Chapter 9 - The Man of Wind and Moss

When Marco reached his destination, he got nervous for two reasons. The first, a critical one, was that he never told the others that they’d be leaving their cars. He expected to get to the lot while it was still sunny, and that the reveal would be a surprise. It was intended to be a feature highlighting how cozy and tucked-away the cabin was, but at night, cozy and tucked-away meant walking through the woods to a house you’ve never been to before. He was going to have a hard time spinning it. The second thing that made him nervous was that when they were pulling up to the lot, he saw police lights.

“What’s going on?” Sasha whispered.

Marco couldn’t tell. A man in a canvas jacket spoke to a ranger and beyond them an ambulance spun its reds while medics surveyed something out of eyeline. When the canvas jacket saw Marco’s car, he hurried over. And he looked frazzled.

Keith and Doll woke up in the back. Keith yawned and said, “This doesn’t look like a cabin.”

“Just hang on,” Marco said before lowering the window.

The man in the canvas jacket was the lot attendant. He had a piercing in his lip and up-close, Marco saw he was older. Maybe fifties. He pushed his long hair behind his ears.

“You’re Paula’s friend,” he said. “I’m John.” He offered a hand and Marco shook it. Then he patted the car roof like a bongo. “I was expecting y’all a while ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Marco said. “Lots of stops and stuff. You know how it is. What happened here?”

“Oh, man, it’s wild,” John started. He looked back at the scene behind him. “These two hunters parked here a few days ago and never came back. Then one of them showed up earlier, going crazy. Kept screaming about his compass and stuff. Kept asking, ‘Where am I?’ over and over again. I tried to explain to him, you know, ‘You’re here, you’re back, relax,’ but I turned my back for two seconds and he, uh, you know, did himself in.”

“What do you mean?”

“He, uh, took his knife and cut his own throat,” he said. “Got blood all over me, this ain’t even my jacket, I got this from the lost and found.”

“Holy shit,” Keith said from the back.

“No, no, it’s all good,” John assured. “You guys can still park here and all.”

“Wait,” Doll chimed in. “Why would we park here?”

* * *

Dean climbed out of his truck and slammed his door.

“I’m not leaving my truck here,” he said.

“It’ll be fine,” Marco said. All eyes were on him now and he was quietly thankful it was dark out. He didn’t want them to see him flustered. “Nobody is going to fuck with our cars.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asked. “Because some guy told you?”

“He’s not some guy, he’s an attendant,” Marco emphasized. He hated arguing with Dean. It was like talking to a Cigar Store Indian. “It’s hiking culture. People don’t fuck with each other’s cars. And anyway the attendant will be here.”

“Twenty-four seven?”

“I mean. Probably not. But he’ll be here typically.”

“Typically?”

“Okay,” Pansy cut in, “but you didn’t tell us we were hiking in.”

“It’s a hike-in,” Marco said. He shrugged his shoulders. He wanted to die, and he started internally cursing Paula for even putting this idea in his head.

“It’s a what?” Doll asked.

“It’s a hike-in,” Marco repeated. “We’re hiking in. It’s not so bad.”

“It’s already night,” Doll said.

“We have flashlights.”

“How far is it?”

“Leisurely? It’s an hour.”

The group groaned, and Marco could tell Dean was struggling to keep his cool.

“I obviously wanted to get here while it was still sunny out,” Marco explained.

“So, it’s our fault?” Dean asked.

“It’s nobody’s fault,” Marco said. His face was growing red. The ambulance lights did laps around the area. The metal perimeter of the garage throbbed like the gates to hell. The conifers just behind it stood like crimson pyres dipped in blood. Shit, it reminded him of the lights at Black Arms. The compass on the man’s hand. The blood. Yellow eyes. Marco shook the image out of his head. He couldn’t admit it was spooky, or he’d lose everyone.

“How are we supposed to lug all our shit with us?” Keith asked. “We have like two cases of booze.”

“We’ll leave some in the car and get the rest tomorrow. How much are you going to drink tonight anyway?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked up at Pansy and made a plea with his eyes. She shifted from one foot to the other and then conceded. “I can handle carrying things,” she said to the group. “I’m not infirm.”

Sasha looked at Pansy and then back at Marco. A look of competition flashed across her face. “It’s not like we’re driving back,” Sasha started, “and I’m not sleeping in the car.”

