Slayer healing and metabolism might help take the sharpest edge off of a hangover, but it did exactly nothing to ameliorate the smell that assaulted Faith's nose when she woke up Monday morning. She rolled out of bed, literally, and stumbled to the bathroom. The whites of her eyes were a nice New-Mexico-sunrise pink in the mirror, her mouth tasted like a weasel's litter box, and her head felt fat and clogged, with a nice little throbbing behind the eyes. She hesitated and stared at her reflection. She hadn't seen that face since…
The memory of Vegas caused the Slayer to shudder and shake her head. Today, a bath might be better than a shower. She ran the tub hot, then lowered herself in, hoping the steam would clear her head. She stayed in the tub until the water was tepid, then drained it and showered. She felt more human when she got out, but a considerable amount of fog remained in the air, so to speak. The stray thought crossed her mind: if she felt like this, how had the other girls managed to get up and go to school? They all had vehicles. Did they drive or ride the bus? Yesterday's outfit still announced its presence with great authority as she sat down on the bed. She used one bare foot to nudge the offending garments under the bed, then dressed in fresh clothes and headed downstairs.
Ben was putting flatware in the tub under the counter. Faith kept her face turned slightly away as she went around and into the kitchen. She kept her back to Ben as much as possible as he heated the flattop and oven, then took eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator. The Slayer reached for a bandanna off the linen shelf; as she tied it around her head, she turned toward the sink and found herself face to face with him. He searched her face for a second, then she looked away as she stepped past him to the sink. She heard a burner pop into life, then a bubble and sizzle, Ben moving behind her, but she refused to look around. A plate clinked on the steel shelf. Faith looked down and saw a plate of scrambled eggs and dry toast. A glass of water sat beside the plate, a twisted wedge of lemon floating on top. Her head snapped around, eyes hot.
"That's the best breakfast after a hard night," Ben said quietly and went into the diner. Faith's first response was to sweep the plate onto the floor, but then she realized she was as hungry as hell, so she grabbed a fork and attacked the food. Maybe if she chewed hard enough, Ben would feel the bite. The eggs were good, though, and she scraped the last of them off the plate into her mouth using one of the toast wedges. She took a drink of the water; there was lemon in it, but something else, something… like pepper? Didn't matter; she was suddenly thirsty and drained the glass. She pulled plates from the rack and spread them on the shelf; she knew how many men were in the Breakfast Club. The door opened and she heard voices that were familiar but had no faces. After Ben filled the orders, she grabbed the utensils and began her day's work. Her head began to clear as the effort loosened her muscles; she realized that she was sweating a lot more than usual.
The Breakfast Club came to its extended close. Faith closed her eyes, dreading what she knew was coming: the disappointment, the concern, the muted (but very real) message that she was wasting her life. She had gotten it from teachers, from social workers, from a couple of do-gooding priests, from Bu- She coughed to clear her throat, then swallowed hard. Ben placed the dishes on the counter with the clink and chime of porcelain on porcelain. Faith grabbed the top pieces without looking and stuck them into the sink.
"Don't be mad at the plates," Ben said. "They cost money if you break them."
"I don't need your advice," Faith snapped. "Or your approval, or your pity."
"I'm not offering any of those." Ben's voice came from farther away. He had moved over to the stove. The rasp of the pumice block scraping the flattop felt like a drill bit in Faith's skull. She gritted her teeth and concentrated on the dishes. The scraping stopped; her mouth drew in tight. Here it comes.
But it didn't. Ben went into the diner and started the coffee brewing. Faith leaned her hips against the sink, arms crossed, chin up. Ben came around the edge of the door and stopped. The staring contest threatened to extend into infinity, but Faith finally dropped her hands and hooked her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans. "So, you're not going afterschool special this bitch?"
Ben considered the question. "I do have a question. Were you hanging out at the barn?"
Faith's eyebrows drew together. "The barn- Oh, no. Hell, no." She pulled her head back. "That's just insulting."
"Okay, okay." Ben leaned back into the diner and looked toward the coffee machine. "I know I got ahead of myself offering you the apartment. I don't burned by the same stove twice." He turned to go and paused. "Just don't do any damage to anybody here, okay?"
Faith frowned at the empty kitchen. "Wasn't my weed," she muttered.
The Ladies Who Brunch had come and gone, and the lunch crowd was filtering in. Faith finished the dishes and went out back, where she broke down boxes and threw them in the dumpster, then busted up a couple of crates, anything to be out of the kitchen during the down time. When the expanse of patchy grass and gravel was clear of refuse, she went back inside. It was busy enough that there was no time for conversation. She was scraping out a plate when Ben tapped on the door frame. Faith turned around.
"Lewis said something about you helping him today," Ben said.
Faith shrugged. "Yeah, he said about three."
