Jack: Secret Vengeance
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About this ebook
Everyone loves senior Carson Toliver, the captain and quarterback of the football team, heartthrob of South Burlington County Regional High—especially the girls. Even Jack's best friend Weezy has a crush on him. And unlike most of the popular kids at school, he's not stuck up. Jack even sees him defending a piney kid who is being bullied in the hall. Which is why Jack is so surprised when Weezy tells him that Carson took her on a date and attacked her.
Jack tries to convince her to report Carson, but Weezy would rather just forget it ever happened. She begs him not to tell anyone, and Jack reluctantly agrees. But then Carson starts telling his own version of what happened that night and suddenly everyone is calling her "Easy Weezy." Jack's concern turns to rage. Carson needs to be taught a lesson. With the help of the pineys—reclusive inhabitants of the mysterious Jersey Pine Barrens who have secrets of their own—Jack finds a way to exact secret vengeance…
In F. Paul Wilson's third young adult novel, the teenage Jack demonstrates the skills that will serve him later in life as the urban mercenary known as Repairman Jack.
At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.
F. PAUL WILSON
F. Paul Wilson is the author of more than fifty books spanning various genres, including science fiction, horror, thriller, and more. Four of his novels have been New York Times bestsellers, and his work has earned him four Prometheus Awards, the prestigious Inkpot Award from the San Diego Comic-Con, and the Pioneer Award from the RT Booklovers Convention.
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Jack - F. PAUL WILSON
2
He beat her to the Old Town bridge, a narrow, one-lane wooden span over Quaker Lake, which wasn’t really a lake, just a good-size pond. It finally had returned to its normal level after all the rains last month.
He sat on his BMX and wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead. A hot day, despite the clouds, and despite it being late October. The 1983 Farmer’s Almanac had predicted a cool fall for the area. In Jack’s experience that meant keep the swimming trunks handy.
He looked around at the place where he’d spent all his fourteen years: Johnson, New Jersey, a small town in Burlington County. It began on the west side of Route 206 and ended where it abutted the western edge of the Jersey Pine Barrens. Nobody knew exactly when the town was settled, but it had changed its name from Quakertown to Johnson after President Andrew Johnson spent the night here sometime in the 1860s.
He saw Weezy round the corner off North Franklin and roll his way along Quakerton Road on her banana-seat Schwinn. Louise Weezy
Connell was probably the best of the few friends Jack had, but he hadn’t seen much of her in the weeks since the Cody Bockman fiasco. Though only four months older—she’d just turned fifteen, while he’d have to wait till January—she was a full year ahead of him in school. He was a lowly frosh, while she was an experienced sophomore.
She wore—surprise!—black jeans, a black T-shirt, and black sneakers. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was pulled into a ponytail that swung back and forth as she pedaled.
When she got close enough for him to see her face, he knew something was wrong. First off, no eyeliner—the only makeup she ever wore. This was the first time in the past year he could remember seeing her without it. Her expression was strange.
You okay?
he said when she reached him.
No.
She rolled past onto the bridge. Talk to you in the woods.
He followed her into Old Town, the original settlement, which Weezy said was much, much older than anyone thought, part of what she called the Secret History of the World. They passed the boxy structure of the Septimus Lodge and skirted the filled-in sinkholes from last month’s underground flood. A dozen or better pocked the pavement and some of the yards.
As they neared the end of Quakerton Road, where Old Town petered out and the Pines began, Jack spotted Lester Appleton’s pickup, parked in its usual spot next to the Lightning Tree. That was the applejack spot. Depending on the day of the week, you could find either Lester or Gus Sooy there, ready to sell their moonshine. A couple of men stood by the tailgate, watching as Lester filled their whiskey bottles from a large ceramic jug.
The Appletons were an old piney family, supposedly inbred. If anyone had a doubt about that, one look at Lester was pretty convincing. Skinny, with his left eye always pointed toward his nose and tufts of wild-looking hair shooting off his scalp in all directions, he wore overalls worn through at the knees, and sneakers with no socks. His hands and his ankles were gray with grime. His back was bent and twisted, which made him lean forward and to the right. He kept licking his lips with a big red tongue.
