The Empty Chair

water jug for flotation. Garrett showed her how to lean her head back. With the rocks for ballast only their faces were above the water. They’d float downstream on the current ahead of the boat.
    “The diving bell spider does this,” he’d told her. “Like a scuba diver. Carries his air around with him.” He’d done this several times in the past to “get away,” though—just like earlier—he didn’t elaborate on why he’d been escaping and from whom. Garrett had explained that if the police weren’t at the bridge they’d swim over to the boat, beach it, drain out the water and continue on their way, rowing with the oars. If the deputies were on the bridge their attention would be on the boat and they wouldn’t notice Garrett and Amelia floating ahead of it. Once past the bridge they’d kick to shore and continue their journey on foot.
    Well, he’d been right about that part; they’d gotten under the bridge undetected. But Sachs was still shocked at what had happened next—unprovoked, the deputies had fired round after round at the overturned boat.
    Garrett too was badly shaken by the gunshots. “They thought we were under there,” he whispered. “Fuckers tried to kill us.”
    Sachs said nothing.
    He added, “I’ve done some bad things . . . but I’m no phymata .”
    “What’s that?”
    “An ambush bug. Lies in wait and kills. That’s whatthey were going to do with us. Just, like, shoot us. Not give us any chance at all.”
    Oh, Lincoln, she thought, what a mess this is. Why did I do it? I should just surrender now. Wait here for the deputies, give it up. Go back to Tanner’s Corner and try to make amends.
    But she looked over at Garrett, hugging himself, shivering with fear. And she knew she couldn’t turn back now. She’d have to keep going, play this crazy game out.
    Knuckle time . . .
    “Where do we go now?”
    “See that house there?”
    A brown A-frame.
    “Is Mary Beth there?”
    “Naw, but they’ve got a little trolling boat we can borrow. And we can get dry and get some food.”
    Well, what did a count of breaking and entering matter after tallying up her criminal charges today?
    Garrett suddenly picked up her pistol. She froze, watching the blue-black gun in his hands. Knowingly he looked in the chambers and saw it was loaded with six rounds. He clicked the cylinder into the frame of the gun and balanced it in his hand with a familiarity that unnerved her.
    Whatever you think about Garrett, don’t trust him . . .
    He glanced at her and gave a grin. Then he handed her the gun butt first. “Let’s go this way.” Nodding toward a path.
    She replaced the weapon in her holster, feeling the flutter of her heart from the scare.
    They walked toward the house. “It’s empty?” Sachs asked, nodding toward the structure.
    “Nobody’s there now.” Garrett paused and looked back. After a moment he muttered, “They’re pissed now, the deputies. And they’re after us. With all their guns and things. Shit.” He turned and led her along a path to the house. He was silent for a few minutes. “You wanta know something, Amelia?”
    “What?”
    “I was thinking about this moth—the grand emperor moth?”
    “What about it?” she asked absently, hearing in her memory the terrible shotgun blasts, meant for her and this boy. Lucy Kerr, trying to kill her. The echoes of the shots obscured everything else in her mind.
    “The coloring on its wings?” Garrett told her. “Like, when they’re open, they look just like an animal’s eyes. I mean, it’s pretty cool—there’s even a white dot in the corner like a reflection of light in the pupil. Birds see that and think it’s a fox or a cat and it scares them off.”
    “Can’t the birds smell that it’s a moth and not an animal?” she asked, not concentrating on the conversation.
    He looked at her for a moment to see if she was joking. He said, “Birds can’t smell,” as if she’d just asked if the world was flat. He looked behind them, up the river again. “We’ll have to slow ’em down. How close you think they are?”
    “Very close,” she said.
    With all their guns and things.

    “It’s them.”
    Rich Culbeau was looking at the footprints in the mud of the shore. “The trail’s only ten, fifteen minutes old.”
    “And they’re heading for the house,” Tomel said.
    They moved cautiously up a path.
    O’Sarian still wasn’t acting weird. Which for him actually was weird. And scary. He hadn’t