Carmen needs information. She needs any records that might exist pertaining to the old abandoned building: development plans, an inventory of any heavy machinery that might be inside, pictures of what it looks like. If she’s lucky, she might even be able to score some blueprints of the property,which would help her understand all the possible access points and places for the beasts to hide.
She looks back up at the librarian. “If I were looking for public records, where might I find those?”
“Oh!” The woman claps gleefully. “You’ll be pleased to know we’ve transferred all records into an online database—it’ssomuch easier to search for anything you need. Here, come with me, dear.” She scoots out of her stool and lets herself fall the few inches it takes for her feet to hit the floor before scampering toward the opposite side of the library.
Carmen trails behind her, weaving around tall bookcases until they reach a row of computer stations. When the woman pulls a chair out for her at one of them, Carmen takes it.
“On the desktop you’ll see an icon for our library’s intranet—you can use that to search for anything you might be looking for. If it pertains to public record in Renbury, you should be able to pull it right on up! If you don’t find what you need, just come find me and I’ll see if I might know who can help. I’m notechwizard, but I’ve been assured this is supposed to be easy.”
“Thank you,” Carmen says sincerely. She’s not sure she’s ever felt such open kindness before from anyone other than Lacie or Warren. “I really appreciate your help. And . . . the library looks great. I love the decorations.”
The woman beams. “Thank you, dear!”
Carmen clicks the trigger on the computer’s mouse, whirring the monitor to life. Just as the librarian promised, an icon labeledINTRANETsits in the top right corner of the screen. Carmen opens it and finds an array of files with a search bar stretching across the top of the window.
She tries to think back to the conversation last night, wracking her brain for any mention of the name of the factory the building once housed. But then she realizes it’s probably theonly one Renbury has, and after a simple search for the word “factory,” half a dozen files populate.
The first one she opens is an old photo of the front of a large building. It looks big enough to fit two or three basketball courts, which is fairly impressive given that the structure is mostly tucked away in the woods. In the second file, Carmen finds an old news article—an expose of sorts—revealing that the developer of the building had it constructed right under the nose of the mayor at the time. Apparently, he knew the harsh chemicals the business owner planned to use to formulate various plastics would be widely disapproved of by the town leadership. It makes sense, Carmen realizes, why the building is hidden somewhere behind the park and not standing proud right here on Main Street.
More articles paint a fuller picture of what happened all those years ago: Renbury Plastics opened its doors in 1971 to the immediate protest of the rest of the town. For nearly two decades, the factory operated as best as it could amid relentless lawsuits and threats but eventually caved against the mounting pressure and shut down in 1989. It’s sat abandoned since then.
With another click of the mouse, Carmen’s heart catapults at what takes over the whole screen.
Bingo, she thinks.
Blueprints.
After anxiously waiting for the sun to set, Carmen finally decides it’s safe enough to head back into the forest, strapped with six different blades on various parts of her body. It’s not everythingshe has—not even close—but as long as things go in her favor, she won’t need to use any of it. This time she’s also prepared with provisions: two bottles of water, a small bag of beef jerky, and a handful of oranges are stuffed in the worn backpack slung over her shoulder. There’s also an old bag of Skittles in the front pocket that Carmen hasn’t touched in years—she’s not sure if the candy pieces are even still edible at this point. But they were Lacie’s, and Carmen still hasn’t had the heart to take them out.
Like with any other stakeout she’s been on, Carmen really has no idea how long it’ll take to see everything she needs to see. It could take thirty minutes, or she could find herself out here all night. Her hands have started trembling with the early effects of alcohol withdrawal, which . . . isn’t good. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since she had her last drink at The Rusty Saloon, and she knows if she thinks about it too much, a wave of panic will start to rise and threaten to swallow her whole. She doesn’t have time for that right now, so she squeezes her eyes shut and promises herself the reward of a drinkaftershe’s successful with this mission.
With her hand-drawn map clutched tightly in her hand, she moves swiftly on silent feet toward the river before following it north, passing the campsite Cody brought her to yesterday. After a few minutes, the wooded land around her seems to grow colder, the light of the near-full moon hung low in the sky snuffed out by the thick density of trees and an oncoming blanket of clouds. And then she hears it: music. The bass of a beat pulsing through the air like a kickdrum, vibrating lightly along Carmen’s skin. She slows, careful with every step, knowing the creatures in the distance can smell and hear far better than she ever could.
Eventually, the building itself comes into view. It looks much worse for wear than the pictures she saw at the library this morning—deep cracks slice through stone walls, sheets ofplywood nailed across the windows to prevent any visibility of what’s going on inside. This close the music is louder, and Carmen can hear the sounds of yelling coming from inside.
A shadowed figure rounds the back corner of the building, walking toward what looks like some kind of shed. Carmen quickly ducks behind the cover of a thick tree trunk, peering around it as best as she can without compromising herself. The figure looks to be male, tall and broad-shouldered—much bigger than the average mortal man. Halfway to the secondary structure he pauses. Looks around.
Carmen swallows thickly as she pulls back into cover, her palms growing clammy.
Thankfully the male must not find anything out of place, because when Carmen braves another peek around the tree he’s disappeared through the shed’s door. She sighs, her heart pounding violently in her chest. She’s staked out monsters hundreds of times over the last decade, but never alone, and rarely without Warren and his own keen arsenal of senses.
It takes the male a good five minutes before he appears again with three cases of beer stacked in his hands. The sight sends Carmen spiraling into her anger, even as she eyes the beer with longing. Theaudacityof these assholes, to brutally terrorize and kill innocent people and then throw parties every night like their violence is inconsequential, like those lives don’t matter.
Carmen thinks of Elijah, of Lacie, and suddenly feels nauseous enough to vomit right here in the grass. Her hands tremble harder, her mouth dry. But she knows if she doesn’t get a handle over her emotions, she’ll risk being exposed and jeopardizing everything.
So she crouches down to sit on her own ankles and finds a flowering weed growing a few yards away, swaying with the light breeze. She watches it until she feels herself calm down, until the blood roaring in her temples eases to a simmer. And then shepulls out a pair of night-vision binoculars from her bag, pressing the viewfinders to her eyes, and settles in.
CHAPTER 9
Rain starts to pour just as the first rays of sunlight break over the eastern horizon, shooting blasts of magenta through the clouds and across the sky. Carmen bows her head to avoid getting her face wet as she stomps across the parking lot toward the motel’s double door. She’s been out in the woods all night, eyes glued to the wolves’ den, and now she needs a fucking drink.Bad.
A bottle of the cheap stuff waits for her in her room and the closer she gets to it, the more she’s utterly desperate to grab hold of it and chug. She should probably feel ashamed of this clear addiction she’s been nursing, but there’s not much of a point for shame—not anymore. Her night spent in the woods only confirmed it: she’s nearing the end credits of her sad and miserable life. All that’s left now is to make sure her plan is bulletproof.
She’s only going to have one shot.
As soon as she pushes through the door of her motel room, she beelines it for the bottle of whiskey beckoning her from the desk. The first gulp down burns like fire, the second fanning the flames. But the third one is easier, spreading warmth across her belly in the most comforting way. She lets that warmth wraparound her, lets it hold her like a lover, like all the things her heart still craves.
That’s the thing about love Carmen can’t stand now: knowing it is the worst part. She spent nearly her whole life without an ounce of it and was just fine—she didn’t know any better. Life was fine. Sure, a home and a family and money to buy things with would’ve been nice, but Carmen never had any of that either, so she didn’t miss it in a way that broke her.
