Nine by Zach Hines

Author:Zach Hines
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

THE DRIVE TOOK THEM OUT OF THE ELM FOREST AND DOWN through Lakeshore to the wide, manicured fields of the West Side Hills, to the lawns and stables and ranch houses of the upper-crust suburbs.

When Julian was little, the family would have a Sunday picnic out in the state park, and on the drive home through these hills, they’d talk about what it would be like to have a ranch or a farm of their own. Julian’s father always said he could give a retired racehorse a good home, and he could board two or three more horses from the folks downtown—the stables would end up paying for themselves. Julian would watch these fields whip by the window, trying to imagine himself on a horse, tackling acres of the rolling green like one of the knights in his childhood storybooks. He watched from the back seat as his father kissed his mother’s hand. She had just gotten a new job at the Lake. This was going to be the future. These hills were where they were going to live. . . .

These now gray hills.

Callum Collins lived among these hills, in a white two-story house down a winding driveway. As they approached, Julian stole a glance at Cody’s face. He saw her eyes were hard and determined, flickering in and out of the light as they passed through the shadows of the fence posts.

They knocked on Callum’s door for what seemed like ten minutes. Finally, once Julian’s knuckles were raw, it opened. Standing there was a thin man in a flannel shirt who looked about the same age as Julian’s father. He had a short, closely cropped beard and thick, black-rimmed glasses.

He looked directly at Cody. “How did you find me here?”

“The Friends . . . left some of their financial records behind at Cat’s Cradle,” she said.

“Please leave,” Callum said. “I made it clear that I have nothing to do with you people anymore.”

“I’m not here asking you to come back.” Cody opened the bag, revealing the dead cat. “I’m here about the Attison Project.”

Callum flinched at the sight of the cat, but it wasn’t disgust or shock—it was a kind of weary recognition. Callum scanned the horizon, as if making sure no one else was with them, then stepped outside onto the front step. “Don’t talk and just follow me around back,” he said.

Behind the house, Callum grabbed a shovel from a pot of tools and led them through the backyard to the edge of the forest. A small stream ran through the underbrush.

“The house is probably wiretapped,” he said. “The stream washes out the noise, but keep it to a whisper just in case.” He gestured toward his foot—there was a black ankle monitor strapped above his boot. He was clearly on some form of house arrest.

Cody took the cat out and set it on a tree stump. Callum kneeled down next to it, carefully unwrapping the plastic until the dead cat was completely exposed. Callum muttered something indistinguishable to himself as he examined the cat.

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