text: [Themes: modern]
  
  Talk about bad timing.
  
  "Really, I'm fine!" you insist, raising your voice to be heard above the rain. "You guys are better off waiting back inside the truck."
  
  "We don't mind at all!" she says, glancing back at Gordy. He seems to be overcoming his irritation now, and is starting to watch the two of you as if he were the eager spectator of an amusing drama. Neither of them seems concerned anymore that they are getting drenched; they have been rained upon so much tonight they possibly no longer care about the storm.
  
  Or rather, whatever their level of physical discomfort, they clearly seem more interested in you.
  
  "It's just a jumper cable! Honestly, I think I'll manage!" Although to be completely honest, what you really want is the opportunity to check out that gun cabinet without their interference.
  
  "Oh, Al!" Charlei says. "You've been so helpful to us, we just want to return the favor."
  
  As you stand here debating this with them, you are starting to get as soaked as they are. How can you convince them you don't want them following you around? "Thank you, but it's not necessary! I've got it covered. Why don't you two wait in there?" You are pointing toward the open door.
  
  Charlei looks at the door skeptically, but then her expression brightens when she comes up with an idea. "Gordy, why don't you go with Al, and I'll wait in the truck."
  
  To you this is no better than having both of them follow you, but Gordy nods as if the proposal were infinitely wise. "Yeah, that makes sense," he says. "Al, you seem to know your way around this place. You lead the way!"
  
  He gestures for you to continue up the walkway, as if he's not willing to brook any further discussion. And indeed, it seems futile to try and talk either of them out of this plan. The desire on their part to keep you within sight seems pretty deliberate.
  
  Charlei steps aside to allow Gordy to follow you. "All right," you say. "This way."
  
  Between the open door on the side of the house and the utility room in the rear stands a raised garden of native ferns and a variety of poorly tended annuals, all of them looking rather haggard in the rain. With all of the runoff, the rich planting soil is beginning to flow over the wooden retaining walls and accumulate on the walkway like burnt stream sediment. Gordy seems surprised when you follow the walkway past this garden rather than entering the camp through the open door.
  
  "We're not going in there?"
  
  "No, the cables are probably out in back."
  
  He doesn't say anything further, but you can see his shadow following yours as the headlight beams project your silhouettes onto the camp's green metal roof. The light, however, is not enough to penetrate all the way to the back of the camp; between the waist-high flowerbeds and the corner of the roof, the rear is completely in shadows. Only the upper branches of the nearest trees are catching the light as they sway and flutter at the mercy of the wind.
  
  "Be careful where you step," Gordy says as you reach the end of the light. This is an odd bit of concern to express at this moment, given all of the other adversities being thrown at you tonight.
  
  "How do you mean?" you say.
  
  "There could be anything out there in the dark."
  
  Now what is this about? you wonder. It's doubtful that your personal safety is topmost on his mind. What does he think is out here?
  
  Nevertheless you approach the darkness cautiously, your body now reluctant to proceed after Gordy's warning; as long as you are standing within range of the headlights, your eyes refuse to adjust to the zone beyond. After taking a few tentative steps around the corner of the camp into its penumbra, you pause to let the shadows come into focus. Indeed there is something large in the middle of the backyard, maybe fifty feet beyond the hindmost extent of the building — probably a piece of tree brought down by the storm.
  
  Gordy sees it too and strides right over to it. "See what I mean?" he says, bending down to examine the shadowy object. "I wouldn't want you to turn up like this guy."
  
  Your blood chills. Like this guy. Looking at the shadow again, it is hard to say what he has found. But yes, the possibility that it's a person lying on the ground can't be confidently eliminated — not from this distance.
  
  "Al, come check this out!" He's still stooping over the object, examining it like a curious kid who's found a garter snake in the grass. Given all of your suspicions, though, your imagination has already drawn a conclusion: one or both of the Coopers is lying dead out in that yard.
  
  > take a closer look at what Gordy has found.
  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?
  
  > Stay.
  Gordy is an idiot. A dangerous one, sure, but still just an idiot. Probably a kid who grew up in the suburbs and never knew a day in his life without power; thinks it grows on trees or something. When he or Charlei flips a light switch and nothing happens, their first impulse will be to swipe out their iPhones and ask Siri why the lights won't come on — only to realize there is no wifi out here, either. It should be a good show. As long as he keeps shooting off his mouth and you keep quiet, you'll have the advantage: you are now the axe-wielding cat, and Gordy is the mouse.
  
  But instead of waiting in the middle of the yard, you adjust your grip on the handle and move quietly behind him, stopping maybe twelve feet away: close enough to strike if necessary, and he won't suspect a thing.
  
  "Charlei, quick, I need the lights!"
  
  You had thought she was going to wait in the truck, but to your surprise Gordy's shouts are answered by the sound of someone moving inside the utility room.
  
  And to your further surprise, a light above the door comes on.
  
  Gordy has his back to you and doesn't see you, but you and the axe are now in the full glow of the light. There is a large woodpile to your left, so you lunge behind that. The neatly stacked cords of wood are covered by a tin roof that is rattling loudly; if your opponent didn't hear you, you have the roof to thank for it.
  
  With the light now illuminating a large circular portion of the backyard, you can see plain as day what you had insinuated just a few moments ago: a body, probably Ray Cooper's, lying face down in the mud roughly fifty feet from the lean-to at the back of the A-frame. It was his back that had been holding up the axe handle. You examine the murder weapon in your hand; the rain has already washed the blood off the blade.
  
  A moment passes during which not much happens. You move an inch or two to get a better look at what's going on. Charlei is struggling to open the back door, and Gordy is dragging something out of the way. He has a foot in each hand — another body. By the process of elimination, that must be Mindy Cooper.
  
  The rattling roof over the woodpile makes it difficult to hear what the Goodcheer-Fellows are saying, but you can get the gist of it through their pantomime: Gordy is worried about where you struck him in the arm; Charlei gives it a look-over, but there is no blood and the skin is not even broken — just a tear in his shirtsleeve and the beginnings of a good bruise. Nevertheless Gordy is incensed, and he spins around looking for you out by Ray's body. He even pulls a small revolver out from behind his soggy vest, but of course you're not there, and there is nothing to shoot at.
  
  Then Charlei does what you thought would be impossible: she sees you peeking over the woodpile. Makes eye contact even, waving enthusiastically as if you were long-parted friends. Gordy follows the direction of her eyes, and you realize your advantage has ended.
  
  He comes running around the corner of the woodpile, gun pointed forward. The axe isn't going to do you much good against that, and yet you maintain your grip on it, since it's all you have for protection. But within a matter of seconds, Gordy has you in his sights. "Al!" he yells over the storm. You are still well within that circle of light, not even as far from the lean-to as Ray Cooper got.
  
  Gordy fires once, then a second time, and you fall forward, wet grass in your mouth, the axe coming to rest in the mud beside you.