Thanks so much to all who reviewed the previous chapter – they made my day as always!
Once again, my special thanks to Alaidh for all her work on this chapter and for putting up with me bugging her all the time and generally driving her crazy.
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CHAPTER 11
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Logan hesitated, hands on his wheels, clearly unsure of what Max wanted him to do. She seemed to be opening the door of what looked to him an awfully small closet.
"Logan. Come on!"
A sudden loud noise from somewhere at the front of the office had him pushing forward with alacrity, hoping wildly that she knew what she was doing. She was trained for this sorta thing, right?
"Spin around," was the next instruction Max fired at him, which he did, this time without hesitation, his back now facing the closet door.
They could both now hear footsteps in the reception area echoing over the same wooden floor that Max's feet had when they'd come in.
Logan's eyes darted towards the reception door as he heard a man's voice disconcertingly close.
"He doesn't seem to be here."
Logan froze, his eyes on the doorknob. Without a doubt, it was slowly being turned from the other side.
Almost in the same instance, he felt Max grab the back of his chair and he was yanked backwards into a musty darkness.
Once he was almost completely in, Max had to step to his right and let him do the rest. It was going to be a tight fit. They were hemmed in by shelves and boxes, but she'd been almost certain when she saw this space that they would fit into the small walk-in area. I'll damn well make us fit, she'd promised herself when she realised the occupants of the car intended to pay Sheriff Bowie a visit.
Logan frantically put both hands to his wheels and pulled back hard, immediately biting down on his bottom lip to stifle a sudden yelp of pain as he watched Max swiftly grab the door and silently closed it.
He had no chance to look around and discover what his throbbing elbow had collided with – once the door was closed it was as if the light had been snuffed out all over the whole world.
Just as Logan's eyes were trying to focus on the black void, he found himself flinching and jerking his head backwards in response to what his senses seemed to be yelling at him, regardless of his ability to see his own hand held up in front of his face.
It took little more than an abrupt grunt the very next second from under Max's breath to confirm in his mind that something was definitely wrong. Startled, he sensed her lean over him in the cramped closet space just as something heavy seemed to graze the front of his head.
He looked up, now definitely worried. It felt as if the whole closet was toppling down all about them.
"Here, take this," her voice suddenly whispered in his ear. Taking his hands from his wheels, he reached out into the darkness to feel some sort of wooden box now resting on top of the bag that was already on his lap.
He barely had time to register his surprise when he heard what sounded like the door to the office opening, then the distinct sound of footsteps.
"He's not here, either. Looks like he's not back yet," a man's voice called out, apparently to someone in the reception area.
"Did he leave a message?" a more distant voice called out.
"Doesn't look like it."
Another set of footsteps could be heard entering the room, their rhythm even, purposeful.
"Can you see the stuff anywhere?" The second man's voice was now sounding a lot closer.
Max put a hand out and grabbed hold of the interior lock, using it like a handle. No way was anyone going to open that door while she was there.
"Who'd find anything in all this crap!"
"Well, he's unlikely to leave it out somewhere obvious. Check in all the drawers."
Max and Logan listened intently to the sound of drawers being pulled out, a chair being dragged out of the way, the shuffling of papers and files, an explosive curse as something crashed to the ground, then footsteps coming ever closer.
Even though he was half prepared for it, Logan still jumped when the doorknob to the closet rattled suddenly, his left hand tightening its grip on his wheel.
Someone was trying to look inside.
Max's brow furrowed as she gripped harder on the lock, pulling on the door to stop it from giving an inch as the person on the other side continued to pull at it.
"Damn thing must be locked," they heard the deeper, second voice complain from just the other side of the door. "This is a waste of time."
"What do we do? Wait for him to show up?"
Logan held his breath again, while Max's face hardened purposely. It sounded as if there were only two of them. She had no doubt in her ability to spring out of there and kick both their asses.
As if sensing what was in her mind, Logan's right hand moved and felt for her arm. His fingers squeezed it warningly. It didn't suit him at all to have Sheriff Bowie find out that they'd paid him a visit, and he felt fairly sure that word of a beautiful, young woman charging at them from a closet would likely be big news to anyone lurking around Murchison Woods.
"Nah. We'll swing by here later."
Logan let out a long, silent breath.
Their footsteps were receding now as the first man could be heard saying, "Damn waste of time if you ask…"
"What the hell was that?" The words were abrupt, cutting through the other's sentence.
