37

THE EXECUTION

June 1979

Trudging up the mountain path in the dark, Fritz felt sick, wondering how the situation had spiraled so far out of control. Somehow he was caught up in the thick of it when the quarrel wasn’t even his. If Austin had a bone to pick with Sloan, how had the rest of them been sucked in? Austin already thought Fritz was an idiot and the judgment made him act like one. It was like his mom telling him what a bad driver he was. The minute she got in the car with him, he’d do something stupid, like back into a garbage can. She didn’t have to say a word. From that moment on, he’d catch a tire on the curb going around a corner or he’d be looking somewhere else when the stoplight turned yellow and she’d gasp, brace herself on the dashboard, and point at the oncoming car he was unaware of.

Troy had been smart enough to go on strike. He’d driven them as far as the trailhead and then refused to accompany them further. Fritz wasn’t crazy about the expedition himself, but it was probably too late to protest. Even if he had the courage, what was he going to say? Austin would never let him off the hook. At the party, Fritz had tossed down five glasses of pink punch and two of green and had barfed it all back up while pretending to go outdoors to take a leak. Now his head was pounding and if he weren’t so afraid he’d make a fool of himself, he’d hike back down to the road. He and Troy could ditch the others while Austin did whatever he did. It would doubtless entail humiliation of some kind for any fool unlucky enough to be present. Fritz would have given anything to be able to stretch out in the truck bed and put his jacket over his head, but it was easier to keep on walking, looking for the perfect moment to stand up for himself. Right. Like that was going to happen.

He could hear the others scrambling up the trail behind him. Austin carried a flashlight, but its primary purpose was to guide his own passage, leaving the three of them to cuss and complain. The uneven path was little-used, with fallen branches snapping underfoot. He focused on the irregular terrain, working hard to maintain his balance. He wasn’t in good shape, so he was panting heavily and he’d broken a sweat.

“I used to go to camp up here when I was a Boy Scout. I don’t know what we’re doing, man. Place is a shit hole,” he said.

“Shut up, Fritz.” As usual, Austin’s voice was loaded with contempt.

“I’m serious. Ask me, this is stupid.”

“No one asked you.”

A moment later, Fritz stumbled and the gun went off. He’d squeezed the trigger involuntarily, but of course Austin was all over him, getting right in his face. “What’s the matter with you? Put the safety on! You could have killed one of us.”

“But—”

“Don’t say ‘but’ to me, you ding-dong.”

Fritz turned away, but Austin cuffed his shoulder.

“Hey. Don’t turn your back on me. I gave you an order and I expect acknowledgment. Put. The. Safety. On.”

“You said take the safety off. You took it off yourself when we were at the cabin.” Fritz knew his voice was shrill, but he was tired of being blamed for everything.

“Does this look like a cabin to you?” Austin yelled. “This is the fucking wilderness. We’re climbing a trail in the dead of night. You fall down with the safety off and you’ll shoot yourself, assuming you don’t shoot one of us first. Here. Gimme that.”

Austin yanked the Astra from his hand and made a big display of securing the trigger lock.

Fritz thought Austin’s action was far more dangerous, grabbing the weapon and pointing it every which way. At least Fritz had kept the barrel aimed at the dirt path so when the gun as good as fired itself, he wasn’t pointing it at anyone.

Sloan had yelped once when the gun went off, but aside from that she’d been quiet. Fritz figured she’d adopted the same attitude he had. Best to shut up and do as they were told or the situation would only get worse. If they played along, maybe the whole deal would blow over and they could all go home.

They reached the mesa, where nature had flattened the ground to form an enormous clearing. The cabins, as well as the old assembly and dining halls, had been abandoned years before and the county was in the process of bulldozing the dilapidated structures and using the detritus to fill the old swimming pool, which had been drained but was still considered an attractive nuisance. An excavator had been parked near a dumpster, where some of the shattered lumber had been piled. In the few buildings that remained standing, the windows were boarded over; porch planks rotted through. Even in its heyday, the structures were “rustic,” which is to say badly heated and poorly lighted. Fritz still shuddered when he remembered the wolf spiders: big, very black, and very fast. By night, it was cockroaches. After lights-out, when the boys were settled, one of the older campers would yell, “Death Trap!” and flip on the light. Insects of every size and description would dart off while everyone else banged at them with tennis shoes. Another way they amused themselves was to toss lighted cherry bombs in the septic tank.

