by James Tucker
Hanging over the chrome railing stood Brick, Ward’s driver.
Buddy tried to say something but couldn’t make a sound.
He heard Ward shout, “Get him in the boat. Get him warm. Don’t let him sleep. Now!”
Buddy felt strong arms pull him up out of the water and over the side. Brick pulled at his clothes. All of his clothes. For an instant he shivered in the unbearable cold, then Brick dried him and covered him with a blanket and then a down parka and a hat and mittens. Then he sat Buddy up and poured liquid from a thermos into the stainless-steel cap of the thermos and held it to Buddy’s lips, pouring it down Buddy’s throat.
Buddy tasted it. Coffee. But something else, too.
Whiskey.
Oh, yeah.
He drank until it was gone. He couldn’t speak, but he looked up at Brick with wide eyes.
Brick seemed to understand. He refilled the thermos cap and held it to Buddy’s lips.
Buddy drank eagerly. As he did, the hard cold dissipated and slowly disappeared. Genuine warmth replaced the cold. His mind began to turn like an engine starting in the winter. Slowly, fitfully, then more and more smoothly.
He watched as Ward climbed up the ladder at the stern. Ward’s face was red, his lips blue. His body shook with cold. Buddy watched as he, too, stripped down, toweled off, and dressed in heavy down gear.
Wearing mittens like Buddy’s, Ward turned to Brick. “Get us to your car. Fast as possible. For Christ’s sake, hurry!”
Brick signaled to the driver, a burly older man in a navy-blue water-repellent jacket and hat who stood behind the steering column. The older man turned the wheel and pushed the throttles down, all the way. The twin two-hundred-fifty-horsepower Mercury engines thundered, powering the boat toward the shore.
Buddy held on to make sure he didn’t bounce around.
Ward stared at him and then looked away, toward land.
At first Buddy thought Ward had ordered Brick to hurry for him, to get him to a hospital. But he was breathing well now. He was warm. When he considered further, he recognized the danger had started with him and had spread to everyone he knew.
Everyone I know.
Ben.
Mei.
88
Ben felt his phone vibrate in the front right pocket of his pants, and at the same time, the Apple Watch silently tapped his left wrist. He knew he couldn’t look at either device. So he kept up the march as he and Mei had been ordered to do. The men had laughed when they fired the gun up into the air, when he and Mei were kneeling with the dogs circling them like devils. Laughed because they were only pretending to kill him and Mei. He hated these men, hated their dogs. He was so angry that he’d try to escape when he had a chance and when Mei could go with him.
They walked single file: first Mei, then the first man dressed in black. This man was tall with very short blond hair, a rangy giant. Strong and proud looking. Ben followed the blond man.
Behind Ben walked the second man in black. This man held the leads of the German shepherds. He was shorter than the tall man but thicker, larger, with huge arms, a shaved head, and a tattoo of a something white—a bird or a flower—on the side of his neck.
The snow crunched under Ben’s boots, under the boots of the others. On either side of him rose the steep sides of the ravine, covered with patches of ice and loose stones and dotted with evergreens. The floor of the ravine was rocky and snowy, and he had to watch his step so he didn’t fall. On his left lay the frozen stream, its surface like a mottled black snake. To his right was a crumpled mass. He stared until he recognized it.
Jessica.
He heard Mei crying. He watched her dash out of the line to her fallen friend. Ben stopped.
“Jessica!” Mei called, kneeling at her friend’s side. “Jessica? Can you hear me?”
He saw Mei touch Jessica’s face, put one hand on her shoulder and another on her hip, and roll her onto her back.
The figure so filled with life a half hour ago didn’t move. Stillness enveloped Mei’s friend, the blond hair tinged with scarlet. Ben studied Jessica’s chest carefully, but it didn’t rise or fall.
He watched as Mei turned to the men. Tears streamed down her face. “Why?” she cried. “Why did you kill her? What good did it do?”
The large man at the front of the line said, “Because she was with you.”
