Deadfall Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Stephen Wallenfels

  Designed by Maria Elias

  Cover design by Maria Elias

  Cover illustration © 2018 by Matt Griffin

  All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-368-02276-7

  Visit www.hyperionteens.com

  To my brother, Mike

  CONTENTS

  Title page

  Copyright page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Tanum Creek – Sixteen Months Ago

  Chapter 2: Tanum Creek - Now

  Chapter 3: Tanum Creek – Sixteen Months Ago

  Chapter 4: Tanum Creek - Now

  Chapter 5: Tanum Creek – Sixteen Months Ago

  Chapter 6: Tanum Creek - Now

  Chapter 7: Tanum Creek – Sixteen Months Ago

  Chapter 8: Tanum Creek – Now

  Chapter 9: Portland, OR. – Sixteen Months Ago

  Chapter 10: Tanum Creek – Now

  Chapter 11: Portland, OR. – Thirteen Months Ago

  Chapter 12: Portland, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 13: Portland, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 14: Tanum Creek – Now

  Chapter 15: Portland, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 16: Portland, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 17: Tanum Creek – Now

  Chapter 18: Portland, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 19: Tanum Creek – Now

  Chapter 20: Portland, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 21: Portland, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 22: Tanum Creek – Now

  Chapter 23: Luster, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 24: Luster, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 25: Tanum Creek – Now

  Chapter 26: Luster, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 27: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 28: Luster, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 29: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 30: Luster, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 31: Luster, OR. – Eleven Months Ago

  Chapter 32: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 33: Luster, OR. – Seven Months Ago

  Chapter 34: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 35: Luster, OR. – Seven Months Ago

  Chapter 36: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 37: Luster, OR. – Six Months Ago

  Chapter 38: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 39: Luster, OR. – Five Months Ago

  Chapter 40: Luster, OR. – Five Months Ago

  Chapter 41: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 42: Luster, OR. – Five Months Ago

  Chapter 43: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 44: Luster, OR. – Five Months Ago

  Chapter 45: Luster, OR. – Four Months Ago

  Chapter 46: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 47: Luster, OR. – Four Months Ago

  Chapter 48: Luster, OR. – Four Months Ago

  Chapter 49: Luster, OR. – Four Months Ago

  Chapter 50: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 51: Luster, OR. – Four Months Ago

  Chapter 52: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 53: Luster, OR. – Three Months Ago

  Chapter 54: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 55: Luster, OR. – Two Months Ago

  Chapter 56: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 57: Luster, OR. – One Day Ago

  Chapter 58: Stumptown – Now

  Chapter 59: Portland, OR. – Nine Days Later

  Acknowledgments

  In Memoriam

  About the Author

  “Because brothers don’t let each other wander in the dark alone.” —Jolene Perry

  TANUM CREEK

  SIXTEEN MONTHS AGO

  1

  Benny Bic slammed the truck into park, killed the engine, and said, “Get out.”

  They were stopped dead center in the middle of a one-lane bridge spanning a deep gorge. Cory figured the metal-and-wood structure was fifty feet end to end, and judging by the rusted bolt heads and sagging cables he wondered if it dated back to the Civil War. His father knew he hated bridges, especially the old forgotten ones like this. Being up so high made his stomach feel like it was lined with ants. He glanced at his twin brother, Ty, wondered if he was in on this stop. Ty just shrugged and opened the door. They climbed out and waited next to the truck for their father to drain the last of his beer while the whispered sound of distant rapids mixed with the ticking of the truck engine behind them as it cooled.

  Benny began walking to the side of the bridge and motioned for them to follow him. Ty joined him and they looked down. Cory hung back a few feet, those ants in his stomach really beginning to crawl.

  “Is that Tanum Creek?” Ty asked.

  “The one and only,” Benny said, and lit a cigarette.

  “How far to the bottom?”

  “A hundred feet, more or less.”

  “I thought it would be smaller.”

  “It is where we’re goin’.”

  “Where are we going?” Cory asked.

  “Stumptown.”

  Ty looked at Cory. Neither one of them liked the sound of that.

  “What’s a Stumptown?” Ty asked.

  “It’s a birthday secret. But you won’t ever see it unless you stop bein’ a pussy and git up here. I got another secret to share first.” Cory forced his feet to move an inch at a time until he stood next to Ty. Benny took a long drag on his Camel, blew the smoke out soft and slow so it drifted across Cory’s face. “See the big pool almost straight down, at the bottom of that waterfall?” Cory and Ty followed his hand pointing down, spotted the pool of still water looking turquoise where it wasn’t shaded by a leaning tree. Cory had to will the ants in his stomach to settle. “We used to skinny-dip in there when I was your age. We’d tie a rope to that big ol’ tree and swing out to the middle. Called it the swing tree.” He shook his head at the memory. “Oh man, that was some fun.”

  “How deep is the pool?” Ty asked.

  “We never touched bottom.”

  Ty whistled appreciatively.

  Cory asked, “Who is we?”

  “Me and a coupla migrant kids named Luis and Marco Esparza. I worked the orchards with them thinning cherries and apples for two summers. They were brothers just like you two, ’cept for the twins part. And the fact that you’re alive and they’re not.”

