by Jeff Strand
I wrenched the knife out of his arm and smashed the handle into his face. Troll hit the floor again, his head striking the large can of tomato soup. He let out a soft groan and was still.
“Wrong!” I repeated.
I wiped my hands off on my shirt. My whole body felt icky.
I realized Charlie was still standing in the aisle, watching me. His eyes widened and he hurried away as I took off after him.
Chapter Nine
CATCHING CHARLIE WASN’T difficult. I grabbed him by the back of the collar just as he reached the front counter and yanked him to the ground.
“It wasn’t my fault!” he insisted. “I tried to keep him from hurting you!”
“No, you tried to keep him from sullying your merchandise with my blood. Tell me, were you lying about the phone?”
“No, I swear!”
“Were you lying about the computer?”
“Yes, I swear!”
“How did you going to contact Troll?”
“A walkie-talkie. It’s behind the front counter. But I wasn’t really going to contact him.”
I dragged Charlie with me behind the counter. The two most notable things underneath the counter were a huge stack of porno magazines and a walkie-talkie. I grabbed the walkie-talkie but refrained from commenting on the magazines.
Charlie coughed. “Don’t kill me. I wasn’t going to rat on you, I swear. I hate helping these people, but they forced me to do it and they don’t pay me much!”
The walkie-talkie had a hell of a lot more knobs and buttons on it than any walkie-talkie I’d ever used as a kid. “How does this work?” I asked.
“Press the big black button on the side.”
I pressed the button. “Hello?” I said into the receiver.
A moment of silence, and then: “Troll?”
“No, this is Troll’s captor. You may remember me from the exploding camper incident. To whom might I be speaking?”
“It’s Goblin.”
“Hi, Goblin. Look, I want to cut a deal. You let my wife and kids go, and I’ll let your friend here go.”
“How do I know you’ve really got him?”
I gestured at Charlie with the walkie-talkie. Charlie leaned into it and spoke. “It’s me. Troll is unconscious on my floor.”
I heard a soft curse on the other end.
“I’ve already lost two of my closest friends,” I said, hoping that if he thought Roger and Samantha were dead they wouldn’t look for them, “and you’ve lost one. Now, we can keep whittling down each other’s numbers, or we can cut our losses and call it quits right now.”
“What do you mean, you lost two?”
“Exactly what I said. Call off the hunt and let us work out some kind of truce, or I’ll slit Troll’s throat with his own knife.”
“Well, you see… who am I talking to, anyway?”
“Andrew.”
“Well, Andrew, you see, we’ve got a bit of a problem here, because Ogre tends to have a lack of respect for my title, and he always got along really well with the boy your wife killed, so it seems unlikely he’d listen to me even if I did ask him to give up the chase.”
“I’m not screwing around here,” I said. “I’ll kill him.”
“I wasn’t accusing you of screwing around. But, Andrew, another problem we’ve got is that Troll was never one of the more popular associates in our little group. I don’t want to disrespect the poor guy when he’s this close to death, but he actually made the rest of us kind of uncomfortable. Did you see that knife thing he does?”
“Yeah. What’s up with that?”
“No idea.” Goblin sighed on the other end. “You do what you’ve got to do, Andrew. I can’t honestly say I want you to cut his throat, but I’m afraid it’s not possible for us to work out a deal. I would like to leave you with one last thought, though: Now we know exactly where you are.”
The door opened.
I spun around to see who it was, and caught a flash of Troll running out of the store.
Damn!
Before I’d even finished thinking the word “Damn,” I heard another vehicle approach.
“Is there a back way out of here?” I asked Charlie.
He nodded.
I didn’t think the old man would make a very good hostage. Most likely, they’d happily blow a hole right through his chest if I were standing behind him.
Keeping the walkie-talkie and the hunting knife with me, I rushed into the back room. It was filled with approximately eighty-seven tons of raw clutter and no computer. I spent a few seconds looking for a weapon but had no luck, so I threw open the door and ran outside, shutting the door behind me.
I’d made it about a hundred yards into the forest before I heard the door open again. I looked back and saw both Troll and Witch emerge. They immediately followed me, although Troll didn’t seem to be quite as energetic as Witch.
I ran as fast as I could. If I could get far enough ahead so that they couldn’t see me, I’d loop around to the front of the store and steal one of their trucks.
Please don’t trip, I told myself, since this seemed like the most appropriate moment for me to trip.
I didn’t turn back but I could hear Witch’s footsteps behind me. It sounded like she was gaining.
Then the footsteps stopped.
A gunshot fired, and several leaves flew into the air from the branch it struck. I’d thought I was hauling ass, but I picked up my pace nevertheless.
Another gunshot. This one seemed further off the mark, yet somehow I didn’t feel like dancing a merry jig. My mind turned to other important matters, like the fact that I could fall into a spiked pit at any moment.
I glanced down, and promptly smacked into a branch.
Hard.
Though the branch didn’t poke out anything, it was a violent enough blow that I found myself momentarily dazed. I stopped running and leaned my arm against the tree to keep my balance.
