Hideout by Jack Heath (iphone ebook reader txt) 📕

‘I don’t think it was the hiker who wrecked the cameras,’ he says.

‘You think it was one of the prisoners?’

‘No. If they got their chains off, they wouldn’t stick around.’ He scans the forest around us. ‘I think one of the Guards is a traitor.’

A beat, as I realise he doesn’t mean me.

‘That doesn’t make sense.’ It would be suspicious if I blamed anyone too soon. ‘They all depend on the site. They worked hard for it.’

‘That’s exactly why it makes sense,’ Fred says. ‘If they pick us off one by one, they can take this place for themselves. Keep the whole cash cow.’

I’m starting to catch up to him now. ‘You think Samson was murdered.’

‘I do,’ he says. ‘And I think you think that, too.’

I hesitate.

‘When we were in Samson’s room, I saw the way you were looking at the others,’ Fred continues. ‘And at the body. It didn’t look like a suicide to you either.’

He’s misinterpreted my interest in the body, but I don’t say so.

We stop in a clearing. We’re a long way from the house. Well out of anyone’s earshot.

‘Maybe the hiker killed him?’

‘I checked the camera feeds from earlier today. Samson got back to the house at one-fifteen pm, while the rest of us were out searching the woods. No sign of the hiker after that.’

‘I can’t believe any of the Guards are capable of murder,’ I say, laying it on a little thick. ‘But hypothetically, wouldn’t it be easy to work out who was responsible?’

‘How?’

The timeline is coming together in my head. ‘We know Samson was alive at one-fifteen. He must have been killed soon after that, since his body was room temperature when we found it.’ As I speak, I remember that I never asked the prisoners if they heard the gunshot. I was too distracted by the realisation that Kyle might be my son. ‘So whoever got back to the house right after Samson must be the killer. You’ll see them arrive on the camera feeds. Hypothetically.’

‘We don’t have enough cameras to cover every part of the woods. That’s why we rearrange them from time to time.’

I nod slowly, understanding. ‘That’s why you think it can’t be the hiker. A Guard would know where the gaps were, and could sneak through. The hiker wouldn’t.’

‘Right. Even if he did, Samson wouldn’t have opened the door for him. There are only six keys to the house—all accounted for. I checked. If some random hiker broke in, there would be signs.’

He wasn’t just a random hiker. He knew my name. But I say nothing.

‘Samson was killed by someone he knew.’ As usual, there’s no anger in Fred’s voice, but there’s an undercurrent of sorrow. I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.

‘I get it,’ I say. ‘You don’t think Samson trusted me enough to be a candidate.’

‘I know it wasn’t you. We were searching the forest together when Samson died. And you were nowhere near the slaughterhouse when the cameras were sabotaged.’

Fred seems to have connected the two crimes in his mind. Lucky for me. The prisoners’ claim that the cameras were wrecked before eleven pm won’t withstand much scrutiny. But Fred knows I didn’t murder Samson, so he assumes I’m not the saboteur either.

‘So what are we gonna do?’ I said we deliberately. I need Fred to think we’re a team.

‘Nothing yet,’ Fred says, which is a relief. ‘Just act normal. But keep your eyes and ears open.’ He puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Can I rely on you to tell me anything you notice?’

I try to look offended. ‘Of course. You can count on me.’

‘Cool. First, though, I’ve got a little treat for you.’

‘Really?’

‘We need to replenish our stock. Do you want to help Donnie capture a new prisoner tomorrow night?’

My heart skips a beat. ‘I’d love to, obviously. But shouldn’t we wait until we know who we can trust and who we can’t? I mean, for all we know, Donnie could be—’

‘I don’t like the thought of Donnie working against us.’ Fred looks troubled. ‘I don’t like the thought of any of them doing that. But every second we’re offline costs us money. The new cameras won’t arrive until Friday. After that, we need to hit the ground running.’

Today is Tuesday. I have three days before the horror show in the slaughterhouse starts up again.

‘I want someone I trust on the expedition,’ Fred continues. ‘And this is one prisoner you’ll want to catch in person.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

Maybe someone from Lux’s personal life. His abusive father, perhaps. Or Abbey Chapman, the woman who only recently escaped from his homemade prison and pressed charges against him. The thought of her getting captured again is horrifying.

I remember what Fred said before: I’ll get you to keep Abbey’s background on the down low. The others don’t know. I still have no idea what he meant.

The new prisoner, whoever it is, will know I’m not Lux.

‘I want to do an autopsy,’ I say, stalling.

‘A what?’

‘An autopsy. On Samson’s body.’

Fred looks horrified. ‘You want to cut him open? Jesus!’

‘It might help me find the killer.’

‘How?’

I shrug. ‘I won’t know until I do it.’

‘Do you have medical training I’m not aware of?’

‘Not training per se,’ I admit. ‘But—’

‘No,’ Fred says. ‘Firstly, he was my friend. He’s not like those assholes in the slaughterhouse. He’s not going to be sliced up. He’s getting a proper burial. And secondly, the cause of death is pretty fucking clear. He was shot in the head. You think you’re going to find the killer’s name written on his organs?’

‘What if I found out that he had cancer?’ I say. ‘Or something else that made it seem like it was a suicide?’

Fred hesitates. ‘Do you