“So do vampires,” Linsenman mumbled.
“We’ll just walk in, offer him some stew, and have a nice visit. It’s a beautiful night. We’re lucky to work in the Yoop.”
The deputy said grimly, “The issue is, will we collect our pensions here.”
The Allerdyce compound was built on a narrow peninsula between North and South Beaverkill Lakes, a long distance from anything that might be termed a town, much less civilization, and it was not the sort of place you just stumbled on to. With water on two sides and swamps on both ends, it was difficult to reach, even if you knew where it was. There was a two-track from a USFS road down to the compound’s parking area, and a half-mile hike from there along a twisting narrow trail through dense and interlocked cedars, hemlocks, and tamaracks. In terms of isolation it was a fortress, and since Service had led police officers into the area the summer before last, Limpy had beefed up his defenses, sprinkling sound sensors and motion detectors along the entry road and adjacent forest.
Service knew that as soon as they got out of the vehicle they would be under surveillance, and if Limpy didn’t want them in the compound, they would not get that far.
The two men carried flashlights, but did not turn them on. Service had spent so much of his life working in the dark that his eyes always adjusted quickly. Even as a boy he had never been afraid of the night, one of the few things his old man had ever complimented him on.
Halfway to the compound they heard a wolf howl in the distance. Too far away to be one of their watchers, Service thought.
The final approach to the camp was dark, and as they squeezed out of a dense grove of cedars he could see dim light and the outlines of the shacks where the clansmen lived. One step further and Service stopped.
Linsenman whispered, “I can’t see shit. What?”
Service remained still, rotating his head slowly to the side and back again. There was movement along the ground, dark shadows stalking. He looked around deliberately and realized that they were surrounded by whatever it was.
“Oh, boy,” Linsenman said.
Service felt the hairs stand up on his arms and neck, his breathing quicken. “Walk in my steps,” he whispered to the deputy, “and don’t look around. Keep your eyes up and on my back.”
“This is crazy,” Linsenman said.
Over the years Limpy had resided in different cabins, but the past few times he’d seen him, he’d been in the same one. Service led them directly to it, his eyes on the tree-based horizon, moving steadily, neither slowly nor quickly. The ink sky was filled with stars, but the light did not penetrate trees.
The cabin was dark, which was not unusual. Service stepped onto the porch and Linsenman plowed into his back, muttering, “Shit.”
Powerful spots came on, splashing light across the area they had just crossed. Service looked back, saw more than a dozen pairs of eyes gleaming on the edges of the illuminated area. The eyes moved slightly and he finally saw what they were: dogs—dark, squat animals, all of them staring up at the porch, watching. He felt a wave of panic and pushed it away. They were on the porch; the problem was off the porch. Old Vietnam training: Isolate the problem, and focus on the problem you have, not the one you had, or what comes next. Now counts, nothing more. Limpy was inside, waiting, and Service knew that the dogs had been a reception committee designed specifically for him. Limpy might look like he couldn’t add snake eyes, but he had an amazing cunning, quick to ascertain and exploit a foe’s weakness.
He rapped on the door and waited.
Limpy himself opened it, grinned one of his toothless smiles and cackled. “I’ll be damned, sonny, youse comin’ all the way out here.”
“We happened to be in the neighborhood,” Service said. Allerdyce’s cackle deteriorated into a wheeze, which terminated in a wracking cough.
“Come on in, come on in,” the old man said, clearing his throat and holding the door wide.
Service felt Linsenman pressed up against him as Limpy closed the door and engulfed them in black.
They waited motionless as a kerosene lantern hissed to life, throwing a dull pink-orange glow into the middle of the room, enough to render shadows, but not enable sight. Service heard faint movement to his right, someone brush against something, suck in air.
“Take a seat, sonny,” Limpy said from a chair directly across from them.
“When—” Linsenman started to ask, but Service nudged him to be silent. Limpy usually moved like a wraith in the dark. Not tonight. He had tracked him all the way to his seat.
Service and Linsenman sat in wooden chairs facing Limpy, who sat in an old rocker of heavy wood.