Just ahead I saw a tree much larger than the ones surrounding it. I’d hide behind it and pray they didn’t find me. I stumbled to the tree and cried out as a noose closed around my feet.
I was yanked upside-down, which caused me to drop the knife and walkie-talkie. I dangled there, about four feet off the ground, swaying back and forth.
Okay, this was pretty bad.
But it was important not to be cynical. After all, it was entirely possible that Troll and Witch might walk past without noticing the shirtless guy swinging upside-down from a tree. Or perhaps the blood rushing to my head might increase my powers of thought, allowing me to come up with an unbelievably creative solution to this whole problem involving tree sap, magnetic fields, and my own perspiration. Or I might look so pathetic hanging here that Troll and Witch would take pity on me and let me go.
If you really took the time to think about it carefully, getting caught in this trap was probably the best thing to happen to me all afternoon.
Definitely.
I heard Witch approach and moments later she stepped into view, smiling-as quite naturally she would since she wasn’t the one hanging from a tree. Troll joined her, looking way too peppy for a guy who was still bleeding from being stabbed in the shoulder.
“Well, well, well,” said Troll. “I’m glad to see my hard work setting up all of these traps paid off.”
“Did you make all of them?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“What’s up with the spiked pit? Why take the time to set up that whole spring and board thing? If you’d put some spikes on the bottom it would’ve worked just as well.”
“I have a lot of down time.”
“Makes sense,” I said, getting dizzy.
Witch took her walkie-talkie off her belt. “Goblin, you there?”
Goblin’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Sure am.”
“Troll and I have one of them. Do we kill him or bring him back?”
“Is it Andrew?”
Witch looked at me questioningly. I gave her an upsid
e-down nod.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Then definitely bring him back.”
“You’ve got it. Witch out.” She clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt and turned to Troll. “I’ll keep you covered. Get him down.”
“Don’t worry,” Troll told me. “Pretty soon your body will be hurting a hell of a lot worse than your pride. Which is saying a lot.”
He walked around the tree and out of sight. A moment later, I let out an embarrassing yelp and dropped to the ground, just barely managing to cushion my fall with my hands.
It was a close race, but yes, my body was indeed hurting worse than my pride. Of course, he probably wasn’t referring to the fall, but rather fun stuff to come after the fall.
I pushed myself up. Maybe I could try the old throw-a-handful-of-dirt-into-the-bad-guy’s-eyes-and-kick-them-in-the-stomach-while-they-are-blinded trick.
Or maybe I could admit defeat.
“Look at me,” said Witch.
I did.
“See this gun? We were told to take you back alive, but neither of us will be written up if that fails to happen. So if you try another stunt like you did back at the camper, or anything else, anything, I’ll shoot you in the leg. If you try again, I’ll empty the rest of this gun into your head. Do you understand me?”
I nodded.
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
“Hey, looky here!” said Troll, wandering over and picking up his knife. “I’ve really missed this.” He fondled it, flicked the tip against his leg, and walked toward me. “Maybe I’ll slice him up before we take him back. Just a little.”
“Fine with me, if you do it quick,” said Witch, keeping the gun pointed at my head.
I didn’t try to gather a handful of dirt. That would simply get me shot. As much as I hated to admit it, the only way I’d stay alive and possibly see my family again was to concede defeat.
For now.
Chapter Ten
Helen’s Side
IT’S FINALLY MY turn.
My name is Helen Mayhem. I’ve been marrie d to Andrew for a decade now, and I’ve had to put up with a lot. But you already knew that.
While I don’t feel I’ve necessarily been misrepresented on these pages, give or take a few misquotes, I do think having only one point of view makes me appear less sympathetic than I actually am. I’m not going to dwell on this, because I’m primarily referring to my husband’s first two books and not this one, but I did want to suggest that if you’ve ever found me to be overly grouchy, demanding, and/or overbearing, that you stop to consider whether that attitude may have been justified.
The fact is, if you were married to Andrew, you’d think such an attitude was essential to your very survival.
I could probably go on for a couple of books of my own presenting my side of these adventures, but I don’t want to interrupt the forward momentum any more than absolutely necessary. So I’ll pick up where we left off, with me kicking Ogre in the testicles and fleeing into the woods.
I knew right away that simply running for our lives wasn’t going to work, not with a seven-and a nine-year-old in tow. We had to find a place to hide as quickly as possible. As we ran I looked for large overturned tree trunks, piles of branches, anyplace I could conceal my children.
A shotgun fired. I’m not sure what it hit, but it wasn’t me or my kids.
I grabbed Theresa and Kyle’s hands and screamed for them to run faster. I heard somebody following only steps behind us, so we ran with every ounce of energy we could muster.
He had to have a gun. All of them did, didn’t they?
As far as I knew, we were only still alive at this moment because our pursuer had an aversion to shooting a woman and her children in the back.
The man behind us was gaining, and as close as he was he didn’t have much more to gain. So I let go of my children’s hands and came to a sudden stop, almost in the style of a Warner Brothers cartoon character.
I spun around and swung my fist. I didn’t punch him so much as he ran into my fist with his jaw.
