text: [Themes: modern]
  
  But even if that is the case — that your two unwanted companions killed your neighbors, and Gordy is now intent on showing you the bodies — you feel a need to know the truth, that all of your dread this last half hour hasn't merely been the result of an overactive imagination. As Carl Sagan used to say, extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof, and a dead body lying in the dark might just qualify.
  
  Still, as you approach Gordy and the unknown object, you're not sure how he (or anyone) could say with certainty what this is lying here on the soggy ground. The shadow does not resolve itself into anything definitive upon closer inspection.
  
  "Al! You did come. Good for you. I thought for a second you might chicken out." His mood has completely changed from what it was back at the Bear's Den and in your truck. That strange sullenness he was exhibiting earlier has been replaced with something that sounds tauntingly exuberant.
  
  "So, what is it?" you say, certain that you're standing beside Gordy mostly by the sound of his voice. He himself is just as shadowy as the object before you.
  
  "Here, let me show you something." He reaches for your left hand and guides it forward, as if he knows perfectly well what's there and wants you to play a guessing game. Your knuckles rap something wooden — not a fallen branch, because the surface feels hard and artificially smooth. Instinctively your fingers wrap around it.
  
  "A handle?" you say, vocalizing what your senses are telling you.
  
  "Hmm," he says, as if he wants you to be more specific.
  
  "A shovel— no, an axe handle."
  
  "Excellent! See if you can pull it loose."
  
  Pull it loose! Do you even want to? Gordy is not doing a single thing to alleviate your fears, and if anything this creepy game is only compounding them. But, yes, this is an axe handle in your hand, sticking up in the rain. The metal blade is below somewhere, embedded in something. Not wood, as the handle is wiggling too much, implying the object is soft, something—
  
  "Gordy, what is this on the ground?"
  
  "One of your former neighbors, of course. Who did you say they were, the Hoopers?"
  
  Your blood chills, and not because of the rain. It seems that your worst thoughts have been justified all along, and now you're alone in the dark with a dangerous person. You have no idea why Gordy would kill Ray and Mindy, or why he now wants you to know it. More than ever this feels like a game, like a cat playing with a mouse it intends to kill; there is no need to guess which role you're playing.
  
  If possible, you need to become the cat. A moment ago Gordy wanted you to pull the axe out of whatever [correction: whomever] is holding it up, so you decide to do just that. You have no idea which of the Coopers, Ray or Mindy, is lying dead before you, but you hope they don't mind whatever incidental desecration of their body might occur. Transferring the grip on the handle to your stronger right hand, you yank the axe free and swing it in the direction you believe Gordy to be.
  
  The axe cuts through the rain and glances off something just four feet away, farther to the right than you had anticipated.
  
  "Fuck, Al, what are you doing? That's not cool!"
  
  You say nothing, but back up a step instead. If you can't see him, then he can't see you either. The only way either of you can track the other person is through the sounds of your voices.
  
  "Al. Al! Where did you go? You nicked my arm, man!"
  
  His voice is on the move, heading toward the lean-to door. Somehow he just brushed right past you without colliding in the dark.
  
  "Charlei! Charlei!" he calls out, still walking. Then he must be standing beside the structure, because he starts to pound his fist against the wall or door. "Charlei, can you hear me? I need you to turn the lights on. Fucking Al just winged me with the axe, now he's hiding in the dark."
  
  Whoa, hold on a minute. Lights? There is no power on this road, and if any of the camps here have electricity it would have to be powered off of either a generator or a solar panel. The Coopers run their camp off a Honda generator; maybe it's been running all this time, and the storm has just been muffling the sound of the motor. If all that is true, and one merely has to flip a switch to light this place up right now, then you are about to lose your cover.
  
  You have to think fast: Either Gordy is an idiot and doesn't understand the part about the generator, which would mean you are perfectly safe right where you are, or else the Coopers had the thing running at the time they were killed, and so you now need to find a new hiding spot. Which is it?
  
  > get out of here.
  So far the big lesson of the evening seems to be not to underestimate these two people. Sure, they appeared quite pathetic when they both showed up out of the rain back at the Bear's Den a short time ago, but behind their head games are some pretty serious consequences. If Ray and Mindy Cooper had been up this week when the Goodcheer-Fellows found them, then it makes sense they would've had the generator up and running; being native inhabitants of the great New Jersey suburbs, there was a limit to the amount of rusticating your neighbors were willing to tolerate.
  
