Constant Fear (6 page)

Javier thought. “There are six,” he said. “Five boys and one girl.”

“Then we go door-to-door and take them,” said Efren. “We make them talk.”

Fausto frowned and gave Efren a cold, irritated look. “That’s going to be a problem,” he said. “We need to take them all at once. Do all these kids sleep at the school?”

Javier shook his head. He didn’t know.

“Maybe they do, maybe they don’t,” said Fausto. “Either way, home or at school, we have too many doors to break down. Too many witnesses. Too much could go wrong and could bring a lot of police before we get back the money. We need to go in and get out without anybody knowing we’re there. We need time to interrogate these kids all together, like the police would do. Get them to turn on each other until one gives up the money. We must make them talk. That’s what we must do.”

“The school is filled with kids,” Efren said. “How do we do it?”

“I want to see a map of the area,” said Fausto. His sphinxlike smile pricked goose bumps on Javier’s skin.

“What are you thinking, Fausto?” Efren asked.

“A friend of ours works for BVC Environmental, a chemical trucking company. He’s the reason we got this burro working for us in the first place.” Fausto pointed to Javier. “I guess they are cousins or something.”

“So?” Efren looked confused.

“I think with our friend’s help we can empty out the school of every single student and teacher, but leave our friends from this so-called Shire behind.”

The grin was back in full. Fausto’s golden mouth reflected light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs, like a star going supernova.

CHAPTER 9

W
inston, Massachusetts, was part of Berkshire County, a quintessential New England town with picturesque views that looked like something out of a bank calendar. It was a small community, only twelve thousand residents, but its downtown was thriving: several quality restaurants, a movie theater, drugstore, shoe store, various craft shops, and more mom-and-pop establishments than chain stores. If not for the dedicated efforts of the town’s zoning commission, Winston might have turned to bigger companies for acquiring higher tax revenue. Instead, the commission made every effort to foster a traditional small-town atmosphere.

Pepperell Academy was only a few miles from downtown, surrounded by undeveloped woodland and farms. It was the perfect place for Jake and Andy’s retreat. When “The Day” arrived, and the world collapsed as Jake so believed, Winston’s town center would draw people seeking resources and shelter, leaving Pepperell Academy and the land around it mostly deserted.

Jake never envisioned that he’d be raising his son in a town like Winston. He thought he’d be living in the Back Bay, or maybe a sweet condominium in Cambridge during baseball season and somewhere warm in the off months. But life, like the sport Jake loved, could throw curveballs. Which was how he’d ended up in the western part of the state. It wasn’t so bad. The community was supportive, the air clean, and the restaurants were more than halfway decent.

Jake and Andy liked to go out to eat at least once a week. Tonight they had settled on Lotus, the only Asian cuisine in town. Andy was busy checking over the menu and didn’t notice his dad looking at him across the table.

“You know what you’re getting?” Jake asked.

Andy studied the menu some more. “I might have the pad Thai and dumplings,” Andy said with his face buried in the menu.

Jake appraised his menu anew. “That’s what Uncle Lance usually gets.”

Andy glanced up and looked around the restaurant. “Speaking of Uncle Lance, where is he?”

“You know if it’s not school-related, your uncle is always fifteen minutes late. By my watch, we’ve got another minute or two to go.”

Andy went back to studying his culinary choices, but with an odd look on his face. Jake had been noticing his dark mood, which was short-tempered and sullen, and wondered whether Andy was properly managing his blood glucose.

Andy noticed his dad’s attention. “I’m at one hundred ten,” Andy said with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve got to stop worrying.”

Busted.
“I’m your dad,” he said. “It’s burned into my DNA. Besides, I wasn’t worried when I saw you in The Quad today.”

Andy perked up. “You were there? Watching?” A spark of pride flared in his brown eyes.

“I felt bad for that Ryan boy from the get-go,” Jake said, “but I wanted to see you in action.”

“Yeah, well? How’d I look?”

Jake made a face. “The move was great,” he said. “I saw it coming from a mile away, but he sure didn’t. The yell when you made your strike, though—now, that needs some work.”

“I thought I was loud.”

“It sounded more like you got something caught in your throat.”

“I could yell now.”

“You’ll have plenty of chances to practice your yell, where you won’t scare the waitstaff. I thought maybe we’d toss some muay Thai training into the mix, or even krav maga. I think there are instructional DVDs in the library.”

“Krav maga’s pretty badass,” Andy said.

“When The Day comes, you might have to pull some of those moves on tougher opponents than Ryan Coventry.”