Ben punched a thumb toward the dining room. "Well, I guess he's leaving early, because he asked me if I'd let you go now. I said it was fine. Give me a minute and I'll get your money."
"Nah." Faith shook her head as she stripped off her gloves. "I gotta go. Pay me forty tomorrow."
Ben nodded. "So, you'll be back tomorrow."
"Yeah." Faith pulled the bandanna off her head and whipped it into the bin with the other laundry. "What? You think I was gonna get high and then run away?"
"Whew." Ben sagged back against the doorframe. "So, you got high yesterday. I was afraid that giving you those beers the other day caused you to fall off the wagon or something."
Faith opened her mouth, then snapped it shut and gave him a flinty look. "Asshole."
Ben pushed away from the door, nonchalant as could be. "You think you're the first underage pot smoker? First bored teenager to spend the weekend getting baked?"
Faith nodded, running her tongue over her teeth. "And there it is." She made a 'bring-it-on' gesture. "Okay, let it all out. Tell me how I'm wasting my life, how I could be so much more. You know you're just aching to unleash your inner Father Flanagan."
"No." Ben shook his head as he picked at a loose flake of paint on the jamb. "But Kim, Lynda, Tori, they're from here. They'll get married and have kids and look back at these as their wild days, the times they hope their own kids never find out about and never imitate."
Faith scoffed. "They think this town'll be dead before then. Wait a minute-" Her eyes narrowed. "You know?"
"This is a very small town. Everybody knows, just like everybody knows what they did at that age." Ben pressed his palm against the painted wood. "I thought this town was dead when I was in high school."
"Yeah, when it had a school," Faith shot back. "I think they've got a lot more to worry about than you did."
"Maybe, but they've still got roots here. What about you?"
"What about me?" she snapped.
"They're regular kids smoking weed because they think they're stuck in a nowhere town. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme."
"Oh, Jesus, you did not just quote Beauty and the Beast."
"They're trying to make life more exciting, make their boredom seem important." Ben took in a deep breath and looked at the Slayer. "But none of that applies to you, so…?" He shrugged.
Her vision went red for a second and she seriously thought of punching him, but instead she shook her head and snarled "You are so full of shit" as she pushed past him.
She was almost at the door when he yelled "Hey!" She turned, a snarky put-down on her lips, but Ben tossed a tightly-rolled paper sack wrapped in a rubber band toward her; she caught as much in self-defense as any other reason. "Some bread and cheese," he said. "You haven't had any lunch." She glared at him for a moment, then yanked open the door. The walk to the extension office did nothing to cool her down; by the time she looked both ways before crossing the highway, she was cursing a low-volume blue streak. The heel of her hand hit the door's push-bar a little harder than she intended; it flew open and caused heads in the office to turn. The Slayer stopped and stared at the young woman behind the reception desk.
"Do I know you?" Faith asked, then the light bulb came on. "Bernice, right? From the convenience store?"
Bernice blinked and nodded. "Yeah, I pick up some shifts there on weekends." She yelled over her shoulder "Lewis! Your intern's here", then turned back. "You're Tori's friend." There was just enough of a wink in her voice to discombobulate the Slayer: was it approval? Regret at having aged out? Vicarious envy? Conspiratorial acknowledgement? Faith was acutely aware that she stood in the middle of the floor holding a paper sack in one hand.
Lewis appeared in a doorway at the back of the room. "I'll meet you out front in a minute," he said, then took two steps across a hallway and opened another door. "I'm going to Site 77 out on County 4121, picking up some samples, sinking some new ones, probably getting some bark samples, too. Young lady's going with me-" at this point, he waved in Faith's general direction without looking at her "-she's interested in forestry, so I'm gonna let her see just how glamorous it is." He stopped and calculated in his head. "Should be done around four-thirty or so, so I'll probably just check in and see you tomorrow." He clicked his tongue and winked at whoever was in the office, then disappeared down the hall that ran between the two doors. Faith watched him go, then looked at Bernice.
"I'll, uh, I'll just wait for him out front." She pointed a thumb toward the door.
"Okay," Bernice said. "Enjoy your afternoon diggin' in the woods."
A dusty pickup with the California state seal on the door pulled to the shoulder. "Come on," Lewis said through the open window. "We're burning daylight." As Faith climbed in, she noted the roll bar with four lights spaced along its length and the spotlight clamped to the driver's side window.
"Whattaya got, four batteries in this thing?" she said as she buckled her seat belt. The interior of his work truck was as pristine as Lewis's personal vehicle: maps were in pockets, the dash was free of coffee rings, the floor mats were stained, but free of loose dirt and gravel. A radio hung beneath the dash. As Lewis pulled onto the highway, he took a cassette from a nylon case on the seat beside him and punched it into the deck. Chuck Berry cranked out of the speakers.
"I listen to what I grew up with," he said, glancing over at her. "You look a little ragged." He turned left at the intersection and headed south.