Mei shook her head. Her eyes narrowed. “What the hell is wrong with you people?”
The phone in Ben’s pocket vibrated once, briefly, indicating that someone had left him a voicemail or a text. The watch lightly tapped his wrist.
Buddy? he wondered. Is Buddy nearby? Can he save us?
No, he knew Buddy couldn’t save them because Buddy was in the city. He and Mei would need to save themselves.
As he stared at Jessica’s bloody hair, he tried not to think of what had happened to his family, what might happen to him. As he thought about escaping, he remembered what Buddy had told him the month before: If anything happens ever again, hide. If you can’t hide, run.
Can I run? he asked himself, knowing from terrible experience that he needed to get away or he’d end up like his mother, his father, his sister, Ellen-Marie. Not here, I can’t, he thought. But there will be a chance. There must be a chance.
The tall man in front pointed at Mei. “Get back in line. We’re going.”
Mei shook her head. “We can’t leave her here.”
“Get in line, or I’ll bash your face.”
Mei stood. “What about Jessica? What about my friend?”
The man smirked. “Coyotes will get her.”
Mei’s eyes showed anger mixed with fear. “Really? So why not let the coyotes get us?”
The man again pointed at Mei. “Get in line.”
Mei persisted. “Why? Why not shoot us and leave us for the coyotes?”
“Coyotes?” asked the shorter man with the shaved head. “Sometimes they don’t get everything.”
Mei put her hands on her hips. “So we’re next?”
The man with the shaved head shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
Mei glanced at Ben. His eyes met hers, and he again felt their bond. She tried to smile at him, but it was more of an expression of terrible pain. She rejoined the line, now behind the tall man, and they proceeded through the ravine for nearly a mile until they reached the route they’d used to come down the western side of the ridge.
The blond man in front of them walked within those footprints up the steep eastern side of the ravine. Ben dropped his head, bent his legs to lower his center of gravity, and made his way up behind Mei. She was doing the same, here and there grabbing at leafless trees to pull herself up. He looked to his left and right, but there was nowhere to run. He’d have to wait.
At the top of the ridge, they stood looking down at the small house on the bluff and, beyond the house, the town of Rockridge. From this height and distance, the town appeared to be a child’s toy. But he knew the town was as real as the guns the men were holding.
Where are the people now? he wondered. The people farther down the bluff who called the police about Mei’s firing the gun? Didn’t they hear the shot that killed Jessica, or the shot meant to scare us?
Mei stopped. She said, “My leg is injured. I can’t walk anymore.”
The man in front of her halted his march, returned to her, stared at her a moment. Then he brought back his right boot and kicked her shin.
“Aghh!” she cried, falling over, lying in the snow, clutching her leg. She curled up into a ball, weeping softly. “Ohhh.”
The man stood over her and said, “Get. In. Line.” His speech was accented, thick around the vowels and harsh at the consonants.
Ben made to rush over to her, but the man behind him grabbed his upper arm so tightly he couldn’t move.
Mei saw the man with the shaved head restrain Ben, and she uncurled, stood with obvious effort, and hobbled forward. Her face was wet with tears and melting snow.
T
he tall man in the lead turned and continued taking them down the bluff toward the house. Mei walked with a limp. Ben kept three or four paces behind her, trying to slow their progress, because that was what Mei seemed to think they should do. He trusted Mei, even now. Mei and Buddy, because they’d saved his life before. And because they were the only people on earth who loved him.
When they reached the house, the tall man opened the front door. Instead of allowing Mei to enter first, he drew his gun and walked inside. Mei followed, then Ben. For a moment Ben realized the man behind him wasn’t there. He turned and saw the second man open the rear door of the Suburban and command the German shepherds to jump inside. A moment later the man closed the rear door and walked toward the house.
Ben stared at him, but the man’s expression showed no response. No recognition, no friendliness, not even anger or disdain. The man was like a robot or a machine.