  After a respectful silence, Ty asked, “What happened?”

  “Luis died in Mexico. All his mother would say is he had an accident. Marco wouldn’t tell me anything. But the orchard manager told me he got stabbed by his stepfather because he brought home the wrong kinda beer.”

  Cory recalled a time last fall when he tripped over a can of Benny’s beer and spilled it, the liquid mixing with all the other stains on the rug. Benny roused himself from his drunken haze long enough to grumble, “You’re lucky I left my knife in the truck.” Cory didn’t know what that meant at the time, but he did now.

  Ty asked, “What about Luis’s brother?”

  “Marco?” Benny frowned, flicked the butt out over the void. They watched it fall till the wind caught it and blew it under the bridge. “He died down there.”

  Cory felt a chill run through him. He knew where Benny was going and he didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to get back in the truck and drive off this bridge. But Ty, unfazed, asked, “Did he drown?”

  “Hold your
horses. I’m gettin’ there.” Benny lit another Camel. “We spent half a summer tossing rocks from this bridge, figuring out the exact right place to jump, testing how far out we needed to go. We agreed we wouldn’t do it till we hit the center of the pool ten times in a row. Eight was the closest we got.” He ran his hand over the outside edge of the top rail, slid it back and forth a few times, as if looking for something. Then he stopped and said, “So here’s another secret I promised you. I’m the only person alive that knows about it. Now I’m sharing it with the birthday boys.” He stepped back to make room. “Go on, take a look.”

  Ty glanced at Cory. Cory shook his head. Whatever it was, he didn’t want any part of it. Ty moved to the place where Benny had stood. Cory tried to step back, but Benny slipped behind him. “You need to see this too.” He nudged Cory forward until he stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother. A crow launched from a nearby pine tree, its caws echoing sharply against the vertical rock walls as it flew over the chasm. Still behind them, Benny said, “Now, to see it properly you’re gonna have to stand up on the bottom rail, get a good grip, and lean out.” Ty took a breath, hooked his fingers over the edge of the top rail, grasped the top rail, and raised a leg. Benny said, “Nope. Both of you at the same time.”

  “Why at the same time?” Ty asked.

  “Because that’s the fucking way it needs to be.”

  Cory was shaking. Ty looked at him and said, “Don’t worry. You’ve got this. On three?”

  All Cory could do was nod. He tasted bile rising in his throat. He started to back away, then felt Benny’s hand on his spine. Benny hissed, “No pussies on this bridge.” Pressed him forward into the rail.

  Ty said, “One. Two. Three.”

  They stepped up six inches onto the bottom rail. After taking a few seconds to adjust his balance, Ty bent at his waist and leaned way out. Cory did the same although half as far, trying to ignore the yawning distance below him and the slimy sweat on his palms. Trying not to think about the warm wetness spreading across the front of his pants. Trying to focus on what he was supposed to see on the back of the handrail. It would help if tears weren’t blurring his eyes.

  Cory felt the pressure of Benny’s hand fade until it was gone. “Okay. That’s it. Now let go with one hand, then the other.” Ty let go with both hands, raised them over his head. Cory pried his left hand free for three seconds, then returned it to the handrail. Benny said, “Now for the last thing. But it’s the most important.” Cory heard him moving, walking closer. Smelled the cigarette, felt the smoke brush warm on his neck. “You gotta spit for good luck.”

  Cory managed to work up some saliva. It barely drizzled out of his mouth and stuck to his chin. Ty hawked up a big one and sent it flying. Benny backed away, said, “That’ll work. C’mon down and tell me what you saw.” They stepped off the rail. Cory’s knees collapsed and he started to fall. Ty grabbed the neck of his shirt and held him up.

  Benny said, “So? Speak up, boys. Whaddya see?”

  Ty said, “Three letters, but they were upside down. I think one was a W, and maybe a T?”

  Benny frowned, turned to Cory. “Wipe that spit off your face, son.”

  Cory wiped at his face with the back of his hand.

  “And? What about you?”

  Cory whispered, “MBL.”

  “What happened to your voice?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did it fall off the bridge?”

  After a beat, “No.”

  Cory saw Benny’s dark eyes flick to the front of his jeans. He braced himself for the comment sure to come. Benny with those eyes steady on him said, “Then speak up like a man so the dumbass standing next to you can hear.”

  “I saw MBL.”

  Benny’s face split into a smile. “Fuckin’ A that’s what you saw. Marco, Benny, Luis!” He leaned back against the truck, regarded the brothers. Cory watched his eyes play over them, narrow for a moment, no doubt weighing the contrast between the two: Ty an inch taller than his brother, lean and wiry like his old man and a fighter to his core, and Cory with his hands crossed in front of his zipper, softer by thirty pounds, not an ounce of it muscle, with his father’s black hair but his mother’s full lips and dirt-brown eyes. Benny said, “I climbed over the edge one night with some braided baling twine tied around my waist. Marco held the twine and Luis held the flashlight. I carved those letters into that rail with this.” Benny reached into his jeans pocket and came out with his red Swiss Army knife, the one with a broken tip he always had with him and went into a rage once when he thought Ty had lost it. “You were looking at the spot where we were supposed to jump.” He took a long final pull on his cigarette, stomped it out with the toe of his hiking boot. He walked around the truck, climbed in, and cranked the engine. “Let’s go, birthday boys. It’s time we head on up to Stumptown!”

