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  “Okay,” said Zeph. “Hey, you got food? Something smells good!”

  Before Noah could say “turkey dinner,” Zeph had a fork and was gobbling up Noah’s meal. He unwound a pair of binoculars from his neck and handed them to Noah. “Here. Using these, I was able to see you drive up.”

  “Cool,” said Noah, running off to look out the living room windows.

  “You can see our house from yours?” Jack asked Zeph, surprised.

  “Can’t see your house. There’s a gap in the forest, though, where I can see a stretch of Van Kleet, so that’s how. I saw the car.”

  “Hey, there’s somebody driving across the valley!” Noah called out from the living room.

  Jack and Zeph went to join him, and Zeph took the binoculars from Noah.

  “I know that red ATV,” said Zeph. “That’s Millet. Claude Millet. He’s an accountant or something.”

  “Millet!” Jack was interested. He grabbed the binoculars. “He always takes that route on his ATV. I know exactly where he’s going—through the woods, right next to the boulders at the creek. He always zooms through there!”

  “Relax, bro!” said Zeph.

  “He was there the night my dad was shot.” He focused the lenses. “Yeah, that’s him. Look how skinny he is. The guy’s a twig.”

  “How do old people get that skinny?”

  “He’s probably not that old. Just looks it. Burnout. Drugs, maybe.”

  “You know, eat something, for God’s sake!” said Zeph.

  “There were seven guys there that night. He was one of them,” said Jack. “Jeffrey Lennox, Brian Henley, Keith Davis, Robert Morrison, Lars Korb, of the police, Chief Bernier, and skinny old Claude Millet,” said Jack slowly and with deep anger. “September 23rd, 2012, 8:30 p.m.”

  Noah and Zeph were taken aback by Jack’s precision. They stared at him.

  “What? You think I don’t remember? That I don’t think about it every minute of every day? I remember everything. Every detail! And I haven’t forgotten the faces of the guys who were there that night.”

  “Okay,” said Zeph, calmly, smiling at his buddy.

  “It’s not funny,” said Jack, tossing the binoculars to Zeph.

  “Hey, no, man!” said Zeph. “I’m not laughing here, I’m smiling at you! It’s an I-understand-you smile. That’s all! Look, let’s get the war on, here! Right? Let’s power up the machines!”

  “We only have our two computers,” said Noah. “We brought the others to the city. Let’s get your Monster!”

  The boys reflected on that.

  “Wicked! Yes, the Monster,” said Zeph. “Hey, and I’ll stay here for two weeks! No point getting the Monster, setting it up and then, what, moving it back? Besides, you have more food than we do.”

  “What about your folks?” asked Noah.

  “I’ll just drop in over there once in a while. They won’t notice I’m staying here. They’re always gone. Wine-tasting, grape-picking, or whatever the fuck they do with their hoity-toity friends. It’s fine. Let’s get my stuff.”

  They threw jackets and boots on and went outside. Jack locked up.

  “Wait!” he called after Zeph and Noah. He walked to the wide garage doors, keyed in a code on the control pad next to the door. The garage door opener hummed, and the door opened, revealing a big garage with all the tools, devices and storage cabinets anyone could dream of. And Paul Carignan’s Audi, too, parked to one side.

  “Wow,” said Zeph. “You got the keys?”

  “Yeah. But, we’re not using my dad’s car.”

  “Why not? You’ve got your learner’s permit.”

  “That’s beside the point,” said Jack. “I’m not touching that car.” Jack went into the garage and, to Zeph’s disappointment, returned pushing a large, shiny, never-used wheelbarrow. “We’re going to use this!”

  “Oh, we’re walking there? Crap!”

  “Buck up, lazy! We’re walking there, yeah!”

  They began the short trek to Zeph’s house.

  “At least let me sit in it!” joked Zeph. Jack closed the garage again.

  “Here, Noah, get in!”

  Noah, considerably smaller than Zeph, hopped aboard the wheelbarrow, and Jack easily walked the load across the property and onto the forest path toward Zeph’s house.

