SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

“Good, because I thought we might be going in without a plan.”

I grinned. “I’d never do that.”

He parked the car in a pull-off by the Russian River probably used by fishermen for ease of access. From the trunk I grabbed a shotgun which I handed to Burgess and a set of wire cutters, then we jogged across the road and into the trees until we came to a chain link fence with razor wire at the top. I didn’t hesitate. I used the cutters to gain access and we were soon inside.

Once Burgess was through, we ran to a spot about a hundred and fifty feet south of the place we’d entered and stopped. I ordered him to grab my jacket. As long as he was touching me, my spell would work on him as well. There wasn’t such a thing as true invisibility, at least not for a mortal, but an aversion spell could reap the same benefits. I dredged the wording from my memory, then worked my fingers around the frame of it before I let it free to cast around me and Burgess.

The sound of brush crashing came from where we entered. Two guards with lights and M16s arrived. A third man carrying a PRC-77 backpack radio joined them. They reported a break-in, then spread out. One guard began searching away from us, while the other came right at us. The man with the radio remained in place.

I turned to look at Burgess “Not a word,” I whispered.

I watched his eyes as the guard came closer. The beam of the flashlight passed over us once, then came back and did it again. I could hear the guard’s footsteps as he pushed his way across the dry forest floor and underbrush. I kept concentrating, keeping the frame of the spell intact. It seemed as if he was heading directly for us, but at the last moment, he angled behind me and kept going. Watching Burgess’s eyes enabled me to know where the guard was. He went about fifty more feet, then turned and jogged back to where the radioman stood. The other guard joined him.

When they began to report negative contact on the radio, we started to move. We’d gone perhaps a hundred and fifty more feet before Burgess spoke. “When can I learn that one? Would have come in handy that time this girl’s husband came home.”

“Pass Level V certification and you’ll have it.”

He whistled softly. “So that’s what a fiver looks like. That’s bad ass.”

“Keep it down.” Here and there I could see wards on the trees. I didn’t disarm them. I let them flash warning, knowing that Everett would either come himself or send help.

As we began moving, I started to hear the Cremation of Care Ceremony in the background and blaring out of speakers stationed around The Grove. It sounded exactly like an invocation.

The Owl is in His leafy temple

Let all within The Grove be reverent before Him.

Lift up your heads oh ye trees

And be lifted up ye everlasting spires

For behold here is Bohemia’s shrine

And holy are the pillars of this house.

Weaving spiders come not here!

Looks like I was one of the weaving spiders. But I’d come to find an even more dangerous weaving spider, so I hoped they’d forgive me. It took fifteen more minutes of moving through the woods before I saw the outlines of the first cottage. If I remembered right, Isle of Aves had seven or eight cottages arranged in a semi-circle with a courtyard in the middle. We should have been coming to the back of it, and by the light shining in the courtyard, I could tell we were. The cottages had no back doors, but there were windows — bathroom windows by their appearance.

Being in Northern California, air conditioners weren’t necessary, but heat was. I searched for and found the propane tank. I ordered Burgess to sabotage it. We needed to draw the people outside.

While he worked on the tank, I made my way to the corner of the southernmost cottage and peeked around the corner. A long, cloth-covered table had been set up in the courtyard. Folding chairs surrounded it. On a row of other tables were cases of beer, bottles of liquor and wine, as well as a spread of cheeses, sausages and crackers — all of it cast in a red spell-glow of darkness. Five people worked to set everything up, moving in and out of the back of a van marked Gerhardt Catering and Sons and Daughter. What I saw was an older man, three young men — one who seemed to be barely in his teens — and a young woman. The truck told me who they were.

Suddenly an explosion split the night and a ball of light and energy replaced the space where the propane tank had once been.

The family froze and looked to the dad. He pointed to his two older sons and sent them to investigate.

I ducked as they ran between cottages toward the raging fire, which was already threatening to spread to the nearest cottage.

The Cremation of Care continued: