Page 4 of The Burning

“Dogleg Road,” he said. “By the bridge over Little Paint Creek.”

“Do you want me to get the fire department out there?”

“Let me take a quick look-see before we get anyone out of bed.”

“Roger that.”

They crossed the road, traversed the ditch, and climbed over a beat-up wire fence. Darkness closed over them as they entered the woods. The smoke was thicker there. Woodsmoke laced with something vaguely unpleasant. Skid listened as they wound through fifty yards of new-growth forest, pockets of raspberry bramble and winter-dead weeds, but the only sound came from their boots crunching on leaves left over from fall.

“Fire.” Mona pointed. “Two o’clock. Through those trees.”

“I see it,” he said. “Eyes open.”

“Yep.”

They broke into a jog. Staying as quiet as possible, not quite succeeding at being totally silent. All the while, Skid kept his hand over his sidearm.

“Painters Mill Police Department!” he called out as they neared. “Identify yourself!”

No response.

He heard the crack and pop of the fire moments before they entered the clearing. It looked like some type of bonfire. Wood piled high and burning profusely. Flames leaping fifteen feet into the air. Not a soul in sight.

“Police department!” Twenty feet away, Mona entered the clearing. “Show yourself! Now!”

The only response came from the crackling of the fire.

“Looks like whoever was here flew the coop,” Mona muttered.

Skid took in the details of the scene, felt a slow rise of uneasiness. He’d assumed they’d stumbled upon an impromptu party of some type. Young people sitting around a bonfire, drinking beer or smoking dope and freezing their butts off. But there was something off about the scene. No beer bottles. No trash. No place to sit. Not too many footprints.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered.

“Skid.”

Something in Mona’s voice caught his attention. She stood a few feet from the fire. Hand up to shield her face from the heat. Her head cocked in confusion.

“What is that?” she whispered.

A post jutted from the center of the blaze. Eight or nine feet tall and thick as a telephone pole. Something hanging on it. A shape that was oddly human.

“Son of a bitch,” he said.

“Is that…”

“Go get your fire extinguisher,” he said. “Hurry! I’m going to see if I can get him out of there.”

Spinning, Mona sprinted toward their vehicles.

Skid started toward the fire, but the heat drove him back. Unable to take his eyes off the humanlike thing secured to the post, he hit his lapel mike. He knew his ten codes just fine, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out which to use for this. “I got a fire out here! A burn victim. Ten-fifty-two,” he said, using the code for an ambulance.

“Roger that.” A concerned pause and then, “Are you in a structure?”

“Negative. Just … the woods. Call the chief, Margaret,” he said. “I think we got a homicide here.”

CHAPTER 2

The rattle of my cell phone pulls me from a dead sleep. Rolling, I slap my hand down on it, bring it to my face and squint at the display. DISPATCH. 2:47 A.M. I answer with a curt utterance of my name.