High School Freak

by Aaron Grunn

he pulled out some jerky and ate it until the hole in his stomach was filled. Then a snap in the woods reached his ears.

  John got on his feet and glanced about.

  Another twig snapped. It sounded like it was a few feet away. John pulled out the revolver Bill gave him. His hands were trembling.

  He pointed it in the direction of the noise. "Who is it?"

  "John?"

  John dropped the gun and fell to his knees. All the fear dissipated when he saw Tom's familiar face.

  "Jesus Christ, John," Tom said and leaned over to hug John.

  "They have mom," John said, his voice trembling. He wanted to give himself over to Tom and be taken someplace safe.

  "I know. I'm sorry John. I'm so sorry."

  John enjoyed the hard press of his uncle's body.

  "Let's get out of here," Tom said and they picked up John's belongings.

  They stuck to local highways, as Tom was certain that the interstates would have cops all over them.

  "Who gave you that hand canon?" Tom asked.

  "A couple of guys. They found me in the woods and gave me some food to eat."

  "Did you tell them anything?" Tom asked.

  "No. Well they knew about the murder, but they believed me in the end."

  "You admitted to it?" Tom asked in a disdain-laden voice.

  "They knew; there was no way I could have lied my way out of that. Besides, they were cool with it."

  "John, no one's cool with murder. No one. Now that you've admitted to it, it will only be used against you," Tom said and bit his lower lip as he spoke.

  "Trust me. They were all right. Why would they have given me a gun?"

  "I don't know," Tom said. "But you can't go trusting anyone anymore."

  "I can trust them," John said, angry that his ability to judge others was being put to the test.

  Tom let out a huff of air, just like John's mother would do when he kept asking why, or he did something she deemed foolish.

  "Let's say you can trust them. Now they have information these men who are after us would kill for, or torture for. That means you've possibly put these men at risk. So don't tell anyone about your situation. Don't hope that they will understand. If not for your safety, then for theirs..."

  John looked out at the dashboard lights reflecting on the windshield. If what Tom just said was true, then he'd sent those two nice men to their deaths. For a second his mind transposed the eyes of the man dying in his apartment to Derek, to Bill, and he imagined them crying out to him. John sniffed. "So I'll always leave death and pain in my wake if I decide to talk to people. Is that what you're saying?"

  "Easy there, don't go talking like that," Tom said, his voice calmer now. "You couldn't have known. There isn't anything you can do about it now. Just for future reference."

  John didn't say anything. He was praying that Derek and Bill wouldn't get caught.

  "You all right?" Tom said, rubbing John's shoulder. "Listen, never mind what I said, just be careful in the future. The past you can't change.

  John shrugged off his hand.

  "I'm sorry," Tom said, in a softer voice. "I was just trying to make a point."

  "You think they'll catch those men and torture them?"

  Tom paused to think, then said no.

  John knew what that pause meant, what that extra thought meant. John decided to change the subject before the wedge between he and his uncle got any wider.

  "They're still looking for you?" John said, feeling lightheaded and not thinking properly.

  "No, you. You've heard about the murder they're accusing you off, right?"

  John kept silent.

  "You did it?" Tom asked.

  "He attacked me with a gun. I didn't have time to think," John said and stared at his hands. He now remembered the slimy blood on his hands, the man's look of absolute surprise. The man hadn't expected to die.

  "Don't think about it," Tom said.

  "You've done it before?"

  "Don't. Think. About it."

  John stared at his hands again. He'd ended a man's life.

  "I..."

  "John. Listen to me. There wasn't anything else you could do. The man attacked you right?"

  "He did, but I'm not certain..." John thought about whether that man had wanted to kill him.

  "It doesn't matter about the certainty. Those men are out to kill you, so don't ever think otherwise. Do you hear me John?" Tom said, slapping John's hands. "You are not to think about this one bit."

  John nodded. He felt sick. But not like before. This sickness dripped from his soul and was infecting everything he saw or thought. Tom was right, he had to think about something else. He started to rock back and forth, he could feel Tom tense up when he did that. For some reason the rocking made him feel better.

  "I don't know if I can do this, Tom. I don't know if I'm made out for this life. I mean look at me. I was crying, and I feel like crying again."

