by Jeff Strand
“My wife’s leg is broken!” I said. “She can’t move.”
“…six… five…”
“It’s pinned under some suitcases! She can’t go anywhere!” I moved over to the rear of the camper, where Roger was hurriedly moving our gear out of the way.
“…four… three… two…”
“I’m serious!”
“…one. Time’s up. How about we toast those marshmallows for you?”
Seconds later, a bottle fell through the broken window on what was now the camper’s ceiling. A bottle with burning cloth stuffed into the neck. The Molotov cocktail struck the wood paneling and burst into flames, separating me from my family and forcing Roger and I to squish against the rear of the camper.
As the camper filled with smoke, Joe rushed around the flames, barking loudly, to where Roger and I stood. I could barely see Helen on the other side, her arms wrapped tightly around Theresa and Kyle.
A second Molotov cocktail fell right where the first had landed. Believe it or not, I’d been in worse situations, but this one sucked pretty intensely.
I picked up the closest weapon: Kyle’s Wiffle bat.
Roger found one of the fishing poles.
A third Molotov cocktail shattered against the wood, which kind of seemed like overkill by this point. The camper was so filled with smoke I couldn’t see my wife and kids anymore, though I heard Helen coughing.
Joe squirmed underneath a blanket.
Obviously, we couldn’t stay in the camper any longer. I crawled out through the rear window, coughing as well. Though my eyes burned and my vision was a bit blurry, the shotgun barrel two feet from my face was perfectly clear.
Roger followed me. He immediately was faced with a shotgun barrel of his very own.
A woman held the shotgun pointed at me. She had dirty black hair cut short, and looked about forty. Her blue jeans had holes in the knees and she wore a white lab coat with a few dried bloodstains. Her ID badge identified her as “Witch.”
Roger’s new buddy, “Troll,” was also in his forties. He wore shorts and a light blue T-shirt, which showed off dozens, maybe hundreds, of scars on his arms and legs. There were also four or five fresh cuts. A large knife with a serrated edge dangled from his belt, and he wore a rather nice tie that matched his shirt.
Smoke billowed from the overturned camper, and I couldn’t see Helen, Kyle, and Theresa behind it.
“Look at this mess you made,” said Goblin, gesturing toward the camper and damaged trucks as he walked over to us. “That was pretty damn stupid. I should have Troll cut you up for that.”
Troll flashed me a rotten-toothed grin.
Helen stepped into view from behind the camper, staggering. She held Kyle’s and Theresa’s hands. The big guy (five hundred pounds, at least) I assumed was Ogre was behind them, along with a kid who looked about twenty.
“Oh, yeah, he could cut you up real nice,” said Goblin. “Make you look as bad as he does. Do you have a special attachment to any of those fingers of yours? How about your nose?” He flicked my nose with his index finger. “Would you mind so terribly if he sliced off your nose?”
I didn’t respond.
“What about the kids’ noses? Would you like that?” He looked over at Theresa and Kyle, and then back at me. “They’re yours, right? They sorta look like you. Let’s just hope they grow up with better problem-solving skills.”
Goblin didn’t seem particularly worried about any other vehicles approaching, so clearly they’d blocked off the road. He also didn’t seem concerned about Samantha’s escape, which probably wasn’t a good sign.
“Don’t you have anything clever to say?” Goblin asked me. “You were pretty clever in the camper. You made the marshmallow comment, remember? Joking in the face of danger. Pretty brave. Say something clever now.”
“A husband and wife were both fortune tellers who desperately needed money, so they decided to have a kid. Do you know why?”
Goblin frowned. “Why?”
“To make a little prophet.”
Goblin stared at me.
“I made that up,” I said.
“Just now?”
“No. But I thought it was pretty clever. Your turn.”
Goblin smiled. “Sure. Troll, do me a favor and slice off his hand. Is that clever enough for you?”
Troll handed his shotgun to Goblin, keeping it pointed at me, then withdrew the knife from his belt.
