by Jeff Altabef
My forehead collides with the floor. I rise to my knees when the beam from the flashlight catches my attention. The light finds a speck of silver on the wall. A silver twisted arrows symbol is carved into the corner of the room. It’s so small we would probably have missed it.
I stand on shaky legs.
Troy struggles to get up when Slicked Back Hair plays soccer with his head.
Thud!
His neck snaps back. He crumples and lies still on the floor.
I’m so angry my whole body shakes. My hands ball up into fists when Slicked Back Hair pulls a revolver from the small of his back and aims the gun at Troy’s prone figure. “Make another move and I plug your boyfriend.” He speaks calmly and measured and is more terrifying because of the control in his voice. “We’re supposed to take you alive. Him,” he nods toward Troy, “we don’t need.”
My hands shoot up. I take him at his word. From the look on his face, I figure he’ll enjoy killing Troy if given an excuse. The second guy who grabbed my hair glides in front of me and stops no more than three feet from my face. He smells like peppermint. He’s shorter than Slicked Back Hair, wider in the chest, and clumsier looking.
He smiles at me and reveals a gold front tooth. “She’s the one we’re looking for mate,” he says with a slight English accent. “She’s the medicine man’s granddaughter.”
What has Sicheii gotten us into?
I stare at Troy and my heart tightens as if a tourniquet twists it. He’s breathing, but he’s still out cold, blood splashed on his face. How badly is he hurt?
“Don’t worry about him, love,” Gold Tooth says. “We won’t kill him if you come with us peacefully.”
“Try to run for it, and I’ll gladly put a bullet in his skull.” The sneer on Slicked Back Hair’s face ominous and unmistakable.
Gold Tooth shoves me toward the front door. “We’re going for a ride. If your grandfather behaves, you’ll be fine.”
When was the last time Sicheii behaved?
Panic swells inside me. I fight the urge to check on Troy. I need him to be safe. This is my fault.
“Come on now. We don’t have all night.” Slicked Back Hair points the revolver back at Troy.
I have to go. The faster I leave with them, the safer he’ll be. If I give Slicked Back Hair an excuse, he’ll shoot him for sure, so I go quietly with them, shuffling my feet in short quick steps, just short of a run. I need to leave Troy behind to get Slicked Back Hair and his gun away from him.
I exhale when we leave the house. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath, but at least they’ve left without shooting Troy. Maybe he’ll be safe. I cling to that thought like a life preserver.
Slicked Back Hair grabs my arm and pulls me toward the back of the van. His fingers dig in my flesh. Gold Tooth opens the double doors and removes steel handcuffs from a hook, while grinning at me. It is a wicked grin, a sadistic grin, a scary grin. His eyes are alive with dark possibilities.
I stare at the handcuffs fearfully as moonlight reflects off the shiny surface. I don’t want them circling my wrists. I don’t want to go in the back of the van. “There must be some mistake. I haven’t done anything. I’m sure my grandfather will tell you whatever you want to know, if we just call him.”
Gold Tooth grabs me from behind and wraps his thick hands around my shoulders. I struggle, but he’s bear strong and I can’t budge. Slicked Back Hair clasps the cuffs tight on my wrists, takes my iPhone from my back pocket, and tosses me into the back of the van. He connects a two-foot chain to the cuffs and locks it into an iron ring in the floor with a heavy padlock. The ring looks worn.
How many other people have they captured this way?
A new level of fear ripples through me. Panic trickles down my spine. I want to cry, but I stuff the tears down my throat. I yank on the chains with both hands and they hold.
“My, she is a feisty one. Usually they start begging by now.” Gold Tooth laughs at me. “Pulling on those chains won’t help you. Be good and we’ll try not to hurt you.”
“What about the boy?” Slicked Back Hair asks. A certain amount of eagerness animates his voice. He’s a predator and senses an easy kill. My heart sinks and my hands turn clammy. In my mind I shout, No! Don’t kill Troy! Please. Anything but that! But no words slip past my lips. I can’t breathe.