“There you go,” Marco said, smiling at the two girls. “The cabin is right along a very marked path. The promised land is right over there.”

Dean walked over to John in the canvas jacket. Out of earshot, they spoke low, and it seemed like Dean was asking about the safety of the lot. Marco looked back at the others who had now gone pale. Doll looked the worst. Her expression was frightened, and her complexion was queasy. Before Marco asked, he turned around to follow her gaze.

The medics had cleared out from in front of the hunter and went over to talk to the woman ranger who stood, disgusted. The driver’s door was open, and the hunter laid out of it, covered in a white sheet that was draped in such a way that his hand hung out and his knuckles touched the dirt. With the odd shape of the covering, coupled with the info from the attendant, Marco imagined the hunter’s throat—slit, with his head sagged backward, his fleshy wound opened like the mouth of a puppet. From beyond the sheet, dark blood pooled on the flattened grass. The hunting knife was on the ground, silver in the moonlight.

“He must still have his seat belt on . . .” Doll whispered.

“Like he was about to leave,” Keith finished.

“I’m going to be sick,” Pansy said, turning away. Sasha broke from the group to help, and Marco watched the two go into the shadows. He listened to Pansy heave.

After a second, Marco turned his back to the bloody mess and extended his arms to his friends. He felt like a car salesman in a used lot, desperately trying to sell a lemon. “Let’s not focus on all that bad energy,” he said.

“Bad energy?” Doll asked. “It’s a dead guy.”

“This is already fucked up,” Keith murmured.

“What do you want me to say?” Marco asked. “The attendant said he did it to himself. There’s nobody out there slashing throats. We should unload the cars and get moving. The moon is still out. There’s a hot tub waiting for us. I’m ready to go.”

The group stared at him. Keith let out an exaggerated sigh and moved to the back of Sasha’s Nissan. Doll came forward to Marco with her arms crossed.

“You really should’ve told us; we could’ve at least planned for it.”

“It’s just a hike-in,” Marco said.

“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t change anything.” The severity of her eyes cut through the moonlight and red glow. She was tucking her tongue into her cheek. Like she always did when she was pissed.

“It’s . . . a hike-in,” Marco said again. “People do it all the time.”

Unsatisfied, she scoffed and joined Keith at the trunk, strategizing on what to pack and what to leave for tomorrow. Wordlessly, Pansy and Sasha returned from the perimeter and saw the others packing up. After a few words with Doll, Pansy and Sasha went to Dean’s truck and started setting up bags and headlamps. The four of them conversed and handed off items to keep back or to jam into Keith’s bag, as he had become the impromptu pack mule. Marco stood there and watched, relieved that the night was still in motion. After a moment, Dean came up to him with a flashlight in his hand.

“So, the lot seems legit, and I think our cars will be safe,” he said. The light beam went from Marco’s feet to his eyes to the dead hunter in the background. “Holy shit,” Dean said. He was seeing it for the first time. Even still, his face didn’t change.

“Let’s just get moving,” Marco urged. “Before they don’t let us.”

“And look,” Dean said. He gestured to where his black Jansport was clipped. “Aren’t you glad I brought some heat now?”

“Actually, yeah I am. Just make sure we’re behind you when you start doing trick shots.”

“Yeah—hah! I no-scope a deer.”

Marco laughed; it was nice to cut the tension. But then Dean brought it back.

“Listen,” he said, “this place better be worth it.”

“Trust me,” Marco said. “Paula wouldn’t lie to me.”

“You really trust that old lady, huh?”

“She’s not just some old lady. She’s my friend. And yeah.”

“If you say so,” Dean said. He turned from Marco and shone his flashlight on the others. They were tightening their bags and carrying totes of games and bottles of whiskey. Towards the end of the lot, medics started loading up the dead hunter, and their business moved towards the ambulance and away from the hunter’s truck still sitting there with its door open. “Let’s get a move on,” Dean commanded.

As the six left through the gates, John in the canvas jacket followed them out. “Don’t worry, y’all, your cars are going to be safe and sitting pretty for you.”

“They fucking better be,” Dean shouted back over his shoulder.

They stepped further into the woods.

“And if you see the other hunter out there, tell ’em we found his buddy.”

“What did he say?” Pansy asked.

“Nothing,” Marco said.