Primal

by Serra, D. A.

  “Bein’ your brother mostly.” Kent laughs at himself.

  “It’s dandruff.”

  Theo stands suddenly and walks over to the hostages on the floor. He looks at them slowly. No one moves. No one breathes. His eyes stop on Mike. Theo bends down over Mike’s feet. He sizes them up. He unties and snatches Mike’s shoes. He takes them back to where he was sitting and puts them on.

  Ben asks, “Is there any music in the glorious rustic hideaway?”

  “Radio over there.” Hobbs uses his chin to indicate the bookshelf.

  Ben signals to Gravel who gets up and turns on the radio. He flips through the dials.

  “I can’t believe there’s no TV here,” Kent says and then to Ben, “Did you get to watch TV in the pen?”

  “Not too much.” Ben concentrates on the carburetor.

  “We were a Nielson family for a while.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Such a cool feeling. If I didn’t like something, I just cut it off. Bam! Gone.”

  Gravel is nothing if not impatient. He walks over to Hobbs who sits on the outside of the circle of hostages, slits the wire around his hands, and says, “Find something good on this fuckin’ radio!”

  “Hard in a storm like this.” Hobbs gets up and walks over to the bookshelf. He puts his ear close and slowly starts to move the dial.

  Kent continues, “The Nielson thing was kind of like being on a jury. You sit there and then if you don’t like the guy, bam, he’s history.”

  “You’ve never been a juror,” Gravel says.

  “They don’t take you if you’ve gone down for a felony. You’d think they’d be wetting their pants for a guy like me with experience. Some asshole’s up for murder one. Hey, I’m your guy. I’d know it in an instant.”

  Over in the corner, quietly, Dan whispers, “We have to do something.”

  Bruce responds, “Lay low and stay alive.”

  “Wait for help,” Hank adds.

  “Help from where?” Mike asks.

  “Alison’s out there,” Bella reminds them.

  “Oh, great, we’re relying on mountain woman in the high heels?”

  Hank lunges for him forgetting he’s tied. The wire secures him and he’s pulled back down.

  The commotion gets Ben’s attention, “Now kids, let’s not fight over there. We don’t want to gag you.”

  Hobbs has finally landed on a relatively clear station on the radio. He fine-tunes it. It’s a country station. Satisfied, he turns it up. Country music floods into the room. Gravel grabs his gun and fires repeatedly riddling Hobbs with bullets! Julie, Grant, Jimmy scream. Bella begins to cry. Hobbs, his eyes wide open in astonishment, collapses bloody to the floorboards. Jimmy buries his head in Hank’s lap. Even with his hands tied, Hank manages to cover Jimmy protectively with his body. And then silence. The kind of silence that accompanies sudden tragic shock. Brains pause. A deafening clap of thunder fills the soundless void.

  Then a calm, inquiring voice, “Uh, bro?” Ben asks.

  Gravel recognizes the criticism in Ben’s expression. He shrugs “I hate country music.”

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Alison steps back from her view into the lodge. Her soaked face registers the inescapable horror of what just happened. Helplessness, like weights, send her to her knees on the forest floor. Why? Tears fill her eyes. She would rather give herself up and join Hank and Jimmy; she would rather share whatever their fate is than watch it from the outside. Seeing them collapsed together on the floor, she can hear the words of comfort that Hank is most certainly whispering into their son’s ear right now. She wants to hear those words, too. She wants the sound of Hank’s voice in her head. She needs it. She buries her face in her hands overcome and sobbing. Why? She rocks back and forth on the ground surrendering to the primitive drive to rock when in deep pain. And then, she does hear a voice. It is Hobbs’ voice. It says “shortwave.” Her head snaps up. Shortwave. She stumbles to standing with her body already moving and her feet catching up she runs toward Hobbs’ cabin. She slips here and there in the mud but keeps her footing much better with experience. She has already learned which rocks to jump, which ones are deceptively slippery, and which ones to rely on. She is thankful all of the outside lights are on for all six cabins casting beams of wet light around the camp. She bursts through Hobbs’ cabin door. This is a cabin well lived in. It’s more of a home. She sees the shortwave on the end table. She races over. She looks at the unfamiliar contraption. She studies the dials. She cautions herself to calm down and let her brain work. She can work a cell phone, GPS, camcorder. She tells herself this is just another device. Relax. Figure it out. Relax.

