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Travis does it without thought. What peace of mind that comes with the death of Silas ushers him to get the kids back to camp. The drive is dead quiet, exhaustion replacing than the anxiety that had kept them going before.
The others are huddled around the front of the lodge, still armed and suspicious of every movement around them. The appearance of Laura brings Max to his feet, rushing over to check if she’s alright.
Travis moves on as the two speak, Ryan following at a slower pace.
The group hesitates when he stops in front of them, one of the girls gripping her shotgun tighter.
“We need to talk about what happened tonight.” He begins.
“You think?” The gun girl asks.
“I mean, what went down tonight cannot be disclosed. To anyone.” His eyes skim around to meet theirs, varying degrees of stress and distrust on their faces.
“What about...” The redhead girl’s voice shakes, her arms held around a bloodstained boy’s, “the...the guy, in there.”
Travis doesn’t let his hesitation show. He counts them over silently in his head. Seven in front of him, with the other two coming just up from his left. All nine are here—miraculously—and almost all of them are in one piece. Whoever’s in there is...
Caleb. Jesus.
“I’ll call this in later. But we need to be clear on what is and isn’t allowed to be said to the police.” He holds up a finger, “First, what happened tonight was a freak accident of nature.”
“Bears..?” The one-handed kid suggests weakly.
“Sure. Bears.” He holds up another finger. “Anything that happened to you tonight was the result of an attack,” he nods to the kid’s missing hand, then to the redhead with scratches. “You,” He looks to the near-naked guy, “got caught in a bear trap.”
“Don’t have to remind me,” He grimaces, fingers brushing over the wounds in self-consciousness.
“They ask anything further, don’t answer. None of you kids will ever have to pay for what went down tonight.”
Ryan sighs heavily, seeming to come back from the disorientation. “Oh my god. I...I killed Mr. H.”
They all look to him, shocked into silence.
“Ryan...” One-hand tries, “you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t have to.”
“God, just...” Ryan trudges off into the grass before throwing up.
Travis grimaces. Kid’s probably got a concussion, if he had to guess.
“I almost...” The bloodied boy sighs, reaching over for the girl on his arm, “Abi, I’m so sorry.”
“No, Nick, I-It’s alright. I’m still here.”
Gun-girl’s stare drills holes into the ground.
Travis knows. She’s the one that killed Caleb.
The tears don’t reach his eyes. Not now, not here. These kids shouldn’t have to suffer for trying to survive. The source of this pain has been slain. He needs no further retribution.
“Is that other car repairable?” He asks, jabbing a thumb back to the van.
“I can take a look at it,” Naked guy replies, almost instantaneously.
Travis lets him go, seeing no better option. He’ll get these kids to the Harbinger, but he’d prefer to not make multiple trips. Leaving them alone any longer is less than ideal.
As he works under the hood, Travis makes the effort to ask if they have any other injuries.
They all have a few bruises and scrapes, but the worst of them are those that he can see.
A few minutes later, an engine sputters to life.
“We’ll head to a motel to clean you guys up. I’ll make the call when you’re all good.” He turns to Max. “Can I trust you to follow me?”
Max shifts on his feet, taking a breath before nodding. “Yeah, I got this.”
He turns back to the group. “I can take four. Max will take the others.”
They slowly rise, weary and unsettled, and divide amongst themselves.
Ryan, One-hand, Naked, and Gun-girl pile into the car, with the latter keeping her weapon in her lap. Travis suppresses his irritation, reminding himself that this isn’t anything they’ve known. It’s fine for them to still not trust him. Even after killing his family.
If anyone sees a tear, if the silence is interrupted by a sniffle, no one mentions it.
-
Darla Heaney asks no questions when Travis enters the lobby with a gaggle of kids.
She frowns at them with concern, clearly wanting to say something, but just gives them their room keys and lets them go on. She won’t charge them. Lord knows what they’ve been through.
Travis reappears after about ten minutes, asking if she has any extra clothes he can borrow.
Darla directs him to the staffing room, some old, disused uniforms still held on the shelves.
He thanks her on his way out.
It’s not the first time something like this has happened, but it’s never been a group so large.
Places like Northkill always invited stragglers. When Travis was waiting out an overnight case, usually the occasional runaway, he’d settle them in the Harbinger until whoever it was that was looking for them showed up.
Darla didn’t mind it. There wasn’t much business anyway, and Travis thanked her every way he could.
Even now she can imagine the inevitable vase of flowers that will go up on the lobby desk.
So she turns her head from whatever not-so-procedure people he brings in. It’s a good cause, she believes, and that’s worth it.
Another twenty minutes after that, he comes back around on the phone. He’s calling up the rest of Northkill’s force, maybe even beyond, judging from his tone.
