Mica interjects smoothly. “We’re not here to claim territory or cause any hardship on the locals.”
I speak up. “That fucker burned my old lady’s house to the ground and I’m not gonna stop hunting until I find him. You want us out of Sliverwood, tell us where to find this prick.”
“Fine. There is a trail that cuts behind the radio tower. The terrain is real rough, so I don’t know if you’ll be able to get your bikes up there. When you’ve got what you want, go back to yourown territory, south of the interstate. We don’t want your kind around here.”
I open my mouth to give Carl a piece of my mind, but again, Mica cuts me off. “Don’t you worry about that. The terrain here isn’t kind to bikes or to tracking dogs. When we leave, we won’t ever be back unless some necessity drives us here.”
“Fuckin’ hell, you ragers brought bloodhounds?”
I ignore him and head for the door. I don’t have the time or energy to fight all this old man’s misperceptions about me and my club. Forge is more than just a dog who sniffs shit out. She’s my non-human companion.
The others follow me out, and we don’t waste time talking. We’re burning daylight and now have a hot lead to follow up on. We jump onto our bikes and pull out fast.
***
The old man’s directions weren’t great, but we know how to follow rough trails. The road past the radio tower is barely visible. It’s been worn down from old logging truck tires, is muddy in places, and partially covered in brush that claws at our boots as we skirt around it.
Forge is havin’ the time of her life, with all the new strange scents she’s picking up. Even I can smell decaying leaves in the air.
Jasper comes over the two-way radio, his voice grim. “That shack might be unstable. Don’t lean on walls. Don’t fuckin’ breathe deep.”
Ahead, Jinx calls back through the radio. “Anyone else feel like they’re about to ride into a bad decision?”
“You say that every time,” Mica replies.
Slate adds, “Time to grow some balls, Jinx.”
We can hear the other brothers laughing through the line.
“Remind me to punch you fuckers in the face if this turns out to be haunted meth territory.”
We clear a bend in the trail and discover a patch of half-cleared ground. It takes me a second to realize what I’m looking at. There are fence posts falling down that look like they were once part of a livestock pen. There’s a steel drum off to the left, rusted through at the base. It looks like they were using it as a burn barrel because the opening is covered in soot.
And the shack Carl mentioned has a sagging roof, and the sides look like nature is in the process of reclaiming it. Weeds and nuisance vines are climbing up the sides. A broken stovepipe juts out at an angle.
“This is it,” Jasper calls, coming to a rolling stop. We pull up beside him and look around before getting off our bikes. Mica dismounts and grabs his flashlight.
I cut my engine, get off my bike, and put Forge on her lead. We approach the shack first. It isn’t big, but that doesn’t mean it’s empty. Desperate men don’t need much space.
Jasper signals that he’s taking the right. Slate takes the left. Jinx moves around towards the back. Husk hovers at the back of his truck, keeping his dog close. Forge hovers close at the front of my legs. In her mind, she’s protecting me. The thing is, I don’t need her protection. I can take care of myself. What I need is her nose. I shove her aside gently with my foot to get her back on task with sniffing out Brennan.
When I move forward and kick the door in, it’s the smell that hits first. Old chemical smoke, rot, mold growing in the places the sun forgot. I immediately do what I should have done before stepping into the shack. I pull my bandana up over my mouth and nose. The others come into the small space with weapons drawn, only to find nothing but rotting floorboards. Stained walls are covered in the kind of grime that comes from cooking meth.
Husk’s voice sounds from behind me. “The dogs aren’t picking up anything.”
He ain’t wrong about that. Forge is nosing aimlessly around on the floor, with her tail drooping.
The room contains one soggy, mold-covered mattress, a broken chair with three legs, and a table turned over in the middle of the floor. Empty bottles and disintegrating food wrappers are scattered around on the floor. I crouch low and check the floor near the hearth. A thick layer of dust covers everything.
Striker steps over and taps the side of a rusted wood-burning stove. His thump causes the whole thing to shift, partially falling through the dry-rotted floor. “This place hasn’t been used in years,” he says. “You couldn’t boil water on this.”
Mica nudges a pile of charred plastic with the toe of his boot. The sound is brittle. “Not a trace of human habitation, much less Brennan.”
Jasper meets my eyes, then looks away. “We need to call it a day and start fresh in the morning.”
We’re all aching from walking in the muck all day, so no one argues.
We file out one by one, letting the door swing shut behind us. We stand near the bikes, giving the property a once-over visually. There is no other place to hide other than the shack. Which means there’s nothing left for us to do but head back to the clubhouse. But the search ain’t over. I’ll run Brennan down if it’s the last fuckin’ thing I do.