Fritz and Bayard were both winded from the climb and Austin wasn’t in much better shape. Sloan was the only one who responded to physical exertion with exuberance. The four of them stood there, chests heaving, while Austin flashed his light across the wooden buildings. Everything looked dead except for the weeds and poisoned ivy, which seemed to be flourishing. It reminded Fritz of a movie set where a special machine had been used to spray fake cobwebs across the doorways. Austin crossed to the semicircle of dirt in front of the assembly hall. The makeshift amphitheater was used by campers when they gathered for nature talks. Crudely constructed benches, usually stacked in front of the dining hall, could be dragged into service. Fritz always stood at the rear so he could disappear once the program was underway.

A low mist drifted across the landscape, but the sky was crystal clear above them, stars everywhere. On the far side of the mountain range, a dull glow formed a fan shape against the night sky—light pollution compliments of the city of Santa Teresa. It was cold and Sloan, in her makeshift outfit, crossed her arms to keep warm. They were all waiting for their cues while Austin extended the silence for maximum dramatic effect.

Fritz tucked his hands in his armpits for warmth and flicked a look at Bayard. “I don’t like this.”

“Me, neither.”

Austin picked up on the complaint. “Bayard, you know what? I don’t care if you like it or not.”

“I’m with him. I don’t want any part of it. You let Troy beg off so why not us? This isn’t even our deal,” Bayard said.

Austin’s tone turned liquid, soft and seductive. “Are you refusing, pal?”

Bayard said, “Come on, Austin. Let’s dispense with the horseshit and get the hell out of here.”

Austin said, “I’m not done yet.”

“Yeah, well, we are.”

Austin ignored him. “Hey, Sloan. What do you think this is?”

He angled his flashlight beam to illuminate a trench three feet deep and six feet long. A shovel and a pickax rested on the loosely packed soil nearby. He shifted the flashlight beam to a spot under his chin, which threw his features into sinister shadows. It was something kids did at night to spook each other.

“Like you’re so scary,” she said.

“I asked you a question. What do you think that is?” He returned the beam to the trench.

Sloan put a hand to her cheek. “Gee, Austin. I don’t know. It looks like someone dug a hole in the ground.”

“Why don’t you lie down in it and see if it’s your size?”

“Not funny.”

“You don’t think so?” he asked. “I think it’s a riot.”

“You have a twisted sense of humor.”

“But a strong sense of fair play.”

Sloan laughed. “Is that how you see yourself? A guy with integrity? A man of honor? Because I know better and so do you.”

Austin said, “You know, I’m sorry now I dated you. I can’t remember what I was thinking.”

“Maybe you were thinking I was such a pig I’d be grateful for the attention.”

“Good one. That did cross my mind now you mention it,” he said.

“Let me tell you what crossed my mind. All this bad blood between us goes back to the infamous cheating incident when somebody wrote the note to Mr. Lucas. You claimed I was guilty when you knew damn well I wasn’t.”

“You were the one who got on her high horse when you heard Poppy and Troy intended to use the stolen test answers. You begged them not to do it. Next thing you know, Mr. Lucas gets a note spilling the beans.”

“You wrote that note.”

Austin laughed in disbelief. “I did? Where’d you come up with that screwball idea? I think you’ve been smoking too much dope.”

“How about this? There are five juniors up for the Albert Climping Memorial Award, including you, me, and Troy. Once Troy’s caught cheating, he’s out of the running. Then you point a finger at me, which puts me out of the running as well. The teachers are supposed to be unbiased, but it’s their vote and once they hear the rumor about me, my goose is cooked. You’re the one who benefits.”

“Are you forgetting Betsy and Patti?”

“They’re not serious contenders. They’re window dressing, which you know as well as I do. Troy and I are your competition and you can’t stand to lose. You want that award so badly, you’d do anything.”