Faith's scowl verged on a pout. "I had a little fun yesterday, okay?"
Lewis raised one hand. "Don't explain to me. I spent more than one weekend when I was young flouting the California criminal code with my choice of refreshments." He gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Course, most of that was liquor, but some of it was moonshine, so, there's that bit of added outlawry."
"How do you know I wasn't drinking?" Faith leaned back against the passenger door.
Lewis tapped his nose. "I am a trained forestry specialist. I know the ways of the woods." He sucked on a tooth. "Also, people try to grow weed in the state forest all the time, so I'm passing familiar with its distinctive characteristics." Chuck Berry sang about a woman getting into a coffee-colored Cadillac. Faith turned her head to stare through the windshield at the twisting highway. Miles rolled away beneath the tires before she spoke again.
"So, you're from here?" Her stomach rumbled; she grabbed the bag from the seat and popped off the rubber band. She tore off a hunk of bread and chewed it while Lewis talked.
"Grew up here, graduated high school, went into the service, took an all-expenses paid vacation in Asia on my uncle's dime, then went to college."
"Your uncle?"
Lewis nodded. "My Uncle Sam. Vietnam was a very popular destination at the time."
Faith frowned. "Pat said Ben was in Vietnam."
Lewis was quiet for some time. The Chuck Berry tape ended and was ejected. Lewis put the tape in the case and fumbled out another one, which he inserted into the player. A sharp, sliding guitar intro filled the uncomfortable silence, then a burst of horns preceded the vocals. Lewis cleared his throat. "That's true, but it's not accurate. I was in-country in '67, I was twenty-two, and I was a draftee. Ben was there in '72, '73, as a seventeen year old volunteer. It was a lot different." Lewis didn't seem anxious to say more, so Faith let it go.
"What did you study in college?"
Lewis made an exaggerated show of looking around the cab. "You mean my bachelor's of science in forest management isn't obvious?"
Faith made a skeptical face and propped her booted foot on the dashboard. "I didn't know there were college degrees that ended up with pickup trucks as the company car."
"It wasn't always," Lewis said.
"So, you got your degree in trees and shit, then you came back here?" She snapped off a piece of cheese and stuck it in her mouth.
"No, I did not. I worked at Boggs Mountain and Pine Grove, then I moved to Jackson. That's where my boy was born."
Faith coughed. "Sorry. Went down the wrong way. You got a kid?"
"Yup." Lewis nodded, a smile softening his face. "He works for the National Parks Service, lives up in Montana."
Faith looked out the window. "He a park ranger?"
"No, he's in management. Hang on." Lewis slowed and turned left onto an unpaved county road. Faith bounced on the seat.
"No offense, but you don't seem married to me." She jammed her foot against the floorboard.
"I'm not."
"Oh." The Slayer rearranged herself on the seat. "You guys split up."
Lewis tapped the brakes as the truck approached a massive washed-out hole. "In a manner of speaking. She died. Breast cancer."
Faith was silent, her face hot. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry, Lewis."
"Don't be. It was thirteen years ago and nothing's gonna bring her back." He steered around a large rock jutting up from the dirt track. "That's when I moved back. With Katie gone, the house wasn't home any more, Nelson was in college, I lost any drive I had." He looked over at her and grinned. "And I was never long on ambition in the first place." His eyes returned to the road. "When the position with the extension office came open, I transferred back and just kept my head down, did my job."
Faith scratched her cheek and thought. "What is it with this town?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" The pickup's right front tire slammed into a rock and Lewis had to wrestle the vehicle back to center. "That's gonna cost me a trip to the alignment shop."
"Well, you lost your wife and came back, and Pat said Ben came back from Vietnam all messed up, and landed here." Faith chose her words carefully. "Why come back here? Sorry, but I don't see any healing waters." Lewis nodded, but said nothing. Faith feared that she had crossed a line and he had clammed up, but then Lewis turned left on an even smaller trail, and trail was the right word, it wasn't really a road in any sense. He went about a half-mile into the woods, then stopped the truck.
"Let's get the tools out of the back, and I'll try to explain some things to you." He shouldered open the driver's door. Faith's eyes widened before she bailed out of the cab. Lewis stood on one side of the truck bed, the Slayer on the other.
"Hey, is that a chainsaw?" she said.
"Yup, Husqvarna with an eighteen-inch blade." Lewis patted the orange plastic housing. "But we won't be using that today." He grabbed a tool with a yellow fiberglass handle and a head that looked kind of like a small double-bladed axe, except one blade had been turned ninety degrees. He put it back down, then grabbed a small, flat-headed hammer with a sharp blade projecting back instead of a nail puller. "Grab that." He pointed, then picked up a small folding shovel. Faith reached down and came up with a five-foot-long steel rod. It was about an inch in diameter, and one end was fashioned into a rectangular point. Faith hefted it and thought that it seemed like about as perfect a weapon as she'd ever seen.