Some people said he made the best applejack in the Pines—a secret he learned from his father, Jacob—while others preferred Gus Sooy’s. All strictly illegal, but nobody complained. Applejack was a part of life in and around the Pine Barrens.
Where we headed?
Jack called as he followed Weezy onto one of the firebreak trails that cut through the trees.
You’ll see,
she said without turning.
No matter how many times he entered the Barrens—and he’d been doing it most of his life—Jack never failed to feel a little uneasy as the gnarled, forty-foot scrub pines leaned their scraggly branches over the path as if looking for a chance to grab him. The place seemed alive.
Want to talk now?
When we get there.
They moved deeper into the Barrens, the million or so acres of woods smack in the center of the state that hid places no human had ever seen. Every year a few people walked in and never came out.
The familiar NO FISHING / NO HUNTING / NO TRAPPING / NO TRESPASSING signs tacked up everywhere were a sure sign they were on Old Man Foster’s land. They passed the spong where a cantankerous piney kept putting out leg-hold traps and Mrs. Clevenger kept springing them. Looked like she’d been here recently because all the traps had sticks stuck in their sprung jaws.
Weezy led him deeper into Foster’s land until she turned off the trail onto a path that consisted of two ruts with a grassy ridge between. Jack had never been this way but Weezy probably had. She loved to explore the Barrens.
Finally she came to a stop near a small open area where a sturdy old oak stood tall and wide among the more spindly pines.
She turned to Jack and said, This is where it happened.
He looked around. Where what happened?
Her face screwed up and her eyes filled with tears. Where Carson attacked me!
Before Jack knew it, he was off his bike and in her face.
"He what? Carson Toliver attacked you?"
Suddenly Weezy’s arms were around him and her face was pressed against his chest.
Yes! I thought he was going to … you know!
As she sobbed against him, Jack raised his arms, unsure of what to do with them. Finally he slipped them around Weezy’s back and gently held her. He tried to think of something to say but came up blank. All he could think of was murder.
Carson Toliver, a big, studly senior, the captain and quarterback of the Burlington Badgers, and the heartthrob of South Burlington County Regional High. When he’d first shown some interest in Weezy during the summer, her IQ had immediately lost eighty points. Jack had assumed it was because of her notoriety as co-discoverer of a ritually mutilated corpse in the Barrens. He’d seen him sniffing around a few times since then, but hadn’t seen any signs that it had progressed beyond that.
Apparently it had.
Weezy sobbed a couple more times then pushed away, head down as she wiped her eyes.
Sorry. I guess I’ve been holding it in too long.
Have you told your folks?
Her head snapped up and he saw a wild, frightened look in her eyes. No! No way! And you can’t say anything! They don’t even know I was out with him! They think I was at your house!
Swell.
He remained baffled. What … how…?
He asked me to go out with him. Said it was so cool, you know, about the body we found, and about Cody, and he wanted to hear all about it.
Jack made a face. And your brain turned into a big gummy bear.
She looked offended. Did not.
I’ve seen it happen before.
Well, okay, when the hottest guy in school is interested in you … you wouldn’t understand.
Got that right.
Anyway, I told him my folks would never let me go out with a senior, especially a guy with a car.
Toliver’s car … a cool Mustang GLX convertible. Jack wouldn’t mind a ride in that himself.
So he told you not to tell them.
She cocked her head. How did you know?
Lucky guess.
So anyway, last night I walked over to Old Town and he picked me up and drove us into the Pines.
Weren’t you a little worried about that?
She frowned. Looking back, yeah, I should have been, but we were talking about the body and how it had been mutilated and about Cody and about how mysterious the Pines are and he said he’d found a cool place he didn’t think anyone else knew about and would I like to see it and of course I said yes.
Of course.
Telling Weezy about a cool new place in the Pines was like dangling a wriggling goldfish before a cat.
So we stopped here and instead of showing me anything, suddenly he’s grabbing me.
She blinked. I told him to stop but he wouldn’t. His hands were all over me and I kept pushing him away but he kept on. He even tried to unbutton my blouse. Finally I hit him and he lost it. He started screaming and cursing about how ‘you goth chicks are always easy’ and I got so scared I jumped out of the car. But even that didn’t stop him. He came after me and grabbed me and ripped my blouse but I got away and ran.
