The Instruments of Darkness: A Thriller

Chapter XCVI

Ellar Michaud had the creek in sight when he picked up signs of pursuit. His arm was now hurting like a bitch, not helped by a couple of tumbles he’d taken because the injury was screwing with his balance. At least it was the left arm, which meant he could still hold a weapon. He came to what had once been a healthy thicket of trees, now reduced to ruin by emerald ash borers. Den Hickman had already chopped the bulk of them, leaving only a couple to stand against the insects. The cut trunks lay piled by the creek, but Hickman hadn’t done anything more with them, content to consign them to rot. Ellar got behind the pile, the creek to his back, and watched for movement. He thought it might be a lone chaser, but if so, they were making a lot of noise. Then again, they weren’t carrying a flashlight, which was smart. The beam would have made them an easy target, but additional noise was the downside.

Ellar remained very still and tried to control his breathing. Sirens sounded, approaching from somewhere to the west. It wouldn’t be long before Hickman’s woods were crawling with police. Ellar needed to be home, with his clothes changed and his arm in a sling, before the law got anywhere near him. Nevertheless, whoever was out there would have to be dealt with first. Ellar didn’t want them talking to the police, but neither could he leave the body to be found, because that would erase any doubts about the explosions at the camp being the result of an accident. He’d have to kill them, get the corpse onto Michaud territory, and hide it until he and his sisters had time to dispose of it. The police wouldn’t be able to search the property without a warrant, and they wouldn’t get a warrant without evidence of involvement. The incendiaries were designed to leave no trace, so the only major risk of apprehension lay in Ellar being seen crossing the creek—or worse, being waylaid before he could reach safety.

He felt a drop of moisture on his face, followed by another. It was starting to rain, which would help to erase any tracks he’d left. Within seconds, the droplets had become a downpour, and Ellar could barely see more than a few feet ahead of him.

A thrashing came from the rise above him and to the left, followed by the thud of a body landing hard, and a man grunting. The rain had caused his pursuer to lose his footing. Ellar squinted through the deluge and saw a silhouette pass between two trees, making its way down the slope toward the creek, clutching at branches so as not to slip again. Ellar could have taken him with the Armalite or the pistol, but he didn’t want to make more noise than necessary for fear of drawing others to him. The man would pass directly in front of him. All Ellar had to do was stand by.

Another smaller misstep, another grunt. Closer now. Ellar eased the Bushmaster from its sheath. He’d have to discard it later. He hated ditching a good knife, but he’d take the $75 hit over a murder conviction. He inhaled, then held the breath as the man reached the stack of cut ash. The gradient eased as the hill neared the creek, and he paused to get his bearings, one hand resting on the nearest of the trunks, his back now slightly to Ellar as he faced the water. Ellar rose to jam the blade into the right side of his neck, where he could see exposed skin. He didn’t want to risk a thrust to the body, only to hit a padded vest or holster. The man spasmed, causing the gun in his right hand to fall to the dirt. Ellar had the tree trunks for support, so it was easy for him to twist the blade in the wound. A spray of red joined the rain as he pulled the blade free and let the body drop. The dead man, familiar from the camp, was much older than Ellar, which might have explained why he’d struggled with the terrain. His hair was thin and straggly, and his beard nearly white. He resembled someone’s grandfather, and was therefore, in Ellar’s view, old enough to have known better.

Ellar kicked the body down the slope to splash in the creek. He went after it, grabbed it by the collar, and dragged it awkwardly through the water to the other side, where he concealed it as best he could in the undergrowth. Then, with the first light of dawn seeping into the sky, he commenced walking in the direction of Kit No. 174.