"What is this?" she asked. "And those."
"That's a dig bar," Lewis said. "That is a mattock, but we won't be using it today, either. This is a Hultafors masonry hammer. Best one made. This-" He hefted the spade "-is a shovel. Self-explanatory." He reached behind the seat of the truck, then tossed a pair of gloves over to Faith. "Be sure and wear those," he said. "You're gonna get to know your friend the dig bar pretty well." His arm went into the cab again and came out holding a battered green plastic water jug which he balanced on the corner of the pickup bed. "Normally, I just drink out of the jug, but today, I brought glasses." He held up two stainless steel cups, one stacked inside the other. He extended his long arm across the pickup bed. "If you don't mind carrying them, and the water." Faith accepted the items as Lewis wrestled an aluminum case the size of a weekend bag out of the truck. "Okay," he said and nodded into the woods. "Let's go."
Faith stuffed the gloves in the pocket of her jeans, balanced the dig bar over her shoulder, and picked up the water jug. Her right wrist draped loosely over the bar to steady it, and her hand held the cups. She fought to keep a straight face as she watched Lewis's back. Sure, drinking from the same container as someone else, that was real danger. They had gone a couple hundred yards into the forest when she stopped. Lewis turned, as if his senses had been triggered by the absence of motion.
"Everything all right?" he said.
"I'm not sure." The Slayer looked around, scanned the tops of the trees, felt the air moving across her skin. "Something doesn't seem kosher."
Lewis nodded. "Okay. Can you tell me what's wrong?"
She cast him a sardonic look. "Who am I, Smokey the Bear? Ask me what's going down in a back alley in Boston, I'm your girl. This is your turf."
Lewis hefted the aluminum case to get a better grip. "That's one reason I'm out here collecting samples. Something is off out here, and I hope, if I collect enough data, I can figure out what it is." He turned and headed deeper into the woods.
A random fact from middle school pinged in Faith's brain. "Is it acid rain?"
"Good guess, but it's not." Lewis spoke over his shoulder without stopping. "Acid rain would be more visible, kind of work from the top down." Conversation ended as the terrain climbed steeply. Faith concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not slipping backwards, so she almost ran into Lewis's back when he stopped. "Yup," he said. "Time to work."
They were at the top of a blunt ridge; the descent was covered with fallen leaves and they had to be careful not to slip as they wound through the trees. Lewis was comical; his long, lanky frame bent almost into a sitting position as he crabbed down the slope. Faith was more sure-footed, but she almost lost her balance once when the end of the bar knocked against a tree trunk. She reached the floor of the gully and stopped, her skin prickling.
"It's worse down here," she said. Lewis looked up from unsnapping the fasteners on the case.
"Is it?"
"Yeah." The Slayer turned a slow circle. She slid the dig bar down from her shoulder and rested it butt-first on the ground, point to the sky. Her skin felt tight, and a spot between her shoulder blades itched. She suddenly wished she was wearing something besides a tank top; for some irrational reason, sleeves suddenly seemed like a good idea. Her nose twitched and quivered like she was trying to smell something that wasn't there, something rank and rotten, a stench that lay just outside of her senses, but brushed up against them. "Do you feel it?"
Lewis unfurled a small nylon drop cloth and concentrated on laying a series of perforated tubes on top of it. "Not really, but I'm an old guy." He sat back on his heels and surveyed his handiwork. "But I don't have to feel it. Everything about the environment's telling me." He stood up and grimaced as his knees cracked. He tied one end of a ball of yellow twine around a small tree next to the drop cloth, then began backing up, checking his progress every so often to make sure he was moving in a straight line and looping the twine around a convenient tree. Faith watched him go about a hundred yards, his form blending into the foliage, then he turned ninety degrees to the left and continued, disappearing from her sight. Faith gripped the dig rod tightly, but nothing happened. Eventually, Lewis showed up, backing towards her. Faith realized that he had created a rough rectangle. He tied the twine off to the first tree, then straightened up and stretched his back.
"Use the string as your guide. Walk beside it and every five steps, just knock out a hole."
"Knock out a hole?"
Lewis looked at her like she was thick. "Yeah, just use the pointy end to make a hole. Every five steps."
"Just make a hole?" When he nodded, Faith shrugged, picked up the dig bar and stabbed it into the ground. "Like that?"
"Jab it twice. Make it a little bigger. Those have to go in." Lewis nodded toward the tubes on the dropcloth, then picked up the shovel and hammer. "And put on your gloves. I'm going to be pulling up the samples from over here." He moved in the opposite direction. The Slayer pulled on the yellow leather gloves, hefted the bar, counted five steps, slammed the bar into the ground, worked it around, picked it up and slammed it down again, then moved on.