  Tom glanced over. Night was complete, and only oncoming cars highlighted his face. "You did damn well, John. Now it's time for you to move on and survive."

  "What if I can't survive? What if I'm like one of those baby gazelles the lion always eats first?"

  "You need to stop watching those shows," Tom said with a grin, which evaporated when John winced at the comment. "Listen, kid, you're fourteen years old, I think you're doing damn well. Better than I could have ever done at your age, let alone now."

  John looked off at the trees, fences and distant country homes flashing by in the dark set against a moonlit sky. The sun had set, and he wasn't certain when. Time was morphing into some unknown substance. Why was that? Was it that man? Don't. Think. About him.

  "Do it for your mother, kid."

  "I will," John said, wondering if he sounded as brave as he was trying to sound. His mother. "Where are we going?"

  "We're getting you out of the area. We're one state over, but once we make it two states over we should be good."

  "Why?"

  "These men smell blood, and they'll do anything to find you out. Best to get you away."

  "What about mom?"

  The heavy silence that landed after John spoke frightened him. He didn't know how to react, so he watched the road rip by; yellow stripes turned into a line, and he watched small pebbles zip by as they added texture to the road.

  "I think it's best," Tom said, his voice low. "That you... put those thoughts out of your head."

  "What thoughts?"

  "Your mother. She should be a memory. And we will find a way to remember her. But there's nothing we can do to help her."

  "No! She's still alive," John said. "The two men said she was."

  "What two men?"

  John described the two men as he remembered them.

  "You have the license?" Tom asked.

  John told him.

  "That sounds about right. I saw those men in Savannah once, in a close call. They were filtering through the bars and I escaped, but not before we slugged it out."

  "You fought them?"

  "That's right," Tom said. "It was barely enough to hold them off and gain time to run off."

  "So, we'll go back for her?"

  Silence.

  "Tom?"

  "Go to sleep, John, we'll talk about this tomorrow."

  John had a rise of energy, and he wanted to argue, but he soon closed his eyes for a second and was gone.

  "Wake up Johnny boy."

  John opened his eyes and was met with a blue sky. He was sleeping in a sleeping bag; the Impala's headlights were staring at him. "Where are we?"

  "Near the border with Canada. We're going to hike across it today."

  His mother. He hadn't forgotten.

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  "If you don't want to become some sort of scientific experiment, you will."

  John shivered in the cold air. Tom's voice had a measured lack of emotion, something that John hadn't heard before. He looked at the man who claimed to be his u
ncle. "How can you say that? You said you would help me, didn't you?"

  "I did. But we have to do it my way."

  "What's that, run like a coward?"

  "It's the only way, trust me, you can't fight these people. They're too powerful, they've too many people."

  "I'm not scared of them."

  "You're not? You certain about that? Cause I remember something about you crying. You think they care whether you cry or not? They'll pick you apart like a frog."

  John let that image soak in, but he still couldn't accept that anyone would do something that horrific.

  "So what? How do you expect me to push my mother out of my mind? She's alive, and I know I can't possibly stand the sight of myself if I let anything happen to her without even trying to save her."

  Tom's eyes focused on something behind John, before focusing back on John. "She wouldn't have wanted this, John. She told me herself, that she would kill me if I let you come after her."

  "I don't care what she said. I won't live knowing that I ran away from my mother."

  "You will die," Tom said, his arms reaching out to grab John, before he thought better of it and stormed off.

  John watched his uncle's big back disappear into the woods. They were in a clearing in the middle of evergreen trees. A few insects hummed here and there, but for the most part it was quiet. In the distance there was the slight scream of a highway. The smell of his own body odor hit John; it was sharper than before. He sniffed his armpits. He preferred the smell of the pine needles and the oiled engine of the car to himself.

  In the sky a lonely cloud was making its way, on its journey to nowhere. The cloud's wisped edges whipped high above like moving paint strokes, while another end of the white cloud was so round and smooth that John could almost taste it. He dug into his bag and started to eat his jerky. Ten minutes later, Tom trudged out of the woods.

  "You ready to leave?"

  "Why don't we travel at night?" John asked.