“I can’t believe you’re accusing me.”

“Well, I am.”

Austin’s voice dropped. “Take it back.”

“No. Nuhn-un. No can do.”

“Are you out of your mind? First you threaten me with the tape and now you pull this? You can’t accuse me of shit like this.”

“I just did. What do you think, Bayard? Does it sound reasonable to you?”

Bayard looked from Sloan to Austin. “Actually, it does. I never thought of you as a tattletale until Austin made his claim.”

“Fritz?” Sloan asked, turning to him. “What’s your inclination? Is Austin guilty or innocent?”

“Hey. I want no part of this,” Fritz said. He laughed uneasily, hoping Austin wouldn’t rope him in any further.

Austin leaned down to the dirt piled up near the hole he’d dug. He grabbed a handful of soil. “Eat this.”

Sloan laughed, incredulous. “I’m not going to eat that. You eat it.”

Austin grabbed Sloan by the hair and yanked her head back. He lifted his fist and tried to force dirt into her mouth, but she shifted her head so the dirt tumbled to the ground. Sloan made a sound in her throat and Fritz felt his heart start to bang in his chest. It was clear Austin hadn’t pictured this part of the confrontation. He probably imagined himself prevailing, stronger, quicker, and more dominant, but Sloan had a will of her own. She was accustomed to contact sports and she wasn’t afraid of impact. She kicked at him, a swift, savage delivery with the toe of her hard-soled shoe striking him in the shin. Fritz backed up a step, not wanting to get caught in the cross fire.

Bayard had both hands in front of him, gesturing downward as though he could diminish the conflict by sheer dint of will. “Hey, come on. Don’t do this. Let it go. Let’s everyone just calm down, okay?”

Fritz was spellbound, paralyzed by indecision. Violence was usually directed at him by reason of his father’s temper and his quickness to strike out. His automatic response was an accelerated heartbeat, which is what happened now. Fight or flight were two options, but Fritz was in the habit of rolling over and playing dead.

A silence fell as Austin and Sloan fought on with a series of grunts and the occasional cry of pain. Sloan was getting the best of him, but Austin was tough in his way and not one to give up. The two paused. Sloan was panting, blood trickling from her nose. Field sports had taught her to fight hard and she wasn’t afraid of pain. Austin assumed in a pitched battle with a girl, he’d have size and weight on his side, but Sloan was strong and well-muscled. And she was mad. Austin was sweating with the effort. He reached down for a broken limb and smacked it against a rock. The branch splintered, leaving a gaping wound of raw wood. He was upping the ante, ratcheting up the game. Sloan backed up and then got a running start, heading straight at him at full speed. She lowered her shoulder and plowed into him before Austin could put up a defense. She was on her feet in an instant and when he regained his balance, she shoved him hard. He went down on his butt and Sloan started to run.

Austin screamed, “Fritz!”

Sloan reached the near side of the clearing where a tangle of construction debris provided screening. Fritz didn’t have time to think. A wonderful clarity sharpened his perception. The darkness limited the visual information coming to him, so all he had to work with was the sound of her running. He felt expansive, puffed up, all instinct with no time to reflect. For a moment, he was free of self-consciousness, free of worry, free of any concern about other people’s opinion of him. He knew this was what combat felt like: intense, immediate, and base. Austin seemed to fade, Bayard disappeared, and Fritz was left with a thrilling sense of the present. Sloan pounded into the woods.

Fritz could see that she’d disappear within another ten or fifteen steps. His hands were shaking so hard the gun nearly flipped out of his grasp. He pushed off the safety and chambered a round. He held the gun in both hands, doing a fair imitation of a police officer facing a thug. He fired, bearing down with his trigger finger so the bullets sprayed the underbrush, cutting a line as though someone were trimming brush with a weed whacker. In the darkness, he could hear Sloan running and he followed the sound of her crashing across the terrain, gasping now and then as though she might have tripped. He could hear her humming with fear and sorrow. He zeroed in on the noise, anticipating her path. She didn’t even know enough to zigzag like they did in the movies, dodging bullets, as though that were possible in real life. He wasn’t thinking about what he did, only that he was suddenly competent, filled with a feeling of power. There was a brief shriek and then he heard her hit the ground. Silence after that. He turned to Austin with a flash of triumph. “Whoa, baby! We did it, man.”

