Free In The Forest Of Harm by Sallie Bissell

in the face.
    â€œThey’re good knives.” The eerie saffron gaze slid away as quickly as it had come. “Better than Barlows.” Brank stacked his shells in a pile. “I need a few more things.”
    He shuffled up and down the aisles of the store, pondering the vitamin display, reading the cereal boxes, finally wandering over to the bulletin board.
    He studied the wall closely, first looking at all the photos of hunters grinning over their dead quarry, then reading all the notes posted for Appalachian Trail hikers who were currently somewhere between Springer Mountain, Georgia, and Mount Kahtadin, Maine. His mouth twitched in an up-and-down motion as he scrutinized each one.
    â€œYou trap them coons somewhere near the AT?” Billy hopped back up on the counter and fished a piece of grape bubblegum from Jonathan’s penny candy jar.
    â€œNope.” The man smiled at the photo of Alice Andrews, who’d vanished two decades ago.
    â€œWell, if you’ve got a picture of yourself and that snake, you ought to put it up there. You might win some kind of weird pet award.”
    The man wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I kinda figured you were the weird pet around here, Geronimo.”
    Jonathan retrieved his crossword puzzle from under the register. Billy folded his arms and chewed his bubble gum, watching as the stranger roamed the narrow aisles of the grocery. Eventually he made his way back to the counter with cornmeal and coffee, plus a giant economy size of Theragran-M’s, a large box of chocolate Moon Pies and three magazines—
Newsweek, Esquire
and
Field &
Stream
.
    No sugar, Jonathan noted as he rang up the man’s purchases. Not a blockader. Addled maybe, but not from drinking his own whiskey. “That comes to forty-nine dollars and forty-one cents.”
    â€œDon’t forget your snake chow.” Billy teased him like an insolent parrot.
    The man ignored him as he withdrew a greasy wad of bills from the bag around his neck. He thumbed through it slowly, then peeled off two twenties and a ten. “Keep the change,” he said. “I don’t touch silver.”
    Jonathan slid the bills in the drawer and reached under the counter for a paper sack.
    â€œI’ll take ’em in here.” The man opened the canvas bag he’d brought his pelts in and stuffed his supplies inside. Then he shouldered it and shuffled toward the door.
    He paused once before he left and looked back at Jonathan. “I’ll be back for my money in a week or two. Make sure you keep it safe.” His mouth curled downwards in one quick, malevolent smirk, then he was gone.
    Billy watched as the man closed the door behind him, then turned to Jonathan. “Man, did you get a good whiff of him? And see them piss-colored eyes?”
    Jonathan frowned. “Yeah, I saw his eyes. I also saw an idiot in an Indian suit who sat there trying to goad that guy into a fight. Shit, Billy. He could’ve knocked the rest of your teeth out of your head. Don’t you know better than to mess with a man who uses a snake for a personal security system?”
    Billy plunged his hands into the pockets of his buckskin pants. “Hell, I wasn’t scared of him. And I certainly wasn’t afraid of his stupid snake. He’s an escapee from some big-time Booger Dance if you ask me.” Billy stuck out his chest and blew a pale purple bubble. He glanced at the front of the cash register, then his jaw dropped. He sucked the bubble back in his mouth and looked at Jonathan, his eyes wide. “Uh-oh,” he said. “Lookee here.”
    Jonathan walked around the counter and looked where Billy pointed. The picture of Jodie Foster was gone.
    â€œSon of a bitch!” Jonathan ran to the door, his fingers instinctively reaching for his knife. He rushed out to the porch, ready to yell first, then throw Ribtickler, but the stranger had vanished.
    â€œWhat the