Chapter Six: The Blood Swine
I opted to lay low until that night, when my scheduled meet was to take place. When I was studying up on the town, I looked through countless plats, mentally ran through everything that had happened, and obsessed where Vanessa might be. Then one night, I woke from a sound sleep with my heart pounding and the realization upon me: I had looked everywhere there was to look.
Above ground.
It was so painfully obvious at that point. Vanessa had to be somewhere below the surface of the town. I shifted my focus on the sewer systems and to large areas of land that were bare of any identifying features above-ground. Roach had a guy who procured me copies of land records and property ownership documents. Careful study did not turn up much, though I earmarked the commune where Jerry’s murder cult stayed. My gut told me that the woods would lead me to Vanessa.
Another interesting fact I uncovered: someone had been slowly buying up large swaths of my dear old homestead. That person signed the documents with an X, and the title search showed these sales were to an T&D Partnership. My searches for the buyer’s identity came back negative. There were no corporate documents filed with the secretary of state. No articles or other information out there in the corners of the internet. T&D was a ghost, but a damn rich one.
I contemplated a metal detector, but quickly ruled it out, given the fact that I’d be digging every time it discovered a water line. I researched thermal devices, and bought one just in case. I doubted it would work, and pondered if there was anything at all that might.
In the end, I relied upon old-fashioned detective techniques, figuring these guys may have prepared for high tech, but hoping they had neglected the simpler methods.
Which was why I was freezing my ass off in the woods about a mile away from the gas station, praying to God that the alligator beast was somewhere nice and warm and unwilling to risk the cold for a bit of red meat.
Despite my fondest wishes the thermos I was carrying had a nip of whiskey in it, boiling coffee as black as pitch was going to have to be enough. I had ditched Maroney’s truck, minus the guns and camo gear, along the tree line and hiked to my current location--where the railroad tracks cut across the dark swath of trees.
And waited watching my breath fog up the night until I heard the crunch of leaves.
I stayed in the shadows until I heard the unmistakable whistle Roach had impressed upon me while I was still back in New Orleans. I stepped out to observe a man dressed all in black, save a red banana wrapped around his throat. He was holding a rope attached to what I sincerely hoped was not what I thought it was.
I blinked. The vision remained the same. *You have got to be fucking kidding me. *
Had I said that out loud? The man in front of me laughed, and the pig attached to the leash gave a grunt and laid down on its hind legs and I swear that it smiled at me.
“Name’s Everett. And this here’s Nadine. Best nose in the tri-state region.” The pig sniffed the air, then delicately laid down the rest of the way, her eyes never leaving mine.
I took a deep breath. I had expected a dog, but Roach hadn’t ever let me down. Still...I didn’t know anything about taking care of a pig.
Everett must have sensed my unease. He knelt down next to Nadine and rubbed her belly, then gestured for me to do the same. She rolled over, just like a puppy, and hiked her leg in the air so I could have better access to her creases. I took a deep breath, noticing that she smelled like baby oil.
“Nadine’s a good girl. I’ve raised her from a piglet, and she’s smarter than any dog I’ve ever owned. She can sit, stay, and roll over, and she’s potty trained. She can smell at least twenty feet underground, too.”
That got my attention. Twenty feet? That was twice as deep as I had hoped for. I strove to look for the silver linings in the situation: she wouldn’t start barking and give away our position. And I’m pretty sure pigs don’t get fleas.
I stood up, wiping my hands on my jeans. “What do I owe you, and when do I drop her back off?”
“She’ll find what you’re looking for in a couple hours, ole Nadine will. How about tomorrow night, same time, same place?”
His faith surely eclipsed my own. “And the price?”
“Roach has covered it. Tell her I said thanks, by the way.”
I wasn’t going to ask why he was thanking Roach when he was the one doing us a favor. I just told him I would, and took the leash. He melted back into the night, and there I was, alone with Nadine.
This was it. The chance I had been waiting for. Then I realized I had no idea how to get Nadine to track. Shouldn’t Everett have given me some instructions? I tentatively called Nadine’s name, but she just flipped over to her other side. I patted her head, but she didn’t rise. I jerked her leash, and she grunted and grumbled, but didn’t budge. Was I supposed to promise her a treat or something? Also, what the hell was I supposed to feed her? What if she had some sort of special diet or allergy or something?
I tried again, whistling lightly. Nadine shot to attention. I hadn’t realized pigs could move so fast. Her ears were straight up, and the tip of her nose was quivering. I reached into my bag and pulled out Vanessa’s jacket, still in the paper sack I had put it in when I received it in the mail from God-knows-who. I held it up to Nadine’s snout, and she snorted a few times, then turned around and started galloping, pulling me behind her forcefully.
We were heading deeper into the woods. I tried not to think about the things that I knew lived there, focusing instead on not tripping over the tree branches and debris that littered the forest floor.
