Gravity Check

by Alex van Tol

  As the track curves around to the right, I realize I can’t hear Seth behind me anymore. I glance back. He’s not there. My heart skips a beat, then pounds out a couple of extras to make up for it.

  Where the hell is Seth?

  I haul on my brakes and turn my bike around.

  Now I hear a noise. It’s an engine. It sounds like it’s far away. In the direction we just came from. My stomach drops uneasily. I can feel my palms breaking out in sweat. I wheel my bike back a bit on the path and peer around the curve.

  Seth is a long way behind. He’s picking something up off the ground. His water bottle. God, just leave it, Seth! The engine sounds like it’s getting closer. Doesn’t he hear it? I want to shout at him, tell him to get on his bike and get out of there—dive into the trees or something—but I’m afraid to draw attention to myself.

  Seth hears the engine. I watch as he quickly replaces the water bottle and swings his leg over the crossbar. He punches on his pedals, holding his handlebars in a death grip. They jerk from side to side as his feet pound him out of there. But he’s not thinking clearly. He can’t outrun a motorized vehicle. And there’s nowhere for him to hide on the track. He’d be better off ditching his bike and running into the forest, where he can climb a tree or tunnel into the undergrowth.

  He’s still pretty far away, but maybe I can communicate this to him. I wave my arm at him, pointing to the trees on the other side of the track. He sees me. He glances at the forest as I point to it, but he doesn’t get the message. He keeps pedaling. I point him toward the forest again.

  His head lifts, and I think he gets what I’m saying. Suddenly, the source of the engine noise reveals itself. My heart leaps into my throat. Right behind Seth, an ATV lurches out of a hidden pathway. A tall skinny guy with a camo jacket is driving. He catches sight of Seth and revs the engine. I see a flash of white teeth under the shadow of his cap.

  My lungs refuse to collect any air. Hidden out of sight just beyond the curve, I watch the ATV roar up behind my brother. Seth’s eyes turn to saucers. He pedals faster still. He keeps spinning as the ATV draws up beside him. When they’re flush with each other, Seth looks over. The guy sneers at him. His mouth opens in a lopsided laugh as he edges the ATV closer to Seth. So close that it’s almost touching his wheels. I watch, my heart in my throat, wondering how hard Seth will go down if this guy rubs him. Bones could break. Seth could even get run over.

  But then Seth pulls a beautiful move, slamming on his brakes and throwing his bike to the ground in one quick movement. Before Skinny Guy knows what’s happening, Seth is off, pelting for the trees.

  Wicked.

  But Skinny Guy is fast too. He grinds the machine to a stop. With a loud curse, he launches himself after Seth.

  The ATV is left idling a mere stone’s throw away from where I’m standing astride my bike. For a few spinning, breathless moments, I try to figure out what I should do. Should I take the vehicle?

  But that’s a dumb idea. Where would I take it? And besides, I’m not leaving unless Seth is with me. Should I run into the forest and help Seth? But then if Seth and I both get caught, there won’t be anyone else to help find the others.

  My brother is in danger.

  So are three other people.

  When I hear Seth’s shout from just inside the trees, I make up my mind. Whether he drives me nuts or not, that’s my baby brother. I’m going in to help him.

  I drop my bike. I haven’t even taken three steps when Seth emerges from the trees, arms pinned behind his back. He’s being steered roughly by Skinny Guy, who’s got one hand on Seth’s head and one clamped around his wrists. It reminds me of those cop shows on tv where they always put their hands on the suspects’ heads to push them into the squad car.

  Skinny Guy’s looking in the direction of the ATV. I hope he doesn’t look my way.

  “Little snoop,” he growls. “That’s four of you now. Buncha stupid kids. Who else are we going to find? Huh? Who else is out here?” he demands, giving Seth a shake. I wonder if the guy is armed. I can’t see any gun, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one.

  Seth doesn’t respond. Without moving his head, he turns his huge, frightened eyes toward me. I start to move toward him, but he gives his head the tiniest of shakes: no.

  I stay where I am, concealed by the trees and the tall strong-smelling plants. I’ll follow along behind them. That way I’ll be able to figure out where everyone is. And then maybe I can try to do something about it.

  Although what that would be, I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty powerless right now.