Andy looked seriously annoyed, and then he just looked away. “I’m glad you’re teaching me self-defense because I think it’s cool,” Andy said in a soft voice, as if anything louder might trigger an avalanche of emotion. He locked eyes with his father once more. “But enough talk about The Day, Dad. Serious. I want to enjoy my meal.”

Jake respected Andy’s wishes. He only wanted what was best for his son, but the parent and the child didn’t always agree on what that entailed. He felt the years were slipping by too quickly, and he worried about the time remaining to prepare his son properly for the bleak future they most likely faced. At first, Jake thought Andy’s constant complaining about the drills was due to pressures at school, or maybe a temporary dip in enthusiasm, but lately he’d begun to see that it was something much more serious and involved.

Nevertheless, the drills weren’t stopping anytime soon. Drilling meant survival. He could still vividly recall the first time Andy wasn’t prepared for catastrophe. Jake hadn’t been, either.

Andy had just turned five when he strolled into the kitchen, pulling Draggy by its purple tail. Jake had won the stuffed dragon at the Deerfield Fair; it had been Andy’s inseparable buddy ever since.

“Where’s Mama?” Andy asked.

Jake slid Laura’s note into the kitchen drawer so Andy wouldn’t see what had made his father cry.

Jake wiped his eyes. “She’s not here, little buddy.”

Andy made a face. His dad’s voice sounded funny. He looked around. “Where is she?” he asked.

Andy’s doleful eyes put a hole in Jake’s chest, and he had a hell of a time getting air past the lump in his throat.

“She’s not here, champ,” Jake said, sweeping his son into his arms. Laura had bought Andy’s fleece dinosaur footy pajamas last Christmas, but already they were a little snug.

“Why you crying, Daddy?” Andy asked.

His genuine concern cleaved Jake’s heart. The boy kicked to get down, and then he trotted off to explore every room in the house, with Draggy in tow.

A few minutes later, Andy reappeared in the kitchen. He was holding something other than Draggy in his hand. Jake could see it was a photograph of Laura.

“Mama left a picture of her on my bed,” Andy said. “Why’d she do that?”

Again, Jake took his son into his arms. He clutched Andy tight to his chest and stroked the silky hair on the back of his son’s head. He wanted his voice to be strong, but it had come out trembling then.

“Because she loves you so very much,” Jake said.

Andy didn’t appear to understand.

“I want my mommy,” he said, sniffling, his eyes going moist. “I want my mommy,” he repeated.

“Me too,” Jake said as he rocked Andy in his arms. “Me too.”

The bells above the front door chimed a sweet set of notes and pulled Jake out of that painful memory. Lance Dent entered. Jake and Andy stood to greet Lance and the three exchanged quick hugs.

Lance had a thick head of raven hair, while Jake’s was ash blond and close cropped, but it was obvious to any stranger that these two were brothers. Lance was Jake’s fraternal twin, eight minutes the elder, but the rigors of his job—the alumni dinners, social functions, committee meetings, parent conferences, fund-raising events, and school-sponsored activities—meant he didn’t have time to take a fifteen-minute jog, let alone practice krav maga. Over the years, Lance, once married but now a committed bachelor, had packed on twenty or so extra pounds compared to Jake, who maintained his pro athlete physique. Even today, Jake could still fire off a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball, but only because he’d spent years rehabilitating his pitching arm.

Lance took a seat next to his nephew.

“Thinking about trying something new this time,” Lance said as he perused the menu. “What else is good here?”

Andy looked incredulous. “Good at Lotus?” he said. “Heck, Uncle Lance, just close your eyes and point. You can’t miss here.”

Jake gave Lance a cautious shake of the head. “You’re a creature of habit, bro,” he said. “Just get the pad Thai and dumplings and be happy about it.”

Lance put the menu away and smiled at his brother. In all the years Lance had been coming here, he’d never ordered anything other than the pad Thai. Jake knew he’d be disappointed with any other choice.

Jake and his brother were close growing up, but their bond had strengthened since Jake joined the staff at Pepperell Academy. For a time, the brothers’ paths had diverged widely. While Jake battled to make it out of the minor leagues and into The Show, Lance Dent got a B.A. in education from Tufts and took a job as a math teacher at Pepperell Academy.

Then came the crash and burn, and the next thing Jake battled was depression. Though he was busy with work, Lance never lost touch with his brother or his struggles. He returned to the family home in New Hampshire every Sunday for dinner, and he and Jake would spend hours talking about life and how Jake might find his footing once more. After Lance’s short marriage ended (he was childless, and vowed to remain that way), the brothers had even more in common.

