by Jeff Strand
Swish!
The dart struck the bottom of my shoe. My uninjured foot, on the heel. It didn’t break through to the skin.
I lifted my foot to the nearest branch, careful not to put my heel on it and push the dart in deeper. It remained wedged in my shoe. I continued to climb.
I heard the woman curse.
“Come down from there!” she shouted. “Don’t be suicidal!”
She sounded frustrated. Maybe this meant she was out of darts.
I pulled myself up higher, scraping the hell out of my arm against a particularly sharp branch.
“Helen, this is ridiculous! You can’t get away!”
I looked down. She was standing directly underneath me, probably thirty feet below. She cursed again, kicked the base of the tree, and then reached for the lowest branch.
Outclimbing her was going to be a bitch.
More than a bitch. Impossible. Even if I had a fire hose pumping adrenaline directly into my bloodstream, it wasn’t gonna happen. I was still exhausted from my encounter with Ogre, and now every movement of my foot shot waves of pain all the way up my leg.
But I kept climbing. About halfway up the tree, it started to feel quite a bit less sturdy.
“What do you think you’re going to do, Helen?” asked the woman. She was only a couple of body-lengths behind me. “Climb the air after you’ve run out of tree? Come on down and let’s settle this without me having to knock you to the ground.”
I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t waste any energy by speaking.
The next branch I grabbed broke off in my hand and I momentarily lost my balance. I flailed, snatched another branch, and managed to prevent myself from saving the woman the effort of knocking me to the ground.
But what was I going to do when I got to the top of the tree?
I looked to the side. The next climbable tree was about ten feet away. There was no way I could jump straight across, but if I got in a really good leap I might be able to grab one of the lower branches as I fell.
I pulled myself up to the next branch. The woman climbed behind me, gaining quickly. She was directly beneath me, which suddenly gave me an idea.
I slammed my good foot against the branch. The dart in my shoe stayed in place. I slammed it once, twice, three more times, and then the dart came free.
The woman gasped.
I watched the dart fall.
It dropped past her arm and harmlessly hit the ground below.
The woman seemed more than a little upset by this near-miss, and scurried after me with renewed energy. I reached for the next branch, which bent in half instead of supporting my weight. I grabbed another one, which also bent but not quite as much.
I eased myself a couple of steps out onto the branch I stood on. It wobbled beneath me. I swore I heard a cracking sound. If I was going to jump, I had to do it now, without thinking about it.
Of course, I’d already thought about it.
The branch beneath me snapped.
I let out a squeal as I hung there. I stretched out my good foot, trying to find something to stand on, but no branch was within reach.
As I struggled to pull myself up, the branch I held bowed downward.
The woman reached out and grabbed for my bad foot. I swung it out of the way. She grabbed again, this time getting a handful of shoelace. She pulled my foot toward her then wrapped her fingers around my injured ankle and squeezed. I screamed, shut my eyes as if that would block out the pain, and lost my grip on the branch.
Freefall.
But only for a second. My butt smacked the next lower branch. I involuntarily leaned forward and continued falling, arms flailing wildly.
I struck the next lower branch with my shoulder.
The next with my knee.
The next one broke my fall. I scrambled to get myself oriented again, and climbed down the tree while the woman followed me, our chase now reversed.
Getting down required less energy, and I tried to favor my good foot as I dropped to each lower branch. Again, the woman was gaining. Quickly.
When she was only one body-length away from me, she slammed her foot down on my hand. I let out another scream and fell. This time no branches broke my fall, and I plummeted about fifteen feet to the ground, landing once again on my ass.
I just lay there for a moment, dazed.
The woman hurried down after me.
I tried to sit up but couldn’t. I couldn’t move.
Oh, God, what if I’d damaged my spinal column?
A lifetime of paralysis was a scary thought, although a useless concern, since if I was paralyzed I wouldn’t be surviving the next couple of minutes.
The woman dropped to the ground at my feet. She wiped her hands off on her shirt and regarded me with disgust.
“I hate manual labor,” she said. “It’s a waste of my skills. When I have to chase you up and down a tree, all it does is make me think that instead of bringing you in alive like I’m supposed to, I should just kill you.”
“Please,” I said, hating myself for begging. “Just let-”
“Stop it. I don’t want to hear it. If you think I feel any sympathy for a pathetic helpless female, you’re wrong in a big way. Now, here’s the question that determines whether you die quickly and painlessly, or slowly and miserably: Where are your kids?”
“Fuck you.”
The woman sighed. “Okay, let me accentuate that last point. This is the question that also determines whether your children will die quickly and painlessly or slowly and miserably. Where are they?”
I wanted to spit in her face, but my projectile spitting skills weren’t that advanced.
“Oooooh, steel resolve. I like that. I know they’re around here somewhere. Probably close. You wouldn’t leave them out in the middle of the woods by themselves. I sure hope you found them a good hiding spot. Maybe your dog will help me track them down, what do you think?”
Joe hadn’t proven himself to be much of a tracker, but the woman was absolutely right. Theresa and Kyle were close. If she went out looking for them, she’d find them.
“Theresa! Kyle!” I screamed. “Run away! Run as fast as you can! Do it now!”