You know, it doesn’t look that way on television, but it hurts to slam your fist into somebody’s face. It hurts like you wouldn’t believe. There’s not a whole lot of cushioning in the jaw area, and I’ve got tiny little hands. For a second I almost thought my hand had popped off from the impact.
The man (not much more than a kid, actually) was knocked off his feet and his gun flew into the air.
I’d like to say I caught it in the dramatic fashion of an action movie star, but I didn’t. It hit the ground next to him. I scooped it up.
The kid grabbed my arm.
I shot him in the chest.
I’d never killed anybody before. Never even injured anybody. Thus far in my life, I’d never delivered physical trauma more severe than a spanking, and I felt guilty for weeks over the spanking, even though Andrew deserved it.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make a joke in the middle of this. I’m not as good at being witty as my husband, so I’m going to stick to a more or less straightforward telling of this narrative as much as possible. It’s just that I feel somewhat compelled to use a lighthearted tone to help get me through this.
Because this time… well, things got really bad.
Blood splattered against my face.
I knew I’d have some hard times dealing with this later, but for now I was a pregnant woman defending her children and I was glad to shoot the son of a bitch.
His fingers tightened around my arm. I yanked away. His arm flopped to the ground.
Ogre, whose five hundred or so pounds had apparently recovered from the groin kick, came into view. He looked absolutely horrified.
I took a shot at him and missed.
I turned around. Kyle and Theresa were standing there, silent, almost in shock.
“Run!” I screamed at them, and then I followed.
We raced through the woods. I prayed to God that Andrew was still alive, but I had to protect my children first.
Behind us, Ogre howled in grief.
We’d only been running for a couple of minutes before Kyle fell. I pulled him to his feet and tried to get him moving, but he fell again.
“Sweetheart, you have to get up,” I insisted. “Do it for Mommy!”
Theresa looked over her shoulder. “I hear Joe!”
I listened. I heard the dog barking, too. “Joe’s going to be fine,” I said. “We have to keep running. Theresa, keep going!”
Theresa ran. I suddenly caught a reflection of light. My stomach gave a lurch, and I screamed: “Theresa, stop!”
She stopped.
I hurried to her. A fishing line ran between two trees, about six inches above the ground. I looked up in the tree and saw something metallic that was mostly hidden by the branches. I couldn’t be sure what it was, but this whole thing definitely had the appearance of a booby trap.
I held out my hand and called Theresa back. “I’m going to hide you two, okay? I’m going to put you up in a tree where it’s safe, and I’ll be right here if anything happens, but I need you to be completely quiet, no matter what. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Mommy,” said Theresa. Kyle nodded.
I watched the ground, now paranoid there might be traps lurking everywhere, and hurried to a nice-sized tree with a low first branch. I hoisted Kyle up.
“Climb up a couple of branches and hide. I’ll let you know if I can see you or not.”
As Kyle climbed, I took Theresa to another tree about ten feet away and instructed her to do the same.
I walked to Kyle’s tree and looked up. He was slightly visible, but only if you knew where to look. Once Theresa was equally well-hidden, I climbed a tree in the middle of the two and hid myself.
I didn’t feel safe having myself and my kids trapped like this, with no way to escape, but I felt even less safe about running through booby-trapped wilderness.
Please let Andrew be okay.
<
br /> And Roger.
And Samantha.
At least I knew Joe was doing okay. I heard the dog barking as it ran toward our location.
What if Joe triggered a trap?
Worse, what he if gave away our position?
“Kyle, Theresa, no matter what, do not say anything! Not a word! Not a noise!”
Joe’s barking sounded far away. He must’ve been going in the wrong direction. Not much of a tracker dog.
I was very proud of Theresa and Kyle. I couldn’t hear a peep out of them. I desperately hoped they’d get to meet their new little brother or sister.
I fidgeted with the gun in my hand. I wished I knew how many bullets I had left, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to expel the clip and I didn’t want to risk messing anything up.
I’d just have to make sure every shot counted.
I wasn’t wearing a watch, so I couldn’t be sure how long we waited, but it was at least fifteen minutes and probably more.
Then I saw Ogre.
He was doing a strange half-walk, half-run. He looked more insanely pissed than anybody I have ever seen, in real life or in the movies. And he was coming our way.
How come the dog was off-course but the human was walking right toward us?
I carefully aimed the revolver at him. I didn’t like the idea of being a sniper, but I could do it.
Mentally, that is. In terms of gun skills… well, I had none. I knew you pulled the trigger to fire and not much else. Yeah, I could shoot somebody in the chest when they were lying on the ground right in front of me, but beyond that my marksmanship skills were questionable.
I’d only shoot if absolutely necessary. The last thing I wanted to do was fire, miss, and discover I was out of bullets.
I held my breath as Ogre lumbered into our general area.
Maybe we’d get lucky and he’d walk right through the booby trap. That would be nice.
I wished I’d climbed higher into the tree, but it was too late now.
He kept moving, belly jiggling with each step. His breathing was labored.
Then he slowed down, eyeing the trap. He gave the fishing line a wide berth, and picked up his pace, heading right for the gap between my tree and Kyle’s.