  For the last hundred feet, Noah wanted to push the barrow while Jack sat in it. Zeph discouraged him, but Noah insisted, and they all laughed at Noah’s struggle until he finally gave up. They were nearly there.

  Zeph’s parents were off somewhere, as he had suspected. Together, the boys took no more than fifteen minutes unplugging Zeph’s gaming computer system, wrapping it in a blanket, and putting it into the wheelbarrow. Zeph also filled a backpack with game DVDs and loaded the chips and snacks he deemed essential for his stay at Valhalla into a plastic bag.

  Jack led the way with the wheelbarrow, Zeph next with his backpack, munching from a bag of chips as he walked, and Noah last with the binoculars, which he brought up to his eyes now and again, spying at moving critters in the woods.

  “A rabbit!” Noah called out. This interested the other two not at all, but Noah stopped in his tracks for a steadier look.

  “Let’s play Conquest of Ore first!” said Zeph to Jack.

  “Nah, I beat it already. Too easy,” answered Jack.

  “Too easy! Crap, I didn’t get to three or four.”

  “Guys!” shouted Noah to the other two, who kept walking. “GUYS!”

  “What is it?” Jack was still walking.

  Zeph stopped then turned back to Noah.

  “The red ATV!” called Noah. “I think it’s crashed!” He looked at his brother for a reaction, and Jack made an odd smirk.

  “What?” asked Zeph.

  “Down over there, at the rocks!”

  Zeph took the binoculars.

  “See where the rocks are? Straight over there,” urged Noah. “Look for red.”

  Zeph scanned the area, and Jack left the wheelbarrow and had just joined them when Zeph spotted it.

  “Holy crap! The thing’s upside down,” he said.

  Jack took his turn looking through the binoculars, instinctively taking a few steps forward, but stopped by a bush. “No sign of Millet. Let’s go check it out. Leave the wheelbarrow here, nobody will touch it.”

  They moved quickly through the forest, mainly downhill toward the red dot in the distance. Noah stumbled on the root of a tree, falling into a bed of damp, orange and red leaves. “I’m okay!” he said, getting up and continuing after the other two.

  Jack was like a coureur des bois, as his father used to say. He made his way significantly faster than the other two.

  Zeph and Noah lost sight of Jack, but continued on their way until they were just a few metres from the ATV, which was smashed on all sides. It must have careened down a slope of large boulders.

  “Bet he came from over there.” Zeph pointed to a narrow clearing below Valhalla perch.

  There was no sign of Millet. And no sign of Jack.

  “Jack! Jack! Where the hell are you?” shouted Zeph, his voice reverberating through the woods.

  “He’s over there!” said Noah, spotting him and running over nervously.

  Jack was kneeling at an outcrop of broken bluish slate, like a gigantic stair in the land. Millet was on the ground, leaning against a rock. One leg was straight out and elevated on a dried branch, one arm was badly bruised, where his jacket had torn, and his hands and face were nicked and scraped. He had crawled from the crashed ATV in the hope of finding an easier climb out of this area.

  Millet was visibly shaken. “I’m okay,” he said, in a weak attempt to reassure the boys. They took in the scene, piecing together what might have happened. “I came through there, but my wheels slid in mud under the leaves. Couldn’t get
traction! I tumbled onto those rocks.”

  Zeph had had a good look at the ATV. “The ATV’s a write-off,” he said. “What a shame. Awesome ride!”

  Noah inspected Millet’s wounds and helped him move the bruised arm over to his chest to relax it.

  Zeph kneeled down and took off his backpack, pulling out a bottle of soda pop. He cracked open the bottle, let it foam out a bit, then handed it to Millet.

  “Oh! Thanks.” Millet took the bottle with his good hand and gulped at the sugary, bubbly drink.

  “Did you phone anyone for help?” Jack asked.

  Millet answered by sticking the soda bottle in the dirt next to him and reaching in his jacket pocket for his cell phone. It was in pieces.

  Jack bent to the ground and picked up Millet’s hunting rifle. He checked the sight and the overall shape of the weapon, which had evidently been tossed from the tumbling ATV. Then he tested the bolt action with such expert familiarity that Noah and Zeph stared at him in amazement.