Logan hadn't realised that the box on his lap hadn't been balanced properly. As soon as he'd taken his right hand away from it to feel for Max's arm, it had begun to slowly slide forward.
Max's eyes had been focussed on the door, straining to hear every nuance and footstep. It wasn't until the box crashed against the door that she was aware of the danger.
In an instant, she'd reached out and grabbed it, as had Logan. Noiselessly, they both pulled it back onto his lap…and waited.
The footsteps were coming closer once more…into the office…pausing.
Max felt sure that eyes were trained on the closet. The door was reasonably sturdy…but a bullet would glide through it effortlessly…then into flesh…bone…Logan.
This time she tensed, ready to spring.
In disbelief, she saw Logan shake his head in silent warning. Is he completely whack?
"Freeman, what are you doing?"
"I heard a noise back here…something."
Silence.
Once again, Max had a vision of a man with a gun trained on them. Why the hell didn't they give me freakin' X ray vision? Forget it, Logan!
Swift footsteps, then the handle of their closet rattled again…this time violently.
Max could sense Logan's tension. She felt pretty damned tense herself.
Freeman spoke again, this time darkly teasing. "I could send a coupla 45s through the door."
Max almost extended her arm in front of Logan in a futile gesture of protection. She knew she wasn't Superman – Manticore hadn't trained and designed her to catch bullets, just fire them.
Logan peered up at Max, and she wondered quickly if somehow in the dark he'd caught her half movement or maybe he'd finally decided that letting her kick some ass might not be such a bad idea after all.
The door rattled again, and Max inched forward, trying to avoid the wheels of his chair with her feet in the cramped space. She rose on the balls of her feet…
"You're crazy. The only thing you'd hit would be a rat. This place is probably crawling with vermin. Come on."
Max's eyes narrowed. She'd heard no footsteps. Damn, was it a trick?
After what seemed like forever, footsteps echoed over the wooden floors once more, and this time she heard the sound of the front door slamming. Even then, she was reluctant to open the door too quickly. In total silence, they waited another few moments until she saw Logan look up at her once more.
This time she nodded, then realising that he probably couldn't see the movement in the dark, she slowly eased the door open an inch then turned and signalled for him to wait there.
If Manticore had taught her anything, it was never underestimate your enemy.
The office was empty, and a cautious check of the rest of the building revealed that, save for themselves, it seemed to be deserted, as well.
"That's it. We're outta here," she informed Logan brusquely when she returned to the crowded back office. "Logan, I mean now," she added more forcefully when he didn't reply, but instead remained intent on studying the contents of the box that still sat on his knees. "What are you looking at?" she finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"You said that Bowie wouldn't leave clues for us to trip over; you didn't say anything about them hitting us over the head," he told her with a smile.
Max walked over to him. She looked down at the box as Logan took off his gloves to get a better grip on the contents. It seemed to be full of old files and newspaper clippings.
"And…did they?"
"Seems like Sheriff Bowie's predecessor was a far more methodical sheriff than the present one. Look at this." He held out a discoloured clipping to her.
"It says here that a man's body was found at the bottom of a ravine."
"Four years ago," put in Logan.
"You think they were growing the weed up here, then?"
"I don't know," Logan admitted, "but I'm hoping there's something in this box that might give us a few clues."
"Looks like you won't leave empty handed, after all," she grinned as she took it from him.
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Logan tried to control his rising alarm as he waited for Max to bring the VW van back out front. He could hear the engine coughing and spluttering, refusing to turn over for more than a beat or two each time she turned the key in the ignition.
The wind was picking up and now swept through the main street in wild gusts. There was no sign of the sun that had shone so promisingly earlier that morning.
"Dammit," he muttered. He plunged his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, wishing Max had not taken the bag that held his gloves with her to the car. A sudden frown crossed his face as his right hand brushed against something hard. Wrapping his fingers around whatever it was, he pulled it out and stared at it as recollection came flooding back. It was the clump of dirt he'd pulled from Poggs's shoe on impulse, just before the sheriff had turned up to examine the body. He'd hoped at the time that it might be a clue to where Poggs had been immediately before he died. The colour of the dirt was a little unusual – it was very dark and compacted and when he held it up to his nose he could smell the trace of a definite odour, but it was so faint he couldn't quite place what it was.
The frustration of the van was forgotten momentarily, to be replaced by a new one as he turned the piece over in his hand. If he'd been in Seattle he would have been able to send it off to Beverly to have it analysed – yet another luxury denied to him out here.
