by Kurt Gepner
Without hesitation, Jeremy hopped up and followed his friend. The tree house to the right of the kitchen was a large bathroom. The structure was completely plumbed, with a water heater, shower, sink and toilet. The water was no longer running, of course, but other amenities had been collected there. From the medicine cabinet above the sink, Brody pulled out a bottle of Scope mouthwash and held it in perfect parody of a T.V. commercial. "It’s cool and refreshing," he said with an exaggeratedly deep voice and stiff posture.
Jeremy laughed hysterically. Brody returned a self-satisfied smirk and then said, "Hey. You should go grab some brews and snacks from the kitchen and meet me in the living room." Brody threw his thumb toward the last tree house.
Jeremy straightened up, still grinning and said, "Okay." He made his way across the rope bridge, which spanned about forty wagging feet from landing to landing. Jeremy pulled a couple cans of beer out of the freezer, and then he rooted around in the cabinets. He found cans of stew and chili, packages of ramen noodles, bags of chips, jars of salsa and more. Selecting a bag of beef jerky, corn chips and a can of cheese dip, he precariously wobbled his way across a forty-foot span of rope bridge without using the hand rails.
On the other side was a wide deck, covered by a high awning. A sliding glass door stood open in the wall. Jeremy crossed the threshold into a comfortable room built around the trunk of the grand oak. Sitting on a leather sofa, across the room from him, Brody was happily packing the tiny bowl of his stainless steel pipe. He looked up with his sparkling eyes and asked Jeremy, "What do you think?"
Jeremy dropped his load of goodies on the glass-topped coffee table and plopped down on the sofa, next to Brody. "This place is fucking stellar!" He said, admiringly. He picked up the remote control that sat on the coffee table and pointed it at the sixty-inch television mounted to the wall. Looking disappointed, Jeremy sat the remote back down.
With a look of disbelief, Brody asked him, "Did you really think that something would happen when you pushed the button?"
Jeremy shrugged. "I was hoping that all of this was just a trip I was having, ‘cause I smoked too much weed." He looked away and said, "It was nothing. Why don’t you light that thing, already?"
Brody didn’t hesitate. Holding the pipe to his lips, he put the flame of his small lighter to the dry green foliage that he’d stuffed in the bowl. It hissed and crackled as the contents turned to embers and glowed brightly in the dim light of the tree house. When his lungs were full, Brody handed off the pipe to Jeremy, who put it to his own lips. Soon the two boys were staring at one another, turning red with the effort of holding their breath.
Jeremy was the first to start coughing. It started as just a small snort. Brody redoubled his effort to hold his breath, gulping another mouth full of air into his lungs. Jeremy let go of another snort and then another. Brody, having reached capacity, expelled the entire contents of his lungs in one long gush. Jeremy had taken the tried and true method of letting go of his pollution in a series of quickening snorts that eventually evolved into a hacking, slobbering cough.
As Jeremy caught his breath Brody backhanded him across the shoulder. "Did you see that," he asked with earnest delight. "No smoke!"
Jeremy looked up at him, drooling, and fell into another fit of coughing. Brody’s head wobbled and he grinned. "I’ll be taking that beer, now," he said. His hand swayed as he reached for the can.
The two boys passed the pipe a couple more times before declaring it dead. Then standing suddenly, Jeremy flapped his arms and vigorously waved his hands at the end of them. "I hate this part," he said.
"Sit down, you pussy," Brody ordered, but Jeremy ignored him and walked out to the deck. Not to be put off by his friend’s insubordination, Brody opened the bag of dried meat. He crammed a handful into his mouth and said, "Good call on the jerky," only it sounded like, "Gooka unda jooky."
Popping his head back into the room, Jeremy asked, "What’s with this rope out here?"
"Oh!" Brody spat chunks of masticated meat from his mouth in his excitement. "That is so fucking cool! It’s the Whiplash." He bounded from his seat and pounced onto the deck, cracking his forehead against the top of the doorway. "Aaaaooow…." He said while briskly rubbing the offended portion of his skull. "It is so, probably, good that I am stoned, right now."
Jeremy stood next to a narrow set of stairs that rose to a platform, like a short diving board, extending out a couple feet from the railing. He stared at Brody for a moment and then chuckled. "It’s good that I am. That’s for sure." Brody flipped him off and gave him a half-grin that was somehow perfectly mixed with a half-grimace.