  She switches it on. Instantly static. Good. Okay. With trial and error, she locates the volume switch and turns it up. She flips through the dials slowly. When the static seems to lessen, she pushes the talk button. “Hello?’ She waits. Static. Again and again, she tries. “Hello! Can anyone hear me? Hello? I need help!” She turns the dial, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, and continuing to speak, repeating the same message over and over… She hears Hobbs’ voice again, “only get static in storm like this.” She swallows the scream that is rising up from her very core.

  “Hello! Can anyone, anywhere, hear me? Hello?”

  A male voice responds from the ether, “Hello, I love you. Won’t you tell me your name? Hello, I love you. Let me jump in your game.”

  A surge from her gut, “I’m at the fishing camp! Men with guns have taken hostages. They’ve killed the owner.”

  “Hobbs?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “That sucks.”

  “How do I get the police on this thing?”

  “Won’t get shit in this storm.”

  “I got you.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the only other person on this rock. A quarter mile down the path.”

  “You’re here! Thank god.”

  “Even my mom wasn’t that excited.”

  “Hurry! Please hurry.” Her entreaty is followed by a long pause.

  “Look, lady, I’m sorry about your troubles, but I don’t go out in the rain.”

  Alison stares at the shortwave. What? Maybe he didn’t understand.

  “They have my son, my husband, and other people.”

  “It’ll probably be fine. Just wait it out. I’m sure they’ll leave when it clears up.”

  “No. No. You’ve got to get over here and help me.”

  “Good luck.”

  She hears a click and the static gets louder. She whirls around in frustration. Her body goes rigid and she clenches her teeth maddened. What do I do? She sees the large hunting knife on the dresser. She walks over and picks it up. She tries to imagine herself plunging the knife into someone. She thinks about the blade sinking through skin and muscle, what would that feel like? What kind of resistance flesh? What if she hit a bone? She imagines it. Her hand falls to her side and the blade slips out of her grasp and onto the floor. She is not that person. She is not capable of killing. Kill or be killed, she would probably be killed. Does that make her more highly evolved or simply stupid?

  Back at the lodge, Gravel and Kent have become bored waiting for Ben to repair the carburetor. They’ve devised a little game. Jimmy is standing with his back up against the wall. He has a red bandana tied as a blindfold. Hank is bound, face down on the floor, with Theo’s foot on the middle of his back. He continues to struggle uselessly.

  Gravel stands across the room. Kent places an apple on Jimmy’s head.

  “Don’t move kiddo.”

  Gravel aims at the apple from across the room. He shoots. “Whoo hoo!” He splits the apple. Congratulations from his brothers.

  “Really,” Kent says, “that’s so cool.”

  Inside Hobbs’ cabin, Alison hears the shot and bolts. She easily avoids the slippery spots next to the cliff now. She leaps. She finds a spot where she can see into the main room. She sees her son backed up against a wall. Her stomach
drops. “No. No.”

  Fishing wire cuts into Hank’s already bloody wrists as he pulls with all his might to free himself. He is wild with emotion. Ben is absorbed with the carburetor.

  Kent says, “But still bro, William Tell used his own son and so it’s not the same. If you miss there’s no downside like he had.”

  “I’ll bet he couldn’t do this?” Gravel grabs a grape from the fruit basket on the table. He walks over to Jimmy, who cannot see and so has no idea what is going on.

  “Don’t move kid.” Gravel puts the grape on the boy’s head.

  Hank, unable to budge, starts to bang his head against the floorboards. “No.”

  Gravel complains. “Quiet! You’ll screw my concentration.”

  Outside, Alison’s eyes widen in horror. She will not watch this. She will not. She will not. Instinct takes over and without thinking, Alison picks up a large fallen tree limb from the ground. Gravel extends his arm and closes one eye aiming. Julie sobs. Bella hides behind Mike.

  Gravel’s finger on the trigger begins to squeeze and Alison swings the massive limb through the front glass window. Smash! Glass crashes everywhere! The hostages cover their faces. Ben stands up abruptly. Everyone looks at the shard-covered floor as the wind and rain howls in through the opening.

