In the Woods by Merry Jones Page A

don’t. I’d tell you. All I know about is the thing Josh has been doing.’
    â€˜You’re shitting me.’ The sector chief sat, leaned on the desk. ‘He’s up to that again? You didn’t stop him?’
    â€˜I tried to reason with him—’
    â€˜But I told him – we all told him – that will backfire. He’s more likely to bring more tourists than to drive them away. Damn fool.’
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜When did he start up again?’
    â€˜As far as I know, last weekend. He got some newfangled hi-tech legs.’
    The chief snuffed out his cigarette, turned to look out a window. The leaves glowed golden, red and orange in the afternoon sun. This land was God’s bounty, and it was his duty to protect it.
    â€˜We need a meeting. Everybody. Tonight.’
    â€˜Tonight? I don’t know if I can get all—’
    â€˜Hiram, we got a dead guy and Josh is going rogue. We better get ourselves together. We’re about to be swarmed by cops and investigators and who knows who all, and we’ve got no plan.’
    â€˜Right.’ Hiram sounded less than enthusiastic. ‘I’m on it.’
    The chief hung up and rubbed his eyes. His chest was tight, blood pressure rising, and his stomach felt like soup. Not that he was scared, though. No, he’d been preparing for decades for a confrontation with the government. He’d trained with his neighbors in everything – weaponry, marksmanship, strategy, survival techniques. They had their arsenal, and they were ready, all of them. Even so.
    He stood up, walked to the window, and watched a couple of wrens flutter by. The weather was crisp, clear. His sons were out there, hunting pheasant today. Life wasn’t bad, over all. He and the ex-wife mostly got along, and Mavis wasn’t giving him grief. His pants were a tad snug at the belt from some pounds he’d gained this last year, which was good because he tended to be skinny. Thing was, though, he wasn’t young any more. He needed reading glasses, and his sideburns were almost silver. Now that the showdown he’d been preparing for was finally coming, he’d lost a lot of his fire.
    He stared out at the colors, the bright light, the shadows, and he considered the jokes of life. One in particular was that by the time life finally let you have what you wished for, you just might not want it any more.
    But it was no use philosophizing. Thinking too much never got anybody anywhere.
    Bob climbed the rocky slope, pushing through vines and branches. Up ahead, where the ground leveled off, he saw what appeared to be an abandoned skeleton of a building. He let out a whoop. They’d been hiking for three hours, trying to follow the map, getting lost, reorienting themselves. And now, finally, they’d found it: the old campground.
    â€˜What?’ Pete called. ‘You see something?’ He was tired, trailing behind Bob.
    â€˜I think this is it.’
    Pete joined him, peered through the trees at what was left of a burned-out structure. The roof had caved in, but the frame was still recognizable.
    Bob pulled out his frayed old map. ‘This has got to be the main building. Yeah, look …’ He walked closer to the ruins, pointing to the left. ‘Those stones? See how they’re laid out in squares? Those must be what’s left of the cabins.’
    Pete looked at the stones. The sides of the squares were at most five feet wide. ‘Wouldn’t cabins be bigger?’ He scratched his hands.
    â€˜Maybe not.’ Bob scanned the area. ‘Besides, when they laid the pipeline, the workers probably moved things around. They must have cleared a road for their equipment. Everything would be dug into and moved around.’
    â€˜I don’t know.’ Pete peered at the map. ‘Are you sure this is the right spot? Because the map shows that the old campground had a trailer lot. I don’t see a