The ground grew boggier, and my feet stuck in the mud, squelching, then sliding as the muck released my shoes.
I could hear the sounds of animals calling softly into the night, and then I heard something different. Something unnatural.
A buzzing, right in front of us. I saw a flash of light, and then the leash was yanked from my hand and Nadine’s high-pitched squeal pierced the air. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. My ears stopped ringing, and the overwhelming sound of silence overtook me.
What the hell had just happened?
My eyes readjusted to the dark, and my stomach lurched as I saw what was in front of me. Nadine’s back end was sprawled out, but the front of her was missing. Completely gone. I circled the pig, noting that there was no blood. It appeared that her back end had been cauterized, and the vague aroma of burning flesh lingered in the air. The leash I had been holding was cut cleanly in two, but the other half was nowhere to be found.
I looked around, but there was nothing else out of the ordinary. No scorched earth to indicate a fire or any phenomenon that might have been responsible for what I could only describe as the spontaneous combustion of half of a pig.
Then I realized I had to get moving. Nadine’s shriek had surely been a beacon of my presence, and I was a sitting duck if I didn’t haul ass. I started running, unsure of where I was headed, but with the knowledge that I was going to die if I didn’t get out of those woods.
I took a sharp left, then zigzagged my way past trees, mud, then back over the boggy ground. My breath was ragged, but I kept going, thanking God that my thermos hadn’t had that whiskey I had been hoping for earlier. I rolled my ankle, muttered a curse, and kept limping along, pushing branches out of my way.
The forest thinned, and I suddenly realized that I was near civilization, which was possibly more dangerous than the woods themselves. I crouched down, ignoring my throbbing ankle, and took stock of what lay ahead of me.
I saw a bus covered in graffiti, with fairy lights strung between it and a nearby tree. A huge burn pile was next to the bus, with everything from tree limbs to a futon tossed upon the heap. A generator hummed nearby.
Behind that was a gigantic metal building. Round. It reminded me of a grain silo, only about ten times bigger. Unlike the bus, it was pristine. Weeds grew up around the sides, but it was clear that it had been recently inhabited. The building looked deserted, but someone was obviously living in the bus. I trained my ears to listen for the sound of human voices, but heard nothing more than the pounding of my own heart.
Cautiously, I crawled to the bus, then ducked underneath it. It did not appear that I had been located by any drones, and I hoped to keep it that way if at all possible. I willed the darkness to swallow me up, and continued crawling closer to the burn pile so I might have a better vantage point and determine where I was.
Suddenly, I heard it. A Slavic voice. And an American one speaking back.
“Virginia Cobb is baking sourdough bread. Bobby Evans has chest cold. Marty Baker is unaware that today is his wife’s birthday. Cherie Baker is pretending to not be angry at husband.”
The voices got louder. It seemed that the Slavic voice spoke without a break. No hesitation. Just staccato words delivered with no intonation.
I suddenly recognized the second voice. Jerry He wasn’t speaking to anyone either, it appeared. He was...singing?
“There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza, there’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hooooooooooleeeeeeeeeeee.”
In one hand, he held an old-school radio. In the other, a bucket. He swung both as he sang. And he had a surprisingly good singing voice. He climbed on the bus, then emerged without the radio. He was still swinging the bucket, though, and I still heard the endless Slavic-tinged words muffled through the walls of the bus.
He bopped his way to the metal building, then hammered on the door in a series of complicated knocks before entering.
I laid there, unsure of what to do. This must have been the compound I had read about when I was studying up on the Mathmetist community. Information had told me that Jerry may have been living here, but now I had my confirmation.
Should I reveal myself? Risk his life and possibly my own? As I contemplated my fate, something caught my eye. A trip wire so cleverly disguised that it was a miracle I hadn’t stumbled into it and whatever ill-effects it had in store. My gaze tracked its point of origin, and I saw that it led neatly to the same tree the fairy lights were hanging from--no doubt waiting to dangle someone upside down from one of its branches.
I hadn’t considered the fact that Jerry may have had the foresight to plan for unwanted visitors, or the cunning to keep them at bay. Maybe there was more to him than he let on.
Jerry swung open the door to the metal building and started back toward the bus. This was it. Did I announce my presence?
I took a leap of faith. I whistled between my teeth, and Jerry stiffened, cocking his head and looking around.
I whistled again, and he spoke into the darkness.
“Penny, is that you?”
Who the hell is Penny? I tried a different tactic, speaking his name in a low voice. “Over here. Under the bus.”
Jerry dropped down and grinned, locking eyes with mine. “Oh, hey Ricky! I thought you might have been this owl I’ve been feeding, but you’ve probably scared her off.” He peered further under the bus, then shrugged.
“Before I come out from under here, are there any traps I should be aware of?”
“Traps? Oh, you mean like my trip wires? Yeah, I have eleven, but that’s okay. None of them will kill you! It’s like taking a ride on a roller coaster! I planned them out myself.” He grinned proudly.
