text: [Themes: modern, thriller]
  
  So, in the absence of a grisly murder scene, you begin to relax — slightly. It would be a lie to say you were completely at ease; after all, you have just been stranded at someone else's camp in the middle of a major storm by a pair of fucktards who just ran off with your truck. You can't rule out the possibility Gordy and Charlei might make a return appearance, and so you'd feel better if you had a way to defend yourself this time.
  
  As it happens, Ray Cooper fancies himself as a hunter, and you know where he keeps his rifles and shotguns. During that cookout two years ago, he was proudly showing his gun cabinet off to the male neighbors in attendance, and in particular the collection of shells he was hoarding — which, as he put it, was enough to make "Andrew Cuomo and his effing SAFE Act blush." It is located downstairs, in a storage area behind the kitchen.
  
  The flashlight beam leads the way. But as you cross the wet floor at the foot of the spiral staircase, the sound of fluttering wings sends you jumping across the room. Shining the light up to the high ceiling, you see a small bird, probably blown in by the storm, trying to find its way out. Christ, everything is out of joint tonight, with both man and nature deviating from their lanes.
  
  There is nothing you can do to help the bird now, and it's probably better off in here tonight anyway, so you decide to leave it be for now and remain focused on the task of arming yourself. At the back end of the kitchenette a door leads into the storage area, which is basically a lean-to tacked onto the rear of the A-frame. Ray's guns are in a tall plastic storage cabinet off to the left... locked with a combination padlock. Damn you, Ray! Well, there's only one way around that. You'll need to find an axe and see if you can bust your way in.
  
  There is a wall full of tools next to the camp's back door, the one leading out to where Cooper keeps a supply of neatly-stacked firewood. But as you shine the light along the array of implements hanging from their pegs, you see just about everything imaginable except an axe. One spot is empty, however, so maybe the axe wasn't returned after it was last used, and is still outside next to the wood.
  
  You try to open the door, but something on the other side is preventing it from budging more than a couple inches. You set the flashlight down so you can throw your entire body into the effort, but all you gain is maybe another six inches of space.
  
  It's enough to squeeze through. You grab the flashlight and force your body sideways through the narrow gap... and then nearly trip over the body of Mindy Cooper, her back torn open and pooling with rain water. Shining the beam of light farther ahead, there is another lump on the ground that can only be Ray. There is something long and skinny sticking up from his back.
  
  The axe handle.
  
  You scramble back through the door and close it tight behind you, as if to keep the dead out of the cabin. Some bags of landscaping mulch are stacked up against the wall, and there you sit with the flashlight turned off, trying to calm yourself. What a messed-up situation. How could any of this be happening? And to think, Heather had been worried about the storm. A tree falling on you might be the last of your worries right now.
  
  So, what had just been disturbing theories up until this moment have now been confirmed: you had a run-in with a pair of cold-blooded killers tonight, literal axe murderers, and you are probably only still alive yourself because you didn't resist their efforts to take your truck. You have no idea where they came from, why they are here of all places, or what it is they really want. You are positive you never met Charlei and Gordy before, nor do you have any reason to believe any of this is about you. Maybe Ray and Mindy had made some enemies back home? That would be a stretch of the imagination: Ray is (was) a logistics manager for a trucking company, and Mindy ran a beauty supply shop in a little strip mall somewhere. They were suburbanites like you, not mobsters.
  
  This leaves you with a chilling conclusion: everything that has happened here was a random event, no more predictable than the track of a wild hurricane. But if so, can you really know that you are safe just because you saw the Goodcheer-Fellows drive off in your truck? Perhaps, like Bob, they are lodged here in these mountains, circling around and unable to get free.
  
  You really need to get inside that gun cabinet. You don't want to pull an axe out of Ray Cooper's corpse to do it. So you flip the flashlight back on and see what else you have to work with — and then you see the chainsaw sitting on a shelf.
  
  Can you use a chainsaw to cut through thick plastic? You can't imagine it doing the saw any good, and heaven help you if the cabinet has a metal frame inside. But this is an emergency situation, and not a time to be delicate. You set the flashlight down so that it can light up a large swath of this utility room, grab the chainsaw, and yank on the cord. It roars to life on the third try: RIIIIINE-riiine-riiine-riine-RIIIIIIINE-riine!
  
  The saw feels feral in your hands, a lively little badger that is eager to be of service. You're not sure the best way to go about this project, so you decide to make several slices into the door that you might be able to bust out with a hammer. The saw shreds the plastic and makes a rough edge, but it does the job. Within minutes, you have cut away an entire panel large enough to reach through. You turn the saw off.
  
  "What the hell is Al doing in here? Busting up the furniture with a chainsaw?"
  
  "Must be he didn't see all that wood out back."
  