  Kent yells, “What the fuck?”

  Jimmy bends down to his knees and crawls over to his dad where he is immediately encircled by the group. Hank removes his blindfold with his teeth.

  “You think that was the storm?” Kent asks Ben.

  Ben’s eyes narrow as he calculates the possibilities. He is not satisfied. He is not a big believer in random acts.

  “Theo, go make sure.”

  Theo slips his arms into his coat. He grows monstrously bulky in his trench coat. His shoulders are forty-six inches. His chest muscular and barreled. He is not a man who would need the handgun that he slips into his belt buckle; he could break most men in half with his bare hands. Hank has these thoughts as Theo opens the front door and steps out onto the porch. Hank knows it was not the storm, not the wind. He knows the love of his life is out there - alone - and that she just saved their son’s life.

  Theo walks with slow even steps on the wooden raised deck that forms the porch, which encircles the lodge. He peers into the night scanning for movement. The beams from the lodge and six cabins form a crisscrossing lattice of light. His eyes and ears are acutely receptive. Theo likes hunting. He always snares his prey.

  Underneath the porch, in the two-foot crawl space, Alison stops moving as Theo steps directly above her. She holds her breath. She cranes her neck around to look up and sees the bottom of his shoes through the little gap between the slates of the wood porch. Theo’s instincts are keen and he senses her. He knows for certain someone is near. They both hesitate: Theo above, Alison beneath. Slowly, he turns his head from side-to-side. He feels her presence and even in this driving rain, he smells her. She is trapped. She feels it. She closes her eyes for a second and focuses on taking a long slow breath to try to calm her thumping heart. Theo steps. Lightning. She knows the thunder is coming. She hesitates. Then, boom! The thunder growls, and on her stomach, she stretches out her arms and pulls her body along in the mud during the rumbling. Pulling, she heads for the backside of the lodge. She reaches out her arms. She pulls. Theo takes two steps toward the edge of the porch. Her elbow moves against something soft. She turns to look. Her face is inches from Hobbs’ staring bloody eyes. It is just the tiniest of shrieks - immediately choked off - but too late. Above, Theo looks down and smiles. He jumps from the porch landing his two big feet on the ground. He drops down and looks under the deck. Something is scurrying away in the darkness. He dives under the deck. With his long arms spread wide and his legs moving rapidly he crawls at twice the speed she does. She claws along on her stomach in fierce desperation, slapping her hands down, using her knees to propel her forward. Theo gains on her. His big flat hand reaches for her foot. She yanks it away with only a little gap now between them. With her knees slightly bent, and crawling as far up off the ground as the deck will allow, she speeds like a terrified spider. Her hands plunge into the mud up to her wrist, over and over, while her knees push at the ground frantically. The sharp edge of a broken twig smacks up and cuts her eyelid. She doesn’t feel it. She gasps from the exertion and muddy leaves are sucked into her mouth. She spits. Theo’s hand surges out and grabs hold of her right foot. Panicked, she kicks back hard with her left smashing Theo in the face. Surprised, he lets go and wipes the mud out of his eyes. This is fun, he thinks. He presses on after her. Alison emerges from under the porch at the back of the lodge. She staggers to her feet and darts into the woods. Theo bursts from the crawl space only seconds behind her. He springs to his feet and chases. He is mighty and physically fit; he knows he will catch her. But the ground is slick and her feet are more competent now in the mud than his are. She has a tiny advantage because she has learned some of the tricks of these woods and because she is running for her life and the lives of her family. Nevertheless, he is closing on her. She dodges left. He follows. She jumps over that slick flat rock she knows at her feet, dives to the ground and rolls down the embankment she recognizes. Theo’s right foot lands directly on the sheer rock face, which is covered with mud. His foot slides unexpectedly throwing him off-balance. Surprised, he hits the ground hard and slides down the slippery mud path and off the cliff’s edge. He grabs for anything as his body sails over and he manages a grip on an exposed tree root. He jerks to an abrupt stop - hanging. His expression changes as his body dangles dangerously over the rock bed below. He realizes. Alison stands only a few feet away. They stare at each other. He mouths, “help me.” She is not a killer. She stands perfectly still panting, filthy, willing herself to think it through. He tries to climb up the tree root, but it is too slick, and the root too thin. He needs a hand. He turns his fraught eyes on her. She thinks what to do, oh god, what to do. He is helpless. Hanging. Death’s razor sharp rocks like an open hand waiting below. For the first time since this night terror began she has power, she has a choice. She does not know this man, but he is a human being. Maybe if she saves his life he will be grateful and help her free the others. Maybe it will be the turning point in the horror for them both. Maybe all he needs is this one hand up. Maybe they are destined to save her family together. Maybe this one act of charity is all this lost man needs. Maybe there is good inside of him. Maybe she can reach that good with an offer of kindness. Maybe. She muffles a reflexive cry as she lifts her right foot and stomps down hard on his hand because - maybe not. Theo plummets with his mouth wide open forming a soundless scream. His back and neck shatter on the unforgiving granite and even over the noisy storm, somehow she hears that ending crack. She scrunches her face, drops her head, and trembles as the pattering clap of the rain on the stones builds to a crescendo of applause. She raises her eyes, the giant pines and oaks wave their limbs at her and she imagines the woods alive and clapping - a hideous ovation. And in the core of her, a private empty space forms like a point of dark: a black hole that sucks in those elements of her that are the furthest from her raw essence: her life, her tribe, at the very center. A metamorphosis has begun. She gasps, not realizing she was holding her breath. And then, again, she runs.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alison bursts back into Hobbs’ cabin. Her shirt is torn. Mud and wet leaves have bonded with blood from pine cones, rocks, and twigs that have scratched her. There is a nasty streak of blood above her eye. She uses Hobbs’ bed sheet to wipe clean the mud from her face and some of her cuts as she hits the talk button on the shortwave.

