Page 28 of Backwoods
“Props to you. I couldn’t have done that,” Amiya said. “I know my limits.”
The wallet was filmed with dried blood and the remnants of other fluids. It crackled as Nick spread it open in his hands.
Inside, Nick found several faded credit cards, the raised type so worn that he couldn’t read the names on the front. He also discovered an expired South Carolina state ID card issued in the name of Joshua Turner. The photograph was hazy, but it looked like a dark-haired Caucasian male, and based on the birthdate he would have been twenty-five years old.
“How did this guy wind up here?” Nick asked. “I don’t get it.”
He handed the wallet to Amiya, who accepted it carefully, mindful of getting filth on her hands.
“He didn’t go in the shed willingly, I promise you that,” she said. “He was purposely confined in there. That’s an act of pure evil.”
“Unimaginable.” Nick wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and glanced at the corpse. “Bound in a hot, enclosed space, no water, no food—that would have been a prolonged, agonizing death.”
“His family and friends probably still hope he’ll come home someday,” Amiya said. Sighing, she gave the wallet back to Nick. “How many others are here? I’m almost too afraid to find out.”
Nick tucked the billfold in the young man’s pocket. Together, he and Amiya pushed the door back into place. When this was all over—whateverthisturned out to be—Nick planned to notifyauthorities of what they had found so the remains could be properly disposed and relatives notified.
“I just realized something,” Nick said. “You’ll think it’s cold-blooded, but bear with me.”
“What now?” she asked.
“We’re not going to be able to sell this property for a fraction of the original asking price,” he said. “People have been tortured and killed, runaway children are being branded and God knows what else. No one’s going to pay top dollar for land where these things happened. It’s like trying to sell a house after a homicide occurred there.”
“I can’t believe you’re still thinking about the money, Nick.” She looked at him as if he’d crawled from under a rock.
“I’m only stating a practical fact. I have to consider it.”
“I don’t want to hear about money anymore, okay?” She waved him off. “Let’s keep moving.”
18
Someone was chopping wood.
That was Nick’s best assessment of the noise they heard after they had advanced through the forest for several minutes, after they’d left behind the horror in the shed. The distinctive sound of metal cleaving through wood occurred every ten seconds or so, with the predictable cadence of a metronome.
Thwack . . . thwack . . . thwack . . . thwack . . .
He and Amiya had kept close to the bank of the creek, on a northward trajectory. The noise seemed to issue from ahead, growing louder and sharper as they advanced.
“What do you think?” he asked Amiya. “Sounds like a woodcutter?”
“It’s on our way.” Anxiety clouded her eyes. “But considering what we’ve seen so far out here, we should be careful.”
“No doubt.” He swung the rifle around, into his hands. “Whoever’s at work up there could know something about Grandpa Lee.”
“And the girl we found,” she said.
“Right, along with any others. We need someone to tell us what the hell is going on.”
Tall weeds swept around their legs. A haze of gnats trailed them, dive-bombing his eyeballs with annoying persistence. Nick flicked his hand across his eyes to bat the insects away.
Nevertheless, as they trudged forward, Nick kept his gaze fastened on the surrounding woods, alert for anything out of the ordinary: a shirt, a hat, a face. The forestland had taken on a uniformity that made it impossible to distinguish one region from another. Any sign of a human would have stood out.
Thwack . . . thwack . . . thwack . . . thwack . . .
Nick stuck out his arm in front of Amiya. In a whisper, he said, “Hang on. I think I see someone.”
Beside him, she studied the woods, lips pressed together as if she were holding her breath.
