The Ascent of PJ Marshall Read online

  “What?”

  “Remember how scared you used to be of meteors?”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “How you thought one was going to hit the house and kill us in our sleep?”

  “Uh-huh. Being vaporized by a ton of molten rock. Very amusing.”

  “And then when it would get dark you’d climb the big oak with your binoculars?”

  “You mean my early detection station.”

  “Oh, okay. It was funny, though. It seemed like we were only in danger when Mrs. Johnson’s niece was visiting next door.”

  PJ rose onto his elbow.

  “You have got to be kidding me. I was up there trying to save our asses, and you’re second guessing my motivation. We’re talking about life and death, and you’re—”

  “Ever get a good look at her?”

  PJ considered his reply. He lay back down, shaking his head with a sigh.

  “No. The curtains were always shut.”

  They turned to face each other, and PJ could see Butch’s eyes and teeth glowing in the moonlight. Breaking into simultaneous laughter, they turned away as another meteor flashed. Butch took hold of PJ’s arm.

  “Holy crap! Better climb those hills and stand watch tonight.”

  PJ jerked his arm away.

  “And you’d better…you know, shut up.”

  Their laughter faded and they lay in silence watching the sunset dim over the horizon. Moonlight filtered through the sun shade over the picnic table, casting a latticed shadow over their site. Its widening bands passed through the tent and across the road, where it dissolved in the sterile glow of a lone street light. A puff of air blew an infectious yawn through the screens. PJ turned to his side, holding his breath as he carefully placed his ankle.

  “So…what’s the deal with Tim-Oil?”

  Butch was slow to answer. He took off his cap and set it next to his head as the coyotes began to bark again, more distant now.

  “Those pills kicking in yet?” He asked.

  “Startin’ to.”

  “Uh-huh. Are you going to remember anything I tell you?”

  PJ blew through pursed lips and then began to cluck his tongue, deep in thought.

  “Hard to say, really. Uh…who are you again?”

  “Wonderful. I’ll fill you in on the details when I come down next month. For now, let’s just say it’s a pretty big deal.”

  “As big as…say, a meteor turning you into a charcoal briquette?”

  “Bigger. And within the confines of reality to boot. I’m going to Washington to testify at a Senate hearing. It’s—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” PJ said, rising to his elbow and stopping him with an outstretched hand. “The Senate. The United States Senate.”

  Butch turned to look at PJ.

  “No,” he said. “The Galactic Senate. The Supreme Chancellor is concerned that Earth may be turning to the dark side.”

  PJ shut his eyes, his lips pursed, trying not to laugh. He lay back down.

  “Asshole.”

  “Anyway, it’s something Jim and I have been working on, but he’s backing out. It’s just me now.”

  “What? Why?”

  Butch shook his head.

  “It’s…complicated. He showed up at the house the day before you and I left on this trip. Said he was going up to his camp and wanted to see me first.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Just that he felt bad about Tim-Oil and wanted to tell me in person. I told him to stay at the house so we could figure things out when I got back, but he was set on leaving.”

  PJ yawned and doubled the sleeping bag under his ankle.

  “Well, thass…stupid,” he said, his words beginning to slur and blend together. “Thass a long friggin’ way to come and not say anything.”

  “I know. It’ll be fine, though.”

  “Can you…do it by yourself?”

  “Sure. We just balance so well. Me, the analytical science type and Jim, the vocal rabble-rouser. These things are as much show as they are anything else.”

  “I s’pose. So…question for you, dad.”

  “Okay.”

  “What the hell’s a rabble-rouser?”

  Laughing, Butch turned away.

  “Nothing. You’re right. I am a dork.”

  “Thass all I’m sayin’.” PJ raised his leg and touched the roof of the tent with his foot. Slowly, he set it back on his bag. “Wow, the United States Senate. Might want to rethink that shower.”

  Under a black Badlands sky, PJ closed his eyes.

  “And you can stop calling me PJ anytime you want. It really doesn’t work for a grown man. Especially one as manly as myself.”