He looked up expectantly, as the sudden, loud roar of the engine finally catching and throbbing in an admittedly shaky way told him that Max had finally been successful.
"I'm beginning to agree with you…this thing's a bitch!" Max called to him as she clambered out and held the door open for him.
"I thought you liked it," he murmured a touch triumphantly as he reached up and hauled himself in.
"Nope, I just thought it would be better than us walking all the way here…and I as sure as hell didn't want to have to walk back. Not with those goons around. We'd better hurry. I've got a feeling they're not up here today by accident."
"Maybe we should use that map – look for a short cut," Logan suggested, raising his voice a little so that she'd hear him from the back while she stowed his chair.
In response, she picked up the map from the wooden packing crate and handed it to him, then grabbed the piece of rope and quickly tied the door closed again before putting the van into gear and pulling away.
"Any ideas?" she prompted him after a few moments as he studied the map spread out on his knees.
He squinted at it a moment longer before saying, "There should be some sort of a trail into the forest just up here a bit further, somewhere on our right."
"And?"
"It should be a shortcut back to the homestead site, then from there there's another one that will link back to the camp road near the kids' campsite."
Max nodded approvingly. "That'll save us a good fifteen minutes or so…and there it is," she added as she turned the van, a little more cautiously this time so as to be sure not to lose Logan out the door.
"You sure you want to try this?" Max asked as she peered ahead into the forest. It didn't appear as though the trail had been used in a very long time and already they were being tossed side to side as the van lurched from one deep rut to the next. "Did they build these things with springs?" she added, wincing as they hit a particularly deep hole.
Logan braced himself with a hand on the dashboard and shrugged philosophically. He didn't enjoy being bounced around like this, but on the other hand it was a great opportunity to examine the forest a little more thoroughly.
They continued to bump along the track for another few minutes or so before their trail merged with another one that, thankfully, seemed to be in considerably better condition.
"Someone's been along here before," Max told Logan, glancing across at him.
"Sheriff, maybe," suggested Logan.
"Or our friends in the black, kick-ass SUV. I saw their car through the window back at the sheriff's," she explained.
"Must be bad guys then," Logan drawled. "A black SUV is tantamount to having a black hat in a Western and everyone knows that bad guys always wear black hats."
Max said thoughtfully, "In that case, I'm sure Normal has a whole cupboard of black hats."
"Funny… I didn't see Lydecker in one at the Steinlitz."
Max looked quickly out the windshield, the smile in her eyes quickly extinguished. Lydecker…forests…the memory of it out here was once again uncomfortably real.
"No, he's way too subtle for a black hat," she murmured darkly.
Logan looked across at her then just as quickly turned away and returned to a perusal of their map. Keen to change the subject he said, "We should be almost back at the homestead site." On a sudden impulse he added, "You should drop me off there."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because it's quicker for you to go the back way when you return the van instead of going the long way to our campsite first."
"I don't…"
"And the homestead path is a much easier one for wheels," he cut in.
Max closed her mouth. She couldn't argue with him on that point.
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Logan watched the van disappear down the trail, thankful to be finally out of it, and took a deep breath of the fresh air. The fumes in the van had been unpleasant – the result of an exhaust pipe riddled with rust, he supposed.
It was eerily quiet amongst the trees after having the engine noise reverberating in his ears. The only noise he could hear now was the ever-strengthening wind whipping spasmodically at the canopy of greenery above his head.
On impulse, he twisted his chair around and headed up the steepest part of the path that led to the homestead site.
Breathing heavily from the exertion, he broached the top of the hill and stared at the manicured, green plateau.
Once again, the angels had failed.
"What the hell is doing this?" Logan wondered grimly as he stared at the bodies of four stricken deer. Death suddenly smelt unpleasantly familiar.
Wheeling closer, he studied them intently to see if there was any sign of why they'd died. The comparisons to Poggs were uncanny. It looked as though they'd simply dropped with exhaustion to the forest floor and never awoke.
This time, reluctant to touch them with his hands, Logan searched around and found a stick. A quick prod revealed that they'd been dead for some time; their necks and legs were quite stiff.
Logan gazed perplexedly at them for a few moments, completely puzzled. First Poggs, then the birds…now dead deer.
Turning his chair around, Logan made his way down from the homestead plateau that had once again become a place of tragedy.