Then Joe ran out of the camper, still covered in the blanket. It was, in fact, Kyle’s blanket, featuring the children’s television abomination Zany the Chipper Chipmunk. The poor dog ran in circles, desperately trying to get untangled.
Goblin and the others watched with amusement.
“Don’t hurt Joe!” Kyle wailed.
“Don’t hurt Joe?” Goblin asked. “How about I put Joe out of his misery?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Helen move. She kicked Ogre exactly where I’m sure he least wanted to be kicked, where he had no blubber to protect him, and she kicked hard. The behemoth dropped to his knees and howled in agony.
In a flash, Helen, Theresa, and Kyle fled toward the woods, followed by the kid.
I swung the Wiffle bat as hard as I could, smacking Witch on the side of the head. You’d be amazed what kind of impact you can get with one of those things. Though Witch didn’t drop her shotgun, she definitely felt some pain.
Roger smacked Troll with the fishing pole, which snapped in half.
Goblin spun around and aimed the shotgun at Helen.
Fired.
As I lunged at him, he spun the shotgun back at me, catching me in the face with the barrel. I fell to the ground.
Troll stabbed at Roger with the knife, missing by millimeters.
Goblin pressed the barrel of the shotgun against my chest.
I watched as Ogre got to his feet and hurried off into the woods with surprising speed for somebody so large. I couldn’t see Helen, but I heard her shouting for Theresa and Kyle to run faster, shouting with far too much energy for her to have been shot.
Goblin pushed down hard on the shotgun, grinding the hot barrel into my chest. I let out a yelp of pain.
Something happened to Roger. I didn’t see what. He fell to the ground next to me.
A gunshot fired in the woods.
Then another.
“What do you think? I bet that second one went through your daughter’s fucking skull!” Goblin sneered, raised the shotgun barrel just a bit, and slammed it back down onto my chest. “Maybe the first one only wounded your wife. Maybe she’ll bleed to death. Sound good to you?”
Another gunshot.
“Oooooh, I bet that one got your son. His brains are probably splattered all over one of those trees. Wanna go see?”
Witch laughed and kicked Roger in the side.
An agonized scream sounded from the woods.
Joe, suddenly free of the blanket, hurried after Helen and the kids.
Goblin frowned. “Was that Ogre?”
Witch nodded. “Sounded like him.”
“Troll, go see what’s going on.”
Another agonized scream echoed, but it wasn’t one of physical pain.
Troll rushed toward the woods, then stopped as Ogre emerged from behind the burning camper, holding the kid in his arms. The kid was limp, his shirt soaked with blood. “She got Ghoul!” Ogre screamed. “The bitch shot him!”
Goblin turned away from me but kept the shotgun in place. “Oh, Christ, no. How bad is he hurt?”
Ogre was almost in tears. “I dunno… I think he’s dying… she got him really bad…”
“Cover them,” Goblin said to Witch as he hurried to the others. “Hey, Ghoul, can you hear me? You can hear me, right? You’re gonna be okay, I promise!”
Ogre crouched down and gently laid the kid on the ground. Goblin pulled up his shirt to examine the wound. “Aw, shit! Shit!” He ran his hand through Ghoul’s hair. “It’s fine, you’ll be fine, we’ll get you help.”
Witch looked like she desperately wanted to help, but she kept her shotgun pointed at Roger and me.
“Get me something to stop the bleeding!” Goblin gestured frantically. “There! Get that dog’s blanket!”
Troll grabbed Kyle’s blanket and tossed it to Goblin. Goblin pressed the corner of the blanket against Ghoul’s chest. I couldn’t see Ghoul’s face, but he certainly didn’t seem to be moving.
Goblin kept one hand pressed against the blanket and wiped his eyes with the other. “What the hell is the matter with us today? We lost four of ‘em, Ghoul got shot… this is bullshit!”