The work was oddly reassuring; it seemed to push whatever was wrong with the forest into the background. The afternoon was warm, and she began to sweat. She stopped a few times to pull her tank top away from her damp skin. She wished she'd brought the bandanna from the diner; perspiration burned her eyes. She reached the end of the first leg and turned, five steps and jab. Her shoulders and arms began to ache, but it was not unpleasant, more like the feeling of a good workout. Sunlight filtered through the foliage and dappled her arms. The calls of unseen and unknown birds floated atop the buzz of insects. It was an objectively fine day, but the nagging sensation of being in a bad place would not leave. Faith stopped at the second corner and looked around. No boogeyman jumped from behind a tree, so she shook herself, took five steps, and jammed the bar into the dirt.
She was halfway through that leg of the rectangle when the epiphany hit her. She kept walking and digging, listening to sounds of the forest, until she arrived back at the starting point, sweat dripping from her chin, dust and pulverized leaves sticking to her face and limbs. She leaned on the dig bar as Lewis approached, carrying an armful of the sort of tubes that lay on the drop cloth, except these had clearly been in the ground. As she watched, he carefully slotted them into the case and stuck a label on each one. Faith realized that there were many more pristine tubes on the drop cloth than Lewis had collected. He slid the last tube into its foam cocoon, then sat back on the ground. His baseball cap was dark with sweat and his khaki shirt was black under the arms and down the spine. He took off his cap and slapped it against his thigh, then ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm ready for a water break. How about you?"
"Five by five on that." She let the bar fall to the ground and sat down cross-legged. Lewis poured a cup of water from the jug and handed it to her. He shifted slightly to the side as he poured his own water; Faith frowned, wondering what was wrong, then looked down and almost laughed out loud. Her tank top clung to her torso like Saran Wrap, glued there by her own exertions. She drank from the cup and cast a surreptitious glance at Lewis, who looked up at the trees. His attitude seemed quaintly chivalrous. Faith drained her water. "Can I get a refill?"
"Sure." Lewis handed her the jug without looking directly at her. She stifled a smile as she poured; it would probably hurt the old guy's feelings if she laughed at him. She took a sip of water.
"So, what are you looking for?" she asked.
"Not really sure." Lewis picked up a small stick and flipped it away. "This is diagnostic work. Something's wrong, but I'm not sure what."
Faith turned the steel cup in her hands and studied it. "There weren't any sounds in that area you roped off."
Lewis took a drink of his own water. "What do you mean?"
The Slayer waved a hand toward the forest. "C'mon, everything out here makes noise, bugs, birds, but none of it came from inside that rope."
Lewis nodded. "You noticed." He refilled his cup. "The dead zone is actually a little bigger than that, and, of course, it's not a rectangle, but…" He shook his head. "You're right. No insect sounds, no small mammal activity, nothing, like it all disappeared."
"So, what's causing it?" Faith asked.
"I don't know. It's strange." Lewis took a stick and drew intersecting lines on the ground. "These are the highways. Whatever this is, it's only here." He stabbed the ground. "South of the state highway, east of the county road. The other three quadrants, it's not there." He stared at the diagram in the dust. "I can't even really say what it is. I've been doing this long enough that I can look at a soil sample and figure it out in my head ninety-five percent of the time, but this… it doesn't make sense, it doesn't track, doesn't follow any protocol I know."
Faith shrugged. "Maybe it's the shoggoths."
Lewis looked up, a quizzical expression on his face. "Lovecraft?"
Faith's eyes slid back and forth. "You know that?"
Lewis stood up and stretched. "In my youth, I was quite the fan of pulp literature, Robert E. Howard, L. Sprague DeCamp, Robert Bloch. I definitely found my way to Lovecraft." He scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't figure you for a Cthulhu fan."
"I'm not. Tori said it yesterday. She said that maybe shoggoths killed all the people who've died around this town." The Slayer looked up at the trees rustling in the breeze. "Then she said shoggoths didn't exist, but… she seemed to think something extra-weirdy was going on."
Lewis poured another cup of water. "Well, it is, but it's probably not the servants of the Old Ones."
The skin on the nape of Faith's neck tightened. "The what of the what?"
"The Old Ones are aliens who colonized the earth. They created the shoggoths to build their cities, but over time shoggoths overthrew them. They're pretty creepy. Lovecraft was an awful human being, but he could tap right into something strange and unsettling." He stood up. "I gotta take a little walk. When I get back, we'll plant the new sample tubes." He ambled off into the woods; Faith looked down to hide a grin and shook her head.
Lewis returned and did the whole routine with his cap: take it off, scratch the head, smooth the hair, replace the cap. "We probably should get this finished. We're wasting daylight." He looked along the yellow twine. "I'll, uh, I'll talk while we do this. Here, you grab the sample kits and follow me." He stepped over to the first hole, his steps jerky. Faith handed him one of the tubes. Lewis slid it into the ground; the tube had a small yellow flag affixed that stuck up above ground after he'd covered it.