Gold Tooth glances back at the house. “Piss off. The Seeker wants as little mess as possible, mate. Let’s deliver the girl first. We can always kill him later if he wants. He won’t be hard to find.”
The doors slam shut, plunging my world into darkness. I can breathe again. At least Troy is safe for now. I try to survey the inside of the van, but it takes a full minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Cardboard covers the back windows. Only a slight trace of light escapes from the small, round window separating the back of the van from the front.
The van starts with a healthy rumble, and we lurch away from the curb. My heart races in my chest like a scared rabbit. I don’t know who these people are, but they’re serious, and I’m in trouble.
I yank hard on the chains. They hold, but the iron ring gives a tiny bit. I try again and get the same result. I’m not strong enough to yank the ring loose, so I inch close to it on hands and knees to inspect the clasp.
The van takes a left turn, probably onto Route 100. Left is toward town. The metal ring is connected to the van by two heavy screws. I clumsily reach into my front pocket and pull out the small screwdriver Troy gave me.
A whisper of hope flutters through me. I go to work on the right screw and hope they won’t look back and see what I’m up to. I sneak a glance at the small window. They think I’m nothing but a helpless teenage girl. I need to be more.
The van moves slowly. They probably don’t want to attract any attention. Still, I only have a few minutes. Once they clear town or they arrive where they’re going, I will have no chance. I twist the screwdriver using all my strength. My hand aches as the small tool digs into my palm. Sweat pours down my face as the screw gives—slowly at first, and then more easily. The van stops, and I jump away from the ring.
I glare at the small window and see Gold Tooth smiling back at me. When the van starts again, he blows me a kiss and turns away. I tug on the chains. Only one screw secures the ring this time. It lifts more than it did before, but the screw holds and so does the ring. I scoot over and try the screwdriver on the left screw, but this one is fastened too tightly for the small tool to loosen. The screwdriver bends in my hand and snaps. Terror rips through me. I’m more scared than I’ve ever been, but I can’t give in to the fear.
The van stops again. We’re at the center of town. One more stoplight and they will probably head for the highway. I need a new plan. Time is running out.
When I scramble to the side of the van, the two-foot chain pulls tight. There’s an indent in the van’s sidewall where the back wheel sits. It’s large enough for my feet to wedge against. When we start moving, I jam both my feet against the indent, focus all my attention on my legs and push.
The ring loosens. I concentrate harder, first on the muscles in my feet, then legs, arms and hands. Strength I have never felt before flows through me. It’s as if the muscles hear the desperate plea from my brain and oblige. I push with my legs and pull with my arms and strain every ounce of energy in my body. I focus on nothing but yanking the chain loose.
A soft groan escapes my lips. The ring springs free with a clank. My back bangs hard against the side of the van. I glance at the window toward the cab—nothing. Heavy Metal music floats back from the front.
Good, listen to the music. Don’t worry about me. I’m just a helpless little girl.
Only one stoplight remains. I slide for the back doors, waiting, hoping for a red light, hoping for a chance. If the van doesn’t slow, we’ll speed out of town and it’ll be too late. I’ve been stuck at this light more times than I can count. I just need a little bit of luck.
The van slows, the brakes squeak, and my ha
nd clutches the latch. I count to three and turn. The door opens, and I jump out. My shoulder hits the pavement hard. The car behind us blasts his horn, slams on the brakes, and locks his tires, burning rubber in the process. I roll toward the sidewalk, jump to my feet and run.
The pavement pounds hard against my feet, and my shoulder stings with jarring pain. A few faceless people float past me on the street. My hands are still cuffed, but the two-foot chain falls away behind me.
I look over my shoulder toward the van. The passenger door flings open. As I turn back in front of me, I crash right into the chest of Mr. Cordingly of all people. He catches me before I fall. He frowns and is about to say something nasty when he looks me over and notices the cuffs, my ripped shirt, and bloody shoulder. He looks behind me and sees the van, and a steely look settles into his eyes that I’ve never seen before.
“Run! They have guns!”