With only the slightest tensing of his jaw muscle he looked with determination down the path he intended to follow – he was well practised in ignoring the voice of reason.
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"You were a long time coming."
She was a little surprised by the casual tone. She'd thought maybe he'd be annoyed with her for taking so long…maybe even a little worried considering the whack circumstances.
He knows you can kick ass, Max…no reason for him to be worried.
"I hung around up there, thought maybe I could shake something lose. We were right. The boys from the sheriff's office are involved. They came up to the campsite, poked around…took some stuff."
"You see what they took?" Logan asked her, now suddenly all-interest.
With her arms holding the wooden box and Logan's laptop, Max simply shrugged her shoulders. "Mostly plants. It looked like they were taking anything that might blow the cover on their precious weed farm."
"I guess that makes sense," he replied thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair.
Max put her load down and took the lid off the saucepan simmering on the small camp stove. She assumed the niggling sense of disappointment she felt was due to the fact that all she could see was baked beans. Right…as if I even want Logan to be worried about me.
"Nice," she commented, forcing a smile. "I'm starved." After all, worry accomplishes nothing.
"They didn't say anything…mention Poggs's death?" Logan continued, scarcely aware of her comment.
"Nope," she replied, flatly.
His eyes suddenly gleamed as they fell on the wooden packing crate that she'd carried back along with his bag and laptop.
"Whoa! We eat first, Sherlock," she jumped in quickly.
"I'm not all that hungry."
"Well, I am! It's nearly dinner time and I haven't even had lunch."
Logan gave her a long look, which she returned, fearlessly.
"Okay," he finally backed down, somewhat ungraciously. "Have it your way."
Max purposely carried the box and bag over to their tent and placed them in the back before turning to see if she could offer Logan some help, but instead she suddenly frowned and said, "What have you done to…"
Your legs she had been going to say, but the words died on her lips as she suddenly realised it was possibly none of her business why the legs of his cargo pants were covered in grass stains, and if it was…I guess he'll tell me in his own sweet time.
"I mean, so what have you done…while I was away," she changed tack smoothly.
"Took me a while to get back here…then I simply waited," he told her casually as he stirred the beans. "Grab a plate. These are almost heated through."
"How the mighty have fallen," she murmured as he ladled several spoons of the basic fare onto her plate.
He looked up at her, quick to take the bait. "Yeah, well I can remember a few times in the last few years when a lot of people would have been more than glad to eat the humble baked bean. Have you forgotten what it was like after the Pulse hit? People were desperate…starving."
"I think we have visitors."
Logan twisted abruptly in his chair to look in the direction where Max was now intently staring. His ears had failed to pick up anything above the now almost constant noise of the wind.
"Max?"
"Sounds like some sort of a truck," Max frowned, irritably pushing her hair back from her face as the wind whipped at it.
Logan could hear it now, too.
"It's coming this way," Max asserted, turning briefly to look at Logan, who'd come up next to her by this time. "I don't like it."
"Max, it's a campground. Anyone's free to come up here," Logan replied reasonably, determined not to let his imagination run away with him.
"Bit of a coincidence though, wouldn't you say?"
By this time the truck had swung into their range of vision.
"Looks like an old truck pulling some sort of a horse trailer," Max frowned.
"Well, that sounds reasonably innocuous," Logan murmured. In spite of his earlier words, he was now aware of a feeling of relief.
He turned back to their table, not overly keen to be caught spying on their new neighbours. "Come on," he called back over his shoulder, "let's pretend to be happy campers."
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They managed to demolish their meagre supply of baked beans quite quickly, even considering the fact that Max took every opportunity she could think of to stand up and surreptitiously check out the owner of the horse trailer.
They'd experienced one tense moment when the black SUV containing the two men who'd been at the sheriff's office drove past them but, other than slowing down a little, it continued on its way, presumably to exit the park.
"The cost of that horse trailer must've set him back a bit," Logan commented as Max got up yet again to cast an eye in their neighbour's direction under the pretence of collecting Logan's plate.
Feeling he'd appeased Max by eating his share of their meagre ration with her, he released his brakes and swung his chair around.
He'd become less suspicious of their new fellow camper, who apparently showed little interest in Max and Logan, and was now single-mindedly determined to examine the spoils of their visit to the sheriff's office. "Where'd you put the box of clippings?" he called to her after having peered unsuccessfully into their tent.