“An ambulance to the Harbinger Motel. All at Hackett’s Quarry were DOA. Yes’m. Thank you, ma’am.”
Travis hangs up, then eases back into one of the lobby’s lounge chairs. He sighs, adjusting his back.
“Not young as I used to be,” he sighs, rubbing a hand across his forehead.
“Seems like you’ve had a long night.” Darla says. “Those kids alright?”
Travis’s eyebrows worry together, his gaze focused on the carpet. “For now.”
“They didn’t get into too much trouble, did they? Else you would’ve locked ‘em up.”
“Just dumb, reckless kids.” Travis sits up, still trying to find a comfortable position. “Police won’t give them any shit, though.”
“And you?”
“I’ll manage.” He smiles curtly. “Got into this job to help people, you know, and I’ll help those kids, too, even if they’re the last ones I can.”
Darla frowns. “How bad is it, Travis? What happened, tonight?”
“It’s bad, Darla, I won’t lie to you. It’s...a lot worse, than I’d expected it to be.”
“Lose anyone?” She asks gently, hearing the grief in his voice.
“Yeah. Quite a few.” Travis doesn’t look up at her.
She can’t think of anything else to say.
Eventually, one of the kids comes through. He’s speckled all over, his red hair clean and still a bit wet. He’s wearing one of the motel’s uniforms, the shirt untucked and pants barely reaching his ankles.
He looks both too old for the clothes and incredibly childish because of it’s ill fit.
Travis straightens up when he sees them, almost out of his chair. “Everything alright?” His voice is tempered like glass, strong and ready to shatter.
“Um, yeah. Yeah, everyone’s alright. I,” Max glances to Darla, then back to Travis, “can I talk to you?”
Travis stands up, following him back down the hall.
Max’s determined posture deflates a little in the solitude. “I spoke to Laura. About tonight, and—and everything,” he’s glaring in focus down at the wall, avoiding Travis. “And I wanted to say sorry. About your family, and stuff.”
Max doesn’t hear anything. Not even his breathing. He cautiously looks up, seeing Travis wear the same neutral face as always. “I mean, extremely not cool to lock us up for two months and stuff, but I kind of get it, trying to keep everyone safe and under control.”
He just blinks.
“Laura feels the same way. She’s asleep right now, though.”
Travis’s fingers twitch. Kaylee, Ma, Jedediah.
He inhales, trying to keep his temperature low.
Silas. Don’t forget Silas.
“I appreciated your cooperation, in the end. Wish we could have avoided this predicament in the first place, but,” He exhales, “suppose you did finally get to the Harbinger.”
Max huffs out a humorless laugh. “Thanks for the directions, T-Money.”
Travis scrunches his nose. “Don’t call me that.”
The faint wail of sirens comes through the hall.
“Go get anyone who’s hurt.” Travis orders, then goes to meet the paramedics.
Max does as told, knocking on everyone’s doors and telling them them EMT’s here.
Most everyone makes an appearance, even those well-off.
They look in much better shape, freshly-showered and shed of all blood, but there are still some glaring issues.
Max ushers them to the lobby, helping Jacob hobble his way down on his torn ankle, and arrives last.
Dylan is already getting his arm looked at, Ryan is having a flashlight shone in his eye.
Max gently lowers Jacob into a chair near the woman inspecting Abigail’s gashes.
Ten minutes later, Jacob and Dylan are hefted into the ambulance. Ryan is cleared of a concussion diagnosis and Abigail’s arm is properly disinfected and wrapped.
The others want to follow, which Travis turns to Max for.
He hands him the keys to the van and pulls out two twenty-dollar bills from his pocket. “For gas. The investigation’ll follow you there in a couple days if you’re not back sometime tomorrow.”
Max nods and instructs the remaining teens to load out.
Nick stays behind, citing his tiredness, and Emma goes back to her room by her own will. Abigail walks Nick back down the hall.
The radio on Travis’s belt pitches. He lifts it, confirming the call.
“We’re about four hours out, Hackett. If there’s anything you can do ‘fore we get there I’d be much obliged.”
“Hear ya, Adams. Appreciate you getting out here so soon.”
“We’ll do our best.”
He clicks the radio off, putting it back on his belt.
“Suppose I should get going.” He mutters.
“Take care of yourself, Travis.” Darla calls.
“Will do, Ms. Heaney.”
He pushes the door open, the warming air hitting his chilled skin. Travis stalls for just a moment longer, caught in the doorway.
He looks back to her, as if to say something—anything.
Finding nothing, he forces himself forward. Back to his car, and back to the massacre awaiting him down the road.