Read Online Cradle Lake by Ronald Malfi - Free Book Online Page B

trees. Ahead, he could see Don bringing up the rear as the line of men hurried along the wooded path. Alan thought he spotted Hank among them, but it was too hard to tell because the man he believed to be Hank was surrounded by two other men—the two men who’d helped him lift the boy off the pavement—and all three were moving in synchronized strides.
    â€œDon!”
    Don froze and whirled around, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. “Jesus, Alan …”
    â€œWhat the fuck’s going on?”
    â€œLook,” he said, placing a hand on Alan’s chest, “go back to the house, round up a bunch of towels. I’ll come back and get you when—”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? Where are they taking him?”
    â€œWe’re not—”
    â€œWhat the hell do you guys think you’re
doing?”
Alan’s voice shook the trees. He brushed past Don and tore off down the path in pursuit of the congregation. For a moment, he thought he could see that floppy white sock protruding out from the procession like a banner in a parade.
    He broke into a full-fledged run, but the men were still a good distance ahead of him. And whereas they seemed to be continuing down the path in an unencumbered straight line, it appeared that he was left to contend with sharp turns and switchbacks, fallen limbs obstructing his passage, and low-hanging, clawlike branches reaching down to snag his clothes or draw blood from his skin. At one point, a formidably contentious tree limb snatched hold of his T-shirt and yanked him off his feet. He crashed to the ground inconjunction with an unsettling ripping sound. He hoped it was only his T-shirt and not a ligament tearing in his ankle, which he twisted in the fall. Glancing up, he spotted a strip of black T-shirt fabric flapping from the angry branch, and he felt his breath shudder from his abraded throat.
    By the time Alan reached the end of the path, Hank and the rest of the men were already crossing the clearing toward the lake. The men carried the injured boy—Cory?—like island natives carrying a virgin sacrifice up the side of a volcano.
    What the hell do they think they’re doing?
    He opened his mouth to shout Hank’s name, but the wind was knocked out of him as Don rushed by.
    Don offered a somewhat conciliatory glance from over one shoulder as he ran to catch up with the others, but something told Alan the bump wasn’t completely accidental.
    Righting himself against the nearest tree, Alan shook his head and paused while his vision cleared. His throat was on fire and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
    Hank—he was sure it was Hank now—splashed into the lake. Icy steam rose off his body, his muscles seeming to convulse at the touch of the water. He waded backward until he sank down to his chest, his empty arms outstretched toward the other men. Another one of the neighbors—Gary Jones, a car dealer Alan had met at Hank’s barbecue—clutched one of Hank’s wrists. Crazily, Alan thought they might begin chanting while forming a human circle until he realized Gary was just trying to steady Hank and help keep his balance.
    The injured boy appeared like a casket carried by pallbearers. The men fed him through the crowd, his small,frail body quite visibly unconscious, until Hank was able to grab the boy’s narrow, rounded shoulders. The poor kid’s head hung too far back on his neck. Hank gripped the kid under both arms and dragged him backward into the lake. Gary followed, plodding down into the water.
    For one insane moment, Alan thought they were going to drown the boy, hide him beneath the black waters of the lake. Bury him in the silt like a town secret. Perhaps they were covering up for the careless driver—
What happened to her, anyway?
—and were disposing of the body, getting rid of the evidence …
    What the hell… ?
    The boy’s body floated briefly on the