  Crap! Gordy and Charlei have returned, and you completely missed it while you were playing with the chainsaw. They're already in the house, and you hear footsteps in the kitchenette stomping toward the utility room. Someone will be barging through that door within a matter of seconds — so even though you've successfully cut into the gun cabinet, there will be zero time to select one of the guns, find the box of matching shells, and load one into the other.
  
  > escape out the back door while you still have time.
  You've seen what became of your neighbors, and so you know this is no trivial game or misunderstanding. As outraged as you may be by all that you've seen tonight, all that you've experienced, you are about to be caught unprepared. The only thing you can do now is get out of here while you still can. If you live, you will be able to identify the people who murdered Ray and Mindy. You'll be of no use to anyone if you end up beside them dead.
  
  Therefore once more you push your way out the back door, the one that is partially blocked my Mindy Cooper's legs, squeezing your way out into the chaotic night. "Al, come back here!" Gordy shouts from somewhere behind you. "We need to talk!"
  
  But once through the door, the two bodies tell you all you need to know about what Gordy might want to say. None of it is good.
  
  You're not as fast as you once were, perhaps, but self-preservation is a good motivator. You know from memory that behind the A-frame is a small yard with a slight incline to it, the cleared area quickly giving way to the forested foot of Starbuck Mountain. You also remember well that somewhere in the middle of that yard is Ray Cooper's bloody body. The problem, though, is that you can't see much of anything without the flashlight, which is still in the utility room pointing at the cut-up gun cabinet. And when you open your mouth to take in a gulp of air, what you get is a mouthful of rain.
  
  "Damn, he got away!" Gordy says from somewhere behind you.
  
  "Where did he go?" you hear Charlei say, her voice muffled by the door.
  
  "Out there somewhere. Shoot, we forgot to move Mrs. New Jersey out of the way."
  
  "She's still blocking the door?"
  
  "Yeah. She's a real fire hazard, if you know what I mean. The fire chief would be very unhappy if he saw her like this. Give me that flashlight and I'll see if I can find him."
  
  A moment later a beam of light sweeps out into the rain. You dive to the ground, landing in two inches of water.
  
  "Al, you out there?" Gordy yells. "It's time to come in out of the rain, for goodness sake!"
  
  "OMG, look at what he was doing!" Charlei exclaims from inside the utility room. "These people must have been right-wingers or something. Look at all these guns!"
  
  The flashlight beam disappears as Gordy investigates the gun cabinet you busted open. "Well I'll be," you hear him say. "Fat load of good it did them, though."
  
  While the two of them are distracted, you rise to your feet once more. When Gordy was shining the light across the yard looking for you, it gave you an idea of where you were in relation to the edge of the woods — not as close as you had hoped when you were running in the darkness. But while you were lying prone, with the rain beating at your back, you came up with a better idea.
  
  Instead of up the hill and into the woods, you decide to go back down, hopefully toward the driveway. All you can really do, though, is grope your way step by step in the darkness.
  
  "Isn't there anything in here that's already loaded?" Gordy is complaining inside the room.
  
  "Um, yeah, there's this."
  
  "OK, OK, not bad. I can make this work."
  
  You're not sure what it is they just found, but it can't be good. You had intended to arm yourself, not them, when you had cut that hole with the chainsaw.
  
  The next thing you know your knee strikes something hard, and you are tumbling headfirst into what must be a wheelbarrow filled with rain water. Your weight knocks it off balance, and both you and the barrow crash into a stone retaining wall.
  
  "Al, buddy, is that you?" Gordy has been drawn by the noise, conspicuous even in the storm, and has turned the flashlight in your direction.
  
  You're about to be found, and you still haven't managed to right yourself. What an inglorious way to meet your end: upside-down in what must be the Coopers' garden, soaking-wet shoes kicking at the falling rain.
  
  But then the light cuts out.
  
  "Oh, nuts! Of all the friggin' times!" Gordy grouses to himself.
  
  "What happened, hon?"
  
  "I almost found Al. He's somewhere over there, crashing into things in the dark. But then, right when I almost had him, the flashlight died."
  
  "Do you want to borrow mine?"
  
  "Please, before he gets away."
  
  While this little discussion is going on, you've managed to right and reorient yourself. The garden wall you ran into is made of stone, and by groping your way along the periphery you know it will lead you toward the driveway... where you hope your truck is parked once more.
  
  > Next page.
  You realize you are getting close when your feet come in contact with the gravel surface. But at the same time, another beam of light begins to cut through the rainy night. The person wielding it can see better than you can, and is therefore gaining on you faster.
  
  "I should've known this is where you'd go, Al. So typical, always preoccupied with what you own."
  