  Thus, you need to not be around when the lights come on, assuming there is a floodlight or something on the back of this A-frame. With the axe in your hand, you feel out the basic outline of the body below you: legs, torso, an arm. You step where the axe finds nothing but mud, grass, and excess water, and then work your way straight back toward the woods.
  
  Your memory is fuzzy about what to expect: there is a sizable backyard that slowly gives way to the woods, as well as various objects stored here and there. You were last here two summers ago during a neighborhood gathering, when Ray and Mindy hosted all of the camp owners who happened to be around for a Fourth of July cookout. At the time you weren't really studying the terrain, so now all you have is the vague impression that the farther you back away from the lean-to, the more trees there will be around you.
  
  "Charlei, quick, I need the lights!" Gordy shouts, still pounding at the back of the lean-to. You had thought Charlei was going to wait for the two of you in the truck, but apparently they had worked out different plans somehow, because sure enough a light shines forth from a fixture immediately above the door to the utility room. Not a floodlight, thankfully, but bright enough to cast a wide circle of illumination over much of the backyard. Ray Cooper's body, from which you just obtained the axe, lies facedown on the soggy ground within that lighted diameter. You now stand about fifteen beyond it, in the shadowy edge of the forest.
  
  Gordy is distracted by something else, though; you watch as he drags an awkward load from in front of the door, which was preventing it from opening all the way. It takes you a moment to recognize another body, this one probably Mindy Cooper. He leaves her against the back side of her own camp, one leg propped against the wall, moved aside like an inconvenient sack of cement. Charlei examines the spot where you struck his right arm, doesn't seem too concerned, but nevertheless Gordy is incensed. He pulls what looks like a small revolver out from behind his vest.
  
  "Al! We're through playing games!" Gordy is walking to where the two of you had been, beside Ray Cooper's body. When he gets there he'll be uncomfortably close, and after his eyes adjust he may be able to see you. Turning, you see that the house light is casting a dim glow on the edge of the forest, showing you a clear path to slink back farther from the yard. There is an older stack of firewood here, one with overripe and half-rotten wood, some old lawn furniture, and beyond that an old boat parked almost in the brush.
  
  Working your way from point to point, you double the distance between you and Ray's remains. Gordy stops beside him, gives Ray a gentle kick in the ribs, then tries to scan the darker area beyond, but he seems hesitant to continue even though he has that revolver and you only have the axe.
  
  He opens his mouth like he is about to issue another taunt, but then thinks better. He looks anxiously back toward the door, and you realize that Charlei is no longer there. He's waiting for her, waiting for her to bring him something.
  
  The problem with backing away from the light is that doing so puts you farther and farther away from your truck, which is far on the other side of the house. That is perhaps the most advantageous place you could possibly be right now. You can still see the glow of the headlights around the corner, but it might as well be a mile away. The little bit of light that you have is letting you move backward, but it shows no clear way ahead; either you'd have to make a sprint straight through the yard, or you'd have to try and sneak through the woods, and there is no guarantee that in so doing you wouldn't get snagged in some thick hobblebush and give yourself away.
  
  And it should be said that even under these peculiar circumstances, backing into the woods isn't the greatest of options. The trees above you have been riled by the storm, rearing at their roots like buffalo preparing to stampede. The branches are clacking against each other, and you hear not-so-distant thuds where some are crashing to the ground. No, this is not an enviable place to be. It is merely a short-term solution to your immediate problems.
  
  The door leading into the utility room opens, and Charlei emerges holding something in her hand. At first you fear it's another gun, but then it projects a beam of light and you deduce she has fetched a flashlight for him so that he may pursue you into the woods.
  
  Odd, though, that he is only armed with that little spit gun. It must be they haven't figured out there is an entire arsenal of shotguns and rifles inside that room.
  
  > Next page.
  Now that he is armed with that flashlight, Gordy's cockiness returns.
  
  "Al! It's time to come in out of the rain! This is no time to be playing hide-and-seek." You watch from behind a tree as he begins to slowly inspect the same course that you just followed getting away from the light. He eagerly steps forward to shine his flashlight behind the stack of rotten wood, but you're not there. Then he gives the old patio table and its rusty collection of chairs a closer look.
  
  "I know you're here, Al. You aren't fooling anyone." He's right of course, you are indeed right here. But does he know he's right? Are you that obvious, or has he just made a lucky guess?
  
  Gordy's advance is forcing you to act once again. Either you need to find the perfect hiding spot, or you need to keep moving. The next object along your course of retreat is the boat, a sixteen-footer with a mildewy fiberglass hull, like it hasn't seen a lake in years. You're not sure how well a boat can hide you, though. But when you get there, you spot a swath of mowed ground leading straight into the woods. In a night of decreasing options, this looks as good as any.
  