  Skinny Guy is ripping duct tape off a huge roll. He wraps Seth’s wrists with it, muttering angrily as he works. He’s rough. He indicates for Seth to sit on the metal rack in front of the ATV’s handlebars. I watch as Skinny Guy jerks tape around Seth’s ankles. Tight. I pray that Seth will be able to keep his balance on the front of the ATV. I see him reach down and grab hold of the rack to steady himself.

  Skinny Guy guns the engine. A black cloud belches out of the tailpipe.

  Fear squeezes my head as the seriousness of the situation hits me. Our friends are missing, most likely caught by this scary-looking guy. Or someone who works with him. My brother is hog-tied, perched on the front of an ATV. About to be transported who-knows-where by a thug whose job it is to guard a massive drug operation.

  Things are looking pretty ugly right about now.

  And if we’re going to get out of this mess, it’s up to me from here on in.

  chapter fifteen

  Without warning, I am seized by the shakes. Like there’s a jackhammer inside my spinal cord. I fight for control. If I let them settle in, I’ll be too freaked out to do anything useful.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

  Come on, Jamie. Don’t sketch now. People are relying on you.

  Somehow the thought brings me back down. The tremors subside, and I force myself onto my bike.

  I pedal along a fair distance back from the ATV. I keep an eye on Seth as the ATV bumps along. He seems to be managing okay. I can’t believe what a crazy situation we’ve found ourselves in. I try not to think about our parents and what they would say if they had any idea what’s going on.

  I try, too, not to think about what I might find when we get to wherever we’re going. I try not to imagine what possible help I’ll be able to offer. I simply focus on pushing my feet around and around. Following the ATV so I can see where it’s taking Seth.

  At last we turn off the double track onto an old logging road. I stay well back. I pray there aren’t other guards hanging out in the thickets of the grow-op.

  The ATV stops in front of a small wooden cabin at the road’s edge. It’s about the size of a single garage. I wrestle my bike into the trees and watch. Skinny Guy is saying something to Seth, and Seth is shaking his head. Skinny Guy lets Seth jump down from the ATV. Seth stands up as well as he can with his ankles tied, and Skinny Guy slaps a piece of duct tape over his mouth. From his pocket he produces a folding knife. A knife? Oh god. My horror turns to relief as he reaches down and slices through the duct tape binding Seth’s ankles. Then he gives Seth a sharp push toward the cabin. Seth knows enough not to look for me. I hope he knows I’m here. I can only imagine how terrified he’s feeling right now.

  I edge closer to the cabin. When the door closes behind Seth and his captor, I run forward quickly and quietly. I size up the cabin. There aren’t any windows on this side. No one can look out and spot me dashing from tree to tree.

  Three bikes are leaning up against the side of the building. Chase. Nolan. Rico. A mixture of relief and dread washes over me. Are they still alive?

  My panic rises. What am I supposed to do now? Storm into the cabin and just… free everybody? From right under this ugly thug’s nose?

  No, wait. Make that two ugly thugs.

  As I’m hiding and freaking out behind the trunk of a big fir, the door to the cabin opens and a second guy steps out onto the porch. He’s
wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. Biker boots. The bottom of his nose is pierced with a metal bar that curves downward, like an angry frown. He stretches as though he’s just woken up from a long sleep. Even from my limited vantage point, I can see he’s a big dude. A scary dude.

  With one tattooed, well-muscled arm, he lifts a smoke to his mouth. Crams his hand into the pocket of his jeans and produces a lighter. He sparks up the cigarette and takes a deep pull. Skinny Guy comes back outside, closing the door behind him. Big Dude offers him the cigarette. Skinny Guy takes a puff and coughs a bit. Passes it back to Big Dude.

  The smoke drifts toward me. It’s sweet and peppery. I realize they’re smoking a joint, not a cigarette. I don’t smoke up, but I’ve been around people who do. My panic eases a little bit. This is good. They might be easier to deal with if they’re stoned and slow moving.

  Deal with them? How, exactly, am I supposed to deal with them?

  As I’m wondering this, Big Dude hands Skinny Guy the joint and pulls a phone out of his back pocket. He pulls up the antenna and places a call. Waits for the satellites to align their signals. Skinny Guy smokes and looks around at the forest. When his head swivels in my direction, my heart leaps into my mouth. I jerk my head behind the tree and hold my breath.