Cordingly pushes me behind him. “I will not. You are a student under my care.” He slides between the van and me. “Go. I will stop them.”
For an instant, I don’t know what to do. What chance does he have against Gold Tooth? But he makes my decision for me when he steps forward to meet Gold Tooth who’s sprinting toward us. I turn and run, pumping my legs as fast as possible. The street blurs past me when a gunshot rings out. I stumble for a step before I regain my balance and keep going. I don’t look back. There’s no need. Tears spring to my eyes when I take a hard left down a side street. My lungs ache.
My vision blurs and my legs start to burn when a dark sedan pulls to the side of the road next to me. The door opens, and a face jumps out of the car.
“Here, Juliet!” The voice is foreign, but I know that face. It’s the same face from Mom’s photograph. I dive into the sedan and slam the door shut.
The back windshield explodes. My father stomps on the gas and tires screech as we race away. He jerks the car hard to the right. The backend fishtails, but we’re in the clear.
“We have to go back for Troy.”
“Who’s Troy?”
“He’s my best friend.” My entire body feels as if flesh and bone have been replaced by led and bolts. I can’t move my arms or lift my head. “He’s at Roundtree’s house.”
My head explodes in white light. I fight hard, but my eyes close, and when they do I see nothing but blackness.
I hear garbled voices that sound as if they’re whispered outside on a windy day. “You should have shown her the letters, Summer... she doesn’t even know...” I try to hear the rest of the conversation, knowing it’s important and about me, but the wind picks up and blackness returns.
Mom talks to a doctor. “When will she come around? It’s been two days.” She sounds scared. I want to tell her I’m okay, that she doesn’t have to worry about me, so I try to pry open my eyes, but the lids are impossibly heavy.
“It is up to her,” a soft voice says. “She still has a high fever.”
I fall into all-consuming blackness again. I don’t know how long, but eventually the darkness turns to color. Troy sits with me on the cliff high above Slippery River. The sun is bright and the colors vivid. He frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“You need to embrace your inner swan,” he says casually, as if he’s making sense.
“What do swans have to do with anything?” Before he answers, a red-shouldered hawk calls from high above. The red feathers on its wings are flames that glisten in the sun. The colors twist together, and suddenly I am the hawk—well, not really. I’m still me, but I can see what the hawk sees.
He circles above Devil’s Peak. There’s a ledge high up toward the summit. The hawk circles lower again, and the sunlight glitters off the twisted arrows symbol carved into the stone.
The hawk squawks, and the world twists back to the way it was—Troy sits beside me again. I reach for his hand, but he pulls his out of reach. “You can’t be ashamed of who you are. You’re part of the Tribe.”
My face flushes with heat. “I know, but Bartens is different. How can I fit in? I can’t...”
His eyes narrow and his face pinches together. “You want to be just like Tiffany and Morgan, don’t you?”
“No, that’s not it!” I shout, but part of me is jealous of them, wants to be accepted by them, wants to belong in their world. I despise myself for feeling that way. I hate them, but they have everything I’m supposed to want. My emotions jumble together. It’s impossible to know what’s real and what’s imaginary.
“When you reject the Tribe, you reject me.”
“You don’t understand. I just want a future.” My shoulders fold down, and I lean back against the cliff face. Tears moisten my eyes. I look away, not wanting to see him so cross.
“I understand, Little Bird,” he says, but his voice sounds old and weathered like my grandfather’s voice. When I glance up, Sicheii sits with me.
I try to slide away, but there isn’t enough room on the ledge to go more than a few feet. “What have you done? Those men wanted to take me. They were going to kill me. They said they need something from you.”
“It is not what I’ve done, but what you haven’t done. The fault lies with you.” He stands. There isn’t much room on the ledge. His toes dangle over the edge.
My heart leaps. Sicheii’s gray eyes look dark and disappointed. He switches his gaze to the river below.
Worry whips through me. “Don’t jump. I’ll do better. Tell me what to do.” The wind picks up, and his straw hat blows off his head and floats toward the river.