Pointing at the wide gap between the kitchen and the bathroom trees, Brody asked Jeremy, "Do you see that big net, over there?"
Jeremy squinted for a moment, and then said, "Yeah."
"Okay," Brody said, licking his lips with a sticky tongue. "Do you see that huge, steel bar down there?"
Jeremy squinted some more and said, "No."
"Right there," Brody said, jabbing his finger at the space between the trees, below the rope bridge.
Shaking his head, Jeremy said, "Nope."
Brody slapped his friend across the back of the head and pointed again. "Right there!"
Jeremy didn’t acknowledge the slap, but nodded his head instead. "Yep," he said. "I see it. So what’s the rope for?"
* * * * *
Just about one mile of road was visible from their initial ingress, before the highway curved out of sight. One small obstacle blocked their path a few hundred yards up the road and then it was clear as far as he could see. Given the pace of the walkers, which was governed by children, Hank estimated it would take twenty minutes to cover that distance.
The caravan pulled up to the blockage and shut down while the men worked to remove it. Quietly, Hank began to worry about the boys. He ignored Dale’s effort to catch his eye, but he knew the other man was feeling the same instinctual tingle of trouble. While the Duck Truck rested silently, the whining of various off-road vehicles could be heard in every direction. None of the sounds resembled the motorized scooters being ridden by their two scouts.
As soon as the wreckage was out of the way, Hank hurriedly called for everyone to find a perch on the caravan. Taking the hood of the Duck Truck for himself, Hank told Camille to bring the train up to five miles-per-hour. The great green and yellow beast yawned and shuddered and got up to speed without the slightest groan of complaint.
As they rumbled around the bend, Hank anxiously scanned the horizon. On their approach to the first crossroad something like a scream sounded off to his right. He shot his fist into the air, which prompted Salvador to slam on his brakes, which in turn provoked shouts of protest from the passengers. Then Hank hollered at Camille to turn off the engine and for everyone to shut up. A second later, everything was silent.
* * * * *
Brody chortled. "Oh yeah, the rope." Jeremy leaned over the railing and spit out some frothy saliva while he waited. Sniggering with delight, Brody climbed the steps up to the platform. He took up the wrist-thick rope from a hook on a support beam and wrapped his hands around it, just over a massive knot. Looking down at Jeremy he said, "There’s only a couple rules. First, if you can’t climb the steps, you’re too wasted to ride the Whiplash. Second, hold on for your life and don’t let go ‘till you hear the ting."
Swaying with mouth agape, Jeremy stared up at his friend through red slitted eyes. "Okay. What’s it do?"
A sparkle lit Brody’s glazed eyes. "Watch this!" He gave a tug on the rope and lifted his feet off the platform with a "Whoo-Hoo." Gravity wasted no time in doing what it has reliably done for all eternity. As Brody swung like a pendulum toward the twenty foot gap, he lifted his legs straight out ahead of himself, with the bottom of the rope trailing along his side. At the bottom of the arc, he was still five feet above the ground. Just after he began his ascent, the rope hit the steel beam about four feet over his hand hold. The inertia whipped the boy throu
gh the air in a thirty-foot high arc. He flew, swan-like, across forty feet of air and twisted his body just before falling into the huge net. He rolled down to a pocket and then climbed to the edge where he flipping himself down to the ground like a trapeze artist.
Jeremy whooped and applauded from the deck with gusto. "Dude!" He shouted down with an adolescent squelch in his voice. "That was the most, fucking awesome-est thing I’ve ever seen!" Brody took a bow. "I wanna try!" Jeremy shouted down.
* * * * *
In the distance, Hank heard the boys. They were laughing and shouting with merriment. By the time he hopped off the truck, Dale was at his side. They both trotted up the road that Brody and Jeremy had followed, while they waved the rest of their members back. Both men were angry, but for different reasons.
"I told you they weren’t ready," Dale admonished.
"You were right, Dale," Hank said. He was angry at his own disappointment and being made to look a fool.
"Why won’t you listen to me?" Dale’s inflection made the question an accusation.
"I listened to you about the route we took, Dale." Hank didn’t want to fight.