Ben felt himself go cold, even though his running away from the men and the dogs had made him perspire, and the march back out of the ravine and to the house had warmed him. He realized his clothes were damp with sweat. His right leg ached. As the man with the shaved head came up behind him as he stood in the doorway, Ben turned and entered the house.
Mei stood in the great room, facing the tall man, who was across the sofa from her. The man held his gun at his side. She said, “The boy and I are going to put on dry clothes.”
The tall man looked first at the man with the shaved head, who was behind Ben. Ben couldn’t see the reaction, but then the tall man nodded at Mei.
“Come on, Ben,” she said, waving him toward the bedrooms.
The man behind him again grabbed his upper arm. “One at a time. You stay here. I’ll go with her.”
Ben saw Mei’s face drain of color. He feared the man with the shaved head might kill her in the bedroom.
Mei’s eyes met Ben’s. Fear welled up within him. “Don’t go,” he blurted. “They’ll hurt me. They’ll hurt you!”
He saw Mei glance at the tall man in the middle of the room and at the man with the shaved head behind him. He didn’t look at them but saw her turn and continue down the short hallway to the bedrooms.
Panic seized him. “Mei!” he called. “Mei!”
But she stepped toward the doorway.
He could hear the breathing of the man with the shaved head and then the man’s footsteps as he came around Ben and followed Mei toward the bedroom.
Ben didn’t move. He stood in the living room with the tall blond man. In the silence, he felt a faint tap on his wrist from the Apple Watch, now covered by his jacket sleeve.
He thought he’d received a text. But he couldn’t look at the watch or the tall man would take it away.
89
Mei entered the larger bedroom, the thickset man with the shaved head close behind her.
She gathered dry clothes—dark-wash jeans and a gray Lululemon pullover with a hood—and turned to go into the bathroom. “I’m changing in private,” she told the man.
“Hold it,” he said, and walked into the bathroom, glanced around it, opened the drawers and the cabinets. Satisfied no weapons were hidden there, he returned to the bedroom and indicated she could go inside.
After closing and locking the bathroom door, she unlaced her hiking boots and removed the pocketknife. Carefully, so it wouldn’t make a sound, she set it on the vanity. Then she changed into the jeans and pullover and put on and laced her boots. Again, she took up the pocketknife. This time she stuck it between the right boot’s tongue and lacing. It held there, secure and nearly invisible.
A knock at the door.
She froze. “Yes?” she called. She could hear the low breathing of the man on the other side of the door. He was so close to her, so strong. She knew he could overpower her if he wanted . . . she tried to push away the image of him ripping off her clothes and forcing himself on her. No, she thought. I’ll shove my fingernails into his eyes if I have to. But he’s not going to touch me.
The low breathing paused, and then the man said, “One minute, and you come out.”
She stared at herself in the mirror. Doubt showed in her eyes and the lines across her forehead. But anger flashed through her as well. Anger that she and Ben were stuck with these men, that they might die, that Buddy’s case had brought the men here.
Goddammit, she thought, as she unlocked the door and pulled on the handle. What ever happened to normal life?
She hoped that when she returned to the great room, the men would be distracted and wouldn’t notice her reaching up to the top of the refrigerator, wouldn’t see that she had the revolver until it was too late.
I’ll shoot them, she thought, the way they shot Jessica. It won’t be murder. It won’t even be a crime. Because I have no choice. It’s them or us.
Other than aiming and firing, she had no plan. She understood that if she didn’t succeed, she and Ben wouldn’t survive. They’d never be allowed to live, not after witnessing Jessica’s murder.
Unlocking the door, she walked into the bedroom. Her body tight with nerves, her skin sensitive to any touch, no matter how light, she held her breath as she emerged into the great room.
The tall man—she thought of him as an Aryan giant—stood by the big window. He glanced at her, then at the man behind her.
She felt the blood rush through her body, warming her, making her fingers tingle as if with electricity.
I have to do it, she told herself silently. Them or us.