  In finding you, Gordy's replacement flashlight has also put a light on your truck — but this wasn't how you had hoped to find it, unarmed and tracked down so easily. Nevertheless you make the sprint to the driver's side door. And just as you reach it, a shotgun blast shatters the rear window beside you.
  
  "Now Al, think before you do anything foolish," he says. "There are still two more rounds in this thing."
  
  The flashlight beam is trained directly on you, and so too you assume is the shotgun.
  
  "Look," you say, slowly turning around to see your assailant. "I don't know who you guys are, or what you really want here. All I want is to go home and see my wife again."
  
  "I wouldn't count on that happening tonight, Al."
  
  "Why, because you're going to shoot me?"
  
  "No. Well yes, probably. I mean no, no one's going anywhere because the road's washed out. Charlei and I tried, but it looks like we're stuck here. With you, Al."
  
  "You two are crazy, you know." Why not be a little ballsy? He's got a shotgun pointed at you, and you've seen what happened to the people who owned this camp. Might as well say what you think; it's not like you're going to sweet-talk your way out of this.
  
  "Oh, so we're into pop psychology now, huh? Is this something you learned from watching Dr. Phil?"
  
  When he first showed up at the Bear's Den you had assumed that the rain was putting him in a foul mood. But now he has come alive, as if he were a creature of the storm, unconcerned by the fact he is getting drenched while he unleashes his torments. You notice he's traded in his waterlogged flatcap for something with a broader rim, probably something he found in one of these camps, but even that seems inadequate in the midst of Bob's deluge. Of course, your own outerwear gave up trying to keep you dry long ago.
  
  "So this is it?" you say. "You and I stand here trading insults with each other until you shoot me, and then you move on to your next thrill?"
  
  "I wouldn't call it a thrill, Al. It's just a necessary outgrowth of what Charlei and I do. I must say, we liked you a lot better when you just stepped away from your truck. That was sweet of you, letting us have it. In fact, Charlei was so impressed that when we realized we were stuck here, her first idea was to come back and spend some more time with you."
  
  "Well then, where is she now?"
  
  "She doesn't like this," he shouts over the wind, tipping the gun up. "Never has."
  
  "You better keep a tight grip on that shotgun, Gordy, or this wind will blow it right out of your hands!"
  
  "Thank you for the advice. I'll keep it in mind!"
  
  But he's becoming increasingly harder to hear, because the gale-force winds really are picking up in intensity, with sticks beginning to sail through the air in addition to leaves and rain. They begin to pelt both of you from the side. Gordy is now starting to lose his cool again; in fact he looks especially frantic, as if he were trying to swat away giant mosquitoes.
  
  That's when you first hear it: what sounds like an out-of-control freight train thundering from up the valley, or maybe a jet airplane hovering just over the treetops. "Get down!" you reflexively yell, as if you had concern for Gordy's safety. But he can't hear you anyway.
  
  Where is the nearest shelter? The A-frame is too far away, and those tall windows in the den are probably about to become a liability. So you drop to the ground and roll under the truck, waiting for the devastation that you are sure is about to come.
  
  It is not a long wait. When the gale strikes, trees snap like firecrackers in all directions. The truck buckles as one strikes it from above, but the axles hold and keep you from becoming crushed. The roaring wind seems to be parked directly above you, and even here in the crawl space under the Ford's exhaust system you can feel the rain being blown horizontally. You can hardly see a thing in the darkness, but you know that trees have fallen on each side when you feel leaves and branches to your right and left.
  
  Slowly the gale moves down the valley, toward Griffin, as if at the pace of a walk. And even the rain begins to let up after a while. A long while.
  
  > Next page.
  The day after the storm.
  
  The sound of a helicopter flying overhead was one of the most glorious things you had ever heard.
  
  It came in the early afternoon, just a few hours after the storm had passed, leaving a swath of devastation in its wake. And its arrival solved a particularly sticky problem that you had been mulling for hours: how exactly you are going to get out of this place.
  
  The problem is there's a good chance you'll be leaving here in handcuffs.
  
  But first, let's back up a bit. You had remained under the Ford for the rest of the night and into the morning, sheltering in this unglamorous manner for the remainder of the storm — although "sheltered" is a relative word, considering that you were lying on the saturated ground and trapped by fallen trees. The only reason you didn't get chilled was because of the tropical origin of the storm; Bob had been born off the coast of Africa and brought with it warm winds and warm rain.
  
  For hours you tried to imagine how things might have gone otherwise. If only Gordy and Charlei had never shown their faces, you'd probably be sheltered back at the Bear's Den in your favorite bunk on the upper floor, the one nearest the window in the rear with the view toward Starbuck Mountain. (Although even in your fantasy you had to admit there was a good chance that, in reality, the old tin roof had been a casualty of Bob's windy rampage; if so, then maybe the Bear's Den was no more secure than where you were, under the truck.)
  