  "Fewer cars means it's easier to get caught. It's not like we can drive without lights," Tom said, his attitude still brusque. "You ready?"

  "We're going to save my mother?"

  "No. We're getting out of here."

  "You expect me to leave my mother in the hands of torturers?"

  "Yes, I do," Tom said, emotion leaving his voice.

  John didn't know how his uncle did that, changed his attitude and tone in a heartbeat, but he didn't like it. It made Tom seem less human.

  "What would you have done about your mother? Let her die?"

  "Yes. Especially with these odds. Do you even know where your mother is? Huh?"

  "I don't. But we can track them."

  "Track them, track them," Tom spoke as if he were talking to someone else, his head turned to the side. "This I'll have to see."

  "I can see at night. That will be our advantage."

  "They have night vision."

  "I'm stronger and faster. I can find her."

  "You don't know what you're talking about, kid, strong and fast don't mean shit."

  John wanted to punch his uncle for calling him a kid. He didn't, though he wasn't certain why. "Please."

  "Listen to me," Tom said stepping towards the car. "We've got to get going. The sooner we cross into Canada, the safer you'll be. Trust me on this."

  "I can't live knowing that I've abandoned my mother."

  "You don't know. You just think."

  "No," John said, frustrated that none of his words were getting through to his uncle.

  "You don't know anything. You're too young to know what you're capable of."

  "How can you say that? You're not me."

  "I'm older and have lived more than you."

  "But you're not me."

  Tom opened the car door. "You coming?"

  "Please. I've no one else to help me. Don't leave me here," John said. He wondered, as he spoke more and more from a cut in his heart, whether Tom would be moved.

  "I'm not leaving you," Tom said, annoyed. "You can come with me if you choose."

  "Don't leave me too," John said. He was felt like crying again, though he was managing to keep it in so far.

  "I'm. Not. Leaving. You," Tom said, angry now. "But you have to make a decision. Come with me, or go it alone."

  "My mother. I have to try. She's the only person who's ever been there for me. Through everything. The only person I've loved. You can't expect me to leave her."

  "I can and I will," Tom said and started the car.

  The rumble of the engine drowned out John's thoughts for a second. "And didn't you feel anything for her? Or was all that just you being a fake?"

  "Last chance," Tom said, kicking the car into gear and slowly moving away.

  John stared in disbelief as his uncle drove off. John had, for the briefest of moments, been absolutely sure that his heartfelt meltdown would've turned his uncle to his side. Instead he watched as the only friend and ally he had on the planet left him.

  When the engine no longer vibrated the hairs in John's ears, he sat down and stared at the ground. Was that what living a life on the road did to his uncle? Perhaps it was best to face off with the men chasing him and get it over. He fell backwards and stared at the sky, now a blue canvas waiting to be written on.

  But John wasn't certain what he would write next. He felt tears released from his eyes, and he looked at his hands. A man died by his hands, and now more would die. That cogitation shook him. He would have to turn back around and find out those two men. He didn't have the slightest clue about how to go about that.

  Attempting to stand himself up, John's head spun and he fell back down. He was not going to be able to do this. But he was alone now, and there really wasn't anything he could think of doing besides finding his mother.

  He still couldn't believe that his uncle had left him. What did that make family? Nothing? Not willing to sacrifice for one another? Perhaps Tom was right about his mother not wanting anyone to come after her. But she would say that, wouldn't she? What John's mother did say was that family was the most important group you could belong to, and helping each other when the world wouldn't made living worth it.

  Feeling stronger, John managed to stand up on his feet. He would do this alone.

  He turned and was surprised to see the Impala staring at him. Tom must have snuck up on him. At first John was ecstatic and cracked a smile. But he reminded himself that he wasn't supposed to give his uncle any quarter, not after he'd left him, and he frowned and walked by the car.

  Tom reached out and grabbed him. "Come on, get in the car."

  His voice sounded soft, not like the emotionless man who was here only a few seconds ago.

  "I said I'm not going to Canada."

  "I know."

  "So you're going to help?"

  "That's right."

  Soon they were driving back. "Do you have a plan?" John asked.

  "Me? Aren't you the big man who wanted to save his mother?"

