Silent Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense

Chapter 12

THE OUTSIDER WAS A creature of unspeakable horror. He had no body in the traditional sense, only a fluid gelatinous ooze that slithered out at the monster’s whim. He had no features as such; only careful examination revealed two large eyeballs, veined and protruding, unlidded, and a hideous mouth—a gaping, slavering maw with two fanglike tusks jutting out, each of them sharpened to a deadly point.

Scout did not know exactly where the Outsider was, but he knew the beast was somewhere in this dense thicket, and he knew the beast was looking for him. Hunting him.

The Outsider was not an intelligent creature, not in the sense that he could think, reason, plan ahead. But he was a creature of unrelenting instinct, a natural born predator. He hunted humans. He fed on them, devouring them, starting with the eyeballs, which the monster considered a great delicacy. His hunger was intense and unyielding. Once he caught the spoor of prey, he became an unyielding killing machine. He did not tire. He did not reconsider. He did not quit. So long as his prey lived, the hunt would continue.

Scout swerved his bicycle between two tall trees on the side of the dirt road. Good thing he’d talked his dad into buying this mountain bike for Christmas; that old green Schwinn he’d had before could never have handled this kind of punishment. His only chance of escaping the Outsider would be to cut across the thicket, then make a northwest shortcut across the Reinholtz farm property. He could duck into the ravine at the far side; its higher wall might protect him from view long enough to allow him to make his escape.

Pedaling with all his might, Scout crossed the farmland and tumbled down into the ravine. He didn’t think he’d been spotted, but he was certain the Outsider was nearby, his instinctual telepathy primed for any signs of his prey. It was like a sixth sense, an indelible intuition, intangible, but no less certain for it.

Scout had to keep moving. That was his only hope.

He had moved north less than ten feet when he heard the sound. He whirled around, his eyes wide with anticipation. Where was it? Why was the creature toying with him like this?

Pedaling as fast as he could, Scout raced down the ravine. Barely a second later, he heard the unmistakable growl of the Outsider. It was above him, nestled in the branches of a nearby tree. Before Scout had a chance to move, the monster plunged down on top of him, knocking him off his bike. Scout and the Outsider rolled onto the muddy ground.

Scout fought with all his might, but the monster was stronger than he was. Before long, the creature was on top of him, pinning him down. Scout was unable to resist. He knew now that the hunt was over. The prey had been caught. He was finished.

“Gotcha!”

Scout’s friend Jim rolled backward, laughing with glee.

Scout sat up. “I think you broke my neck.”

Jim did not seem particularly repentant. “Man, you should’ve seen your face when I came flying out of that tree. I’ve never seen anyone look so scared. I bet you peed your pants!”

“I did not,” Scout said angrily. At any rate, he hoped he hadn’t. That would make it even more embarrassing.

Scout liked Jim—sort of. Since Scout and his family had moved to Blackwood, he’d been Scout’s best friend. You needed a friend, when you were a nine-year-old kid who’d just moved to some podunk town you’d never heard of before. Jim was kind of rough-and-tumble, but he had a good imagination. He played the Outsider game better than anyone, even if he did tend to bend the rules around.

“Who said you could climb up into trees, anyway?”

“All’s fair when you’re the Outsider,” Jim replied. “I nailed your butt but good. Gimme five.”

They went through the whole routine—high five, low five, on the side five.…

“All right,” Jim said, still ebullient. “Your turn to be the Outsider.”

“Great.” Scout examined his clothes, which were torn in two places and covered with mud. “I look like a monster.”

“Agreed.” Jim laughed. “Ready to go again?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Scout was always ready. He loved this game—even if Jim did always manage to beat him. Scout’s father wouldn’t play it with him; he said Scout was too old for this nonsense, too old to be pretending about monsters. But it was Scout’s favorite thing—good scary fun. Even better than the movies.

“Okay,” Jim said, “here I go. You gotta count to a hundred before you come lookin’.”

“Right.” Scout turned away. Just before he closed his eyes, though, he noticed something unusual. It was about a hundred feet away, across the field, behind that great big plant where half the town worked, including Scouts father. “What is that, a bulldozer?”

Jim stood beside him. “Nah. It’s a Brush Hog. Looks like they’re digging something up.”

Scout peered more intently. The giant mechanical claw was hauling something out of the dirt. But what was it? Buried treasure, maybe? An Indian graveyard? “Let’s take a closer look.”

Scout started forward, but Jim grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Don’t go over there!”

Something about the look in Jim’s eyes frightened Scout. “Why not?”

“Don’t you know what that is? That’s the Blaylock plant.”

“Yeah. So?”

Jim leaned forward. His voice dropped to a hush. “My daddy says it’s poison!”

“What, the whole plant?”

“Nah. The water. But if you go onto their property, you might get some of it on you.”

“Poison water? That’s silly.”

“If my daddy says it, then it ain’t silly!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe it.” It was crazy; it couldn’t be true. Especially since his father went to work there every day.

“Do you remember Billy Elkins?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Oh, that’s right. It was before you came.” Jim glanced over his shoulder. “Billy was a kid at our school. He was pretty cool. But he got real sick. And then he died.”

Scout’s eyes widened. That didn’t happen to kids their age, did it? “He died?”

“Yup. And so did a bunch of other kids in Blackwood. And it’s all because of the poison water. There’s some big lawsuit going on about it in the City. My daddy says they oughta burn the plant to the ground and execute all the men in charge.”

Scout was no Einstein, but he knew enough to realize that was unlikely. “I still don’t believe the water is poison.” Something in the field behind the plant caught his eye. “Hey, look at that.”

The Brush Hog had hauled something large and cylindrical out of the ground. It was encrusted with dirt; Scout couldn’t quite make it out. But he could see enough to know that it hadn’t grown underground naturally. Something had been buried down there. And for some reason, the men operating the Brush Hog were digging it up.

“What is that?” Jim whispered. “Looks like a big trash can.”

“Storage drum,” Scout replied, his voice hushed. “I’ve seen pictures in my dad’s office. But why would they be underground?”

“I don’t know. What do you thinks inside them?”

“Trash, maybe.”

“Oh, don’t be so boring. Maybe it’s pirate gold!”

Scout grinned. “Or maybe it’s the lost treasure of a wandering Mayan tribe.”

“Or maybe it’s the eyeless remains of the Outsider’s victims!” With that, Jim jumped on top of Scout, scaring him out of his skin and knocking him to the ground. They wrestled about in the mud, one on top, then the other, until they were both even more filthy.

They tumbled out of the ravine. Scout scrambled to his feet and started to run—when he was startled by an abrupt cracking noise.

It came from the field behind the plant, where the Brush Hog was doing its digging. One of the drums had slipped out of the claw and fallen to the hard earth below. The drum split. The contents tumbled out.

Scout gasped.

From his distance, it was impossible to tell whether it had its eyeballs or not. But it was definitely a human body that had spilled out of the drum. And the body was unmistakably dead.