Ogre glared at me. “We’ll make those two suffer.”
“Oh yeah,” said Goblin. “We’ll chop them up. We’ll cut them down to the molecular level. Troll, go after the wife and kids. But be careful, it sounds like she still has a gun.”
Troll shook his head. “I’m staying with Ghoul.”
“I didn’t say it was optional!”
“I’ll get them,” said Ogre. “I’ll rip off her head. She won’t get far with two little kids.”
“Fine, you go then. But hurry!”
Ogre ran into the woods.
“How’s he doing?” Witch asked.
“He’s coughing up blood… I don’t think he’s going to…” Goblin trailed off. “Aw, Christ.”
“What?”
“I think he’s dead. Yeah, he is. He’s gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Witch cursed under her breath as her eyes glistened.
I kicked her in the shin as hard as I could and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun. Roger jumped up and lunged for the weapon as well, quickly wrenching it out of her grip. Before Goblin could open fire, Roger had the shotgun jammed against Witch’s back.
“Drop your gun or you’ll lose another one!” Roger shouted as Goblin pointed the shotgun at me.
“Just blow him away!” Witch demanded.
Goblin hesitated.
We stood in silence for a long moment. I cringed, expecting Goblin to pull the trigger at any instant.
Then Goblin chuckled without humor. “This has been one unproductive day.”
“Drop the shotgun or I’ll kill her!” Roger shouted. “I mean it!”
“Really?” asked Goblin. “You’re the kind of guy who would shoot a woman in the back, huh?”
“If I have to, yeah.”
“And what if I call your bluff?”
“Then we might have another four dead bodies here.”
Goblin considered Roger’s threat. “So you’re saying you and I would end up killing each other at the same time, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Seems unlikely. I think the more realistic scenario is three dead bodies, not four.”
“Maybe. But if I shoot you before you shoot me, I’ll take out your friend back there, too. That’s four.”
“But you only have two shells.”
On one hand, I wanted to call for an end to this ridiculous conversation, but on the other hand, it was keeping me alive.
“One last time,” said Roger. “Drop the gun.”
Goblin shook his head. “I’m not going to drop the gun. You know that. I’m fully prepared to take this as far as it will go.”
“So am I.”
“Then there’s a lot more blood to come. But let me make a counter-offer. Let Witch go and I’ll let you go. I don’t care how we do it… you guys can slowly back into the woods and keep your gun pointed at her. It doesn’t matter to me, but you might want to make a decision soon, because I’ll wager Ogre isn’t too far behind your friend’s wife and kids if he hasn’t caught them already.”
Roger glanced at me. I nodded. Sure, I didn’t trust these guys, but I definitely wasn’t in favor of a shotgun blast to the stomach.
Roger backed up a couple of steps, keeping the gun pointed at Witch. I backed up as well. The others watched us carefully.
We backed up a few more steps, walking faster.
It really did look like they were going to let us go.
And then the damned camper exploded.
Chapter Seven
A PIECE OF SHRAPNEL, I’m not sure exactly what, slashed across my cheek as Roger and I were thrown to the ground by the force of the blast. I struck the dirt hard and my shoulder instantly went numb.
Roger’s shotgun fell out of his hands and went off, putting a huge bloody hole in the side of one lunatic. Unfortunately, that lunatic was Ghoul, who was already conveniently dead.
Goblin, Witch, and Troll hit the ground as well, but they were recovering quickly. As Roger and I lurched to our feet, it was clear our best bet was to rely upon the age-old tradition of getting the hell out of there as fast as we could.
We had two options: Run into the left side of the woods, following Samantha, or run into the right side of the woods, following Helen and the kids.
Since we were already on the left side of the road, going after Helen would’ve added a few more seconds to our dash, almost guaranteeing we’d be shot down.
Roger ran to the left.
I followed him.
We made it into the woods right before the first shot went off, striking a tree just inches from my head. Several more shots fired as we sprinted between the trees, emitting obscenities at an almost supernatural rate.