  John huffed. "All right." He tried to think. "What about if we were to find out where that license plate was from?"

  "How, with all our friends in the police department?"

  John tried to think of any way to get access to police records, but he couldn't think. They could break into a station, but he hadn't the faintest clue on how to do that.

  "Maybe they'll be outside the apartment still. We can drive there."

  "I'm not driving anywhere with this car. We're getting close, then taking a bus into town."

  Now he knew why his uncle had been so hesitant to go back. John was feeling a strong pang of regret and fear for doing what he was doing, and he felt like perhaps this was the wrong idea after all. But he wasn't about to admit that he was wrong. Especially not when Tom was acting like this.

  "We need a new car."

  "Oh, and how do we get that?"

  "We go out there and steal one."

  "Have you ever stolen a car, tough guy?" Tom said, his voice now obviously hostil
e.

  "Well how about helping me with some ideas then?" John said, his words coming close to yelling.

  "I thought you were the big ideas guy. Huh, Einstein?"

  John let out some air and stared at the countryside turning from an inappropriately beautiful pastoral setting to shades of gray as the sun set. "Let's sell this car and go closer."

  "Fat chance."

  "You don't have any friends with cars that we can borrow?"

  "No, don't you?"

  "Of course I don't, I'm only a kid!" John said the shut up. He shouldn't have admitted that he was a kid. Then it hit him. Derek and Bill.

  "I know where we can get a truck."

  "Oh hell no," Tom said.

  "You know?"

  "Yeah, the crazy bastards in the woods? The one who felt sorry for his wife-killing friend? I don't think so. You'll be lucky if they don't change their mind and decide to pop one in your head."

  "But why? They had trucks and motorbikes."

  "I'll get us a vehicle. Don't worry about it."

  "Then why didn't you just say that?" John asked, now furious at his uncle for toying with him.

  "Just to see if you were willing to think."

  "What does that prove?"

  When night fell they parked in a thicket of woods off the highway again. John noticed a familiarity in smell of the air, in the billboards, and the speed of the cars and the looks of the people. He was getting close to his recent home. It was funny how his body just knew.

  He went to sleep outside in a sleeping bag and woke up again staring at the blue sky.

  "You ready?" asked Tom.

  John looked over and saw his uncle with a motorbike to the side of the Impala.

  "Where'd you get that?"

  "I lied about not having any friends. Anyways, we need to get going."

  Tom drove the car into the bushes and covered it carefully with branches and grass until it blended with the background.

  They were soon in town and on the main road where John's apartment block was located. They drove by it without paying too much attention to it. John tried to look at it through the corner of his eye, but he saw nothing. They parked the bike a mile behind the apartment building. "You'll walk from here."

  Tom gave him a short wave radio for communication.

  Using the same ditch as before, John approached the building and lay down to wait for the dark. It was mind numbingly boring. Not a single car came by. Though John was focused on his door, which had a police caution tape strapped across it, he didn't see anyone out of place come by. Even the junkies had decided to leave. He felt a pit of despair as he wondered if he would ever see his mother again. Seeing his old home so vacated and empty only made his mother's disappearance seem like a reality.

  "John?"

  John snapped and turned down the hand radio. He hadn't expected it to be that loud. "Yeah?" he asked in a whisper.

  "You see anyone?"

  "Nobody."

  "I think they've given up."

  "We need to see at night—"

  "No. Come back, I have some more information."

  John made his way back to the parking lot and arrived there by the time it was dark.

  "You see anyone?"

  "Yup. Our two friends are all over the town."

  "You saw them?" John asked, his excitement growing.

  Tom nodded as if he was slightly perturbed. "I know where they are. And I think they have your mother in there."

  "Let's go then!" John said.

  "It's guarded like all hell, John."

  "Is it here?"

  "It's a few miles out of town. A house they must have bought. The neighbors say they saw over ten people in there."

  "Where?" John said, getting excited.

  "Take it easy. We're not going anywhere without a plan."

  They drove back to the Impala, and Tom pulled out a handgun. John felt glad that Tom was doing the thinking. At that moment, John was a mix between excited and scared out of his mind. The result was that he felt confused