  Suffice it to say, it had not been an easy way to ride out the storm, even if you never did hear another word from your two tormentors. When light gradually began to reappear, you could see the cage of fallen trees that enclosed you and the F150. You were soaking wet and dirty from head to toe. But these were conditions that might eventually be remedied with the help of a washing machine and a shower. The most important discovery, though, was that you had made it to morning uninjured.
  
  But the rain was reluctant to give up. It had first begun coming down last night around six o'clock maybe, and only at ten in the morning did it begin to subside — sixteen continuous hours of precipitation, topped with maybe fifteen minutes of apocalyptic winds. And even then, you did not realize the rain had stopped at first because you mistook the sound of the swollen Honnedaga for the sound of the continuing onslaught of rain.
  
  When you did emerge from underneath the truck, it was like navigating a maze through the tangled limbs — like climbing a horizontal tree. Two big maples had piled around the truck, with one of them sprawling over the top. Both had been pulled up by the roots like dandelions and tossed across the driveway by Bob's fury. And from what you could see as soon as you could get your head high enough, hundreds of acres had been similarly flattened.
  
  You and the crushed remains of your Ford were apparently at the heart of that blowdown. The top of a big spruce had snapped off and fallen flat across the tan Dodge Ram, and three pines were leaning against the roof of the A-frame. Very few trees had been left standing, and those that remained had been plucked of most of their leaves. The fallen trees were lying end-to-end in a jumbled mass that stretched in every direction, meaning you would not be able to get anywhere without crawling under and over all of this woody carnage.
  
  Certainly, you had been lucky to survive this part of the storm. Had it not been for the truck, you would've been crushed by any one of these trees. Of course, your first thought had been to wonder what had happened to Gordy; the last you saw him, he was still trying to menace you in the driveway but becoming increasingly distracted by the airborne debris. Were his remains somewhere under one of these trees? It was a pleasant thought: the creature of the storm getting swallowed by it. And yet you could see no sign of him.
  
  The A-frame had been damaged but was still standing. It would be the nearest place to go, but if Gordy and his wife had survived Bob then that was where they would be. Instead you decided to try and make your way back to the Bear's Den, even though the road was completely covered with fallen trees and appeared impassible.
  
  You did not get far before the state helicopter appeared in the sky, probably following the trail of blowdown to search for survivors such as yourself. You took off your soggy jacket and twirled it in the air to get its attention. Minutes later, a forest ranger was descending from a rope in your direction.
  
  At first Ranger Norton was happy to see you, because rescuing people from rugged areas is what rangers are trained to do, and doing so must make them happy. He was preparing to have you hoisted up to the chopper when you tapped his shoulder and mentioned there were other people in the vicinity, two of them murdered. At that point this evolved from a recovery operation to a crime scene investigation.
  
  Now it is late afternoon, and you are sitting on a log surrounded by other rangers and state police investigators. The smell of fresh-cut wood is everywhere as the rangers work to clear out the area around the A-frame, and sawdust covers the ground. They found the bodies of Ray and Mindy Cooper right where you said they would be.
  
  But there is no sign of the Goodcheer-Fellows.
  
  "So tell me again about these people, Mr. Flansburgh." This is Investigator Caparelli from the New York State Police, who arrived with a team of other investigators on a second helicopter about two hours after Ranger Norton. "Describe to me what they looked like. Where did they say they were from? What was their business here?"
  
  He means Gordy and Charlei, of course, and this is the fifth time you've been through all this. The investigator was quite respectful at first, as you were likely the sole witness in a double homicide. But you've noticed that with each round of questions his tone has become more and more condescending, especially when no sign of the two perpetrators on whom you pinned the crimes can be found.
  
  Another plain-clothed investigator approaches. "Sir, we can find no sign of a break-in at the camp, other than the gun cabinet in the back room."
  
  "What about the murder weapon?" Caparelli asks.
  
  "It was exposed to the storm all night long. Any prints that might've been on the handle have all washed off."
  
  "So anybody could have wielded that axe, is that what you're telling me?"
  
  "It looks that way, sir, yes."
  
  You sigh, knowing where this is going. Charlei and Gordy must have left physical evidence of their presence everywhere, but it's going to take a more thorough investigation to find it.
  
  Caparelli turns back to you and looks you over with a skeptical eye. "So tell me, Mr. Flansburgh, how well did you know the victims? Did you get along with them? Maybe you had a grudge?"
  
  You swallow hard. How did the Goodcheer-Fellows manage to escape this storm damage, and why can't they be found? Until someone captures them and brings them before this investigator, the road to your own exoneration is going to be all uphill.