"Why would anyone want to bring a horse trailer up here?" Max wondered aloud as she stared across at their neighbour, yet again. The only person she'd seen so far was a white haired man, possibly somewhere in his sixties, dressed in overalls and rubber boots. "That thing would hold a lot of horses."
"Max…the box," Logan prompted sharply.
She looked around in surprise at his tone.
"I really need to see what's in it," he added, managing to achieve, with some effort, a more subdued tone with only a trace of irritation.
"All you had to do was ask," she pointed out acerbically as she climbed into the back of the Aztek only to appear a few seconds later with both the box and the laptop in her arms. "Here," she told him shortly.
Logan moved to within reach of her arms so that she could pass them to him.
"Have fun," were her parting words as she jumped down from the Aztek and started to head towards the river.
"Where are you going?" Logan snapped immediately, swivelling in her direction, the box now balanced on his lap.
"Hey, you do your thing…I'll do mine," she told him coolly.
He wasted only a few moments staring after her rapidly retreating form before he turned his attention to his hard-earned information.
Dumping the wooden crate next to his chair, he set up his laptop on the table and adjusted the angle of the screen so that he could see it clearly. Within seconds he'd accessed the emails he'd opened and saved from Sebastian while still online at the sheriff's office.
A few times over the next hour he raised his head to check for Max's return when he managed to remember to change his position, but mostly he kept his eyes glued to the screen, ignoring the creeping coldness in his fingers and the ever-strengthening winds.
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"Hey!"
Logan looked up with a frown from the yellowed newspaper clipping that he'd been reading by the light of the lamp and considered the expression on Max's face.
"You look pleased with yourself," he told her calculatingly.
"I just got us an invitation to dinner," she replied airily.
Logan's frown grew more pronounced. "With our neighbour?" At Max's nod he added quickly, "You think that's wise?"
Max shrugged. She'd predicted this reaction. "I've checked him out, Logan. He's just an old guy who breeds horses."
Logan looked unconvinced.
"And he has food other than baked beans and eggs," she added significantly. "That's enough to convince me!"
Sensing that Logan was about to protest further, she quickly said, "So, you find out anything?"
"Some. Apparently the previous sheriff was big on collecting data – unlike the present one."
"What you got?" A flicker of interest crossed Max's face.
"Reports of unexplained disappearances. Looks like about eight people have been listed as missing from this area in the last ten years or so."
"And that's just the ones the media got a hold of," Max murmured cynically.
"A missing plane, strange lights in the sky…unusual noises," Logan continued.
"We're dealing with alien abductions?" Her voice was sceptical.
"Hey, I'm just telling you what the papers say."
"What else you got?"
"Sebastian tells me there've been rumours about this area for some years…same thing as in the sheriff's newspaper articles - lots of innuendos…no facts," he finished abruptly, tossing the sheet he had onto the pile of articles he'd already perused.
Max peered into the box. "Well, you're almost done. You can do the rest of this stuff later. We are going to eat!"
"Max…" Logan protested.
"What happened to the previous sheriff, by the way?"
Logan looked up at her. "How does 'he simply disappeared' sound to you?"
"Supports your alien abduction theory."
"That's not my theory," Logan ground out in exasperation.
"So, just what is your theory out of all this?"
"I don't have one," he admitted testily, "yet."
"Okay, it just proves my point, then, that you must have some sorta death wish to be hanging around here," Max retorted, picking up the tub of cold, greasy, dishwashing water that still needed to be emptied.
Logan watched her pitch the water into the grass away from their campsite, feeling increasingly frustrated with her attitude.
"You didn't seem to mind waiting around here when it meant seeing Zack," he couldn't resist reminding her.
She felt a slight sting to his words and she wondered suddenly if he thought her ungracious.
"Things have changed a little since then," she told him quietly. "Besides, if I'd known what a waste of time it was going to be, I would never have bothered to come up here in the first place."
Logan raised his brows enquiringly, pinning her with a direct look.
Max admitted to herself that he deserved to know the truth. "He didn't have anything more on Brin. He was warning me to get out of Seattle…he says he had some intel that Lydecker was on the prowl."
Logan looked up at her with alarm. "If he's right, maybe you should get outta town for a few weeks. I could set you up somewhere…" He wasn't sure he sounded quite as casual as he'd hoped. He found the thought of her leaving, even for a few weeks, surprisingly unsettling.
"Oh, I think he had something more permanent than that in mind," Max told him.
"Right," Logan nodded, finding the sudden need to swallow.