  Cory slid into the front seat, followed by Ty. As they rattled off the bridge and Cory could finally draw a decent breath, Ty said, “I guess Marco missed the pool?”

  “Nah. That weren’t the problem. I heard he hit the pool just fine.” Benny popped the top to a beer, swung the truck right onto a rutted dirt road bordered on both sides by a split-rail fence. Green and gray mountains rose like a wall in the shimmering summer heat.

  “So what was the problem?” Ty asked.

  “He hit the swing tree first.”

  TANUM CREEK

  NOW

  2

  Ty stops on the bridge even though we’re way behind schedule and it’s too dark to see. We step up on the rail, lean out over the void, and spit for good luck. The creek sounds louder than I remember, more like a rush than a whisper. I think about the pool, the swing tree, and am thankful for the blackness of this night. Just like we talked about, we yell, “No pussies on the bridge!” then climb back into the Volvo and leave without saying another word. He makes the right after the bridge and we head up toward the junction, this time in a heavy fog that settled in after six hours of solid rain. Icing could be a possibility higher up. We hadn’t factored that into our plans.

  He drives one-handed while drinking a Mountain Dew, taking the hairpins a little too fast in my opinion. Ty sees me reaching for the handle over the door. I stop and he smiles. If we’d been lucky we wouldn’t be doing this part at night, but a truck fire on the interstate leaving town, a poorly stocked camping store, and piss-poor service at an IHOP (how long does it take to fill two bowls with lukewarm chili?) conspired to put us here six hours later than we wanted to be. As Benny would say, Open a can of worms, don’t be surprised when they start crawlin’ out.

  The excitement of what we’d done had worn off by noon. Our agreement to not discuss it did little to stop the reality of our actions from sinking in. Just before we left pavement for the rutted gravel of the FS-101a turnoff, Ty asked me if I had any, you know, regrets? I said some, but I’d still do what we did. “Me too,” he said. “It’s not like we had a mountain of choices.”

  Although we didn’t have a mountain, we did have at least two. But I didn’t feel like bringing them up and he for sure didn’t want to hear them. Ty found a radio station with decent country, cranked up the volume, and we drifted into our own heads to deal with whatever monsters were lurking there.

  After the third hairpin, the fog gets so bad Ty has to turn on the wipers. We spin in the mud coming out of the turns and almost get stuck twice. But the Volvo is a champ and we make it through. Then on the incline just before the junction, Ty rounds a curve and something is in the middle of the road. A dark shape resolves out of the fog. It’s too big to drive around on this one-lane road, the right side blocked by the forest, the left side a steep ravine leading down to Tanum Creek. The shape moves, tries to rise but can’t.

  “Are you shitting me?” Ty groans, rolling to a stop. He leaves the headlights on and the engine running. We put on our jackets, grab our cell phones out of the cooler, step out into the fog, and walk to the deer lying on its side in the mud. It’s a buck, and a big on
e. He regards us with one glassy black eye leaking red. White bone sticks out from its right rear leg. Its breaths rattle out in pink foaming heaves. The eye blinks.

  Ty says to the buck, “Looks like you picked the wrong night to cross the road.”

  Tire tracks in the mud tell us what happened. A vehicle must have come straight down from the junction on a fairly steep incline, swerving left, right, then hitting the deer and taking a sickening final swerve off the road and into the ravine just beyond us. We walk to the lip and peer down. Other than trees and rocks and tire tracks scarring the dirt, we can’t see much without some light.

  “You know it’s down there somewhere,” Ty says.

  “Yeah.”

  “How long ago do you think this happened?”

  “The tracks look pretty fresh. And the deer’s still kicking. Thirty minutes?”

  Ty nods. “Sounds about right. That’s some steep terrain. Do you think they went all the way down to the creek?”

  “Doubt it. That’s a quarter mile at least. Let’s turn on our phones. But don’t activate location services.” Once I get to the home screen I check for service, and it’s exactly as I suspected. “I got nothing. You?”

  “Same.”

  “I guess we do this old-school.” Cupping my hands to my mouth, I yell, “IS ANYONE DOWN TH—”

  Ty yanks my hands away, hisses, “Dude, don’t do that!”

  I’m stunned. “What’s your problem?”

  “We stole a car, remember?”

  “Yeah. But that—”

  “If we get involved it’ll fuck up everything.”

  “I know. But we can’t just leave. I don’t see a choice here.”

  “I do. We drag the deer off the road and keep going. It can’t be more than five miles to the trailhead.”

  I hesitate.

  Ty says, “On a different night, yeah, we’d take a look. But not this night. We need to walk away, Cor. Stick to the plan.”

  The weight of his logic is crushing my resolve. I stare at the tire tracks leading down. Listen to our car idling behind us. And somewhere in the mix a deer is drawing its last rattling breaths. I hate myself for saying it, but he’s right: “Let’s clear the road.”