He frowns. “It might be too late. I warned you.” He jumps without uttering another word. I lean over the edge and stare down toward the river, but he’s gone. I see the hawk again. This time, he beats his wings, just one powerful stroke and flies off into the distance.
A cold breeze brushes against my face. I feel an urge to jump. My feet inch close to the ledge. A small stone careens toward the canyon below. The wind gusts. The pull to jump is too strong. He wants me to leap. I’m certain of it, as certain as heat on a summer day. I bend my legs and spring forward. The river rushes toward me. I scream and open my eyes.
Mom holds my hand. She looks old. Her hair, pulled back in a low ponytail, appears dull and listless. Her face is colorless, with wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes. When she notices my eyes have opened, she smiles, and her face transforms like the sun breaking through clouds on an overcast day. Some of her youth and beauty return. She squeezes my hand tighter.
“Welcome back, sweetie,” she whispers as if she’s concerned she might chase me away if she speaks too loudly. “How do you feel?’
Where am I?
I glance around and find myself in a private hospital room. An intravenous line is plugged into my right arm, my shoulder aches, and my mind feels sluggish as if I’m wading through a marsh. Rain darts against a dark window. The staccato pelting sharpens my thoughts.
“I’m okay. Just a little tired. What happened?” I attempt to sit up, but my body feels heavy and lethargic. I only manage a half-shuffle to shift partway up when the pain in my shoulder barks. The lines in Mom’s face deepen.
“Don’t worry, Mom.”
She squeezes my hand. “Don’t try to sit up so fast.”
I shake my head as memories return and bolt upright as if someone has thrown a bucket of ice water in my face. “Where’s Troy? Is he okay? We’ve got to find him.”
“He’s fine, Jules.” She stands and leans in close, gently stroking my cheek. “He has a broken nose, but it will heal.”
“What about Mr. Cordingly? Is he all right?” I remember the protective look in his eyes and the gunshot. Mom’s expression and her ghostlike color tell me the answer even before she says anything.
She shakes her head. “He didn’t make it.”
The air is knocked out of me. I gasp for breath. Mr. Cordingly saved my life. He traded his life for mine.
“Does he have a family?” The words sound lame. He sacrificed his life for mine and I don’t even
know if he has a family.
“He has a brother back in England, but other than him, he had no one.” Mom tenderly brushes some loose strands of hair from my face. “Don’t blame yourself, honey.” She tears up. “If it wasn’t for your father... I don’t want to think what would have happened.” Her voice cracks.
I breathe deeply, the air filling my lungs. My father saved me. He must have gone back for Troy.
My father?
When I look up, I see him standing behind Mom with his hand on her shoulder, Mom’s fingers circling on top of his.
What in the world is happening?
“Jules, this is your father.” She squeezes his hand again as he slides around her to the side of the bed. His long, thin fingers grab the guardrail, and his pale complexion contrasts with Mom’s dark skin.
“Hello, Juliet.” His voice is soft and sweet, which is not at all like I imagined it. He stands a full head taller than Mom and wears a t-shirt that fits comfortably over his lanky frame. His bright sapphire eyes sparkle, and he has the same longish, pointy nose as mine. He smiles at me and my mind careens in circles. The clatter in my head grows louder, as if a child just received a drum set on Christmas and is playing in my head.
I fight through the racket. “What are you doing here?” The anger in my voice surprises me. After all, didn’t he just save me? I should be thankful, but sixteen years of anger bullies any other feelings out of the way.
“When I heard about the murders, I came right way,” he says. “I knew Jake was mixed up in it just like before. I was worried about you. I needed to protect you.”
The drumming in my head starts to sound like voices, but I can’t hear what they are saying. “Just like before?” I fight through the clamor, but it’s maddening. “What are you talking about? What’s Sicheii involved in?”
The door opens. Sheriff Daniels and Deputy Johnson step into the room, each holding a hat by their waists. They have solemn expressions on their faces and move slowly, as if they are inching toward me with bad news. Mom gives them a cautionary glance, and they stop. Worry darkens her eyes.
