The Hunter

Probably he ought to talk to her about—among a whole mess of other things—the fire: the people who could lose everything, the animals whose homes are gone, the firefighters putting themselves in danger. He’s not going to do it. For one thing, right now he’s too blown apart by relief that she’s here, and apparently in one piece, to have any room left for matters of conscience. For another, it would have no impact. If she set her place on fire, Trey was getting rid of evidence. Cal can only see one reason for that, and it’s not one against which anything else would hold weight.

“I’m not gonna ask you,” he says suddenly.

Trey looks up at him, chewing.

“About any of it. Anything you feel like telling me, go for it anytime, I want to hear it. But I’m not gonna ask.”

Trey takes a minute to examine this. Then she nods and shoves the last hunk of sandwich in her mouth. “Can I’ve a shower?” she asks, through it. “ ’M manky.”

Cal takes himself outside while she does that. He leans on the wall by the road and watches the fire. A few days ago he wouldn’t have been easy leaving Trey alone in the house, but any danger to her is gone. He’s not sure what complicated weave of allegiances led her to the decisions she made, but that doesn’t matter—for now, anyway—as long as those decisions look acceptable from the outside.

He’s still out there when Mart comes stumping down the road. Even with the orange glow lighting the sky, it’s dark enough that Cal hears the crunch of his feet before his shape separates itself from the hedges. He recognizes Mart by his walk. It’s jerkier than usual, and Mart is leaning hard on his crook: all that time standing still, watching Johnny dig, has stiffened him up.

“Hey,” Cal says, when he gets close enough.

“Ah,” Mart says, his face cracking into a grin, “the man himself. That’s all I wanted to know: you made it back safe and sound. Now I can head off to my beauty sleep with a clear conscience.”

“Yep,” Cal says. “Thanks for checking.” His enforced alliance with Mart is over, but something has shifted between them, whether he likes it or not.

Mart sniffs. “My God,” he tells Cal, “there’s a terrible bang of smoke offa you. You’d want to give yourself a good scrub before your missus calls round, or she won’t go near you. Did you get close to the fire?”

“Just for a minute,” Cal says. “Got Trey in the car and made tracks. She’s inside. Sheila and the other kids, they’re at Lena’s.”

“Ah, that’s great,” Mart says, smiling at him. “I’m delighted they’re all safe out of it. What about the bold Johnny, Sunny Jim? Did you push him in the fire, or where is he at all?”

“Johnny thought the kid was still in the house,” Cal says. “He headed up round the back of it, looking for her. I dunno what happened to him.”

“That’s lovely,” Mart says approvingly. “That’d warm your heart, so it would: the good-for-nothing waster sacrificing himself for his child. I’d say that’ll go down a treat; everyone loves a bitta redemption, specially with a comeuppance thrown in. Didja push him in? Just between ourselves, like.”

“Didn’t need to,” Cal says. “He ran off.”

Mart nods, unsurprised. “That’s what he was always best at,” he says. “ ’Tis great when a man’s talents come in handy. Did he mention where he was headed, at all?”

“Nope,” Cal says. “And I didn’t ask, ’cause it doesn’t matter. As far as anyone needs to know, he never made it off the mountain.”

Mart looks at him and starts to giggle. “Well, wouldja look at that,” he says. “I finally got you settled into this place good and proper. You’ve got the hang of it now, bucko; there’ll be no holding you.”

“Even if Johnny did make it out,” Cal says, “he’s gonna run a long way, and he’s not coming back. We’re shut of him. And Nealon figures Johnny’s his guy, so we’re shut of him, too.”

“Well,” Mart says, his eyebrows jumping. “Isn’t that great news? Good riddance to the pair of them.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Cal says. Mart isn’t asking what changed Nealon’s mind. Cal didn’t expect him to.

“I’d say you will. D’you know something?” Mart asks meditatively, turning his head to examine the blaze’s progress. “There was a few votes in favor of just setting Johnny’s place on fire to begin with, instead of foostering about with spades and what-have-you. ’Tis a mad aul’ world, when you think about it. Whatever you do, it all comes to the same in the end.”

“You hear anything about how bad it is?” Cal asks.

“Gimpy Duignan and his missus got told to evacuate, and so did Malachy and Seán Pól and everyone higher up, and a few over the other side as well. The fire lads are hoping they’ll have it under control before it gets that far, but it all depends on the wind.” Mart squints up at the sky. “Not just the wind, maybe. I thought I’d never hear myself say this again, but will I tell you something, Sunny Jim? It looks like rain.”

Cal looks up. The sky is thick and starless; the air has a weight and a restless tingle that have nothing to do with the fire.