I knew we’d have to circle around and go after my family, but for now our only chance to stay alive was to run.
Though the gunshots continued, nobody seemed to be pursuing us.
After about a minute, they stopped shooting.
After about five minutes, we stopped running.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” asked Roger, as I slowed down to a walk.
I shook my head. “It’s probably not. But we can’t afford to get lost, not with everybody else still out there.”
Roger suddenly looked crestfallen. “Do you think Samantha’s okay?”
“She’s probably riding a tank to our rescue right now.”
“I’m sure Helen got away,” Roger assured me. “And, hell, if they did catch her, you know they’d regret it in a big way.”
I smiled, although it was more than a little forced. “Yeah, all she’d have to do is give them The Gaze and they’d run screaming like babies.”
“Absolutely.”
We walked in silence. I ran my finger across the cut on my cheek and found it wasn’t bleeding too badly. At least I had that going for me.
“Oh, and I paid extra for insurance on the camper,” I said. “Good call, huh?”
“You’re the man.”
“This is the new Andrew Mayhem. Yeah, I’m still spending half of my life pursued by homicidal deviants, but I’m doing it knowing the damages to the camper are fully covered.”
“I always knew you had it in you to become a responsible citizen.”
I sighed. Joking around really wasn’t helping me feel any less terrified about what might be happening to my wife and children.
“Maybe we should call out for Samantha,” Roger said.
“That’ll give away our position.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think they chased us. She might need help.”
I nodded. “You’re right.”
Roger cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted Samantha’s name.
Silence.
Then, distantly: “I’m here!”
She was to our left, in the direction of the store. Roger took off running and I followed. She yelled again, and it took three or four minutes to reach her. Or at least where we thought she was.
“Samantha?” Roger shouted.
“I’m here!” she said, sounding extremely close. “Down here!”
Down here? That didn’t sound good.
And it wasn’t.
Samantha had fallen into a pit, about six feet square and six feet deep. She was pinned against the side, her hair messed up, her face contorted with pain, and her shoulder covered with blood.
&n
bsp; Her arms were fully extended and her hands were pressed against a large vertical wooden board, the same size of the pit and about two inches thick. Dozens of wooden spikes were imbedded in it. From the gash on Samantha’s right hand, it looked like one of the spikes had ripped across her index finger as she blocked the board.
The board was on a giant spring that protruded from the site of the pit. Clearly, when she’d fallen into the pit, the spring had released, hurtling the board at her. A bunch of dirt and some crumpled cellophane showed how they’d hidden the trap.
Roger crouched next to the edge of the pit. “How long have you been holding that thing?”
“I’m not sure… a few minutes…”
“Keep holding on. We’ll get you out of there.”
“I don’t know if you can,” said Samantha, her voice trembling. “I’m only alive because my foot got wedged under it.”
I glanced down. Indeed, her right foot was extended and stuck underneath the board. It looked excruciatingly painful.
“How bad is it?” Roger asked.
“Broken, for sure. I might be able to pull it out, but if I do, I won’t be able to hold this thing back.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Roger insisted. “It really doesn’t look all that bad from up here.”
Some sweat trickled into Samantha’s eyes and she blinked it away. “You’re cute when you lie.”
I grabbed a branch off the ground, broke it in half, and tried to wedge it between the wall of the pit and the board. It was too long to fit. I broke off a piece of it, tried again, and it dropped to the bottom. This is why I failed shop class in high school.
Roger placed his hands against the top of the board and tried to push. “I can’t get any leverage.”
There was no way sticks were going to work. I leapt down into the safe side of the pit, gripped the top of the board, and tried to pull it back. It refused to budge. Roger jumped down and helped me, and with the two of us working together, pulling as hard as we could, we managed to move it just a bit…
But just a bit is all.
What would happen when Samantha got her foot free?
“Guys, I can’t feel my arms. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this.”