Max shrugged, unconcernedly. "I told him to shove it. He sees Manticore behind every tree. I don't aim to live my life like that," she asserted decisively, her expression sombre as her dark eyes sought Logan's face.
He found himself staring at her again. The thought crossed his mind that it was hard to believe she was only nineteen. Those dark eyes had seen far too many horrors to retain their innocence.
Tossing the plastic tub next to the table, she gestured to Logan's laptop. "So, get packed up. You're taking me to dinner."
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"That was delicious, Mr. Mueller," Max smiled in genuine appreciation.
"Please, you must call me Horst," their host answered with a self-deprecating wave of his hand. His voice held the slightest tinge of an accent. "The meal was nothing…just whatever I could scratch up." He sighed. "So hard these days to follow any sort of recipe. Do you cook, my dear?"
Glimmering with amusement, Max's eyes sought Logan's. "I have … other talents," she confessed.
"It must be hard work," Logan commented, drawing the elderly man's keen, blue eyes in his direction. "Bringing the horses to Canada by yourself," he explained, letting his gaze focus briefly on the solitary, brown mare docilely nibbling on a few blades of grass amongst the covering of pine needles.
Horst Mueller sighed again. "My sons used to come with me, but nowadays…" He let his voice trail off with wistful regret and then stood up and walked over to the mare, gently stroking her nose.
Max noticed that the touch of his weathered hand was firm, but gentle. Here was a man who was well used to being around horses. His every gesture spoke of an innate connection to the animal – that of a caring master.
Sensing some kind of tragedy, Max, feeling a little awkward, said quickly, "These aren't the easiest of times."
The troubled blue eyes turned towards her then flashed in Logan's direction. "We all have our crosses to bear," he told them both simply.
Logan reached out and put his plate of stew down. In spite of his earlier suspicions, he'd finished the enormous serving he'd been given.
Horst Mueller had regaled them with tales of his life, bringing out an old scrapbook full of his sons and his horses. He was able to reel off each animal's name and the price he'd got for the sale of each horse. If it was an act, it was an award winning one, Logan mused, beginning to feel himself relax.
"How often have you camped here at Murchison Woods?" Logan asked him casually.
The white haired man looked at him in surprise. "I always go this way when I'm heading to Canada. Not many roads are as good as this one, nowadays. Of course, years back you weren't allowed to let the horses roam, but now, no one seems to care." Looking across to Max, he said with enthusiasm, "The walking trails used to be beautifully maintained. Like everything now, though, they've become a shambles."
"We've noticed," Max agreed, glancing at Logan as she replied and wondering why he was biting his lip with a thoughtful, faraway look on his face. "The sheriff warned us about the paths. He said they weren't safe," Max added, watching the kindly face for some sort of reaction.
Mueller simply nodded. "Mmm. He's probably right, particularly with winds like this," he added, looking around at the tree limbs flailing wildly as the wind caught them.
Coming to a decision, Logan reached into his jacket pocket and brought out the several clumps of dirt that he'd taken from Poggs's boot. Holding them out to Mueller on the palm of his hand, he asked, "Have you ever seen any soil like this around here?"
Mueller stared at the clumps over the rim of his glasses. "May I?" At Logan's nod, he took one of the almost black clumps in his hand and slowly turned it over. "Unusual colouring for these parts," he murmured thoughtfully, almost to himself. Then in a louder voice, "Did you look around the homestead, perhaps even along some of the trails that end off the grounds? I believe the fire all those years ago was quite extensive. I can't say I know much about this sort of thing but perhaps this could be charred wood mixed with the soil. "
"No, I looked there," Logan replied feeling a little disappointed as he held his hand out once more to take back his evidence.
Horst went to drop them into his palm, but paused for an instant, looking at Logan's hand. "You don't have many calluses, Logan. By the look of it, your injury is a relatively recent one."
"Relatively," Logan repeated cautiously, always wary of questions concerning himself.
"Not an easy transition, I'm sure," the old man offered sympathetically.
Logan shoved the clumps of dirt back into his pocket, somehow signifying in the gesture that he had no intention of following that line of conversation.
"So, what made you both decide to come up here this time of year?" Horst beamed at them both after the slightest pause. "It seems for most people, nowadays, holidays are a thing of the past."
Max half-turned to Logan, seeking his lead.
"Doctor's orders," Logan lied glibly. "Fresh air, all that sorta thing."
"Well, at least you seem to be in a position to obey them. Not many folk have the means to do that since the Pulse."
