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Authors: Brian Panowich
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inferno.
“Holy shit, Hal! How we gonna put this out?”
“We’re not. They are.” He pointed to the man tied to the tree.
Clayton wasconfused.
Hal explained. “This fire is going to be seen by the fella Deddy sent us here to find, and I promise you he’ll be along shortly. When him and his boys are all tuckered out from fightin’ a woods fire, we’ll pick them off like fish in a barrel. It’ll be fun. C’mon, let’s go find a place to watch.”
“What about him?” Clayton pointed to the blond man, who was starting to come arounddue to the intense heat.
“Fuck him,” Hal said. “Come on.”
“But he’ll burn alive.”
“And?” Hal said, beginning to lose his patience. “Get your ass up that path before I leave you here to burn up with him.”
Clayton couldn’t move.
The man tied to the tree by Clayton’s knots awoke completely when the fire started licking his feet and legs. He swiveled his head back and forth, wide-eyedand frantic, taking in the scope of what was happening to him. He struggled to free himself, drawing his knees up to his chin. He screamed at Clayton to help him. He begged. Clayton just stared at him—horrified. Hal gripped Clayton hard under the arm and nearly ripped it off dragging the boy back out the way they came.
From a safer distance, Clayton watched his brother get comfortable againsta tree stump and close his eyes. Hal looked rested and content as the burning man’s screams became something else. Something unnatural. Clayton would never forget that sound. He wondered if Hal could even hear it at all, or if all he heard were the hornets.
CHAPTER
6
S IMON H OLLY
2015
1.
Agent Holly shoved his key in the lock and tried to remember the last time, if ever, he’d stayed in a motel room that still issued keys to its patrons. Not those flimsy plastic keycards with the magnetic strip, but real, straight-up cut metal keys. As soon as he opened the door to room six of the Waymore Valley Motor Inn, the smell of powdered dollar-store potpourri and stale cigarette smoke rushed his face. It was strangely comforting. As were the bland mother-of-pearl walls and the dim electric-yellow light. This was the kind of thing he was used to. All the fresh mountainair and wide-open spaces were foreign and intimidating. Being out in the open country made him feel like, at any time, he could lose his footing and spin right off the planet. The tight space felt better. More controlled.
Holly unzipped the black government-issue duffel and took out his cell phone. He’d purposely left it behind before the sit-down with Clayton Burroughs. No distractions. Thephone showed multiple missed calls from the same three numbers within the space of four hours. One was his girlfriend, Clare; one had a government prefix; and one had a North Georgia area code. Calling any of the three back was going to be the equivalent of sticking an ice pick through his left eye. He tossed the phone on the end table and fished a prescription pill bottle out of the duffel, aspecial cocktail of ten-milligram hydrocodone tablets and twenty-milligram diazepam. He shook out the pills and washed them down with tap water from the sink. His hands were still a little shaky. He’d done his best to keep them still during his meeting with the sheriff, but today was a long time coming, and to be honest, he was surprised he’d handled it so coolly. Holly was pretty sure he’d sold theright play to the sheriff, even if he’d had to consume a year’s worth of fat and carbs at that ridiculous pool-hall diner to do it.
How do these people eat that shit every day?
he thought. He needed a gym, and a shower, but he settled for three fingers of bourbon from a plastic traveler’s bottle to give the pills a swift kick in the ass. The burn of the whiskey felt good. He sank down intoa chair next to the bed and let the chemicals work their magic. It was the only thing making this next part bearable. It was time to roll up his sleeves
“Holy shit, Hal! How we gonna put this out?”
“We’re not. They are.” He pointed to the man tied to the tree.
Clayton wasconfused.
Hal explained. “This fire is going to be seen by the fella Deddy sent us here to find, and I promise you he’ll be along shortly. When him and his boys are all tuckered out from fightin’ a woods fire, we’ll pick them off like fish in a barrel. It’ll be fun. C’mon, let’s go find a place to watch.”
“What about him?” Clayton pointed to the blond man, who was starting to come arounddue to the intense heat.
“Fuck him,” Hal said. “Come on.”
“But he’ll burn alive.”
“And?” Hal said, beginning to lose his patience. “Get your ass up that path before I leave you here to burn up with him.”
Clayton couldn’t move.
The man tied to the tree by Clayton’s knots awoke completely when the fire started licking his feet and legs. He swiveled his head back and forth, wide-eyedand frantic, taking in the scope of what was happening to him. He struggled to free himself, drawing his knees up to his chin. He screamed at Clayton to help him. He begged. Clayton just stared at him—horrified. Hal gripped Clayton hard under the arm and nearly ripped it off dragging the boy back out the way they came.
From a safer distance, Clayton watched his brother get comfortable againsta tree stump and close his eyes. Hal looked rested and content as the burning man’s screams became something else. Something unnatural. Clayton would never forget that sound. He wondered if Hal could even hear it at all, or if all he heard were the hornets.
CHAPTER
6
S IMON H OLLY
2015
1.
Agent Holly shoved his key in the lock and tried to remember the last time, if ever, he’d stayed in a motel room that still issued keys to its patrons. Not those flimsy plastic keycards with the magnetic strip, but real, straight-up cut metal keys. As soon as he opened the door to room six of the Waymore Valley Motor Inn, the smell of powdered dollar-store potpourri and stale cigarette smoke rushed his face. It was strangely comforting. As were the bland mother-of-pearl walls and the dim electric-yellow light. This was the kind of thing he was used to. All the fresh mountainair and wide-open spaces were foreign and intimidating. Being out in the open country made him feel like, at any time, he could lose his footing and spin right off the planet. The tight space felt better. More controlled.
Holly unzipped the black government-issue duffel and took out his cell phone. He’d purposely left it behind before the sit-down with Clayton Burroughs. No distractions. Thephone showed multiple missed calls from the same three numbers within the space of four hours. One was his girlfriend, Clare; one had a government prefix; and one had a North Georgia area code. Calling any of the three back was going to be the equivalent of sticking an ice pick through his left eye. He tossed the phone on the end table and fished a prescription pill bottle out of the duffel, aspecial cocktail of ten-milligram hydrocodone tablets and twenty-milligram diazepam. He shook out the pills and washed them down with tap water from the sink. His hands were still a little shaky. He’d done his best to keep them still during his meeting with the sheriff, but today was a long time coming, and to be honest, he was surprised he’d handled it so coolly. Holly was pretty sure he’d sold theright play to the sheriff, even if he’d had to consume a year’s worth of fat and carbs at that ridiculous pool-hall diner to do it.
How do these people eat that shit every day?
he thought. He needed a gym, and a shower, but he settled for three fingers of bourbon from a plastic traveler’s bottle to give the pills a swift kick in the ass. The burn of the whiskey felt good. He sank down intoa chair next to the bed and let the chemicals work their magic. It was the only thing making this next part bearable. It was time to roll up his sleeves
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