  “When did you learn that?” said Zeph. “Physics class?”

  Jack didn’t bother answering him, just slung the weapon over his shoulder. “You’re lucky,” he said to Millet. “Your rifle looks fine.” Jack saw that Zeph was about to offer Millet his cell phone from his pocket, but before Millet could lift his gaze to what Zeph was about to do, Jack shook his head at his friend. Zeph let his phone slip back into his pocket. He was a little surprised, but he trusted Jack’s judgment.

  Jack kneeled again to Millet. “Best thing is to take you to my house. It’s the closest.”

  “Sure, and how exactly?” asked Zeph.

  “We carry him. Me and you.”

  “Oh yeah, why didn’t I think of that?” said Zeph, sarcastically.

  “Boys, it’s alright. If you would just get me some help.”

  “Trust me, Mr. Millet, this is the best thing. Our cell phones have no signal here anyway. What we have to do is get you to our wheelbarrow, just up there. Okay?”

  “Okay. I can’t just sit here. I think I sprained one ankle and broke the other. Sure you guys are up for this?”

  Zeph handed his backpack to Noah, and Jack strapped Millet’s rifle over his brother’s shoulder. Then Millet put an arm around each of the older boys, and they hoisted him up. Millet was able to put only slight pressure on one ankle, none at all on the other, which was far too painful. As they tested their method for a few metres, and made slight adjustments, Noah spotted a supply pack that had also been thrown from the ATV.

  The pulling apart of a dead deer flashed in Noah’s mind as he remembered the night his father was killed. The red ATV. The stretched skin. The white, fatty underlayer, the bones, the cut hooves, the elegant animal reduced to shreds of its former self. He shook it off. The supply pack had fit in the rear of the ATV and was on it that terrible night. Shaking off the sick feeling in his stomach, Noah swung the supply pack onto his shoulders and heard a crunch from Zeph’s pack.

  “Hey, watch my snacks!” said Zeph, watching his footing as he held his share of Millet’s weight. He and Jack were not having too hard a time, Millet being as skinny as he was. They moved through the woods, snaking their way toward the path.

  “Let’s just keep going!” Jack said.

  “I’m good for it!” concurred Zeph. “Easier than putting him in the wheelbarrow.”

  “We’ll get it after.”

  They kept going, five more minutes, right to the house. Noah dug in Jack’s pocket for the key and they brought Millet indoors, carrying him to a couch in the living room.

  “Should we take off your boots?” asked Noah.

  “If you don’t mind.” Millet was exhausted.

  The boys made Millet as comfortable as possible, slipping a few pillows under his head and under his knees and legs.

  “Thanks, that’s good,” said Millet.

  Noah, putting down the rifle and packs, reached into Zeph’s backpack and produced the soda pop, giving it to Millet, who took it gratefully. Jack and Zeph stretched from their effort, high-fived each other, then sat and rested a moment.

  Millet stretched back and breathed deeply. “Thought I’d end up spending the night out there, I’ve got to tell you.” He was clearly traumatized.

  “You can rest easy now,” said Jack. “What were you doing out in the valley?”

  “I like to shoot small game sometimes. Good practice. Got myself a new rifle, or at least it was new. First time out with it. Guess it got pretty beat up, eh?”

  “No, seems fine,” said Jack.

  “Hey, I’m getting my computer,” said Zeph.

  “Noah, do you want to help Zeph? I can stay here with Mr. Millet,” said Jack.

  “Sure,” answered Noah, and headed out with Zeph to retrieve the wheelbarrow.

  Silence filled the room. Neither Millet nor Jack felt compelled to say anything.

  A swallow hit the glass of Valhalla’s living room. Boom! Millet, startled, turned toward the noise.

  “It’s just a bird,” explained Jack. “Happens all the time. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Millet leaned his head back and stared up at the high ceiling. “This place is massive,” he said. “I never realized.”

  “Are you okay?” checked Jack.

  “I’m fine. Thanks to you kids.”