  "Come on now, Al! You're just making me angry!" Gordy is being systematic in his search, shining that light of his into every bush he passes. You wait until he is thus distracted before making your run, hoping this path that Ray Cooper had been clearing leads to something useful. The clattering trees cover the sound of your running footsteps.
  
  The light from the house is much dimmer back here, almost the same pitch-black it had been before Charlei turned it on a few minutes ago. This means that you are now back to interpreting shadows, and boy is there a big one here, something the size of a bus parked in a small glade of ferns, nervous maples all around. The more you look at it, the more you realize that it is a bus, some old derelict parked out here in the woods. Collecting old buses never struck you as Ray Cooper's shtick; perhaps it was parked here before he bought this place, something that someone else intended to use as a camp. Certainly, this wouldn't be the first retired school bus that you've seen converted into a trashy-looking DIY camper.
  
  Gordy's flashlight beam indicates he's still giving the fiberglass boat a good look-over. He's sure to follow that path next, and then he'll be here in a matter of seconds. As for your own route of escape, this seems to be the end; without a light of your own you cannot go any farther, and Gordy is occupying the only known route back to the yard. The storm is entering a much more concerning state, too: the wind is increasing its ferocious assault on the trees, and you can't imagine these soft maples maintaining their resistance for much longer. The tropical storm could turn into a massive blowdown event if these gale-force gusts keep up. And thus this bus may be your only option: not only a place to hide from Gordy, but also shelter from Bob.
  
  You push against where you expect the double doors to be, only to find nothing there; they were opened one last time many years ago, apparently, and have been that way ever since. You climb the steps up to the driver's seat, turn to face the narrow aisle leading down the center axis of the bus, between all the seats. From what little you can make out, this was once a school bus, perhaps so old that the children who once sat here every morning and afternoon are now shopping for retirement homes. Taking your first step down the aisle, your shoes shuffle through a pile of wind-blown leaves.
  
  It does not take long before you see a faint beam of light striking the row of rectangular windows to your left. The light quickly grows stronger, telling you that Gordy has seen the bus and is eager to search for you here. You still have a tight grip on the axe handle, and all of these seats provide plenty of hiding spots. Gordy will insist on searching them all of course, but that doesn't mean you can't ambush him. Whatever happens, this bus is about to become the venue where the game comes to an ultimate conclusion.
  
  Whoever bought this old bus and parked it here never got far in their camper project; usually the first step is to remove all the seats and replace them with bunks and tables. But thanks to Gordy's light you can see all the original passenger seating is still in place, albeit covered with woodsy debris, and hopefully not harboring any porcupines or the like. You pick one of the middle seats at random, crouch down as low as you can go, and try to imagine yourself lunging from this position to take a swing at your pursuer.
  
  Gordy does not leave you waiting for long. You hear his footsteps up the narrow stairs, then see his flashlight beam sweeping across the tops of the seats, revealing the torn vinyl and cracked windowpanes. In a break with his recent behavior, though, he is searching in silence, save for the sound of each footstep as he proceeds cautiously down the aisle.
  
  Doing everything you can to control your breathing, you adjust your double-handed grip on the axe, waiting for him to get closer. To achieve any surprise at all, you're going to need to make your move just before he finds you himself. But the space between the seats is narrow, and it's going to take an extra second just to lift the axe high enough for a clear swing.
  
  Something strikes the rear of the bus, and in the tension of the moment Gordy shoots blindly at the rear emergency escape door. You haven't the slightest idea what that noise was — probably something blown by the wind — but he apparently thought there was a chance it might be you. Frustrated with himself, he follows the aisle past your seat to see what he shot.
  
  Now he has his back to you, giving you the best opportunity you're likely to get to make your ambush. You rise from the floor, axe before you. The wind outside is making a bizarre noise, as if there were a huge jet bomber parked overhead, flying in place against the high winds. It is more than enough to cover whatever incidental sounds you might be making: brushing against the seats, footsteps down the rubber track delineating the aisle. Gordy is inspecting the hole he made in the side of the bus, then remembers he is supposed to be looking for you. He turns, his flashlight finds you, axe raised.
  
  He fumbles with the gun, bringing it into position on such short notice after his embarrassing misfire. You bear down with the axe.
  
  Then all hell breaks loose.
  
