"John, help me think," Jamie said. "Where did they go?" Jamie aimed the flashlight through the fog. Frantic, she stumbled forward into the darkness.
"What's that over there?" Rutherford said.
"Where?"
"There." Rutherford guided her hand, the flashlight dimly revealing a children's climbing-gym: rods and railings and tubes in a rock-walled grotto whose sides were topped with bushes and evergreen shrubs.
Jamie entered the grotto and shivered as if in another dimension. She scanned the dim light over everything, the wood chips on the ground, the little bridge over a culvert through which children could crawl, the beams that formed a sandbox, the picnic tables.
"There's no blood." A sob escaped her. "I don't know what to do."
She stepped farther inside the grotto. She aimed the light at everything, lingering, staring. Finally, desperate to search somewhere else, she turned away. Her flashlight swung past something.
"Wait."
She redirected the light.
"Tell me if I'm seeing things."
"Where?"
"There!"
She and Rutherford walked toward the children's bridge. It spanned a cement culvert that children would find exciting to crawl through. On the right, there was a second culvert, smaller, more exciting. Between the two was the rock wall, huge boulders embedded in a dirt slope.
"That boulder," Jamie said. "The one in the middle. Why are-"
"Wood chips on it?" Rutherford asked.
"There aren't any on the others. Help me," Jamie pleaded.
They rushed to the boulder. Rutherford grabbed its top.
"Stand back," he told Jamie. "Aim the light."
Jamie did. She also aimed the gun. Rutherford pulled with all his broad-shouldered strength, unprepared for how easily the boulder toppled away, revealing a nightmare, two men smeared in blood, the smell of excrement streaming out. Next to them lay the strap that Carl had wrapped around the boulder, hoisting the rock back into place, then pulling the strap through slits on either slide.
At first, it was impossible to tell the difference between them, both were so mired in gore. One wasn't moving. But the other raised his head and peered out. His left eye was missing. His lips were crusted with blood.
"Looks like I lost the bet." Carl's voice sounded like his throat was filled with sand. "No matter. I was never going to let you win it, Aaron."
Carl lowered a knife to slit Cavanaugh's throat.
Jamie shot out Carl's other eye.