by Serra, D. A.
Inside the lodge, Alison has abandoned her chunk of brown bread on her plate and joined Bella over by the hearth. The rest of the group continues with the meal. The atmosphere has loosened a bit as these strangers triangulate each other. It is a process as each finds their proper spot in a new assemblage: verbal jockeying, body language, informational downloads including jobs and residences serve to establish strengths, weaknesses, and put into place the requisite social hierarchy. They smile and nod politely while testing each other to precisely gauge who is successful, who isn’t, who is educated, experienced, conservative, liberal, sophisticated, rich. We want to know, we need to know this to determine how the group is to be configured for the week ahead, each member of the new group subconsciously wondering where is my proper spot; where is yours? So much is decided in those first seemingly casual moments: the roll of an eye, a certain vocabulary, the tilt of one’s head. And how often these decisions are accurate one rarely knows because these determinations are sticky and subject to confirming bias. Alison has always seen this weighing out process as blatant, even as others proceed ahead at the subliminal level.
Alison asks, “Not hungry?”
“Always dieting.” Bella lies. “It would be good if you could get something in your stomach.”
“I’m still having nausea. It comes in waves. Ugh…” Alison holds her stomach, “shouldn’t say waves.” Even sick, she manages to connect on a personal level with Bella. Alison is so plainly likeable. She has an innate softness that touches others gently. She is as naturally warm as the blaze in the hearth.
“So, did you lose a bet or something?’ Bella raises her eyebrows.
“Oh, no,” she grimaces and runs her fingers through her hair, “Is it that obvious?”
“The French Tips were a dead giveaway.”
“You know what? I’m going to fix that. I can play with the team,” convincing herself as she tries to convince Bella. “Sometimes don’t you just get sick and tired of being exactly how everyone expects you to be?”
“Yeah, I guess. Although people don’t expect much from me. I’m a writer so they expect me to observe and then huddle in front of a computer screen in a room by myself. And they’re actually not far off.”
“Yeah? I’m a middle-class, middle-aged, married, elementary school teacher, and I’ll bet a whole bunch of prefab characteristics popped into your head when I said that.”
“Yup, they did. With those statistics I guess I now know everything about you.” She teases.
Alison says, “And look over at the table each of them in their little bubble of stereotypes: outdoorsmen, frat boys, newlyweds. I wonder if we construct those stereotypes or if they construct us.”
“Already a deeper conversation than one usually gets on a fishing trip.”
Alison tosses her head and smiles at Bella, “I’m not really prepared to talk about bait.”
“There will be a lot of talking about bait here unless this storm keeps up, then, the entire week may really be about Parcheesi.”
“Hey, I rock at Parcheesi.”
“I kinda knew that about you.”
“You see?” Alison smiles honestly and Bella genuinely likes her.
Back at the table, Ed Hutchinson asks, “Hey, Hobbs, there’s no cell service so where’s the phone?”
“No phone.”
“No, phone?” Hank asks surprised.
“Got a shortwave for supplies.”
“A shortwave?” Bruce glances at Grant.
Grant responds, “And here we are inside a living anachronism.”
Hobbs continues, “Shortwave. This storm. Only static.”
Julie says shyly, “It’s kind of romantic being isolated like this.”
Mike says, “Hey, I ain’t that attracted to Dan.” They laugh. And nothing brings a disparate group of individuals closer faster than a shared laugh.
“You ain’t my type either,” Dan responds with his voice booming, “You got less hair on your head than you got on your earlobes.” Mike laughs so hard his eyes scrunch up around the outside and look like little squinty slits.
Alison has a sudden wave of nausea. “Oh.”
Bella asks, “Hobbs, where’s the head?”
“Through the kitchen.”
Alison makes a dash for the kitchen and disappears into the other room.
Dan says to Hank, “Maybe you should’ve left her at the spa.”