"Lewis," Faith said, "people dying."
"Yup." Lewis moved to the next site. He continued talking, but never looked at her. "We had a real spate of it a few years ago."
"Tori said a bunch of kids were killed and that's why they closed the school." The Slayer's arms were wrapped around the drop cloth, her hips cocked to one side.
Lewis looked down at the site he'd just finished, as though inspecting it for flaws. "That was the straw that broke the camel's back."
"She told me about the hunters, and that girl… she said they were all ripped up."
Lewis rubbed his earlobe between thumb and forefinger. "Those are the ones they've heard about, know about. There were others. State conservation lost two agents in this area, along with several less savory characters."
"What do you mean?" Faith held out the drop cloth; Lewis took a tube and crouched.
"I told you a lot of people like to grow pot on state land. A lot of those type of people."
Faith frowned as she followed in Lewis's footsteps. "So, the local chapter of Weed'b'Us took a hit?"
"Yup." Lewis paused. "A lot of them really, but then there were a lot of them trying to get in the business."
A name appeared in Faith's brain. "Like Heath Beck?"
Lewis turned slowly and looked her in the eye. "Where did you hear that name?"
"They were talking about that guy from the store, that dumbass Dalton, his dad-"
"Uh-huh." Lewis tamped down a dirt clod with his Red Wings.
"Tori said that Heath Beck cooks meth out in the woods." Faith realized that she was chilly; the shadows were lengthening as the sun started to sink in the west and even though her tank top had mostly dried, it was still a little clammy.
"He does that. That's what I thought this might be at first." Lewis put the tube in the ground, then scraped dirt around it. "Meth produces a lot of toxic byproduct. I thought it might be in the runoff, or maybe even getting into the water table if he was pouring it out at the right spot."
"Like down the sink?"
Lewis gave her a look. "I'm not sure the Becks have indoor plumbing. Anyway, I started testing for any traces, byproducts, or effects of meth, but none of it ever came back positive."
"So, was he one of the Scarface wannabes back in the day?"
Lewis considered the question. "He was." Neither of them spoke as Lewis continued to plant the sample kits. They were halfway around the second leg when he broke the silence. "Strange if you think of it."
"Lots of things are strange if you think of them." The number of sample tubes was significantly decreased. "So, was it a rogue bear in the woods? You tried to scare me with a mountain lion." Lewis turned and looked at her. Faith almost took a step back from the look on his face. She'd seen looks like that a few times, mostly in Sunnydale.
"I know what a bear attack looks like." Lewis shook his head. "Wasn't a bear attack, mountain lion neither. I looked at all the bodies, all of them we could find, all the parts we could find." His eyes looked at something far, far away. "No wild animal did that. Those bodies were…" He swallowed. "They were taken apart, just disassembled." Lewis shuddered, then shook his head. "We need to finish. It's getting late."
Faith wasn't ready to let it go. "And they were all killed at night?"
Lewis nodded. "Yup, and that's why the first thought was that it was a bear or mountain lion. They both hunt at night, but the type of wounds didn't pan out, and…" He moved along the rope line.
"And, what?" Faith asked. "I'm not going anywhere, I mean, I've got all your little test tubes right here. Just make with the spillage."
"There were too many deaths over too long a period of time for it to be consistent with a bear or mountain lion. The victims were too different, and…" He clicked his tongue again. "And they never crossed the highway."
Faith stopped, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"That little diagram I drew? All the deaths took place in one quadrant, this one." Lewis rubbed a hand along his jaw. "Bears aren't afraid to cross a highway."
Faith looked down at her arms, at the tight skin and goosebumps. "You know, you could have led with that, Lewis." He shrugged and kept placing sample tubes. After he placed the final one, Lewis picked up the masonry hammer and stepped inside the rectangle. He used the pick to peel bark from several trees, then dropped the bark into plastic bags. The sky above was still mostly blue, but the forest itself was sinking into shadow, the shifting play of light-and-dark from earlier in the day lapsed into monochromatic twilight with scattered points of light. They carried the tools back to the truck; Faith kept a sharp eye on Lewis as they did. She shivered as they dumped everything back into the truck bed. Lewis noticed and reached behind the seat, then tossed a bundle toward her. Faith caught it; it was a well-used blanket.
"Thanks," she said, wrapping the worn coverlet around herself and climbing into the truck. Lewis got in and turned to her.
"How are you fixed for dinner?" he asked.
Faith stared at him, her mouth open. "Lewis, I like you, but there is no way in hell we're going on a date."