You outran Carson Toliver?
The guy was an ace athlete.
I got into the trees and hid. He couldn’t find me, so he just stood there and screamed. Maybe because he’s who he is and lots of girls are easy with him he expected me to be too, but he was…
She raised trembling hands to her face. "Jack, I was so scared. It was like he’d gone insane. Finally he left."
He left you to walk home?
The urge to kill rose again. You’ve got to report him.
I can’t! I just want it to go away.
He attacked you. That’s assault or battery or both. That’s a crime. You should tell the cops.
Ohmigod, no! If I report it I’ll be in trouble with my folks and he can just say I’m crazy and that we were never together and I can’t prove that we were and everyone will side with him because he’s popular and I’m a nobody, and besides, who’ll believe he’d ask me out anyway, and I’m already known as a weirdo, so just think of what they’ll be saying about me if I say he attacked me.
When she stopped for air, Jack jumped in.
So … you want me to do something?
She looked at him as if he’d just spoken Swahili. Do something? No. And anyway, what can you do?
He had a flash vision of himself as some kind of Galahad defending Weezy’s honor by challenging Toliver to a fight … and being stomped into the dirt.
Jack wasn’t following. Then why are you telling me all this if you don’t want my help?
Why else would you tell someone a problem?
"I had to tell someone. I couldn’t tell my folks, and not Eddie of all people. And the girls at school—forget them. You’re the only one I can trust. And just being able to tell someone helps, don’t you see?"
Jack didn’t, but that didn’t matter. You’re the only one I can trust rang through his head, leaving a warm echo.
So you’re just going to give him a pass?
I’m just going to keep my distance and pretend this never happened.
Tell the cops, Weez.
No way! I’ll just make things worse for myself. It’s over and done. I’m okay. And I’ve learned something.
About what?
About getting into a car with a guy I don’t know all that well.
She took a deep breath and looked around. There. I feel better already.
Weez, a few minutes ago you were crying.
That’s because it was all bottled up. Now that I’ve let it out
—she gave him a weak smile and a pointed look—"now that I’ve told someone, I feel a hundred percent better."
Still baffled, Jack shook his head. You’re crazy.
Her wavering smile faded. Don’t call me that, Jack. Please. Not you.
Her intensity took him aback. She was awful sensitive about the word.
Okay. Sure.
He smiled. How about ‘goth chick’? Can I call you that?
She batted him on the arm. I’m not goth!
No? Let’s see … you dress in black and you love Bauhaus and Siouxsie. Like my father likes to say—
Please don’t!
She jammed her fingers in her ears and began making nonsense noises that sounded like Bobbitta-bobbitta-bobbitta.
—‘If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, odds are it’s a duck.’
She removed her fingers from her ears. Finished?
Yeah.
Good. Those are simply my choices. They don’t mean I’ve joined a club. I don’t like labels.
Neither did Jack, so he dropped it.
3
They’d walked their bikes back to the firebreak trail and were readying to head back to Johnson when Weezy held up a hand.
You know, I’ve never been through this area.
Jack smiled. You mean there’s someplace on Old Man Foster’s land you haven’t seen?
She shrugged. "He owns a lot of land. Let’s take a look around."
He looked at his watch. We should be heading back. I’ve got to get to USED—
Come on, Jack. Just a little. I’d go myself but…
Jack knew what she didn’t want to say: After last night, she didn’t want to be alone in there.
Okay. Just a few…
But she was already walking her bike back up the path. He brought up the rear until she stopped and pointed.
Looks like some sort of clearing over there.
He followed her through a line of trees and, sure enough, a clearing.
A creepy clearing … almost perfectly square, the size of half a football field, with nothing growing in it.
Nothing at all.
What’s the story here?
Jack said, inspecting the sandy soil. Does somebody come by and weed this place? Or spray weed killer?
Weed killer would leave dead plants.
Jack looked again. She was right: no sign of vegetation, living or dead.
Check this out,
she said, kneeling to examine a bright green fern along the edge. She stretched one of the fronds and gave it a close look, then muttered something that sounded like warts.
What?
Ebony spleenwort. It doesn’t usually grow in the Barrens because the soil’s too acid.