  “You! Where are you? Talk to me.”

  Curtis replies, “Doesn’t this kind of rain just make you itch?”

  “Do you have a gun?”

  “You’d just hurt yourself if you don’t know how to use it.”

  “Listen to me, you sonovabitch, I just killed a man.” Her voice breaks at the end, but she does
not cry. She would love to cry, to sit down and sob the night away, but that will have to wait.

  Inside the one-room log cabin a quarter of a mile away from her, the sixty-year-old, bearded, pot-smoking, misanthrope, Curtis Wells, sits with his hand on the shortwave. He is not sure what to think about this whole fiasco other than that it is mildly entertaining and something he is not getting involved in. His home is a mishmash of the 1960s: old peace posters line the walls, a macramé covered sofa is brown with age, a red lava lamp sits on the cock-eyed night table, a two-burner hot plate, a toaster oven, and an ice chest are within reach of the table. There are several bags of dried beans and some canned soups along with a couple of cases of Budweiser.

  Her voice is steady, “Do you have a gun? Yes or no.”

  “I do. But you’d have to come and get it.”

  “How do I find you?”

  * * *

  Inside the lodge, the Burne brothers have nailed a few pieces of cardboard and some pillows over the broken window. The glass has been kicked into a pile. Ben is back to working on the carburetor. Gravel is in an armchair with his eyes closed and feet up. Kent plays solitaire.

  The hostages sit in the far corner of the room in two rows. Hank, Jimmy, Mike, and Dan are in front; Julie, Ed, Bella, Grant and Bruce are in line behind them. Hank whispers. They speak without moving their lips in a very low voice, “We’ve got to try something.”

  “Yes, while they’re missing one,” Dan adds.

  Grant leans in and says, “This is six-pound test line. We can bite through it.”

  “Julie, can you bite through Mike’s line?” Hank asks.

  She is directly behind Mike. She looks to her husband. Ed nods. She should try. She lies down. It looks like she has just put her head down in Ed’s lap to rest. She rolls a little forward. Behind his back, Mike pulls his wrists as far out from his body as he can. Julie begins to chew feverishly.

  Ben glances over. Mike drops his wrists. Julie freezes. Ben glares at them. Hank wonders what made him look. There was no sound. He has a freakish intuition. Ben turns back to work. Julie leans back in and chews. After a minute, snap! Mike’s hands are free. He doesn’t budge but a thrill of hope tumbles through the group.