.”
Otis said, “And covered it over same as before. A few days later we check and see the cover’s broken again.” Otis shook his head. “We creep up and—”
“Empty as a politician’s smile,” said Charlie.
Otis said, “At fifteen feet. And we spotted something else strange, too.”
“What was that?” said Minerva.
Otis swallowed heavily. “There were sticks jammed into the side of the pit. The sticks we’d laid across the top, yeah? Stabbed into the dirt all the way up. It was like whatever had been inside used them as hand-holds, right? To climb out.”
“What animal would have the sense to do that?” Ellen asked. “Or the dexterity?”
“No animal on earth,” Minerva said.
UPON THEIR ARRIVAL at Little Heaven, Otis and Charlie led them past a few pickups and dirt bikes to the wrought iron gate. Each half of the gate was ten feet wide and nearly twenty feet high. What a hassle it would’ve been, hauling that damn thing out into the sticks. A golden letter L was inset on one side. On the other side, H.
It was unlocked by a woman in overalls. She did not introduce herself or speak to Otis and Charlie. Her face had the same winnowed aspect as the men’s. Minerva found it unnerving. She pictured carnivorous roots anchored to the pads of everyone’s feet, slowly sucking the life out of them.
The grounds of the compound were uncluttered. A parade square sat in the center. There were bunkhouses and storage sheds. A tiny playground. Minerva spotted a strip of flypaper dangling from a strut of an open toolshed. Not a single insect—fly or spider or midge—was gummed to the sticky coil.
A row of outhouses sat behind the fence on the easternmost edge of the compound. They sat quite close to the woods. Minerva wondered how many of these people would risk a late-night piss, what with their dogs going missing left and right.
The chapel was the focal point. The eye was drawn to the massive cross rising above it. The horizontal beam was almost as wide as the chapel roof. Looking westward, beyond the chapel and above the trees, Minerva could see a towering rock formation. The rock looked black, not the rust red of most of the igneous rock around there.
Charlie and Otis led them across the square. Minerva saw Ellen’s eyes zipping about in search of her sister’s kid. But the grounds were empty. They walked to a small, well-maintained lodge. Flower boxes were hung on the windowsills. The door was made of heavy oak with an ornate knocker.
The door opened as if in anticipation of their arrival. A man stepped out. He spotted the six of them—two familiar faces, four new ones. His skull rocked back in mild surprise. He recovered quickly and spread his arms.
“We have guests.” A beatific smile. “Welcome to our home under God’s eye.”
14
FUSSY.
That was the first word that popped into Minerva’s head.
Dickhole.
That was the second.
What a fussy fuckin’ dickhole.
There was nothing about the man that screamed dickhole! precisely. The fussiness, absolutely. His hair was oiled up in an elaborate pompadour—who the hell would do that out here, with the horseflies and tree sap? She suspected he cultivated the hairdo to make up for his diminutive stature; she wouldn’t be surprised if he had lifts in his shoes, too.
But a dickhole? Or a rat-assed bastard, as her father might have said? There was no definitive proof that he was, not yet. Just a marrow-deep sense.
The man wore a button-down shirt with wide lapels and cowboy boots of blue-dyed leather. Mirrored aviator sunglasses hooded his eyes. Minerva hated those—they were the sort of shades policemen wore, and you could never tell where a person’s eyes were looking.
He strode purposefully toward them. “Little Heaven welcomes you.”
Minerva said, “Little Heaven?” as if this was the first time she’d heard the name. They had roles to play now—the naïve hikers—and she hopped right to it.
“Our perfect slice of it, yes,” the man said. “I am Reverend Amos Flesher.”
He did not shake their hands—rather, he lifted his fingers limply toward them as if offering the blithest of benedictions.
“We found them in the pit, Reverend,” Otis said with a small bow. “They had fallen in.” A nod at Ebenezer. “This man’s hurt.”
Minerva caught the trace of an apology in Otis’s voice: One of them is hurt, Rev, or else we wouldn’t have brought them.
“Oh, boys. You and that pit of yours.” Reverend Amos tsked. “How did you poor folks stumble into Charlie and Otis’s pet project?”
“We heard it was a nice hike around here,” Minerva said.
The Reverend’s eyebrows lifted—a please, do go on gesture.
“We came up from the lowlands and across the Winding Stair pass ten miles north of here,” said Micah. “My grandfather made the trek. Said it was hard going, but worth it.”
“Your grandfather?”
Micah said, “Years back.”
“Before you folks were here,” Ebenezer said. “Or your pit.”
The Reverend scrutinized Eb. “You’re hurt.”
“I’ll be all right.” Ebenezer smiled warmly. “I’m not going to sue, if you’re worried.”
“You’re not dressed like any hikers I’ve ever seen.” The Reverend nodded at Otis. “I see a gun tucked in Otis’s waistband. Since I know he doesn’t carry one and it’s unlikely he found it under a rock, I take it that it belongs to one of you.”
Minerva thought: This guy might wear his hair like some discount Liberace, but he’s no dummy.
“It’s mine,” Minerva said. “Lots of animals out here.”
“There are,” the Reverend agreed. “Most hunters use rifles.”
Minerva lip-farted. “Wasn’t hunting. Just wanted to scare them if I had to.”
“Where are your tents?” Flesher said, flinching slightly at Minerva’s raspberry. “Your sleeping bags?”
“We had to abandon them last night,” Ellen said, speaking for the first time. “There was something in the woods. Some animal—animals. They chased us.”
The Reverend sighted her down his nose. “You sound like Otis. To hear him speak, the woods are full of man-eating bears and pixies and leprechauns, no doubt. Any animals in these woods are more petrified of us than we could ever be of them. That is how the Lord decreed it. My dear child, don’t you know that we are the highest order of life?”
My dear child. Did he just call Ellen that? Minerva tried to swallow her anger, but it lodged in her throat like a peach stone.
“Then why dig the damn pit in the first place?” she said hotly.
The Reverend’s gaze pinned her. She felt his eyes on her body, even if they were covered by those aviator shades—his eyes boring into her not in a sexual manner, but invasive in a different way: the feeling of sightless bugs crawling over her skin.
“Well.” He spread his hands again, signaling their conversation had come to an end. “I must prepare for the afternoon sermon. The Lord has brought you to our bower and it is our duty to shelter you. Charlie, Otis, they may stay in Greta Hughes’s old quarters. Have Dr. Lewis attend to this fellow’s ankle.”
He cocked his head at his visitors. Their faces were warped in the silver convex of his sunglasses.
“I would invite you to the sermon, but that is only for the elect here at Little Heaven. You will amuse yourselves, though, I’m sure.”
He hadn’t even bothered to ask their names. It was all this fellow and my dear child.
He really is a dickhole, Minerva thought, happy to have her first impressions confirmed.
Otis and Charlie led them to a cramped bunkhouse with two cots. They said they would send for Dr. Lewis. Their guns were not returned to them.