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Sorry, that came out wrong. Here's what I mean. When we get to the highway, I have to turn right or left. If I turn right, we just head back to town. If I turn left, about seven miles in that direction is another wide spot in the road, but they do have a drive-in that'll still be open, and they serve a pretty good cheeseburger." He clicked his tongue. "Or at least one you don't have to cook yourself. If it makes any difference, I'd for sure be going if you weren't here."
Faith realized that she was famished. She felt discreetly in her pocket, then pulled out one of her twenties. "If you're flyin', I'm buyin'."
"That's a deal," Lewis said and grabbed the radio mic. "Base, this is Unit 2. We're done, and heading out, but I think we're gonna run over to the Eagle's Nest first."
The radio crackled with static, then a voice said, "Ten-four, Lewis. See you tomorrow."
He turned on the lights, even though there was plenty of light to see by, then backed the truck out to the county track, put it in gear, and headed toward the highway. Faith wedged herself against the passenger door and watched him. The truck bounced and pitched to the intersection with the highway. When the headlights reflected off the pavement, Lewis sighed and relaxed. He took off his cap, wiped his forehead on his sleeve, then turned to the Slayer. "Next stop, cheeseburger." He pulled onto the pavement and accelerated. Faith leaned back in the seat and snuggled down in the blanket. The cab grew warm, and she must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes, Lewis was turning off the highway and pulling around behind a square building with plate glass windows, wood latticework halfway up the front, and a slanted roof. A dingy neon sign confirmed that this was, indeed, the Eagle's Nest. A no-frills speaker system was bolted to a steel pole at one corner. As he pulled up, a scratchy voice asked him what he wanted.
"Two cheeseburgers, two fries, an iced tea, and…" He turned to the Slayer.
"How's their shakes?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
"I'll live on the edge. Chocolate shake."
Minutes later they were back on the highway. Faith unwrapped a thick patty adorned with tomato, onion, and lettuce. She took a bite and wiped her chin with a napkin. "Feels like I'm cheating on Ben."
Lewis pulled a cassette out of the case. "I won't tell." A melancholy flute and drums wafted out of the speaker, then came galloping percussion, followed by a huge, gruff lead and shouted backup vocals.
"What's this?" Faith asked.
"Four Tops. 'Reach Out I'll Be There'." Lewis shook his head. "One of the ten best records in American history." He drove with one hand and ate with the other.
Faith looked skeptical. "Sure it is." She polished off her burger and fries; they were good, not spectacular. The shake, on the other hand, was outstanding. The song rolled on. The singer was definitely into it. "Okay, it is pretty good." She stuffed her wrappers into the takeout bag and pulled the blanket tighter around her. "Lewis?"
"Yup." The details of his image were beginning to fade as the sun started to drop below the horizon.
"What did you mean, when you said Vietnam was different for you than Ben?" At first, she wasn't sure if he hadn't heard her, or if he was just ignoring her, so she prodded a little bit. "You said you'd answer any questions I had."
Lewis sighed, a heavy, mournful sound. "I don't think I should talk about that."
"Lewis, don't make me beat it out of you." The Slayer tried for a light tone, but she could feel the tension emanating from him. They rolled down the highway for a few minutes before she said, "Sorry. I wouldn't do that."
She saw his falcon's profile nod. "I notice you didn't say you couldn't, just that you wouldn't." His hand drummed on the wheel. "I don't think you know what you're asking. It's not the sort of thing for a… someone your age to hear."
Faith stared through the windshield. Off to the left, past Lewis's head, a thin band of orange drifted above the trees. "Lewis, the only person who ever gave a shit about me was murdered in front of me."
The truck swerved as he looked over at her. "You're serious."
"As Dolly Parton's mammogram." She kept her eyes straight ahead; she didn't trust herself to do anything else. "So, don't worry about sparing my tender feelings or giving me nightmares."
When Lewis began to speak, his voice sounded as though he was addressing the steering wheel. "I suppose Pat told you that Ben had a hard time when he came back."
Faith looked out the window. It was almost full dark. "She said it was bad." She was silent for a moment. "Was it bad for you?"
"Maybe, but in a different way. I was over there four, five years before Ben, when everyone thought we were doing the right thing and could win the war, everyone except anyone who was on the ground." Lewis ejected the tape and slotted in another. Faith recognized this one; you'd have to be deaf and on a desert island to not recognize Creedence Clearwater Revival. "But it was right before the Tet Offensive, so it wasn't quite as obvious as it would be later, plus, like I already said, I was twenty-two. I did my tour, mustered out, came home and married Katie. Nelson was born just about a year after that." He paused in his narrative; John Fogerty was barking about being in a traveling band and apparently Lewis really liked the song. It ended in a blast of horns and he resumed. "Ben, on the other hand, well, I knew Ben when he was a little kid. He was in middle school, I guess, when I was drafted and left town. He volunteered just after he graduated from high school. He was in-country right at the end, after we were technically getting out of Vietnam. About the only thing we were supposed to have over there was Tan Son Nhut." None of this meant anything to Faith, but she wasn't about to interrupt Lewis now that he was talking. "Ben also showed some particular talents during basic training. He ended up being assigned to a lurp unit."