  Butch sputtered.

  “You’re stuck with it, PJ. I gave you plenty of chances.” Another light breeze hissed through the screens, drowning the faint, distant rattle of snoring from the neighboring campsites. Butch cleared his throat. “You remember the last time we were all out here?”

  PJ drew a deep breath through his nose.

  “Mm-hmm. When those bison woke us up in the morning. Snortin’ and shit.”

  “You nearly peed your bag.”

  “Yeah. Mom freaked out too, though.”

  “Yeah. It was never as much fun teasing her. She could always turn it against me. You’re a much easier target.”

  “Quite the role model you are.” PJ opened his eyes. Out the side wall, a pair of meteors passed over his father’s silhouette. Butch’s breathing began to grow deep and rhythmic. PJ pursed his lips. “Six years now.”

  Butch’s breath caught, and he shifted slightly on his bag.

  “Yeah. Hard to believe.”

  “You’re coming this year, right?”

  Butch turned aside.

  “Of course. I told you, next month.”

  PJ smiled and shut his eyes. The coyotes called across the plain, their cries unanswered. The air stirred, mixing the essence of wilderness around him, lulling him into a deep haze. His father’s voice drifted to him, as if in a dream.

  “Some things go without saying, partner.”

  chapter four

  Hackett

  Gravel crunched under the tires as Hackett’s car rolled to a stop. Awash in the glow of his headlights, the cabin’s mossy clapboard fluoresced in a dim halo of surrounding forest. Owned by a co-worker’s aging father, the cabin had fallen into disrepair as a hunting camp and weekend getaway, but given the easy half-hour drive from Butch’s house, was proving useful once again.

  Hackett killed the engine and pushed in the lighter, leaning back as he jiggled a cigarette out the corner of the pack. A rustle in the brush drew a feeble search through the open driver’s side window—quickly abandoned with the snap of the lighter. He lit up and rolled his head aside, listening in thoughtful silence as he finished his cigarette in short order. His hand grazed the tire iron propped in the center console as he dropped the butt in an empty soda can, and he jerked it back to his side. The car shook, preceding a dull thud from the trunk. Hackett straightened in his seat, checking the darkness in the rear view mirror.

  Taking the wheel in both hands, Hackett bowed his head as the car shuddered a second time. He got out, clutching the tire iron as he crept to the back, sliding his left hand against the car. He stood over the trunk, fumbling with the key, his head cocked. The car bounced almost imperceptibly. Holding his breath, he released the latch, his weapon raised as he lifted the lid.

  Butch was on his side facing the back seat, his hands clamped over his head, his hair matted with blood. His body rose and fell with a heavy wheeze. Hackett prodded him with the iron.

  “Hey.”

  Butch turned his head, squinting in the dull glow of the trunk light, blood caked in his eyes and mouth. He turned in a sudden panic onto his back, his eyes rolling into his head. Hackett motioned for calm.

  “Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  His breathing labored, Butch stared up at Hackett, holding onto th
e trunk opening. He spoke in a weak, raspy groan.

  “Hack—” He began to cough. Hackett moved his bloody hand off the car with the iron, placing it by Butch’s side. By degrees, his coughing subsided, and Butch looked up at Hackett once again. “Hackett. Get me out—”

  He grabbed his head, rolling back and forth over the trunk floor in agony as another coughing fit erupted. Hackett glanced back at the road, cursing under his breath. As his cough settled, Butch released a low, crackling moan. Hackett snapped his fingers in his face, drawing his attention.

  “Yeah, I will. But we need to get some shit straight first.” Turning away, Butch pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, exhaling with a hiss. Fresh blood seeped from the wound on his head and through his fingers. “We need to be clear about what happened.”

  No response. Hackett prodded Butch’s elbow with the tire iron.

  “You understand me? I don’t think we have a lot of time.”

  A slow nod.

  “This was self-defense. You attacked me.”

  Butch shook his head.

  “What do you—?” Hackett stopped short, glancing back at the empty road. “What did you expect?”