Jack felt his eyes roll of their own accord. "How do you know this stuff? And why?"
She rose and faced him. Because the Pines have lots of lost towns—villages and such that just up and disappeared.
Or were built over, as we well know.
She nodded. But one way to spot where a town once stood is ebony spleenwort. Pinelands soil is acidic and ebony spleenwort doesn’t like acid. So it grows over buried foundations because the old limestone and mortar reduce the acidity in the soil over them.
She gestured around. We’re standing in an old foundation.
Jack looked at the big square of naked soil. Of what?
Weezy stepped onto the bare earth and wandered toward the center of the square. Jack followed, scuffing the ground as he followed. Not a sign of life. Not a beetle, not a wormhole, not a single anthill. Looked like nothing had ever grown here. Something else seemed to be missing from the soft soil but he couldn’t say what.
Weezy stopped and turned in a slow circle, pointing. See? The spleenwort runs all around the edges. A building once stood here—a big one.
"Big is right. What was this place? And why won’t anything grow in the center? It’s like it’s some sort of dead zone."
Dead zone…
She looked at him. Why does that sound familiar?
It’s a movie coming out.
Jack had seen a preview when he’d gone to see the animated Fire and Ice. I think it’s about—
Shhhh!
Weezy said, pointing.
Jack looked and saw a pair of young Pineland deer walking their way. He froze and watched as they approached the clearing. It looked as if they were going to step into it when both abruptly turned right and followed the spleenwort to the corner, then turned left and followed the far edge. At the next corner they made another left until they came even with their path on the far side, then turned away. Jack watched their white tails disappear into the trees.
Did you see that?
Weezy said, her voice hushed.
Of course he’d seen it. And now he knew what else was missing from the bare square.
Tracks.
Weezy stared at him. What?
Look.
He pointed to the ground around them. It hasn’t rained for at least a week but the only tracks here are our footprints. The only explanation for that has to be that animals won’t cross this space. It’s really and truly a dead zone. What’s going on here?
"Or maybe, what went on here. I don’t know, but … it doesn’t feel right."
Jack knew exactly what she meant.
She gave him a sickly look. I don’t think I want to be here anymore.
Neither did he, but he put on a carefree expression. Whatever. I’ve got to go to work anyway.
He looked around. You think this place might be part of your Secret History of the World?
She nodded. Definitely. But maybe some things should remain secret. Let’s get out of here.
Jack didn’t argue. If nothing else, the dead zone seemed to have chased Carson Toliver from her thoughts.
But not from Jack’s.
MONDAY
1
The first clue that something was wrong came on the school bus.
Jack waited with Eddie and Weezy at the intersection of Route 206 and Quakerton Road with four other Johnson kids who attended South Burlington County Regional High School—SBR for short. They stood in front of Sumter’s used car lot. A FOR SALE sign hung in the showroom window. The place had been closed since Mr. Sumter’s mysterious death a couple of months ago and didn’t look like it was going to reopen. Joe Burdett’s Esso station and a Krauszer’s convenience store occupied two other corners.
The grammar and middle-school kids clustered by the vacant lot across the street. He saw Sally Vivino and her mother waiting for the northbound school bus. Mrs. Vivino wouldn’t look at him. Jack knew why.
He and Weezy stood apart. Eddie hung with the others but was in his own world, lost in whatever music his Walkman was pumping through his headphones.
You okay?
Jack said.
Weezy had her eyeliner back on and was dressed in a sweatshirt, skirt, and tights, all black.
Fine. Just glad to be out of the house.
Your dad?
She nodded. "He just shakes his head and keeps saying, ‘What are we gonna do with you, Weezy? What are we gonna do?’ That’s all he ever says. I think I embarrass him. No, I’m sure I embarrass him. He still thinks I should be wearing pink."
Jack didn’t get the whole black thing, but he never gave it much thought. Just something Weezy was into.
Weez…
Her lower lip trembled for an instant. You know, if I ran away like Marcie Kurek, I wonder if he’d even care.
Marcie Kurek was from Shamong and had been a soph at the high school last year. One night she told her folks she was going out to visit a friend and never showed up. No one had ever seen or heard from her since.
"Hey, I know you two don’t get along, but