"Lurp?"
Lewis kept his hand on the wheel and wiggled his fingers. "Sorry, slipped into it a little bit. Lurp's an acronym, it means long range reconnaissance patrol, small units that arm up and go out into enemy territory, way out. This was back when terrain could really limit your radio, so they might be out of contact for days or weeks."
"And Ben did that? Ben?"
"Yup." Lewis flipped the tape over. "Katie died, and I had just moved back. Ben had taken over the diner from Mr. Helsley, and was just starting to get himself back together. Neither one of us was in a good place, but we had some things in common, things other people hadn't shared." He shifted his weight. "Someday, you might understand what I mean, but I hope not." Faith almost laughed, she almost said, 'Really, Lewis, you want me to tell you a story about things other people don't understand?', but she held her tongue. He took a deep breath. "Ben was on short time, almost to the end of his tour, late '72. The Paris Peace Talks were on, and everybody was trying to figure out what was happening. Ben's team was sent out to find and eliminate a VC cell that was supposedly planning a mortar attack on Bin Thuy."
"What was that?" Faith asked, looking over at Lewis.
"It was an airfield, big one. Anyway, Ben's patrol finds the village that's supposed to be the VC operational center."
"That's twice you've said VC. What's that?"
"The Viet Cong." Lewis looked at her; Faith's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing, just thinking about time and memory." He turned to the road. "Anyway, Ben's team goes in and…" Lewis fell silent; the Slayer could hear him breathing, even over Creedence. "They eliminate the threat, do their jobs under pretty heavy fire. Kill a lot of people. Ben kills a lot of people. Understand, being a lurp was, well, you were on edge from the minute you left the firebase, out in the jungle on your own, it promoted a certain… hair-trigger response. Anyway, the team gets back to base, gives their after-action report, it's received, then, a few days later, Ben finds out that the village wasn't a center of VC operations. It turns out that some ARVAN colonel had a beef with the village headman. He concocted the VC story and got Ben's team sent out to settle it. That's why the villagers fired on them. They knew what the team showing up meant."
"Shiiiiiit," Faith breathed.
"You have to understand, Ben was… Like I said, being a lurp was always being a heartbeat away from dying, it meant killing people up close and personal, it meant killing people who were not regular soldiers. Ben survived that by believing that what he was doing was in the service of something good, and now he found out he was just being used to settle a grudge." Lewis shook his head. "Ben snapped. He went after the ARVAN colonel."
Faith hitched up in the seat, tucking one leg under her. "Did he kill him?"
Lewis shook his head. "Never got close, but when they investigated, it was ugly enough to scare the crap out of a lot of people. A US major had set up a nice little heroin wholesale business, using the colonel as his source. That was how the colonel was able to get a US lurp team as his hit squad. The major made sure the orders and operational reports didn't implicate him or the colonel, the team would have been on the hook for a war crime, and the My Lai court martial had just finished. Nobody wanted a repeat of that, so deals were made. Ben was shipped back to the States without anything in his jacket, dependent on his saying nothing. He was basically cut loose to deal with it on his own."
Faith pulled the blanket even tighter. There was a chill inside her that it didn't seem to touch. "Man, that's fucked up."
"Yeah, it is." Lewis's face worked in the reflected light from the dashboard. "That's why it was harder for Ben. He carried that weight for a long time, almost got crushed by it."
"Sounds like you helped him."
Lewis grimaced. "I wouldn't say that. He needed to tell that story, but it took him a long time to get to where he could. When he was able to, it was just good luck that I was around, someone who could understand it."
Faith looked out the window and realized that they were almost back in town. Dalton Beck's crumbling clubhouse was just up ahead on the right, and she saw his new truck as they flashed past. Lewis turned left at the intersection, then U-turned to pull up in front of the diner. As Faith reached for the door handle, he held up a hand.
"I told you a lot tonight," he said. "Maybe more than I should. I'm asking you to not say anything to Ben. He's worked hard to put his life back together and gain some measure of peace. Don't destroy that."
The Slayer looked at him and the dashboard lights sparkled in her eyes. "Lewis," she said, "believe me when I say that is the abso-fucking-lutely last thing I want to do." She pushed open the door and got out.
Lewis shook his head. "The way you kids swear… it's probably the rap music."
Faith shook her head as the pickup truck pulled away, then she unlocked the door and trudged up the stairs. She felt absolutely grimy, so she took a quick shower. She realized that she was going to have to do laundry soon, which meant she would have to find a place where she could do laundry. She pulled on a T-shirt and curled up in the oval armchair, thinking about what she had learned and wondering what crouched in the dark beyond the glow of the streetlights.