  Lowering his hands, Butch looked up at Hackett, his eyes red and swollen.

  “You—and Ward—were—”

  “No. It was you. You did this. Don’t try to—”

  Butch began to yell as he pushed his palms back into his eyes, kicking the side of the trunk. Hackett grabbed his ankles, holding his legs down.

  “Would you shut the hell up? You’re making this worse. I can’t help you if you don’t—”

  All at once, the woods were flooded with light, the shadows of the surrounding trees growing on the wall of the cabin at the end of the drive, their fluid outlines becoming smaller and more distinct. Hackett turned and fell into a crouch, watching as a car approached, its headlights sweeping through the undergrowth as it negotiated the curve in the road. Butch was waving his hands and yelling in hysterics as he tried to sit up. Hackett lowered the trunk lid, holding it down against Butch’s feeble attempts to raise it. He closed his eyes.

  “Just shut up.”

  The car slowed to an excruciating crawl as it passed the end of the drive, and Hackett held his breath as its tail lights flickered behind a screen of honeysuckle and then disappeared in a rising hiss of acceleration. He stood and lifted the trunk lid, finding Butch clawing at the back of the car, trying to pull himself up. Hackett pushed him back down onto the carpet.

  “God damn it, I’m trying to help you!”

  Again, Butch tried to crawl out of the trunk. Hackett growled, grabbing a handful of his shirt, holding him down against a spirited but weak struggle. Butch gritted his teeth, his throat bubbling. His cold hands clamped weakly around Hackett’s wrist.

  “Let me out!”

  “Then listen to me!” Butch released Hackett’s arm and there was a sudden, silent truce. They stared at one another—both breathing heavily, their eyes wide. Hackett extended his free hand in a calming gesture. “You had an accident. I found you and brought you to the hospital. Understand?”

  Hackett continued to hold him down, his stomach turning as he awaited a response. Panting and shaking with exhaustion, Butch let his head fall to the floor of the trunk. Slowly, Hackett released his grip on Butch’s shirt and leaned closer, now holding out both hands.

  “What do you say?”

  With a shrill scream, Butch grabbed Hackett’s arm and redoubled his efforts to pull himself out, spraying Hackett with blood and spit as he writhed and sputtered with rage. Jerking his arm loose, Hackett shoved Butch back inside and slammed the trunk.

  “Fuck!”

  Hackett dragged his sleeve across his face, watching the moon’s reflection on the trunk quiver with each blow from inside. His legs buckled, and Hackett fell to his knees, clutching the bumper.

  “You’re so fucking stupid.”

  Nauseous, he rested his forehead on the back of the car, his throat tightening as he listened to the hollow rumble of a useless struggle. He punched the back of the car.

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  The muted echo of another coughing fit. Hackett wiped his eyes and nose as he picked up the tire iron and stumbled to the front seat to light a cigarette. Setting the tire iron on top of his car, he staggered to the cabin, collapsing with an exhausted grunt on the front steps.

  The woods were eerily clear in the moonlight, and Hackett’s gaze bounced among the shadows, settling on the stand of buck thorn at the end of the porch. Hidden within was a small storage shed, its door served by a grassy arm off the main driveway. He stared at the ghostly structure, dragging deeply from his cigarette. With a hollow scrape and a crunch of dried leaves, an animal grazed the shed and Hackett jumped to the ground, picking up a stone. He cocked it, waiting as hot smoke licked up his dangling arm.

  The animal had paused at Hackett’s sudden interest but now it pressed on, again brushing against the shed’s plywood siding. Hackett threw the stone and it connected with a hollow thud, hastening the creature’s retreat into the brush. In the woods behind the cabin, a whippoorwill began to call, prompting Hackett to collect a second rock. Burned to a stub, the cigarette bit into his finger and he dropped it to the ground, shaking his hand, cursing. He crushed the butt and picked it up and put it in his shirt pocket. With a grunt, he threw the rock over the cabin and sat on the steps, taking the phone from his pocket. The whippoorwill’s song stopped. Hackett dialed. After several rings, a drowsy reply.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s me.”