She went over to the refrigerator and opened the door. From the corner of her eye, she saw the blond man turn to glance out the window.
Rapidly, she closed the door, reached around the box of Triscuits, and took hold of the revolver. It felt heavy and too large. Her hand felt damp with perspiration. Her hand shook; the barrel shook. Yet she raised the revolver as she turned to the man by the window. She stared at him as she fired.
Bang!
An ear-splitting explosion sounded in the small room.
The Aryan giant fell to the floor.
Ben shouted.
And then the man with the shaved head was on her, tackling her, tearing the gun from her hands. He pushed himself up and off her, and she lay on the floor, turning her head to look at the giant.
Who was getting up off the floor.
She searched for blood or injury on his form but saw nothing. The Aryan giant’s eyes met hers, and he smiled. Laughed.
What? she thought. How could . . . ? Her eyes searched behind the tall man, and she saw the large window was cracked around a small circular opening near the window’s lower right side, where the bullet had passed through and out into the snow.
The squat man leaned over and smacked her across the face, making her cheek burn. He smacked her again and said, “Crazy bitch.”
Heedless of the men, Ben rushed over to her, took her arm, and helped her up.
90
One minute later, Ben went across the great room, through the doorway to the hall, and into the larger bedroom. The squat man with the shaved head was behind him, his gun out, Mei’s revolver in his waistband.
Ben surveyed the room. He needed clothes. Then he’d check the watch.
The watch!
He went to his bag, removed a dry pair of khakis and socks, a T-shirt, a red-and-black-and-white plaid shirt, and a navy-blue wool sweater with a thick shawl collar. Without looking at the squat man, he walked toward the bathroom.
“Hold it,” the man said.
Ben turned to him.
The man held out his left hand, palm up. “Your phone. Give it to me.”
Ben faked a quizzical expression. “What phone?”
The man pointed at his trouser pocket, where its rectangular outline was visible.
Ben didn’t think he had a choice. He pulled it out and set it on the man’s hand. The man dropped it to the floor and took the gun barrel and smashed the phone into pieces.
Head down, Ben went into the bathroom, closed and locked the door. As soo
n as he’d taken off his damp shirt, he held up his left wrist and studied the watch screen.
It was blank. And black.
He pressed the crown on the right side of the device.
As if by magic, the time and date appeared in small gold lettering at the top. In the middle of the screen, he saw a rectangular green text box with white lettering inside it. He read: On our way.
Buddy? he thought. Ward? Or both of them?
His spirits rose before falling sharply. Buddy and Ward had no idea where he and Mei were staying. They had no idea of the location of the house. Because Mei had refused to tell them. And the Apple Watch needed his phone to function.
Oh, no! he thought, upset with Mei. How can Buddy find us? How can Buddy save us?
But then he remembered this was the new Apple Watch, with its own cellular connection. His hands warming, he typed a reply to the text: Two men got us. At the house. Hurry!
For a moment, he stared at the screen, expecting and hoping for a response. But there was none.
He put on his clean clothes—making sure the heavy wool sweater’s left sleeve covered the watch—and left the others on the floor. Then he walked out of the bathroom.
As he returned to the great room, he realized he hadn’t texted the location of the house. Not even the town—Rockridge. He needed to return to the bathroom and text them the name of the town and a description of the house.
He stopped, began to turn.
But the squat man with the shaved head gripped his shoulder and forced him forward.
“Stop it!” Ben called, trying to shake free of the man’s enormous hand.
But the man didn’t let go. And in an instant, Ben was standing in the living room, facing Mei, the left side of her face swollen and red, the tall blond man by the window.
Sadness overcame him. He went to Mei and began to cry. His shoulders and arms shook. He couldn’t control himself. He didn’t know what to do. And why had he thought he could escape from these big men with their guns? Or that Buddy and Ward would rescue him in time. He should stop being stupid. There was no escape. Not unless Mei had an idea she hadn’t shared with him.