  > Next page.
  The roof of the bus collapses as the trees outside splinter and snap apart, their fibers and their roots surrendering to the storm. Their impact comes from the left side, knocking the bus off kilter and bursting many of its remaining windows. A large maple crashes between you and Gordy and corrals you in separate spaces: he at the rear of the bus, you slightly more forward, somewhere above the second axle. The wind continues to roar, and the trees continue to topple; the bus seems to be the only thing catching their fall. Though pinned down by all the fallen maples, the bus jumps with each impact. The air had smelled musty when you first entered this place; now it reeks of freshly-split wood.
  
  Outside, the wind continues on its rampage, but the sound of snapping trees grows more distant, as if God had sent to Earth his own feller buncher and set it to work, clearing miles of forest in a matter of minutes. The fallen trees continue to shimmy in the wind, and soon their branches are channeling water onto the mangled vinyl bus seats. The heavest downpour yet is following on the heels of the wind, the tropical water pounding against the contorted remains of the roof.
  
  Gordy's flashlight is still on, but it is projecting a motionless beam of light through the big maple that now divides you. In the commotion of wind and crashing limb you lost your grip on the axe, and now you can't find it. But as it turns out, the axe isn't your most pressing concern: at one point during the melee you were thrown sideways into one of the seats, your shoulder smacking against its metal frame. Now your right arm feels like it is pinned against your body, immobile and in great pain. Even if you had the axe, there would be nothing you could do with it.
  
  "Charlei! Charlei!" His cries sound like they are being enfeebled by great pain. "Charlei, help me!"
  
  "Gordy, are you all right?" Despite everything, you feel inclined to ask.
  
  "Al, is that you old buddy? I knew I'd find you here."
  
  "You got me. Now tell me, are you all right?"
  
  "I can't see you."
  
  "I'm right here, nothing to see. Now what about you?"
  
  "It— it hurts?" At first you think he's asking about your shoulder, but he can't see you, he doesn't know about that. Rather, it sounds as though he's in a state of shock.
  
  "Can you move? Is anything broken?"
  
  "I— I don't know— the tree landed on— landed on—"
  
  "Just take a deep breath. What did the tree land on?"
  
  "My legs." It is a simple statement, given matter-of-factly. You've got a busted shoulder, his legs are crushed, and now you are the only company each other has. The life-or-death contest between you has been rendered a tie by Bob, the referee.
  
  "Charlei," he says again, almost sobbing. "I need Charlei."
  
  "I don't know where she is, Gordy. She might have trouble getting to you, so you're going to have to sit tight and wait, all right?"
  
  "Al, when I— when I get out of here, I'm go— I'm going to kill you, just so you know."
  
  "Not with a pair of busted-up legs, you're not."
  
  "I'll do it now. Wh— where did I put my gun?"
  
  "Take your time." You are sitting on the floor of the aisle, your back resting against the same seat that did a number on your arm. On the other side of you, the front half of the bus looks similarly smashed, leaving you no easy exits from this place. You eye one of the windows above you; on another day you might be able to climb through it, but that would require the use of both arms.
  
  "Charlei! Charlei!" This time he's screaming her name, but there is something wrong with his voice, a fluid build-up in his chest.
  
  "I don't think she can hear you."
  
  "Can you get her for me? I need her, quick."
  
  "I'm having a bit of trouble of my own over here."
  
  He doesn't respond verbally. Instead, you hear a gurgling sound on the other side of the tree.
  
  "Gordy, I need you to talk to me."
  
  "Al, I— I—" And then he gurgles again, but for a longer time, as if drowning in his own blood. Finally the rear of the bus goes silent; all things considered, it doesn't terribly upset you.
  
  But it does leave you profoundly alone. With a dead killer just a few feet away, and with a tremendous amount of pain in your shoulder and arm. The combination of the trees and the bus and your own partial immobility are going to conspire to trap you here for a long time, you can see that coming for sure. Even when the storm finally passes through sometime tomorrow, it might take a while for someone to come looking for you — and when they do, will they even know where to look? You won't be at the Bear's Den, the place where Heather will say to look. Assuming that Charlei hasn't absconded with it, they will find your truck parked in front of the Coopers' place. This will lead them to eventually find what remains of Ray and Mindy, and if their search is thorough enough they may also find this hidden place back here, as well.
  
  All of that is many hours, if not days away, and meanwhile Bob is still having its way with the mountains. The wind is subsiding, and that slow-moving jet sound has rolled on to some other part of the Honnedaga valley. There is nothing you can do now but sit back and listen to the rain tapping at the roof of the bus. It's not completely unlike being back at the Bear's Den, except for the absence of beer and a fire.
  
  Meanwhile, the light from Gordy's flashlight slowly fades through the night and into the morning; by the time the storm finally breaks, the battery has died for good.