Hank defends, “Hey, she’s a trooper. She came along and it—”
The front door bursts open! Violent winds and sheeting rain blast into the room along with the four Burne brothers. Around the dinner table, mouths drop open and eyes widen. Gravel slams the door behind them. Even with their oversized trench coats, they are drenched. Gravel’s stringy hair clings to the sides of his cheeks. Kent’s baseball cap sits sopping and tilted forward on his forehead. Their handguns are out of sight tucked into the back of their belts and in their coat pockets. Ben is holding the carburetor from the outboard motor. As the door slams, thunder claps loudly, and Julie jumps. Ben takes a quick measure of the dumbstruck group and begins genially.
“Gee, folks, so sorry we startled you. Our engine gave out and we were lucky to find you in this storm. A guy could drown standing straight up out there.”
Hobbs ask, “You fishermen?”
Ben answers, “Yes, sir. Blue Marlin, Mako. My brother here (indicating Kent) held a record on a Giant Tuna for a while.” Ben is calm, smooth, and believable to the core.
Dan looks interested, “That so?” Kent nods as the room relaxes. Theo crosses to the dinner table.
“Fishermen always welcome here,” Hobbs says.
“Gee, thanks.” Ben smiles. His blue eyes sparkle kindly and his grin is broad and sweet. “We’re much obliged.”
Theo has trudged over to the table where he sticks his fingers into the stew pot, takes out a large chunk of meat, and puts it in his mouth. Ben notices the disgusted looks and he adds, “Ah, sorry, about my brother, Theo, he skipped lunch and he’s well…” affectionate emotion rises up in his voice, “he’s special.”
“He can’t talk,” Kent explains.
Hank experiences a rising alarm. Even with Ben’s calming words, the guys just don’t look like fisherman. A clutching feeling in the back of his neck travels down his spine. He will wait just a minute for Alison and scoot them back to the cabin.
“You fellas should dry out by the fire.” Mike says.
“We’re only staying a moment. Carburetor’s dirty I guess.” He puts the melon-sized carburetor on the floor of the lodge. “If I could just get a good toolbox so I can get into it and clean it out.”
Off the kitchen, inside the tiny bathroom, between the noise of the pounding rain and intermittent thunder, Alison is throwing up. She hears nothing from the other room. With her head over the toilet, she rests her chin on her fist and wishes she could get it together. Why is her body sabotaging her this way? Where is her reliable sangfroid? This whole adventure is becoming one long embarrassment.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
In the main room, Ben is savvy enough and manipulative enough to make almost everyone comfortable, but this is not the case with the other Burne boys; even on their best behavior, their true selves seep out like pus. The air in the room is unstable with growing unease. Hank taps Jimmy’s hand and says, “Let’s go back to the cabin and finish unpacking.”
“Okay, one sec.” Jimmy lays out a napkin and reaches to put some brown bread in it to take back to his mom.
Kent turns to Dan and Mike and brags, “I caught a storm like this once off the coast of Guava.”
“Guava is a fucking fruit,” Gravel tells him derisively. The language is oddly harsh and suspicion crawls around the table. For Hank, dread settles like a fist in his throat. Gravel looks to Jimmy and says, “Uh, excuse my French there, kiddo.” Hank slides to the edge of his seat as tension rises in his body. He doesn’t want to spark anything but he knows bad when he sees it. His eye
s roam as he considers his best move. He considers the brothers. The one with the carburetor seems reasonable, intelligent, calm. The mute one seems only interested in food. The other two - they are several clicks from normal - something is very wrong. Ed Hutchinson moves his chair a little closer to his new wife. Ben doesn’t want to waste energy, time, or ammo dealing with these people. Gravel is oblivious to the atmospheric shift in the room. He doesn’t have an empathetic antenna and wouldn’t care if he did. Bella has caught his attention and he can’t ignore the rise in his pants. Bella takes a small step backwards.
Ben speaks a little too calmly to Hobbs, “So, where’s that toolbox?”
“Porch.”
Gravel leans into Bella inches from her shoulder; he smells her like an animal would. “You’re a mighty attractive woman, there, honey.”
Kent interjects, “Jesus, you got weird taste.”
Bella doesn’t know how to react. Her instincts are screaming. Hank sees the alarm on her face.
He says, “I think the lady wants to be left alone.”
“Who asked you?” Gravel practically spits at him.
With a warning in his tone, Ben says to his brother, “Gravel, we’re guests here.”