Little by little, Jake got stronger as he dedicated more time and effort to learning survival skills. Lance might not have agreed with his brother’s beliefs, but he noticed the physical and emotional turnaround. Without reservation, Lance had offered to help get Jake a job as a custodian at his school.

After a lengthy interview process, Jake had accepted a position, but not Lance’s offer of financial help. Committed to the survivalist ethos of self-reliance, Jake and Andy moved to the double-wide trailer, all they could afford, a few miles from campus.

Lance’s only request had been that Jake would keep his beliefs private. Nobody needed to know that the school custodian was a dedicated survivalist and what some would term a doomsday prepper. Jake had no trouble honoring Lance’s wishes. He would keep lots of things secret, including his use of those underground passageways and chambers that would eventually function as his and Andy’s retreat, their BOL. Even Lance didn’t know about those.

After they ordered, Lance turned to Andy. “I had an interesting conversation with the dean of students about you today, Andy, my boy.” He ruffled Andy’s hair.

“What’d you hear?” Andy asked. He reddened and looked down at his lap. In three years at Pepperell Academy, Andy, now a junior with Carnegie Mellon at the top of his college choice list, had never violated the school’s disciplinary policies.

“Easy, honcho,” Lance said with a fractured smile. “She apparently spoke to Ryan, and he insisted you two were just roughhousing.”

The three looked at each other.

“Thank goodness for Ryan’s ego, eh?” Lance said with a wink and a smile.

“That guy is a major-league A-hole,” Andy announced.

“Well, that may be the case,” Lance said, his smile fading, “but his parents are major-league benefactors of the school. I’d advise you to try other approaches in dealing with any future confrontations. Understood?”

Andy said nothing.

“Understood?” Lance repeated, more sternly.

“Understood,” Andy finally agreed. “But he’s still an asshole.”

Jake was trying to hold down his grin, but the corners of his mouth lifted up anyway.

Andy gave a shrug as if to say,
“Why should money make anybody special?”

While Jake was learning a new trade as the head custodian of the school, Lance had spent several years enhancing his credentials. He’d earned an Ed.D. from Amherst College through an accelerated doctorate program for working professionals. By the time Andy was old enough to enroll in Pepperell Academy, Lance had taken the job as head of school. In that role, Lance assumed responsibility for managing daily operations, overseeing curriculum, hiring and supervising the faculty, and implementing the operational mandates of the school’s board.

His biggest responsibility, however, was not included in any job description. A good head of school was a beacon for wealthy donors; and in some ways, Lance likened himself to a gold miner. Many parents could not afford the pricey tuition, some could just cover the cost, but plenty—well over 50 percent, Ryan Coventry’s folks among them—could lay out the cash for a year of schooling and not even notice they’d spent the money. Those were the parents Lance spent a great deal of time courting.

The three chatted like poker buddies while waiting for their meals. They talked about cars, the latest viral videos—Andy showed one on his phone that was essentially two people acting out the biological processes of the human digestive system. They talked of the teachers, as always, and Andy felt like a useful spy giving Lance the inside skinny on which classes were guts, which professors were dull, and which teachers were hot (as ranked by the students).

“How are things going with your computer club?” Lance asked.

A shadow crossed Andy’s face and he seemed to retreat into himself. “It’s fine,” he said.

Jake was well versed on the many meanings of the phrase “It’s fine.” Judging by his son’s response—eyes to the floor, and arms folded—he interpreted Andy’s reply as
“Something’s not fine, but don’t ask about it.”

Diabetes had taught Jake to respect Andy’s boundaries. He trusted his son to come to him if a particular situation needed his counsel.

The food came; and for a while, nobody spoke—it was all about eating. But Lance wasn’t finished clearing the air.

“Look, buddy, about this Ryan Coventry thing—I get it, I really do,” he said. “Some of the students here have a pretty warped perspective on the world. They’ve never wanted for anything at any point in their lives.”

“Some of them? It’s most of them. Uncle Lance, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t really fit in here. Everyone has so much money—it’s like they don’t get it. Not everybody can have the latest-model iPhone.” Andy made a show of showing Jake his Samsung Galaxy Star, one of the cheapest brand-name Android smartphones currently on the market.

“And some of us could look at the school’s job board and earn some extra money for the things they want,” Jake said.

Lance nodded. “It’s not always easy for me, either, buddy,” he said. “I spend a lot of my time trying to get money from people who make more in a day than I do in a year. I see how they view money. It’s warped. They just don’t seem to appreciate their good fortune.”