CEDAR CREEK, MICHIGAN
Chapter 2
A MYSTERY

Headlights cast shadows on the trees lining the road. Kowa thought they looked like dangerous arboreal beasts and the road a deadly gauntlet. He drove quickly to reach Sanctuary before dawn. Kowa turned the crackling radio tuner until strains of Bob Seger filled the night.

“Working on my night moves,” Kowa sang along. “Trying to lose those awkward teenage blues.” He was terribly off-key, but he didn’t care because it helped him drown out the feeling of sinking into a deep pond of moral muck.

He didn’t want to go back to Sanctuary, but he didn’t dare run away. Too many of his friends would be punished if he were to do so.

“Go and pick up the body,” he’d been told. “Bring it back here so the nosy parkers don’t get their hands on it.” So, he did it. But he remembered a little girl named Azara. She was born about a month before Kowa left Sumatra. He replayed the scene at Underhill’s house, where the huge bed seemed to swallow the tiny body.

Underhill stood in the corner as if he had committed the worst of sins; something a normal man wouldn’t do. But the child had no marks on her. If she did, Kowa would have killed him right then and there—no matter the consequences.

The music helped distract him, so he hummed along. He thought of all the people he missed back home.

Suddenly, like a lightning strike, the car hit a deep chuckhole and swerved toward the ditch. Kowa fought for control and managed to avoid flipping over. A hubcap clattered off and rolled like a coin down the road, as if it knew enough to run away.

High in the branches of an old oak on Mike O’Bryan’s Farm, Fly Carrington perched like an owl.

He was a man-child, the village idiot of Cedar Creek, but no one was cruel enough to say that to his family. He pulled his Super G-man periscope out of his sack of treasures and focused on the redheaded stranger struggling to get out of his car. It was listing badly, almost overturned.

Fly scrambled down the tree like a monkey and ran to the edge of the field.

“Hi Fly,” he yelled.

The stranger turned, and Fly backed up warily.

“Hi, Fly?” the strange man repeated.

That was the full extent of Fly’s vocabulary, and everyone knew it. But apparently, this stranger didn’t get the memo.

“Hey, you,” Kowa shouted. “Get over here. Give us a push, eh?” Fly looked suspiciously at the man. He’d never seen him before.

“Hi Fly,” he shouted back.

“What? Are you drunk?” Kowa shouted. It wasn’t his tone but his edgy demeanor that made Fly nervous.

“Hi Fly,” he repeated.

“Get out of here,” the stranger shouted.

Startled, Fly started running because when his father said that, he meant his fist was going to land somewhere painful.

Moonlight shimmered on sentinel trees, bathing the fallow field in soft light. The tall grass swayed with the breeze. Kowa stretched his shoulder to relieve a kink. It was sticky and humid, and his shirt clung to his back.

Fly had moved back to the oak tree and looked at Kowa through his periscope. Nothing interesting was happening, so he went back to his girlie magazine.

He kissed Miss October. She had already endured a lot of affection, and her face looked a little blurry, but that was okay. Father’s lectern was filled with more girls, hidden beneath a stack of sermons. Fly just wanted one more look. Unfortunately, his flashlight was dim, and the moon didn’t shine through the leafy branches.

Kowa was buried in his own problems, which seemed to get worse by the minute. He had forgotten Fly, too distracted by his broken car and the dead body in his trunk. He pulled out a cell phone from his pocket and called Sanctuary.

“Hey, Onu,” Kowa said. Fly could hear him, but the conversation was of little interest.

“Yeah, where are you?”

“I’m somewhere outside Cedar Creek, and I’ve got a flat.”

“So, fix it,” Onu replied, as if it were that easy.

“Can’t. The whole damn wheel is busted. You better send the chopper.”

“Okay, Ace. Try to stay under the radar, all right? We don’t need any more trouble. Hagopian’s out for blood.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better,” Kowa said and hung up. He opened the trunk. A light flickered on, revealing a rumpled bundle. He’d better be ready when the chopper lands. As Kowa lifted the blanket-covered body, a pale hand and foot dangled freely.

Fly blinked. “Hi Fly!” Fly scrambled to get a better view.

Kowa looked at Fly, and the fool froze.

They both heard the rumble of an approaching truck. Kowa ran with his load, crossing the ditch and climbing over the knoll. With a roar, a tow truck pulled off the road, chains clanging.