The woman spun around.
I grabbed the chain fastening the wolf trap to the tree and yanked on it as hard as I possibly could, nearly wrenching my arm out of its socket. As the woman turned back to face me, the wolf trap bashed into her chest, knocking her to the ground.
I forced myself to stand up, but immediately lost my balance and fell to my knees. I saw my children fleeing deeper into the woods. “Run!” I screamed again. “And be careful!” Better to risk the booby traps than to have the woman catch them.
I raised the chain over my head and swung it again. This time it felt like my muscles were ripped right off the bone. The wolf trap flew toward the woman but she rolled out of the way and it struck the ground instead.
She got back up.
I scooted backward on my aching ass. I just had to stay alive long enough for my children to make it to safety-I only hoped they found it in the creepy, trap-filled forest.
The woman crouched down and pried open the jaws as far as they would go, setting the trap. Then she picked up the contraption and walked toward me.
My hand brushed against something.
I threw the dart at her. The point jabbed into her leg.
She looked down at it in shock. Then she smiled. “What, you think there’d still be tranquilizer in there?” She plucked out the dart and tossed it aside.
Then she dropped to her knees.
Blinked a couple of times.
“You bitch,” she said, tossing the wolf trap at me.
It landed between my legs, bounced once, and hit my upper thigh. The jolt in my heart was so great that for an instant I thought the trap had sprung.
The woman came toward me, still on her knees, arms extended, her eyes wide with fury even as her movements slowed.
I picked up the trap and slammed i
t against her face.
It sprung.
I turned away, not wanting to see the results. Her body dropped onto mine, and I rolled her out of the way. I wiped her blood off my cheek, grateful it wasn’t an eyeball or something like that. After all I’d been through, I didn’t need to be wiping other people’s eyeballs off my cheek.
Despite the gruesome sight next to me, and despite the continued pain in my ankle and countless other parts of my body, I couldn’t help but laugh. We had a limo. We could get out of here. Drive away and find help. Rescue Andrew.
“Theresa! Kyle! It’s safe now!” I shouted as loud as I could while being almost completely out of breath. “You can come back!”
I listened for their response.
Nothing.
“Theresa?”
I forced myself to stand up. My leg tried to buckle beneath me, but I held steady. “Kyle? Honey? Come back!”
Still nothing.
Where were they?
Oh, God, where were they?
Chapter Eighteen
Back with Andrew
I WOKE UP, NOT realizing I’d been unconscious.
The dru g in the dart had obviously worn off because I could move again. That is, I could have moved again if my arms, legs, and torso hadn’t been duct taped to a metal chair. They’d used a ridiculous amount… I looked like a duct tape mummy. My left hand had been bandaged up, which I hoped meant they planned to keep me alive for a while.
Roger and Samantha were similarly bound to my right, while Goblin was to my left. Goblin had received a black eye sometime between my loss of consciousness and now, and he looked scared and pitiful. He was the only one of the four prisoners who wasn’t wearing a tight cloth gag.
We were in a large room with a white tile floor and lockers lining the walls. There was a door on each side. The centerpiece was an operating table, surrounded by lights, and another table covered with what appeared to be a combination of medical equipment and home improvement supplies.
Witch was wiping down the operating table with bleach. Mr. Burke, Troll, and Medusa weren’t around.
“Come on,” Goblin pleaded. “You can’t let them do this to me. I was a good boss, right? You were always my favorite. You know that.”
Witch avoided looking at him and focused all of her attention on cleaning the operating table, looking sick to her stomach.
“Don’t ignore me! It doesn’t have to happen like this! You can just tell them I got free!”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Make something up!”
“Yeah, right. Then I’ll be on this table in your place.”
“We can both go. Let’s just leave. He’ll do you next, you know. If he’s disbanding our team there’s no reason for him to keep you and Troll around. You’ll die next. I promise you’ll die next.”
Witch shook her head. “No, I won’t.”
“You will, I swear. Witch, we’re a team. You don’t let this kind of shit happen to your teammates.”
“We were never a team. You were the leader and we were the followers. You said that all the time.” Her voice cracked. “And if you don’t shut up I’ll gag you.”
Goblin lowered his head and wept softly.
A door behind me opened. Somebody walked into the room, and I felt a light slap on the back of my head. “Wakey-wakey!” said Troll, moving in front of me. He was soon followed by Mr. Burke. Troll was wearing green surgical scrubs, and Mr. Burke was in a white lab coat.
“Well, well, well,” said Mr. Burke, rubbing his hands together. “Some lovely specimens we have here today. Who shall I work on first?”
“Do Goblin first,” Troll suggested.
“Yes, that sounds like a fine idea. But let’s take care of some other business before we get started.” Mr. Burke looked at me, reached into the pocket of his lab coat, and removed a finger-sized object wrapped in tissue. “Now, Andrew, do you really think proper storage of a severed digit includes keeping it in your filthy pocket?”
If I’d been able to speak, I probably would have said something along the lines of “It was the next best place to Witch’s mouth.” Then again, I might not have.
