“I’m a cop.”
“Really? Wow. Could have fooled me. I mean, you don’t seem like a cop.”
And how exactly are cops supposed to seem?
And was that comment supposed to be a compliment?
People got funny around cops.
“I’m on vacation. On the down-low, as the kids say.”
Tom took a breath. “And how is it out there? On the streets. Getting worse?”
Jack looked away. “Worse? Not getting better. Looks to me… like it’s spreading.”
“Shit.”
“Each day, new blocks. Gone. More Can Heads. No new cops.”
“You know, there was a theory one of the guys in my lab had. That this was how the dinosaurs ended. Feeding off each other. That’s what really wiped them out.”
“Really? I could believe it. When you see humans hovering over a body, slicing it into pieces like crazy butchers, bundling the goddamned meat up like—”
Jack suddenly realized that he had gone too deep into the hole. The hole of being a cop. Fighting them.
“Sorry. Get carried away, you know. That’s what’s good about being here. Shake all that shit off. Get away from all that ‘beware your neighbor’ paranoia.”
“Except not one who has some booze, hm? And this is a good place, Jack. Lot of guards. The gorgeous lake. Enough food. Not a bad place at all.” Then: “Glad you guys are our neighbors.”
He clinked his glass against Jack’s.
“And you’re staying a few more days, right?”
“Yeah. No one wants to leave. What the hell do we head back to? No real family for us. Least not around New York. The family would love to just stay here forever.”
“You and a lot of people, I guess.”
Tom again reached down for the milk bottle filled with the clear liquid.
“Refill?”
Jack was about to say no thanks. Instead, he held out his cup and watched Tom pour.
The cabin was quiet.
Kate and Simon in bed. Windows wide open so a cool breeze blew in. The occasional sounds from the woods.
Christie sniffed, taking in the strong smell of alcohol on Jack’s breath, and smiled when he said, “You wouldn’t have liked it.”
Now he lay in the bed, the background noise in his ears, Christie close, her back to him.
Not feeling sleepy.
Not at all.
He inched a bit closer so that his body pressed against hers.
He put an arm around her and with the precision borne of years together, his hand smoothly cupped her right breast.
He felt himself stir against her. Always a good feeling.
But then Christie turned to him.
“Want some sugar, hm?”
Her face caught the scant light of the room. No moon outside, but the glow from the lights on the paths filtered into the room a bit, outlining her face.
“Could be.”
“Maybe that leggy assistant got you going?”
“No, not at all,” Jack said, realizing how quickly he said it.
Realizing that he hadn’t told Christie about his encounter with her in the parking lot.
Then: “The kids. They’re right there. Not sure they’re asleep.”
“I can be quiet,” he said.
He could make out a smile. “But can I? I think we should wait. When they’re both out for some activity here or something. Okay?”
When Jack didn’t say anything it seemed like a bit more distance between them. Maybe something he hoped being here would change.
He felt Christie reach down and wrap her hand around him.
“Save that big boy for later. All right?”
“He hates waiting.”
“I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”
Christie turned over, her back once again to Jack.
He followed suit, turning away and waiting for sleep to come.
Except sleep didn’t come.
Had to be a good hour later, and still he felt awake. Maybe the uncommon feeling of a little alcohol buzz was keeping him up?
Maybe… something else.
He lay on his back. He could hear Christie—always such a deep sleeper—as she took in each measured breath.
Deeply asleep.
The noise from outside didn’t help either. For a guy from Brooklyn, that was a lot of nature out there. He wished he had ear plugs.
He sat up.
Pointless to just lie there.
Especially when his mind went over the past. His partner, the trap, his wounds.
Maybe a bit of a walk. Some of that cool mountain air.
He slid to the side of the bed, his boat shoes only a few feet away. Shorts and T-shirt idly tossed on a chair in the room.
He snatched them up and then slipped into his shoes.
He walked out to the living room and into the night.
For a moment, he stood on the porch, looking at the camp. All the cabins nice and quiet. No more sounds of singing coming from the lake to compete with the cicadas.
In the moonless night, he could just about see the outline of the mountains that circled the lake.
He took a breath.
Fifteen. Twenty minutes of walking.
Then another try for sleep.
He walked off his porch.
21. The Service Road
Though the day had been hot, the night quickly turned chilly.
Jack rubbed his arms as he stepped outside, holding the porch door behind him so he could close it gently.
He took a breath of the sweet mountain air with just a hint of pine. Another breath. Another smell. Perhaps the decaying mulch of last summer’s leaves and needles sitting on the forest floor.
He started down the path that led away from the cottages and the center of the camp.
It wasn’t long before he saw somebody.
A man standing near a curved lamppost, the light low, just barely enough to illuminate a spot where three intersecting paths met.
The light caught the man’s collared shirt, pants—and the recognizable shape of a gun holstered to his side.
Jack kept walking.
When he got closer, the guard said, “Evening, sir.”
Jack kept walking.
“Evening.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
The man seemed to stiffen a bit. Perhaps late-night walkers weren’t that common at Paterville. The camp quiet, save for the cicadas chattering in the background.
“No thanks. Just getting some air.”
The guard nodded as Jack came abreast of him.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Just be careful. Dark spots on the walkways. You could trip.”
Jack stopped. “Sure. Will do.”
“And sir, of course, stay away from the perimeter. The fence.”
Jack smiled at that one. Did anyone need reminding not to wander over there?
“Oh, I will.” Jack looked at the path leading toward the Great Lodge.
“See you.”
“Night, sir.”
Jack continued.
He came upon two more guards. Now he was curious.
The first guard stood at the entrance area of the lodge. Not so strange. Jack avoided talking to him and walked well past him to the right, a direction that led out to the playing fields and the game room.
Guard number three stood near the back of the lodge.
This one smoking a cigarette, which he threw to the ground as Jack approached.
The guard coughed.
His voice seemed a bit slurred. Maybe he’d just had a hit of the cook’s home brew?
“Lost, sir? The cottages—”
That word came out a bit wrong.
“—are back that way.”
“No. I’m fine. Can’t sleep. Walking around.”
As if the guard hadn’t heard him, he gestured behind Jack. “They’re back that way.”
Jack nodded. “Thanks.”