On the other side of the hillock, Kowa stumbled and dropped his bundle. The coverlet unfurled, and the naked child silently slid down the slope.

Charlie Garrett, the driver for Ernie’s Towing, backed his truck up to the disabled car and inspected it. It was lodged deep in the ditch with a bent rear wheel. The radio crackled loudly with static, and Charlie reached in and grabbed it through the open window.

“What do you need? You’re waking the dead out here.”

“Where the hell are you, Charlie? Flushing toilets at Johnny’s Bar?”

“No, you son of a bitch. I’m out by O’Bryan’s place.”

“We got a call at the bowling alley. Troy Hunsacker locked his keys in the car, and he’s drunk.”

“Call Hank. Troy needs to stay in the drunk tank. I’m not letting him puke all over my truck again. There’s a black four-door parked near Catawampus in the ditch out here.”

“Are there any injuries? Do you need an ambulance?”

“No driver here,” Charlie checked under the car with his flashlight to make sure he hadn’t misspoken. “Must have walked on up to O’Bryan’s place or caught a ride.”

“Pull her in. And get the load out of your pants — time’s money.”

“Yeah, I’ll bring ‘er in,” Charlie hollered back. He gave his ample backside a good scratch and threw the radio back through the window.

Dad gum sums of bitches. I could be playing poker down at the Moose over a brewski instead of driving this sorry-ass tow.

The disabled car was quickly connected to the cable rig. With a clatter of chains, Charlie Garrett drove down the road.

Kowa scooped up the blanket and the child’s pale body in a single motion. The moonlight reflected off his red hair. Miss October was forgotten as Fly watched the man carry his snowy bundle across the field.

Sorry, kid. I’m going to have to bury you. But we’ll send a team to pick you up later. I can’t risk another encounter. Jesus H. Christ, you’d think a rural road like this would be deserted at this hour of the night. It’s Grand Central Station around here.

Kowa knew he was talking to himself to hide his anger and pain. The moonlight bathed him and his burden in a warm glow.

When he looked down at Azara, he was almost breathless from his deep sorrow. Her long, auburn hair was wet with dew, and her eyes were closed. She might have been his sister. Hell, she was his sister. They both came from Natagna.

Shifting the load, he moved toward a clearing in the overgrown field. Several times, he turned, thinking he’d heard something. There could be no more mistakes; otherwise, they’d all pay.

Woodland creatures scurried in the darkness. Coyotes howled. The ground in the clearing was soft. He took off his shirt; moonbeams reflected off a shiny disc hanging on a chain around his neck. His well-defined arms glistened; tonight’s work had just begun.

He used his shoe as a shovel and feverishly dug a shallow grave. Kowa gently laid the child’s body down, like a father would. He stroked her hair once before covering her with loose soil. Reluctantly, he tamped down the dirt and dragged dried stalks and dead branches over the fresh grave.

A burn barrel sat in the middle of the clearing. He pushed it to the edge, leaving an unlikely monument at her feet.

“Goodbye Azara,” he whispered. “Goodbye Sarah. Goodbye E20028.” He glared at the hunter’s moon—bright, distant, and clear.

“How can life be so beautiful and so ugly at the same time?” he asked into the night. He received no answers. It was a lonely vigil in the moonlight for a child he barely knew.

The owl’s hoot broke the spell, and Kowa shivered. He hurried back to the road with Azara’s blanket draped over his bare shoulders. He carried his filthy suit coat and shirt. The dirt in his shoe was a gritty reminder of the grave.

Kowa shrugged off the feeling that he was being watched and continued down the road. Fly examined the blanket-monster closely. There was no movement from that area.

The stranger was jogging now, his white cape flapping wildly behind him. In Fly’s opinion, this proved he was either a vampire or a superhero. The dead body was the clue. He must be a vampire.

Fly pulled a roll of Bite’Ems from his breast pocket and popped two candies into his mouth. The night couldn’t possibly hold more surprises. Then, a distant rumble turned into a deafening roar.

The whup… whup… whup of helicopter blades stirred up dust and debris through the woods. Fly shielded his eyes. A searchlight swept across the tree line.

Fly watched the helicopter hover over the road. In one final display of the supernatural, the vampire soared into the sky with his cape flapping. Then, he was magically pulled into the belly of the craft.

Just before dawn, Fly dropped to the ground. The field was covered in eerie fog. He pulled his bicycle out of the underbrush and looked back at the clearing. Then, he rode as fast as the wind.

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