would be as quick and sure as a bullet through the head.
First, though, he had to get the gun. And for that, he had to make sure Colby was dead asleep. He smiled.
It won’t be long now.
***
The sound of a snapping twig woke Colby from his doze. He jerked to his feet and whipped the gun around to face whatever stepped into the camp. There was Bock, standing five steps away with his arms out in front of him like a zombie in a Romero film. How the fuck was that possible? He tightened his trigger finger and almost squeezed off a round.
“What the fuck, Colby?” The figure said. “Point that thing somewhere else, would you?”
That hadn’t sounded like Bock. Colby rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. When he opened them again he saw it wasn’t Bock, but Edison who stood in front of him, holding his arms up like some back alley robbery victim.
“Take off your shirt,” Colby said.
“What?”
Colby pulled the hammer on the revolver back and arched one eyebrow.
Edison got the point. He stripped off his shirt and stood, bare-chested, in the dying firelight. “There. Happy?”
“Now turn around,” Colby said. “I want to see your back.”
Edison did so, turning a complete three hundred sixty degree spin. Colby noted with relief there was not a single grub on him. Nor was there any sign of a bite. He nodded and holstered the pistol. “Sorry, Edison. After Bock, I ain’t taking any chances.”
Edison reached down and picked up his shirt. As he shoved his arms through the sleeves he looked around the campsite and his eyes finally settled on the big bloody patch where Bock’s head had been a few hours prior.
“I guess I can’t blame you there,” he said, and pulled out a cigarette. “Got a light?”
“I don’t smoke,” Colby replied.
“I quit fifteen years ago.” Edison stepped over to the dwindling fire, grabbed a thin branch that glowed red at the tip, and brought it up to light the cigarette. He drew in an exaggerated breath, and after a moment blew out a cloud of smoke. “Tonight seemed like as good a night as any to start back up again.”
“Where’d you get the smokes if you quit?”
“I stole a pack from Bock’s tent after you guys left to find what was left of Jared.” He took another drag off the cigarette.
“No shit?”
“Yeah. At first I was worried he’d get pissed, but now I don’t guess he’ll be coming back for them, huh?”
Colby looked at the bloody patch where Bock’s body had fallen, then at the patch of dirt where Steinman’s body had fallen. Bits of brain and blood still speckled the area where his head had been. Both bodies had disappeared when he’d gone into the woods after Janice and Harper.
“You never know,” Colby said. “He just fucking might.”
Edison snorted, but didn’t say anything. He blew out a long stream of smoke. Colby stared at the tip, glowing bright red in the darkness. He hadn’t had a cigarette in ten years, but damn he wanted one tonight.
What the hell? he thought. I could be dead tomorrow. He reached for the pack and grabbed one, lighting it with a stick from the fire. He took a deep breath, drawing the smoke into his lungs, and felt the old familiar calm wash over him. He blew out a cloud of smoke, while Edison tried to puff out a smoke ring or two. Colby couldn’t help but laugh at Edison’s fish-lipped expression as he botched every single ring. The smoke looked more like the puffy clouds from a steam locomotive.
“Damn,” Edison said. “I never could blow rings.”
Colby chuckled again and turned to watch the fire. The two sat in silence as it burned lower and lower. Edison finished his cigarette and pulled out a flask. He tipped it up, took a swig, and grimaced. He pulled the bottle away from his face, wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve, and handed it to Colby.
“Bock again?” Colby asked, exhaling another cloud of smoke.
“Nope,” Edison replied. “This stuff’s mine.
First, though, he had to get the gun. And for that, he had to make sure Colby was dead asleep. He smiled.
It won’t be long now.
***
The sound of a snapping twig woke Colby from his doze. He jerked to his feet and whipped the gun around to face whatever stepped into the camp. There was Bock, standing five steps away with his arms out in front of him like a zombie in a Romero film. How the fuck was that possible? He tightened his trigger finger and almost squeezed off a round.
“What the fuck, Colby?” The figure said. “Point that thing somewhere else, would you?”
That hadn’t sounded like Bock. Colby rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. When he opened them again he saw it wasn’t Bock, but Edison who stood in front of him, holding his arms up like some back alley robbery victim.
“Take off your shirt,” Colby said.
“What?”
Colby pulled the hammer on the revolver back and arched one eyebrow.
Edison got the point. He stripped off his shirt and stood, bare-chested, in the dying firelight. “There. Happy?”
“Now turn around,” Colby said. “I want to see your back.”
Edison did so, turning a complete three hundred sixty degree spin. Colby noted with relief there was not a single grub on him. Nor was there any sign of a bite. He nodded and holstered the pistol. “Sorry, Edison. After Bock, I ain’t taking any chances.”
Edison reached down and picked up his shirt. As he shoved his arms through the sleeves he looked around the campsite and his eyes finally settled on the big bloody patch where Bock’s head had been a few hours prior.
“I guess I can’t blame you there,” he said, and pulled out a cigarette. “Got a light?”
“I don’t smoke,” Colby replied.
“I quit fifteen years ago.” Edison stepped over to the dwindling fire, grabbed a thin branch that glowed red at the tip, and brought it up to light the cigarette. He drew in an exaggerated breath, and after a moment blew out a cloud of smoke. “Tonight seemed like as good a night as any to start back up again.”
“Where’d you get the smokes if you quit?”
“I stole a pack from Bock’s tent after you guys left to find what was left of Jared.” He took another drag off the cigarette.
“No shit?”
“Yeah. At first I was worried he’d get pissed, but now I don’t guess he’ll be coming back for them, huh?”
Colby looked at the bloody patch where Bock’s body had fallen, then at the patch of dirt where Steinman’s body had fallen. Bits of brain and blood still speckled the area where his head had been. Both bodies had disappeared when he’d gone into the woods after Janice and Harper.
“You never know,” Colby said. “He just fucking might.”
Edison snorted, but didn’t say anything. He blew out a long stream of smoke. Colby stared at the tip, glowing bright red in the darkness. He hadn’t had a cigarette in ten years, but damn he wanted one tonight.
What the hell? he thought. I could be dead tomorrow. He reached for the pack and grabbed one, lighting it with a stick from the fire. He took a deep breath, drawing the smoke into his lungs, and felt the old familiar calm wash over him. He blew out a cloud of smoke, while Edison tried to puff out a smoke ring or two. Colby couldn’t help but laugh at Edison’s fish-lipped expression as he botched every single ring. The smoke looked more like the puffy clouds from a steam locomotive.
“Damn,” Edison said. “I never could blow rings.”
Colby chuckled again and turned to watch the fire. The two sat in silence as it burned lower and lower. Edison finished his cigarette and pulled out a flask. He tipped it up, took a swig, and grimaced. He pulled the bottle away from his face, wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve, and handed it to Colby.
“Bock again?” Colby asked, exhaling another cloud of smoke.
“Nope,” Edison replied. “This stuff’s mine.
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