The Upright Man Read Free

could turn and see me. If she did, there would be no leaving this place.
    Zandt took only two pictures, then logged the position. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”
    I followed him as he walked away from the woman. I didn’t know what I was feeling, wasn’t sure what you were supposed to make of such a thing. Something, that was for sure. Why do it, otherwise?
    I stopped and looked back at her. Something about the way she was positioned was niggling at me.
    “Ward, let’s move out. It’s going to get dark soon.”
    I ignored him and walked back to her. Squatted down as close as I felt willing, and looked where she was looking. Her head was tilted slightly forward, as if she was gazing down into the canyon.
    I wanted to be back in the car as much as Zandt did. Rooney’s Lounge seemed like a good place to be at that moment. Even the Yakima mall, at a pinch.
    It wasn’t easy getting into the canyon. I started to go down facing forward, but soon turned around and used my hands. I heard Zandt swear from above, and then start after me, thankfully having the sense to pick a line a good few yards to the side. The rocks he dislodged fell well clear of me.
    When I got to the bottom I couldn’t see much at first. The same as up above, only rockier, with a little more vegetation and a few stubby trees. The mist was clearing now, drifting off somewhere else as the sky turned a darker blue.
    Then I saw there was another inlet up ahead, the memory of a smaller stream. I walked up it for a short distance, and was surprised to find it turning into a wider, open area. I was still standing at the entrance to this when Zandt arrived, looking at a bulky shape hidden under an outcrop.
    At first it was hard to make out what it was.
    Then you saw that it was the corner of a small building, flush up against the side of the canyon.
    We approached the building walking three yards apart. It became clear that it was very old, a functional one-room cabin, pioneer vintage. It was made from big chunks of wood that had weathered well, still brown in places among the gray. Battered planks of more recent vintage had been nailed across the windows from the inside. The door was shut, held by a padlock that didn’t look old at all. Someone had gone at the door with an ax or shovel, but not recently. Shapes that looked like letters were visible among the scars.
    Holding his gun ready, Zandt used his other hand to click a few pictures onto his little machine. The windows. The walls. The door.
    Then he pocketed it and looked at me. I nodded.
    I walked straight ahead and kicked the door in and swung the hell back out of the way. Zandt was right behind me, gun held out straight.
    I slipped in and turned full right, getting behind the door. With the windows blocked it was dark but the doorway let in more than enough light. My scalp tried to crawl backward off my head.
    The cabin was full of dead people.
    Three sat in a line on a bench, slumped against the back wall. One was little more than a skeleton, the other two dark and vile. One had no arms; the other’s abdomen had burst some time before. Other bodies were gathered in a small, deliberate heap on the other side, and at least two more lay along the front wall. The state of these said none had died recently. A few had scraps and tangles of skin and jerkylike flesh hanging from scaffolding bones. One skull had the upper half of a plastic doll protruding from a hole in the crown. Dust had turned the doll’s hair gray.
    As my eyes got used to the gloom, I began to see more and more desiccated body parts: a small, orderly pile against the wall on the left. I moved part of it with my foot, and saw a layer of bones underneath. A thick layer, some of it little more than dust.
    We dropped our arms, blinking. Nobody here could do us harm.
    Zandt cleared his throat. “Did they do this?”
    “The Straw Men? Could be. But some of this has been here a long, long time.”
    Zandt wanted to