Not taking his predatory stare from Bella, he responds, “Guests hoping for a little hospitality is all.” Dan, Mike, and Bruce stand. They feel confident. There are only four Burne brothers and they are seven strong men.
“Look man,” Mike says feeling his way, “we’re on vacation. No one wants any trouble.”
Dan’s bristling middle-class macho adds, “But if you’re looking for trouble.”
Gravel snaps and turns on them with inappropriate fury. “Hey, you dicks find your own slot. I’m workin’ this hole.” The pretense of civility disintegrates. Dan takes a swing at Gravel. Bella jumps back out of the way. Gravel wrenches Dan’s arm and snaps his wrist. Dan yells in pain. Mike jumps on Gravel.
“Aw shit.” Ben says disappointed and annoyed by the ruckus. He exposes his handgun and shoots once into the ceiling. Everyone freezes. Jimmy jumps toward his dad who grabs him! He wraps his arms around his frightened son. Ben speaks calmly, “Okay, let’s have a little order here.” Terror is written on all of their faces. No one moves. Dan is holding his broken wrist and clearly in pain. “Okay,” Ben says, “Better.” Patiently he chides Gravel, “Jesus, Gravel.”
“What? These guys jumped me! Didn’t you see that? They jumped me.”
Ben turns to Grant and asks calmly, “Is everyone here?”
Hank’s eye catches Alison standing confused in the recess of the doorway to the kitchen. She is unnoticed. Ever so slightly, Hank indicates for her to step back. Bella sees her recede back into the kitchen.
With a raised voice, “You” indicating Grant, “I’m talking to you. Is everyone here?” Grant is too scared to speak. He manages a nod. Ben looks around. He wants to be sure. “Take your dinner seats. Everyone! Sit down in your chairs.”
Jimmy says, “Mom?” Hank and Bella exchange an understanding. She walks over and takes Alison’s seat.
“Right here, honey,” she says to Jimmy as she sits. Acknowledgment passes silently between everyone at the table. They all agree.
Ben looks at the table. Since originally a place had not been set for Bella there are ten seats - ten people. Everyone looks accounted for but Ben is a careful man. He nods at Gravel.
Gravel says, “I’ll check around.”
No one at the table moves. No one breathes. In silent pain, Dan holds his wrist. Julie hides her face in Ed’s chest. He has his hand on her head. Bruce and Grant look much younger than their twenty years right now. Hobbs’ eyes trail Gravel. Gravel heads for the kitchen and Hank swallows hard scared for Alison. He squeezes his son’s hand. It says be quiet, be calm.
From inside the kitchen, Alison sees Gravel approach. She tears across the kitchen and back into the bathroom closing the door. She has no breath. Her brain stutters. Shock. Think. Think. The rain pours like an open faucet onto the roof. It is loud and her gasping cannot be heard. She peeks out and sees Gravel opening the door to the food pantry. She turns and climbs onto the top of the tank of the toilet bowl. She slips her fingers under the tiny opening of the bathroom window and presses with all her strength trying to open the humidity swollen window. Her face goes red and her arms shake as she forces open the double-hung glass.
In the main room, Kent has taken off his coat and stands by the fire warming. Theo has grabbed the stew pot from the table and is eating in one of the armchairs. Ben stands, gun out, watching the table with a pleasant look on his face. Everyone at the table waits. They exchange glances tense with meaning, all hoping Alison is well hidden. She may be all they have.
From the kitchen, “Lookie what I found!”
“No, oh, no,” Hank drops his head and pain drenches his expression. Gravel pops his head out holding a box of Oreos.
Kent holds his hands up for the pass, “All right!” Gravel chucks the bag over to him and turns back into the kitchen.
Inside the tiny bathroom, Alison’s face is bright red and her teeth clenched as she pushes and pulls the window a few more inches. This is as far as it is going. This will be tight, maybe too tight. Shifting her weight, the toilet tank wobbles a little, she goes for it.