When he received little more than a polite smile, Mueller leaned forward and topped up their glasses of red wine saying, "Excuse me, my young friends. I really should feed Ursula before it gets too late."
Logan raised his eyebrows.
"My mare," Mueller explained quickly. "Did you think I had a beautiful woman hidden away in my trailer?"
"Ahhh," Logan grinned, before lifting his wine glass to his lips once more. He watched the old man thoughtfully for a few moments as Mueller untethered the horse and led it to another area nearby that had more grass.
"Thought you said you came straight back to the campsite after I dropped you off."
Logan turned around at Max's words. She hadn't bothered to lower her voice. The tone was casual but there was a distinct sting in the tail. She now understood the grass stains on his cargoes.
"I never said that." Logan replied evenly, looking across to see if Mueller was listening.
"I can't believe you went back to that trail!"
"It was no big deal, Max. We were both on that trail yesterday."
"Yeah, well that was before dead bodies started showing up everywhere!" Max hissed in return.
"Like you said, Max, you do your thing an' I do mine." There was a challenge in the green eyes and the quietly spoken words.
Max bit back her retort as Mueller showed signs of returning, but fumed inwardly, What kinda whack conscience makes Logan continually want to put his life on the line for some freakin' chump he doesn't even know!
"There you go. Ursula will be happy now," Horst Mueller told them with a smile of satisfaction as he returned. If he was aware of the sudden tension between his guests, he made no sign of it.
"We should be going," Logan told him politely. "Thank you for your hospitality."
The old man beamed at them both. "My pleasure. It's not often I get to entertain guests – and rarely such pretty ones," he added with a warm but inoffensive smile at Max.
Max had a sudden image of him sitting by the fireplace, surrounded by children eagerly listening to some story he told.The concept of a grandfather was a foreign one to her, only vaguely gleaned from movies…something else Manticore robbed me of.
Another sudden gust of wind sent the smoke from the fire swirling into their faces.
Mueller looked up at the sky. "This weather's definitely turning for the worse. I'd say there are some nasty conditions on the way."
"Well, we don't aim to stay much longer," Max answered swiftly. Her note of determination was for Logan's benefit. "We'll be leaving tomorrow."
"Good thinking," Mueller praised heartily. "I won't be staying long myself."
"You're not worried about the rumours, then?"
Both Max and the white haired man turned to look at Logan. Whether Logan intended it or not she couldn't say, but the genial tone of the conversation seemed to have abruptly changed as if swept away by one of the erratic gusts of winds that had harassed them all evening. The smile slipped from Mueller's face. "You've heard of them, too?" he asked, dropping the level of his voice to little more than a whisper.
"We've heard stuff about people going missing up here."
"Probably nothing to it," Max added, dismissively.
"I hope you're right, my dear. This talk has certainly kept people away from Murchison Woods. I must confess I was a little surprised when I saw the two of you here. I assumed you hadn't heard the things people were saying."
"Like Max said, we thought they were little more than wild talk. We didn't pay them much attention," Logan shrugged. "The sheriff wasn't too keen about us going too far away from the camping ground though. He seemed to think the trails weren't safe."
Mueller nodded and Logan caught a gleam of sudden understanding in his eyes. "I couldn't help but hear your earlier argument. Perhaps it was unkind to give Max a reason to worry," he suggested gently.
Max felt her cheeks redden. The old man seemed to be reading waaay too much into her words.
"It takes a lot more than that to make Max worry," Logan replied easily, careful to avoid Max's eyes. "Anyway, thanks again," he concluded, his hand outstretched.
Mueller took it and shook both his and Max's hand warmly. "Perhaps I'll see you in the morning."
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"So…what was that all about? I had the distinct impression you were trying to shake something loose," Max asked him quietly as they made their way back to their own campsite.
"I just wanted to see his reaction, that's all."
Max rolled her eyes. "You'd suspect your own grandfather!"
"If you'd ever met him, you'd understand why," Logan replied caustically.
"I thought Mueller was kinda nice."
"He's sharp. I'll give him that."
"What, you wanna diss him just because he agreed with me that it was crazy to be going anywhere near the trails that Poggs might have used?"
"I don't wanna 'diss' anybody," Logan protested mildly. "Innocent until proven guilty, right?"
"That was before the Pulse," was Max's cynical response.
Her words elicited an equally cynical grin from Logan.
"Whoa," Max called suddenly, having to bend her head into the onslaught of wind that charged at them ruthlessly.