Great. It’s like Home Alone meets Jackass. Despite my better judgment, I rolled out from under the bus and stood, realizing that I had probably sprained my ankle during my run through the forest. I leaned against the vehicle, trying to disguise my discomfort and assess the situation. Jerry had his back to me, and was busy pouring lighter fluid on the burn pile.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’m not sure fake leather is meant to be burned.”
Jerry laughed, adding more fluid to the heap. “You sound like O’Brien.” He stepped back and admired his handiwork, then pulled out a lighter. Not a match. A lighter. One that would require him to be about one inch away from a possible fireball. My experience told me this probably wasn’t the first time he was inches away from death by misadventure.
I, on the other hand, had no intention of a cleansing death by flame. I stumbled back as Jerry crouched down. I saw he had dribbled a little trail that led to the heap.
There was thankfully no explosion, but the smell of burning pleather is not a pleasant one, and I was of a mind that the smoke made it impossible for Jerry to roast the marshmallows he had lined up on the barrel next to the bonfire. Or at least, so I thought, but he speared one anyway and cheerfully held it over the open flames, turning it until it was as scorched as the futon.
He shoved it in his mouth, and had to have burnt the ever-living shit out of his tongue and cheeks, but his face remained impassively cheerful. “Do you want one? They’re dee-licious.” He smacked his lips and stabbed another marshmallow on his straightened out clothes hanger.
“No thanks.” I liked to pick my carcinogens with more discernment than Jerry.
“Your loss.” He picked a stump near the fire and sat on it, resolutely studying his creation and ignoring my presence altogether.
I limped over, picking a nearby stump and gingerly sitting down on it. I could feel my heartbeat in my ankle, and the events of the night were just starting to sink in.
I had lost Nadine. My one hope for locating Vanessa. How was I going to tell her owner? Roach was going to fry my ass for losing that hog. Also, what the fuck was I supposed to say to anyone who inquired about her disappearance? I didn’t even know myself what had actually happened. Was it a force field? The alligator longing for a midnight snack? An inhuman electric fence with the capabilities of a bug zapper?
Examining it in retrospect, I knew that it was an unbelievable story. Hell, I was starting to doubt it myself, and I had witnessed it with my own eyes.
“Have you ever heard a buzzing noise in the woods?” I studied Jerry’s profile, looking for any signs he might know what I was talking about.
“You mean, other than the bugs and drones?” He scratched his shoulder, contemplating my question. “I hear all kinds of stuff. Sometimes I hear screaming. Gunshots. Sometimes I hear a person singing opera. Bad opera. Like, the kind that sounds like someone is singing through a mouth full of marbles? And I don’t think it’s supposed to be English, but I don’t think it’s an actual language either? And then I hear buzzing in my head, but I think that’s because I drank too much wine so that I might better appreciate the opera, and then I fall asleep and when I wake up everything is quiet again.”
This line of questioning was getting me nowhere. I was going to have to be direct. “I was just out in the woods with a search and rescue animal and suddenly half of it was gone. Just vanished with this burning smell and bang. Have you ever seen anything like that?”
It sounded even crazier when I said it out loud. Jerry didn’t seem to notice. “I once saw a portal open to hell, but I pissed it closed. Or I pissed on a demon and he closed it because he didn’t like being urinated on. Tomato/clamato.” He popped another marshmallow in his mouth.
“The bunker was pretty cool, though, after I was right-side-up again.”
“A bunker? You mean like this compound?”
“God, I hate it when people call this place a compound. And no, not like here. It was a bunker. You know, like, underground.” He had the unmitigated gall to look at me like I was the idiot.
“Do you know how to get there? Could you show me?” I tried not to get excited, because no doubt it was just another dead end, but at least it was a thread to pull. And right now, I was all out of yarn.
Jerry huffed a little. “I mean, it’s kind of like my special place where I go when I need to be alone.”
I wasn’t going to point out to him that he lived on a compound in the middle of the forest laden with boobytraps and nothing and no one within screaming distance. It seemed mean, even by my standards.
“I’m not looking to move in there. I have reason to believe that Vanessa is underground somewhere, and I’m trying to find a way in.” I held my breath. I never knew what to expect with this guy.
“I guess I can take you there. But you have to pinky promise me you won’t tell anyone else about it.” He held out his pinky solemnly. I guess this was better than some sort of blood pact, but Jesus Christ, really?
He stared unblinkingly into my eyes. “A pinky promise is the most sacred of promises, Richard. If you break it, you die, like, immediately. That’s what I’ve heard anyway, so I don’t break them. Not worth the risk.”
I stood there, in the acrid smoke plumes of burning petroleum products, and I linked my pinky with his.
Some promises are meant to be broken, but I don’t think this was one of them. Regardless, death was possible whether I kept my vow or not.
(To be continued...)
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Credits