Exhilarated, he looked at the Astra in wonder. “Wow! This thing has power. Did you see that? I thought it would jump out of my hand. That is so cool.” He whooped with excitement, reveling in his accomplishment. He glanced at Austin, expecting an “Attaboy!”

“Shit. What did you do that for? Now we’re screwed.”

Caught off guard, Fritz stared at Austin with bewilderment. “You told me to shoot.”

“I did not! I wanted you to stop her, not shoot her. Now get out there and find her and we’ll see how bad she’s hurt. Here, take this.” He passed Fritz the flashlight and gave him a push.

“I couldn’t have hit her. I was just ‘bang, bang, bang,’ you know? I don’t think I scored.”

“What, like you won a stuffed monkey? You better hope not.”

“But she’s faking, right?”

“Would you get out there and find her! Shit, I can’t believe you’re this incompetent. What are you looking at me for? Go see if she’s okay.”

Fritz turned on the flashlight. The beam was strong and seemed to wash all of the color from the landscape. He was hyped. Adrenaline flooded his system and he felt charged with excitement. It was an energy he’d never experienced before, what he imagined cocaine or heroin must be like. His whole body felt light, like he’d levitated, like he was outside himself looking on. Austin was nothing. He was nobody. Fritz was larger than life.

His heart thundered in his ears. He crossed the clearing, following the path Sloan had taken. She was faking, pretending to be hit as a ruse to persuade him to quit firing. She was fast and he had no experience with a firearm. She could be easing through the underbrush at that very moment, slyly moving herself out of range. He wasn’t even sure how he’d find her in the dark.

He waded into the bushes, which were dry and thick, snagging on his pant legs. The ground was cushioned with pine needles, a dense carpet of rotting plant material that slowed his progress. He was almost sure Sloan pretended to be hit so he’d quit shooting. That’s what he’d have done in her place. He saw the low-hanging tree limbs snapped off and broken branches she’d trampled as she ran. He came across an empty shoe she must have lost in her haste. This was a pair she’d stolen from Austin’s father; probably didn’t fit right to begin with.

He came to a foot with a cotton sock. Her right leg. He moved the beam upward. He was relieved there was no blood though her bare leg looked very pale, with a harsh scratch across her calf. Hips and torso. He shone the light in a sweeping arc that illuminated the white of her flesh, half concealed in the overgrown vegetation. All he saw was blood and bone and the wreckage of her face where the bullet had torn into her.

She lay twisted, the lower portion of her body resting on its side, the upper portion flat on the ground with her arms spread wide. Much of the left side of her jaw was gone, a great, gaping burst of torn flesh with mangled teeth, like a goofy grin. She must have turned her head to the right because it looked like the bullet had ripped along her jawbone, taking everything in its path. Her jaw and cheek were raw meat, dirt clinging to her face, stuck to her flesh like mud.

For a moment, he stood and blinked, uncomprehending.

He couldn’t think how to undo this.

Could he be blamed when he hadn’t meant to do it? Would they understand how unlikely it was that he could hit a moving target when he fired? It was just a crazy accident—a tragedy. Something that happened in the moment with no conscious intent on his part.

“Austin?” Fritz could feel his voice break. Though his lips had moved, no sound came out. He coughed once and cleared his throat. “Austin?”

Austin’s voice came back, laden with annoyance. “What’s the matter with you? Shine a light over here. I can’t see jack shit.”

Fritz redirected the flashlight beam, pushing back the underbrush so Austin could find his way. He heard trampling in the underbrush behind him. Austin thrashed over the rough ground as Fritz had done moments before.

“Where?” Austin said.

Fritz moved the beam. Austin caught a glimpse of Sloan in the harsh beam of light, a tangle of long dark hair showing blood at the roots. He moved the light to Sloan’s ruined face.