"That’s once. Name me two other times." Dale clearly did want to fight.
"Later, Dale. I’m just as pissed about this as you." Hank knew he was putting off the inevitable.
* * * * *
Brody retrieved the rope and walked it the distance between the steel beam and the Living Room tree house. Jeremy struggled up the steps and finally found the top, on his knees. He reached down while Brody gave the end of the rope a snap and sent it waving up to the other boy’s waiting hand. The rope struck the back of Jeremy’s hand and fell down. Brody cussed his friend and tried again. After two more attempts, Jeremy finally got a grip on the thick rope and managed to stand with it in his hands.
Licking a dry tongue across parched lips, Jeremy looked down at his friend with a broad grin on his face. Brody gave him a wink and thumbs-up. Jeremy jumped up and leaned back with feet stretched out. The back of his head thunked dully against the edge of the platform. Brody hissed and cringed with sympathetic pain as he watched Jeremy sink to the nadir of his arc, still holding strong. The swinging boy quickly gained altitude until the thick rope struck the steel beam. A loud ting echoed through the trees. Still Jeremy clung to the rope. When the rope was nearly perpendicular to the ground the adolescent boy let go with one hand and then the other. He pin-wheeled, spinning high into the air, easily reaching an altitude of thirty feet….
* * * * *
The men turned the corner and Dale pointed out the pair of scooters lying against the curb.
* * * * *
Still cart-wheeling, limbs flailing helter-skelter, Jeremy plummeted to the earth. Brody watched, horrified beyond any fear he had ever imagined, as his best and longest friend struck the ground. There was a terrible wet crackle as his head crumpled sideways into his shoulder. When Jeremy’s torso slammed into the earth, he bounced up two feet before heaping on the dirt.
"Jeremy!" Brody screamed and sprinted to his best friend. Sliding to a halt, Brody saw blood. Jeremy’s head was all wrong, misshapen and bent, and dark blood was spilling from his nose and mouth. "Oh, no! Jeremy! Help!" Brody wailed. "Help!" Over and over he screamed as Jeremy’s blood pooled around his knees.
* * * * *
The desperate, panicked scream struck at the very core of both men. Dale was the faster sprinter and was already ducking through the undergrowth by the time Hank reached the curb. Inside the clearing, under the three grand oaks, Dale tracked the frantic shouts for help and saw Brody kneeling next to a pile of old clothes. As Hank burst through the leafy curtain, Dale realized what he was seeing.
"Oh my God! Jeremy!" he cried and dashed over to his son’s side. Dale fell to the blood washed ground next to his son’s corpse and scooped the warm body into his arms. From the depth of his love for his son, a primal wail of anguish ripped through the man’s throat and tore the heavens asunder.
Only a moment later, Hank was at his neighbor’s side. He gaped at the body and then at Brody. The boy’s eyes flooded over with tears as he looked up at Hank from an arid desolation of soul. Hank placed his hand on Dale’s shoulder, all too aware of the insignificance of the gesture. Curling over his son’s broken corpse, Dale drew in a deep shuddering breath. From bursting lungs he filled the world with the anguish that crushed his heart. The air itself seemed to shake with sorrow for the man’s loss of his beloved son.
Still kneeling beside them, Brody took up Jeremy’s limp hand and cried out his own loss. Jeremy was, as far as he had ever been concerned, the only family he had ever cared for. They were not just friends. They were the best of brothers.
Dale pushed Brody away, screaming, "Get away from my son, you Little Fucking Bastard!" Brody fell on his back, not expecting the shove. "What were you doing here? Huh?!?" The reek of marijuana clung, unmistakable and heavy, to the clothing of his son. Dale stabbed an accusing finger at Brody. "Getting wasted? Huh?!? Fucking around like the stupid little shit you’ve always been? Huh?!?"
Hank wanted to calm the grieving father and gently squeezed Dale’s shoulder. "Dale… Come on. Let’s just…" Hank staggered as Dale shoved him back. Frenzied and insane with grief, Dale dropped his son’s corpse and leapt on the prone boy. Fury and anguish gave him almost inhuman speed and strength. Balled fists drove into Brody’s face. Knuckles smashed over and over again. "You killed my son! You killed my son!" Dale screamed as he pummeled Brody’s head.
