Chapter 30
It happened sometime in October. They were walking by the farm on their way home from school and saw Karl-Henrik and Mikael coming out of the house.
They were all bundled up in outdoor gear, and each was carrying a shotgun.
Karl-Henrik was first to notice someone by the gate.
He brought up a hand to shade his eyes against the cold October sun, and when he recognized Sander and Killian, he waved wildly.
“Why, hello, you two!”
Sander eyed the L of the open shotgun in Karl-Henrik’s hands. “Are you going hunting?”
Karl-Henrik pointed at a grove of trees across the field. “We’ve got wild boar tracks over there. Thought we’d settle down and see if we can take out some of the bastards. I don’t want them here. Mikael’s coming with, he needs to learn.”
He turned to his son and tousled his hair. Mikael looked uncomfortable.
“Would you like to join us?” Karl-Henrik went on. “I’ve got two extra guns in the car—you can both shoot, can’t you?”
Sander and Killian exchanged glances. Soon they were sitting in a filthy Range Rover that smelled like dust and smoke, heading down one of the gravel roads that wound through the area.
As Karl-Henrik drove, he talked about the wild boar, where they’d been spotted, how many there were, how big they were, the risks of letting them roam.
Sander and Killian were holding unfamiliar shotguns, and in front of them were the backs of Mikael and Karl-Henrik’s heads.
They looked the same from behind. In some folks, that was where the heredity showed.
There was a darkness to Karl-Henrik that was hard to put your finger on, and it made Sander uneasy. He smiled quite a bit, and spoke in a soft, gentle voice; he didn’t treat them quite like adults but not like children either. Maybe that was just it—it was hard to tell how he saw you.
They parked by the grove. It seemed larger up close, the treetops swaying way up high, their trunks close together. You couldn’t see through to the other side. Karl-Henrik climbed out and fed two shells into the chamber. Under his watchful eye the others followed suit.
“The lever’s a little stiff,” Mikael said.
“You just need to press harder. Have you got a bum thumb or something, boy?”
Mikael gritted his teeth. The lever gave way and the shotgun popped open. One cartridge went in. Two. They headed for a nearby log and sat down. Karl-Henrik had borrowed Filip’s school backpack, and from it he took a Thermos of coffee and some cups.
“Relax. Are you trying to strangle that gun?”
Mikael had been squeezing the barrel so hard that his knuckles went white and his hands red. He loosened his grip.
When they heard a rustle nearby, they got ready and held their breath.
“Not a boar,” said Karl-Henrik. “Just a hare.”
Mikael exhaled. Sander turned his head. In the distance, he could see the roof of Madeleine and Felicia Grenberg’s house. “How long does it take to walk over there?”
Karl-Henrik poured himself more coffee. “Ten minutes or so. Maybe fifteen.”
“You have a lot of land.”
“Yes. But considering Madeleine shows up late every morning, you’d think she had three times as far to walk.” He shook his head. “Those two are a mess. I shouldn’t let them stay on the farm, really, but they’ve had it rough since Goran died. So I let them live over there.”
Mikael didn’t say anything. To Sander, the mossy ridge of Felicia’s roof appeared tempting, lovely and warm.
“I try to be a nice guy, but, you know, we have a farm to run here. We’re not in the business of handouts. And they have trouble making rent.” Karl-Henrik’s gaze wandered over the tree trunks again, where the wild boar should be. “But Mikael likes Felicia, anyway. Don’t you?”
Mikael blushed.
“No, I don’t,” he mumbled.
“Do too.”
“Dad, stop it.”
Another rustle, farther away. Sander and Killian slowly raised their shotguns.
A big, black creature emerged. It rooted at the ground. Sander and Killian took a breath, but a meaty arm came down over their barrels. Karl-Henrik silently gestured at them to wait, and he nodded at Mikael, who closed one eye, aimed, and pressed his finger to the trigger.
Mikael took a deep breath. The boar stopped and looked at them with deep black eyes.
Mikael fired. The beast leapt and ran off.
He fired again, frantic now. The boar’s large backside vanished into the grove, while Mikael, trembling, tried to grab more cartridges from the box on the ground.
“Don’t bother,” Karl-Henrik thundered. “It’s too late. You missed. He’s gone.” And he slapped Mikael on the back of the head with an open palm. “You’re worthless. Almost worse than your brother.”
The contempt in Karl-Henrik’s voice made Sander wish he could do something, maybe touch Mikael, who suddenly looked so alone. But he couldn’t do that, so he did nothing.