  “What the fuck, Hackett? I told you. Six o’clock.”

  “I know, but I…there’s something we need to…uh…”

  “Jesus Christ, Hackett. What do you want?”

  “The guy jumped me before I could get away and…he’s in my trunk. I don’t know, I messed him up pretty good.”

  Ward lowered his voice.

  “You stupid…” His voice trailed off into incoherent cursing. “You told me you were done, Hackett. You were on your way back, for chrissake.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “What did I say to you this morning, Hackett?”

  “I know, but I—”

  “I’m sorry, did you not hear me? What did I say to you?”

  Hackett stood, staring at his car, his arm wrapped around his stomach.

  “Not to fuck this up.”

  Ward was silent, save for the electronic crackle of his breath. Hackett pulled the phone away from his ear, his nausea returning. He drew a deep breath.

  “I was thinking—”

  “Shut up, Hackett. Shut your fucking mouth. Are you sure it’s him?”

  Hackett swallowed. He eased himself down onto the porch steps once again, trembling.

  “Yeah.”

  “Does he know anything? What did he say?”

  “He…didn’t say anything. He just attacked me.”

  Ward chuckled, sending a shiver down Hackett’s neck.

  “Don’t bullshit me, Hackett. He knows something. What did he say?”

  “I—he didn’t have time to say anything. He came up behind me and jabbed something in my neck, and I hit him. That’s it. What the hell was I supposed to do? I thought he was going to kill me.” The static from Ward’s breathing eased. Hackett turned his head, listening. “I think he’s dying.”

  Ward sighed.

  “Christ. Well, that’s something. He’d have fucked us for sure.” Hackett’s head lolled back and he closed his eyes. “Where are you?”

  “On the side of the road.”

  “Brilliant. All right, here’s what you’re going to do. You listening?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You need to finish it. Understand?”

  Hackett shook his head, his expression pained.

  “I—I don’t know. I think—”

  “Hackett. Don’t think. Answer me. Do you understand?”

  A deep breath.

  No. I w
on’t do it. Fuck you.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Then you get him back to the house and leave him in the lake.” Hackett stood and walked to his car, choking back an imminent breakdown. “Hackett?”

  “Yeah, what? I mean no, I can’t—”

  “Hackett!”

  He froze.

  “Yeah?”

  “If you don’t…I can’t help you.”

  Hackett sat on the hood of his car and caught his breath.

  “So I…all right, then what?”

  “That’s it. He fell. Hit his head on a rock and drowned.”

  Hackett recoiled.

  “You can’t be—I mean, they’ll know. They’ll figure out he wasn’t—they’ll do an autopsy.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  His hand trembling, Hackett patted his pocket for the cigarettes.

  “No.”

  “All right then, just do it. And for fuck’s sake, don’t get caught.”

  “So, how—?”

  “Six o’clock. Bring everything.”

  “I don’t know…I—”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Uh…no.”

  “And Hackett?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck this up and you’re finished.”

  Hackett flinched.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The line was silent.

  “Mr. Ward?”

  He checked his phone. The connection was dead. Hackett screamed into the mouthpiece.

  “Fuck you!”

  Hackett jammed the phone in his pocket and checked the road as he walked to the back of the car. He laid his ear on top of the trunk. The car rocked slightly, and then nothing. He went to the front and pushed in the lighter. Hackett stared at the tire iron, gnawing the filter of his cigarette and drumming his fingers on the roof of his car. The lighter snapped, and he blinked. He tossed the iron onto the seat.

  “Screw you. Mister Ward.”

  He got in the car and turned it over. Backing around onto the shed’s narrow access drive, he aimed the car towards the road and put it in park. He slumped in his seat, staring through the tunnel of illuminated canopy, the engine running. His head pounded. Glancing at the clock, he turned off the ignition, staring into the darkness of the rear view mirror. He slid his unlit cigarette back into the pack with a sigh.