With a linebacker’s grace, Hank dove over Jeremy’s body and tackled Dale to the ground. Only a few seconds had passed, yet Brody lay bloodied and moaning, delirious from the beating. Once the object of his wrath was out of reach, Dale curled into a fetal ball, clutching his ribs and sobbing out his torment. Hank climbed off of his neighbor and rushed to Brody’s side.
The boy coughed and spat out blood and teeth. A red river coursed from his nostrils and the bridge of his nose was laid almost flat under his right eye, as if made from clay. Hank winced at the sight of the boy’s brutalized face. Then he glanced over at Jeremy’s crumpled corpse and felt his own deep loss for the child he had known since birth. He swallowed hard, knowing he must be in command, but could not dam his tears.
CHAPTER FOUR
Although it seemed an eternity, as Hank sat there staring at the body, only moments passed before TJ and finally the other men, Val and then Evie came crashing through the thicket to join them. Val rushed to her husband, but came up short when she saw blood. Her eyes quickly traced over the scene. They rested a moment on Hank, who was cradling Brody’s head. Tom and Silas were standing over him, asking if the boy was all right. TJ was standing over another person with his hands on his hips, just shaking his head. The other person was Jeremy, lying on the ground with a puddle of blood encircling his head. Val vaguely wondered about the strange prickling sensation she was feeling and why it was suddenly getting dark. Evie caught the fainting woman and eased her to the ground.
Hank numbly gazed at the morbid tableau. "What should we do, Hank?" The question came from Evie. She squatted down in front of him with eyes drilling into his. He felt the full force of their twenty-five years of marriage in her eyes and heard, without words, that he needed to take charge, right now. She told him that if he didn’t, he would appear weak to the others and the whole expedition would dissolve before its first day.
Evie looked her husband into his soul and silently said that she was proud of what he had accomplished, but that there was so much more to do. She let her eyes say that she believed in him and would stand beside him. Evie asked again, "What should we do, Hank?"
In his wife’s eyes Hank saw twenty-five years of disappointment. How many dreams had he chased and then abandoned? How many failures had they endured? Not because he was incapable, but because he had let something else capture his attention. In his wife’s eyes, Hank saw a warning: Not again. He saw her say, I’ve always believed in you, but you can’t let me down again. H
ank heard her question, but knew that she meant so much more. When she asked, "What should we do, Hank?" she was saying, I’ll back you, whatever you choose to do.
Gently, Hank rested Brody’s head on the ground and then stood up. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, through clenched teeth and puffed cheeks. "All right," he began as he made order of the scene. "TJ," he pointed off through a shaded lawn toward a driveway that could be seen between a gap in some high shrubbery. "Go see if there is a garage on one end of that drive and try to find a shovel in it. If you do, start digging a grave." Not waiting for TJ’s response, he turned to Tom. "Go up this road and see if it comes out. If we can get the Caravan back out to the highway, then bring it up. If not, disconnect the truck and have Camille drive it up here with Theresa.
"Silas," he said as he unholstered Whisper. "Bring in the scooters from the street. Then scout the perimeter for threats. When it’s secured, find a ladder so we can easily access these tree buildings." Waving his hand at the wrappers and cans that the boys had thrown to the ground he said, "It looks like they might have some useful supplies." Turning to his wife, he said, "Evie, look after Dale, Val and Brody while I help with that grave."
He pulled a silver flask from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "It’s spiced rum… administer freely. And keep Dale away from Brody." They both regard the quietly sobbing, fetally curled man and Hank added, "We don’t want to dig another grave."
The Caravan was brought to the end of the street where it dead ended in a cul-de-sac. It was circled like a wagon train and the rest of the refugees rejoined them, with the exception of Amanda who stayed to protect their worldly possessions.
Silas cautioned against staying, because there was a large mass of people taking refuge at a community center about a half-mile away. They had a number of dirt bikes and ATVs, as well as a couple of older pick-ups. He described it as a redneck convention. The refugee’s only protection from notice was that the redneck vehicles were loud and one or more was almost always in operation. Silas cautioned that luck was the only reason they had not already been seen and pointed out that they had now cornered themselves. Curiously, although everyone had consigned military superiority to Silas, the older man deferred to Hank for strategy.
