Page 18 of God’s Country

I swung around the island and saw no sign of life at the campsite there. I kept going. The next campsite was another quarter mile, this one on an inlet on the south shore of the lake. As I paddled through the ribbon of moonlight that lay across the surface of Shrike, I glanced back and could see the light of the campfire that Stephen was tending. It stood out like a beacon. I realized that while I was searching for some other party on the lake, our presence there was clearly evident to anyone who might be interested.

The campsite on the inlet was deserted. Which left only one other possibility, and that was to the northeast, at the far end of Shrike, very near the portage I’d planned to take before we discovered the blood on the point and decided to return the way we’d come. I left the inlet, headed onto the open lake, and dug my paddle into the water. That’s when Nature, or the Creator, or more probably it was some majimanidoo, which is the Ojibwe word for an evil spirit, intervened.

A cloud crossed the moon, and the lake plunged into an impenetrable darkness. I looked up and saw that the stars had disappeared as well. The cloud cover was broad and heavy, blotting out all the light. I thought then about the chance of a passing storm. A small chance, the forecast had indicated. But I could feel the change in the air, and as I sat idle for a minute, my paddle resting across the gunwales, a stiff wind swept across the lake. In what was now almost complete darkness, the only thing I could see was the beacon of the campfire on the point where we’d pitched our tents. There was no way I could navigate the lake now. As I turned back, facing into the wind, I saw in the distance a white-hot searing slash across the sky, the first bolt of lightning.

CHAPTER 11

Trying to steer an empty canoe on a big lake in a high wind is a challenge even for the most experienced canoeist. The storm had come up quickly and fiercely, a raging wind, driving rain, lightning, thunder. Rather than battle the elements, I decided it would be best to head back to the safety of the inlet I’d just left.

To reach the inlet, I knew I’d have to battle a crosswind, unwise because the waves would hit the canoe broadside, very likely swamping me. So for a while, I headed directly into the storm, the bow of my canoe lifting and falling on the high swells. When I was beyond the inlet, I swung around, put the wind at my back, and made quickly for the protection of the little cove and the trees there. In the brief illuminations from the flashes of lightning, I spotted a reasonable landing site. The rain poured down as if I was plunging into a waterfall, and when I stepped from the canoe, the crack and boom of thunder shook the ground under my feet.

“Small chance of an overnight shower my ass!” I shouted into the night.

The trees around me bent like reeds in the wind. I hunkered under that shifting canopy of pine boughs, but the rain came at a slant, and it was impossible for me to escape the deluge. The worst of the storm lasted half an hour, then moved northeast. The wind let up and the rain diminished along with it. The rumbling grew more distant. But at the end of a particularly long roll of thunder, I heard a distinctive crack come from somewhere far across the lake. Because of the confusion of the storm, I couldn’t be a hundred percent certain, but I thought I understood what it was.

At night, particularly when a storm moves through the North Country, the temperature can drop dramatically. Hypothermia can happen even in summer, so I knew I had to get myself into dry clothes and warmed by a fire. I shoved the canoe back into the water, got in, and paddled from the inlet. The wind had dropped to a mild breeze, but the sky was still overcast, and the sole light I saw was from our campfire. It had been a long day. I was pretty near the end of my strength, but there was nothing to be done except to keep on paddling. When I was near the point, I shot the beam of my headlamp toward camp. When I hit the shore, Stephen was waiting.

I quickly put on dry clothes. When I came from my tent, Mal and Daniel were sitting by the fire, which Stephen had continued to feed, even during the storm.

“Happy you made it back,” Daniel said. “It must have been rough out there.”

“The boys?” I asked.

“Luke’s dead to the world,” Mal said. “The storm didn’t wake him at all.”

“Same with Waaboo,” Daniel said. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing. But I wasn’t able to get to the last campsite. And I can’t be sure, but I thought I heard a gunshot.”

“Where?” Stephen said.

“Hard to tell.”

“But you’re not sure it was a gunshot?” Mal said, his voice hopeful.

“Not a hundred percent. If it was, it sounded small caliber. Maybe a handgun, not a rifle.”

“At first light we’re out of here,” Daniel said. “We’re not taking any chances.”

“What about Cordell?” I asked.

“We need to think of the safety of the boys first,” Mal said.

“When we get back to Aurora, we’ll report everything to Sheriff Dross,” Daniel said. “It’ll be in her hands then.”

Stephen had thrown a tarp over the firewood we’d gathered to keep it dry in the rain. He pulled the tarp away, grabbed a couple more sticks, and tossed them into the flames. “Too bad we lost the satphone. We could have a floatplane or a chopper out here first thing in the morning.”

I stared into the fire. “Nothing happens by accident. It’s all a part of the Creator’s plan.”

I looked up and saw Mal giving me a bewildered look.

“Something Henry has said to me many times,” I explained.

“What possible reason could God have for all that’s happened here?” the ex-priest said, his voice bordering on anger. “People blame God for everything because it takes the responsibility off their shoulders. It wasn’t God who did whatever unspeakable things might have been done here. The God I believe in would never sanction something like that. It’s men who do evil, Cork.”

“And it’s men who make them pay,” I said.

The others were quiet then, staring at me.