Gravel sees the wooden door to the bathroom. He walks over. He pulls his gun. Alison crawls out into the driving rain and reaches up to close the window. It comes part way down when the bathroom light flips on! She hits the mud and rolls up against the lodge wall lying on her side with her back flat against the building. Mud and water in her nose and mouth, she chokes but does not move. Gravel’s pasty and distorted face appears in the window. She can see the outline from his head where it blocks the light coming from inside. He peers into the dark. She senses. He’s directly above her. She closes her eyes and bites her lips. A moment. The light goes off in the bathroom. She lies there submerged in mud.
Gravel enters the main room and tells Ben, “Nothing.” Covert glances are exchanged at the table. At least there is someone out there who knows what’s happening.
Ben says, “So, okay, listen up. I don’t particularly want to kill any of you. My brother Gravel wants to kill all of you because that’s his nature.” Gravel grins and shrugs as though Ben has said something charming. Ben continues, “So we’ve got a delicate balance here. You folks need to behave so as not to upset that balance. Now, you…” he speaks to Hobbs, “this your place?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s your fishing boat? We’ll be taking that.”
“Storm like this, my partner drove it to safe harbor this morning.”
“How far is that?’
“About two miles by water.”
“Fuck.” Kent says. Theo looks up from his pot of stew. He offers Kent a piece of meat. Kent takes it from Theo’s fingers and pops it in his mouth.
Gravel asks, “Where’s the nearest town?”
Hobbs responds, “No town.”
“Fine.” Ben looks to Gravel. “Let’s just clean this carburetor and hope that will do it.”
Behind a tree, near the front of the lodge, she stands. She is barely recognizable through the mud and the contorted expression. Her feet are parted, her knees taut, her arms straight at her sides, her unblinking eyes stuck to the lodge front window. It is dark outside and the lights from the lodge illuminate the main room like a stage play. She feels as though she is in the middle of something unreal. She stands indifferent to the pounding rain, the thunderous noise, and the flashes of violent electricity.
Inside, Ben’s tone has taken on an eerie controlling calm. ”How about you all move to the far corner over there by the game table and take a seat together on the floor.”
“Why?” Gravel asks his brother.
“So you and Theo can tie them up.”
“Tie them up? Let’s just do ‘em and be done.”
Ben smiles nicely at the group at the table, “See, he’s so impulsive, ever since he
was a little kid.” Then, back to Gravel, Ben explains, “Currently, they are assets. Humor me. Tie them.” Theo jumps up immediately. He pulls the table lamp from the wall and snaps apart its cord.
Kent stops him, “Theo, here.” He holds up a spool of fishing wire. Theo smiles.
Alison watches her husband and son get up from their dinner seats and move toward the game table. Over and over in her mind she hears, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening. She watches them all sit together on the floor.
Theo and Kent unspool fishing line. Kent kneels down next to Jimmy who presses back against his dad’s chest.
Hank tries, “He’s just a kid. You don’t need to tie him.”
“Yeah? How old are you kid?”
“Nine.” Jimmy’s voice is barely a whisper.
To Hank, “What are you raising some kind of wimp for the world to shit on? When I was his age I’d already killed three dogs, five cats, and the annoying kid next door.”
Outside, Alison digs her nails into her head with terrified bewilderment. Her whole body bursts and shakes. Help. I need help. She turns around in a frenzy. What to do? What do I do? The instinct to find help engages and sends her running through the woods. The ground is muddy and hard to maneuver. She loses her footing, slips, and slides down a small embankment. She stops, looks ahead, realizes she is only a few feet from the edge of a cliff. She can barely see it in the darkness. A flash of lightning shows her its depth. She scoots back from the edge on her ass. Sitting there on the ground the near miss actually calms her. She talks to herself. Stop. Where are you going? What are you doing? Focus. Calm. What can I do? Think. Plan. Smart. Be smart.
The hostages are corralled uncomfortably in the corner. Theo has pulled over a chair and sits facing them with his weapon in his lap. Ben is surrounded by tools. He is taking apart the carburetor. Kent throws some logs on the fire. Gravel lies on one of the sofas with his feet up. He and Kent are in the middle of a discussion.
Gravel says, “It’s dandruff.”
Kent corrects him, “Doctor said it’s stress induced scalp flakes.”
“What kind of stress have you got?”