Austin said, “Oh, Jesus, man.” He started shaking his head. “We are so fucked.” He turned on Fritz in a fury. “What the hell have you done?”

Fritz dropped to his knees beside her, blinking. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to hit her. What are the chances I would hit her? I don’t know anything about guns.”

Austin said, “All right. Shit. What’s done is done. Let’s just get this over with. Gimme a hand here.”

“I don’t want to touch her!”

Austin stared at Fritz, his expression dark with disdain. “This is your mess. I’m not doing this on my own. Get in here and help!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. You know that. It was just my dumb luck, right? You yelled and I started shooting, but how did I know she’d take a bullet in the face like that? You yelled and I just started firing—”

“I didn’t tell you to kill her, you stupid shit. Did you hear me say that? Did I say anything at all about shooting her?”

“She was escaping. You yelled and I fired because I thought you wanted me to.”

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. We have work to do. Get Bayard over here. You have put us in a world of hurt with this.”

Fritz seemed transfixed.

“What are you waiting for? Get Bayard!” Austin screamed.

Fritz scrambled through the bushes and burst into the clearing just as Troy appeared, coming up the trail from the road below.

“What’s up?”

Bayard turned to Fritz. “What’s Austin screaming about? Where’s Sloan?”

“Back there,” Fritz said. “She got caught by a bullet when she ran.”

“What do you mean, ‘caught’? Like you shot her?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Fritz said. His voice broke and he knew he was babbling because what would happen now? How would they explain? “I don’t even know how the safety came off. Austin yelled at me about that and put it on himself. You saw him do it, right? So when she started running, the gun shouldn’t have fired at all . . .”

Austin appeared behind Fritz. He was focused on Troy. “Go back to the truck and bring another shovel. We have a job to do.”

Bayard said, “You dug this hole, assuming we’d have a body on our hands?”

“No, Bayard. That would make it premeditated murder, wouldn’t it? Like I planned it all in advance, which I did not. I figured it would be expedient in case we had to bury the gun.”

“Why would we have to bury the gun if we didn’t use it?” Bayard asked.

“What’s with you and all the questions? Take my word for it, okay?”

“I’m just curious. If Fritz wasn’t supposed to shoot her, why dig a hole?”

“Why are you quizzing me about a hole in the ground? Fritz is the one who plugged her, and you know what? I don’t hear a note of regret out of him. Now go back in there and drag her out. And make sure you don’t leave anything of hers behind.”

Troy said, “Shouldn’t we find a phone? We could call for an ambulance. It might not be too late.”

“Yeah, well, it’s very late where she’s concerned. Bring her out here and put her in the hole. Troy, you bring up the other shovel. Let’s be efficient about this. We’ll get her out of sight and no one will be the wiser.”

Later, it would seem to Fritz that time skipped forward, a herky-jerky leap from moment to moment, with big pieces missing when he tried to reconstruct events. He and Bayard hauled her through the brush, dragging her by the feet, which was hard work. Sloan was big and she seemed to weigh a ton, this whole inert slab of a person they were having to maneuver through the dark. The two made a concerted effort, towing her backward over the rough ground. Her hair trailed across the terrain in a long stream, picking up dead leaves and dirt. Her feet and ankles felt warm to the touch and Fritz felt a spurt of hope that she wasn’t as badly injured as he thought. His gaze kept straying to the left side of her face, where her teeth had been shattered, leaving a gaping wound that only the dead could have endured.

Once in the clearing, they rolled her in the hole, and when Troy got back with the shovel they took turns tossing dirt in on top of her. Troy was crying. Fritz realized he was weeping as well. Bayard sat on the ground with his back to them, rocking back and forth, murmuring to himself while Austin popped the magazine out of the Astra and reloaded it. Fritz watched him uneasily. Maybe Austin meant to kill all of them. Shoot ’em down and push them into the same hole.

Austin’s tone was conversational. “So here’s the deal. We were together at the cabin, just hanging out and drinking beer. It was a pool party. A few people went home. We stayed to clean up some and then we drove down the mountain together.”

