Chase Shustack

Siskin was in a full-blown panic now.

How could they not, with this wild arsonist running around, if their homes, schools, and businesses weren't safe?

And any one of them could be a violent firebug, waiting to unleash another horrific inferno on them when they least expected it?

They needed answers, security, and they looked with desperate, childish fear to the only person they could think of, Fire Chief Walter Green.

But imagine the townspeople's surprise when Walter Green had disappeared.

Oddly enough, he didn't lead the efforts at the high school fire, and he hadn't been at the station for the entire day beforehand.

His wife, Martha, noted his absence for a 48-hour period before the incident, but assumed he had spent the night at the station during the fire.

In fact, no one in town had seen any trace of the chief in the last two days.

With the threat of a serial arsonist running loose, the Siskinites assumed the worst.

It was entirely possible that this dangerous maniac had graduated from mere fire starting to outright murder, and that they had killed Walter Green to defy the authorities.

Even with no definitive proof, the panicked townspeople escalated their fears to obscene heights, and everything seemed plausible.

A search was called for soon after, and the town of Siskin, including a generous 20-mile radius in all directions, was established as a search zone.

Green's usual places were combed over, while civilian patrols searched everywhere from industrial sites to wooded inlets for any possible sign of a fresh body.

During the search, someone noticed that the gate over the old access road leading up to the ancient lumber mill had been unlocked.

As the road was barely used, no one bothered to search the route, but fresh tire tracks demanded an investigation.

Three police cars, perhaps expecting the worst, drove along the unpaved path down towards the old mill, unsure of what they would find.

The officers were relieved and surprised to find Green's car parked in the overgrown dirt lot.

It was even more of a mercy to find Walter Green, alive and well, inside the mill itself, hidden away in a small, disused office.

But any comfort or peace was dampened by the fact that Chief Green, the leader, husband, father, and volunteer football coach, was in his underwear and socks and reeking of gasoline and sawdust.

In the office was a collection of gas cans, oil-soaked rags, and on a desk-sized scroll of paper a crude layout of the Siskin General Hospital with several random spots circled.