Mr. Burke unwrapped my finger and shook his head sadly. “I don’t know. Even with the amazing advances in laser surgery, I doubt this finger is in a sufficient state to be reattached. I think we’re just going to have to give it the goldfish treatment.”
He walked to the door on my right, which led to a small bathroom. He held my finger over the toilet at chest-level, let it dangle for several seconds, then dropped it. It landed with a small splash.
“Adios, dear finger,” said Mr. Burke. He flushed the toilet and watched happily. “Going… going…”
I wondered if this was payback for his being dunked in the toilet once too often by bullies in school.
“Going…” He frowned. “Aw, shit, it’s still there. Fuckin’ low-flow toilets.” He flushed again. “Ah, there we go.” He left the bathroom and shut the door behind him. “I’m afraid you won’t be seeing your finger again.”
I told him to mmmphhh mmmmmmphh himself. I hadn’t really counted on being able to save my finger anyway, but still, you never want to see your pinky get flushed by a madman.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t grow in the sewers like one of those alligators,” said Troll. “It could come back for revenge.”
“Indeed it could. We’ll all just have to be careful.”
Troll winked at me, and then ran his hand through Samantha’s hair. He looked at Roger. “How did a babe like this ever end up with a dork like you?”
Roger’s response was muffled but easy to translate and quite vulgar.
“Y’know,” said Troll, still stroking her hair. “I wouldn’t mind having some fun with this one myself.”
Mr. Burke shook his head. “I want her alive when it’s her turn on the table.”
“I won’t kill her.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“No, really, I won’t.”
“I don’t want any parts of her cut off, either.”
“I won’t.”
Mr. Burke nodded. “All right. But if you betray my trust, the consequences will be severe.”
“Am I allowed to break anything?”
Mr. Burke considered that. “Nothing vital. And do it in the other room. I don’t want you distracting me.”
“Ooooh, privacy. Even better. How about I drag her boyfriend in there with us to watch the show?”
“I think you’re beginning to violate basic human decency, Troll,” said Mr. Burke. “He needs to see what happens in here. Don’t get greedy with your sadism.”
Troll chuckled and walked behind Samantha’s chair. As she screamed through her gag, he tilted her chair backward, and dragged her across the floor in front of Roger and I, the chair making a horrible screeching sound as it scraped across the tile. Roger struggled violently but fruitlessly, shouting muffled curses the entire time.
Troll reached the door, opened it, and dragged Samantha into a dark room. When she was out of sight, he stepped back into the doorway and waved to us. “Have fun, everybody! I know I will.”
Roger screamed in incoherent rage.
“What’s that you’re trying to say?” asked Troll. “She likes it rough? Thanks for the tip, buddy.”
He closed the door.
“Don’t let yourself be excessively stressed over this,” Mr. Burke told Roger. “She’ll still be at least seventy percent okay when he’s done with her.”
Roger gave him an absolutely chilling look.
Mr. Burke clapped his hands together. “So, let’s get started, shall we? Goblin, are you prepared to pay the ultimate price for your failure?”
Goblin lifted his head. “Sir, please, I know I screwed up, but you have to give me another chance!”
“Oh, I have to, do I? Did you suddenly become the one in charge? Did I miss Promotion Day?”
“That’s not what I meant, I just-”
&nbs
p; “Then say what you mean, Goblin. Don’t pretend I have any obligations to you or to anybody else.”
“But I-”
“Stop speaking. Witch, gag him. No, on second thought, cut out his tongue. Use something inefficient to do it.”
I didn’t watch. But I had no way to cover my ears.
“Oh, now, that’s cheating,” said Mr. Burke, a couple of minutes later. He tapped me in the face with something sharp. “Open them.”
I opened my eyes. He was holding a scalpel.
“Please keep your eyes open,” he said, tapping the scalpel on each side of my nose. “You’re being extremely rude, and I’d hate to have to slice off your eyelids.”
I kept my eyes open as Mr. Burke and Witch lifted Goblin onto the operating table and restrained him with a series of ten leather straps. He was making a hell of a lot more noise than when he’d been pleading for his life, but it was a much less coherent noise.
It was almost loud enough to block out the sound of Samantha screaming in the next room.
“Let’s see, what’s the best makeover for such a loyal employee?” Mr. Burke wondered aloud. “Oh, I know where to start. Witch, get me a left and right from locker 14.”
Witch nodded sadly and went to one of the lockers. She opened the door, revealing several sets of steel claws hanging inside. There was no palm to them, just five curved, pencil-sized blades welded together with a spike at the bottom. She took down a pair and placed them on the table.
“Ah, perfect,” said Mr. Burke, putting on a pair of safety goggles. He picked up a handheld device with a circular blade. “Don’t worry, Goblin. In just a moment you’re going to look extremely cool.”
He turned on the device. The motor hummed and the blade began to spin. Flesh, muscle, and bone separated with ease.
“We’ve got a bleeder,” Mr. Burke announced, speaking loudly to be heard over the shrieks.
I was terrified I was going to vomit under my gag and choke to death.
Mr. Burke replaced Goblin’s hands with the claws, using the spikes to fix them in place.
I thought he might try to flush Goblin’s original hands down the toilet, but Witch deposited them into a convenient waste receptacle.