  I’m starting to feel a bit like James Bond.

  As soon as the thought bubbles up, I grab on to it. I can do this. I’m just going to imagine that I’m some special-forces guy who does this kind of stuff for a living. Spies on people. Immobilizes thugs. Rescues his friends.

  The thought calms me. My heart slows to a regular rhythm. My field of vision opens. I see more. My ears sharpen.

  Something inside me hardens, steeling itself for what lies ahead.

  Big Dude talks into the phone, his voice low and quiet. It bugs me that I can’t hear the conversation. I decide to dash from the tree to where there’s an opening under the porch of the cabin. It’s a crazy place to go, since it’s right under where they’re standing, but there’s nowhere closer where I can still remain hidden. I wait until Skinny Guy is looking the other way, and then I make a run for it. Silent as a ninja. Deadly as Bond.

  I remove my pack and wiggle into the space under the stairs. The bikes lean against the cabin behind me. I could reach out and grab Nolan’s water bottle if I wanted to.

  In my new spot, I can look up through the floorboards of the porch. I don’t let myself think about all the mutant insect life that might be down here with me.

  Or dead bodies.

  I shove the thought down, straining to catch bits of the conversation overhead.

  “Yeah, the first two showed up last night. That’s when we grabbed them…Yeah, but then another one showed up, like, an hour later…Yeah, of course…No, but then this morning the other kid showed up. Damian got him and brought him back here…Yeah, some kind of camp is what one of them told me…No, there aren’t any more.” He raises his eyebrows at Skinny Guy—Damian—who blows out a thin stream of smoke and shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m sure, Deuce,” says Big Dude.

  Butterflies take flight in my stomach. Whoever this Deuce guy is, he suspects there are still other kids on the loose. He’s going to tell these guys to be on high alert, watching. I have to be supercareful.

  “Okay, we’ll keep an eye out for any others…Yeah, we’ll hold those four for ya,” says Big Dude. He gives the thumbs-up to Damian, who looks relieved. “Sounds good. Yeah, okay. No, they’re all tied up inside. They’re not talking. They can’t. We taped them.” Damian smirks and takes a drag.

  Still listening, Big Dude glances at his watch. “You coming out? Okay…Wow, that’s really soon. No, no, it’s cool, I’m just saying…Okay, sure thing, Deuce. See you later.”

  Big Dude folds the phone up and places it on the porch railing. He reaches for the joint. “He’s on his way.” “He’s early,” says Damian, passing it over. “He wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow.”

  Big Dude shrugs. “Whatever, man. Deuce is in charge of his own schedule. He sounded a bit pissed with this whole thing about the kids.”

  “Well, it’s hardly our fault that we found those stupid punks snooping,” whines Damian.

  “Deuce doesn’t care whose fault it is,” says Big Dude. “If he’s mad, it’s best just to stay the hell out of his way.” He pauses for a drag. “I’m glad he’s coming. Let him deal with the nosy kids.”

  Damian nods. “Yeah. Otherwise we’d have to do it all. And I don’t want the blood of four people on my hands.”

  I shudder. So the only reason these guys haven’t killed the others yet is because they’re waiting for their boss to come and do it? I close my eyes and fight the swimmy feeling inside my head.

  Damian continues, “Yeah, no thanks. I think I’d rather sleep at night. Got to make it to heaven.” He yawns and rubs his face.

  Big Dude laughs and claps Damian on the shoulder. “You’re in the wrong line of work, then, sissy boy.”

  Damian gives him a little shove. “Speak for yourself, Warren. It’s not like you want to kill a bunch of kids either.”

  Warren shrugs and passes the joint to Damian, who shakes his head. Warren shrugs again, takes the last pull and stubs it out on the railing. He tosses it into the grass in front of the cabin. “I do what I have to do,” he says, exhaling a stream of smoke.

  “When did Deuce say he’s going to be here?” Damian asks.

  “Ten,” Warren replies.

  Ten! I look up at the sky, but I can’t see the position of the sun. I think back to what’s happened so far this morning since Seth and I left the campsite. I figure we left just before seven. I can’t imagine that more than an hour has passed, so that puts us at almost eight.