  “Do you think that ankle’s broken?”

  “They might both be sprained. I’ve sprained the left one more than a few times. Always tended to go the wrong way, so I hope that’s all it is. Useless as a break, though.”

  Jack picked up Millet’s rifle and inspected it, sitting down at a chair opposite Millet. He held it as though about to shoot out over the fields.

  “Did you know my father?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Which is it?” asked Jack, irritated by Millet’s answer.

  “I know who he was.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry about your father. My sympathies to you and your family.”

  “I don’t remember you at the funeral, so I figured you either didn’t know my father or you didn’t like him?”

  “What?” asked Millet, confused by Jack’s switch in attitude.

  “That’s usually how it is, no? So, which was it?” said Jack, unwavering.

  “I barely knew your father. Really, I’m sorry about what happened to him. Must have been tough for your whole family.”

  “Yeah, it’s been tough.” He put the rifle down. “What do you know about his shooting?”

  “What do you mean? I don’t know anything.”

  “Yeah, actually you do. I know you do.”

  “Come on, now, kid. Let me use the phone. I need to call my wife.”

  “No,” said Jack firmly.

  Millet took a quick look around and tried to get up. Jack took the rifle by the barrel and pushed Millet in the chest with the rifle’s butt. A light gesture, but Millet went back down easily.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” Jack sat across from Millet, rifle in his lap.

  “It isn’t loaded, kid.”

  “Thing is, I can still hurt you with it.”

  “Why’re you threatening me?”

  “We brought you here to save you from a cold night. Good. Done. But I won’t be lied to in my father’s house. You understand, Mr. Millet? I want the truth. So, tell me the truth and everything will be okay. No threats, just conversation.”

  “Always heard your father was a tough businessman. Apple never falls far from the tree, I guess.”

  “Whatever. What interests me are facts. Where were you on September 23rd, last year, in the evening?”

  “Really?” Millet couldn’t believe the interrogation.

  “Where were you 8 p.m. on September
23rd, last year?

  “Home with my wife. And I really need to phone her, okay!”

  Jack froze when he heard Millet’s answer and stared at him as though he would kill him right there on the couch, with a pillow, with his bare hands, by hitting him hard repeatedly. He couldn’t be very hard to kill, being so thin, thought Jack. He would be quick to strangle, if Jack didn’t outright snap his ugly little neck in the process.

  Zeph and Noah returned and felt the severe mood as soon as they walked in, throwing their jackets off and wiping their boots.

  “What’s going on, Jackmeister?” asked Zeph.

  “I want a phone right now! Right now! I want a phone! You understand me?” shouted Millet. The shouted words fell on Zeph, who crossed through.

  “Whoa, yeah, I got it, you want a phone. No problem,” said Zeph. Noah, to be helpful, went toward the kitchen to get a phone.

  “Don’t give him a phone,” said Jack, expressionless.

  “What?” asked Zeph.

  “Don’t give him a phone.”

  “Get me a goddam phone!” shouted Millet.

  “What’s going on here, Jack? We have to give him a phone!”

  “Noah, come here!” called Jack. Noah came to him, Jack and Millet watching. Jack faced Millet. “Where were you the night my father, Paul Carignan, was shot?”

  Millet’s eyes scanned the three boys, who all waited for his answer. Millet looked lost and scared of saying the wrong thing.

  “The question isn’t complicated!” Jack barked in Millet’s face.

  “He doesn’t remember, Jack!” said Zeph.

  Noah, understanding what his brother was fishing for, stood squarely before Millet, looking him straight in the eyes. “It’s easy to remember,” he said. His voice was calm. “It was just last year, the night of Chief Bernier’s birthday party at Mr. Henley’s house. There was you, Mr. Millet, and your friends, all of you joking and drinking around a big campfire, and then you all went off into the woods with your rifles. Our dad was shot that night.”

  “I went home! I didn’t go shooting with the other guys!” tried Millet. “They went shooting, I didn’t!”

  Noah didn’t budge. Jack didn’t have to intervene, he just watched his brother.