Logan engaged his brakes and stopped completely, head bowed, waiting for the lull when he could push forward with relative ease once more. The wind tore fiercely at his jacket and he quickly pulled it together and zipped it while he waited. When he looked up, he noted that Max had done the same.
"This is completely whack," Max called to him above the roar of the wind. "We won't be able to do a thing here once this storm hits. You know the rain'll wash away any clues once it comes."
"Then I'd better do everything I can tonight," he called back to her determinedly.
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Max straddled the chair, her outstretched hands cupped around a mug of coffee. Despite the chaotic winds that showed no sign of abating, she felt warm and cosy shielded from the worst of the wind by the Aztek.
Logan had barely lifted his head from his laptop and the box of newspaper clippings in well over an hour. Max had had to find him a large, heavy stone to use as a paperweight otherwise the clippings would have been spread around Murchison Woods.
"Whatcha doing now?" she mumbled lazily as she watched his fingers attack the keyboard. She was bored with looking through the clippings. Apparently the previous sheriff kept clippings of anything that held any sort of interest to him, and his interests were obviously varied and many and largely boring to her mind. "It's getting late, Logan. We should leave the rest of this stuff 'til tomorrow. We've nearly gone right through the box."
Logan squinted at his screen. "I thought I should try and write down all the facts we have so far in some sort of organised list."
He looked across at her, his eyes falling on her mug of coffee as he wearily changed his position. "Any coffee left?"
Max started a little guiltily. She hadn't really been paying any attention to his answer. "Coffee? Sure," she agreed, but her face fell when she lifted the pot. "Huh, that's funny. It's all gone. I'll make another one. Just give me a few minutes to collect some more water from the river."
Logan nodded absently, returning his attention to his screen. Its brightness in the gloom of the solitary lamp that burned irritated his eyes. He was so distracted by the glare that he didn't notice the way the letters were starting to gyrate and perform a weird, lazy dance across his screen.
The sudden jolt to his neck as his head dropped lower and lower awoke him with a start.
Something's wrong.
Logan stared fuzzily at his screen once more, blinking slowly.
You've gotta do something.
"Right," he mumbled in reply, but a cocoon of complacency seemed to have wrapped itself around his limbs. No matter what his mind screamed at him, all he felt was an overpowering sense of inertia.
His senses barely registered the alarming sound of tearing, splintering wood as a huge limb succumbed to the onslaught and with a final whip-like crack was ripped from its trunk. It was only when the branch landed almost at his side with a muffled crash that some sense of self-preservation within him began to stir.
Instinctively Logan went to move, only to look down in detached surprise as he noticed the wheelchair he sat in. For several moments he stared at his legs, wondering with a strange sense of detachment when reality had become so blurred.
Something's really, really wrong here.
Only one idea managed to slip through the fog to take coherent shape in his mind – I gotta lie down.
As he hauled himself up onto the tailgate and then back further into the tent, the fog seemed to descend on him further, the world careened wildly, and he fell back unconscious onto the bedding.
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Max frowned a little as she headed for the river. For the strangest moment she'd actually forgotten what it was she was meant to be doing.
Okay, that's a little weird.
She had to strain a little as she walked against the force of the wind.
The clouds had been building steadily all day and now they virtually obscured the moon. All about her, black shadows writhed against an almost black background.
"Whoa!" Max called out suddenly as she nearly pitched forward flat on her face.
Max had never considered herself to be the sentimental type, but when she saw the huddled bundle of fur at her feet, she did wonder if she was supposed to feel something…anything…other than this unusual kind of numbness.
The raccoon was definitely dead.
Roadkill…kacked…D.O.D.…dead as a dodo… The thoughts thudded in her head with each step as she continued on to the river.
Bugs…parachutes…the voice in her head rambled on as she watched the dark, inky river water slowly fill the container. "Not parachutes…parasites" she suddenly said aloud, her dark eyes wide as she realised her mistake. "Max, what is up with you?"
Shaking her head a little, she tried splashing some water on her face with her left hand while the other hand held the container steady.
At last the container was filled with water…but no one reached down to pick it up.
Max lay on the bank where she had fallen, unaware of the coarse grass pressed against her cheek or the water lapping icily cold at the hand that trailed limply into the river below.
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To be continued…
My apologies to all those who hate my many cliff hangers, but I love writing drama/action/adventure. Just consider this the last scene before the ad break…