  I have two hours to get everyone out of here before this Deuce guy shows up and picks everybody off.

  “I’m gonna go find out from one of these kids how many others are still out there,” says Warren. “Because I get the feeling we’re not done yet. And we’d damn well better figure it out before Deuce gets here.” He turns and goes back inside, slamming the cabin door behind him.

  chapter sixteen

  Damian yawns again and then comes down the stairs off the porch. He strolls over to a tree and unzips his pants. This is my chance, I realize. I’ve got to put him out of commission so that I’ve only got Warren left to deal with.

  Adrenaline surges through my body. I look wildly around. There’s nothing under the stairs I can use as a weapon. No stick. No large rocks. Nothing on the ground beside me either. I start to panic, but then I think of James Bond. The fuzz in my brain clears. I realize the perfect weapon is right in front of my eyes.

  Without a second’s hesitation, I grab the seat of Nolan’s bike. My other hand works furiously to unscrew the saddle from the seat post. Lucky for Damian, Nolan’s got a skinny ass, so he’s got a padded seat. Still heavy, though, even with all that gel inside.

  I slide the seat out of the post just as Damian gives himself a shake. As he’s zipping up, I slip up behind him. My foot hits a twig and snaps it. Suddenly alert, he turns, reaching around his back for something.

  His gun.

  Soundlessly, before he can get his hand into his belt, I bring the seat down, smashing it across the side of his head.

  He goes down like a moose that’s been shot. I blink, amazed I did that so easily. A trickle of spit eases out of Damian’s mouth. I wonder if I killed him. I hope not. I only wanted to knock him out. I’m not that experienced with hammering people upside the head with bike seats, so there’s a possibility that I might have gone overboard.

  I need something to tie him up with. I turn and run back to my pack. I rip open the top. My hands close around the coil of rope. I grab the roll of duct tape too. Moving quickly, I return to where Damian is now moaning faintly. Good. I didn’t kill him.

  I pray that the door to the cabin doesn’t open.

  I take both of Damian’s hands. He’s heavy for a skinny guy. I drag him over to his own dark pee spot, leaning h
im against the tree trunk. Suddenly I remember his gun. I pull up the back of his shirt and feel gingerly around. Don’t want to shoot off a finger. There it is, tucked into his belt. I shiver to think how close I came to getting shot.

  I yank the gun out of his belt and put it on the ground. I stare at it. That’s the first time I’ve ever touched a gun. It’s fully weird, but I can’t stop to think about it right now.

  I pull Damian’s hands around the back of the tree and wrap them tightly with the rope. I tie a firm knot and tuck the loose ends where his fingers can’t reach them. As I work, I glance back at the cabin. If Warren comes out, I want to see him.

  When Damian is tied, I grab the duct tape and tear off a strip. The noise is loud in the quiet morning air, and it shocks me. I freeze and stare at the cabin door. Another bolt of adrenaline enters my system, and my heart starts to skip all over the place. The door doesn’t open.

  Keep your cool, Jamie.

  I stick the duct tape over Warren’s mouth, pressing down hard. He moans, but he’s still out. His head lolls to the side. I can see a nasty bump rising where I hit him. He’ll have a bad headache later. Even worse once Deuce is through with him.

  Thinking about Deuce makes me move faster. I check Damian’s body to see whether he has any other weapons on him. I don’t find any, but I do find the keys to the ATV. I put them in my pocket.

  I take the gun and leave him there, tied to the tree in the early August sunshine. I don’t know what to do with the gun, so I put it under the porch. As an afterthought, I grab the sat phone from the deck railing and stuff it into my pocket along with the keys.

  I’m not sure what to do next, so I stand beside the cabin wall and try to think. I don’t want to go into the cabin yet, not with Warren there. I want to call for help on the phone, but I’m worried that he’ll hear me.

  I’m having trouble figuring this all out. What would 007 do?

  As my exhausted mind slogs its way through the options, I realize I’m terribly thirsty. I haven’t had much water since yesterday. And I was sweating buckets at the bike park. I lean over and yank the water bottle off Rico’s bike. It’s half full. I unscrew the lid and drink until the bottle is nearly empty. As I screw the lid back on, the metal bottle slips from my grasp and clangs to the rocky ground below me.