“What do we say about Sloan?”

“She came with us, of course. She needed a ride because Stringer left without her, so we put her in the truck with us and dropped her off downtown. Then we say we went to my house and shot some pool and watched TV. She was fine last we saw her.”

“Is anybody going to believe that?” Bayard asked.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Austin asked. “We’re not killers. We’re just a bunch of stupid kids. If the cops should ask, all we did was goof around until we finally hit the sack around midnight. We admit to smoking dope because that sounds like we’re being candid.”

“We did do that,” Fritz said.

“My point, you ass.”

Fritz was white-faced. “Why would they talk to us at all?”

“Because we’re friends of hers. We were all at the same party. Of course they’re going to ask us if we know where she is.”

“What if someone saw her out on the road?” Fritz asked.

“Didn’t happen. She missed her ride, so she stayed at the cabin until we could give her a lift back to town.”

“Then we’re in the clear?” Fritz asked.

“I didn’t say that. We’re on shaky ground and we have to hang together. Cops are tough and they’re wily. We gotta keep our mouths shut.”

“I won’t say a word. That’s for sure.”

Austin shook his head. “All we have to do is stay calm and stick to the story. Any one of us cracks, it’s all over and I can promise you this. You ’fess up, you’re dead. You got that?”

“What do we do now?” Fritz noticed a tremor in his voice that made him sound weak, even though moments before he’d felt indomitable.

“What do you think we do now? We go back and keep our fucking mouths shut. I just got done saying that. For starters, no one except Iris knows we came up here with her. When Stringer and Michelle and all of them took off, Sloan was fine, right? Last anybody saw of her, she’d had a little too much to drink and she was sleeping it off. What happened was she sobered up and asked us to take her back to town. We said sure. The four of us dropped her downtown, the corner of State Street and whatever. We’re the only ones who know different and all we have to do is get our stories straight, tell the truth as we know it, and stick to that.”

“Won’t someone report her missing?”

“Like who? Her folks are out of town. Maybe she went to a movie or met a friend somewhere. None of our business. She asked us for a ride into town and we were happy to oblige.”

“What if someone finds the body?”

“What are you talking about? No one’s going to find her. Why would anybody even think to look up here? Isolated, rugged. It’s off the beaten path. If the coyotes get wind of her, then aren’t they the lucky ones. Dig her up and cart her off, bone by bone. Nothing left to identify. The only trick is to keep calm. We’re innocent. We didn’t do anything. She asked us to drop her off and we did. End of incident. Someone asks us, we’re as worried as everyone else.”

“But, Austin, they’re dismantling this camp. Look at all the machinery. There must be guys up here every day.”

“That’s why we buried her, schmuck. She’s four feet down. We pack the dirt, maybe leave the excavator on the spot so no one sees the ground’s disturbed.”

“What about the cops?”

“What about them? The average cop is denser than a load of manure. Barely anything going on up here,” he said and tapped his head. “They’d like you to think they’re smart, but what are the percentages? You think they solve even half the homicides that come their way? Guess again. Case gets cold and they’re on to the next, bumbling along the same as always. Just don’t let anybody shake your confidence. We back each other up. Even if they interrogate us separately, all you have to do is button your trap and what proof do they have? Other kids at the party will swear the same thing. Last they saw Sloan, she was doing great. Meantime, if one of you breaks down and blabs? I will kill you.”

Bayard said, “What about the gun?”

“Shit. Good point,” Austin said.

He looked at Troy, who backed off a step, saying, “No way. I’m not touching that.”

Austin pushed the gun into Bayard’s hand. “You take it. I can’t afford to have it on me if I get picked up.”

Bayard said, “I don’t want the fucking thing. What am I supposed to do with it?”

Austin said, “Give it to Iris and tell her to hold on to it.”

“Until when?”

“Until I say so.”

Bayard started to protest, but Austin held up a finger.

“Fine,” Bayard said, annoyed.

Austin said, “Any questions?”

He looked from Fritz to Bayard to Troy, but no one said a word. “Okay, then. We’re set. End of story. Just hang tight and we’ll be fine.”