by Serra, D. A.
“Me, either.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Eight years.”
“It seems it would be harder to live here without assistance than back in the world.”
“The world’s the problem.”
“Yeah.”
A crack of lightning strikes her to attention. She aims at a tree in front.
She counts, “One banana, two banana, three banana, four bana…”
She pulls the trigger simultaneously with the thunderclap. The timing is perfect. The gun jerks back and fires. Yes! It fires. She is thrilled and ready to bolt toward the lodge. Curtis stops her.
“Aim for the chest and keep firing until he goes down. Don’t stop firing until he’s down.”
“Yes.”
“If you can, find a way to use the gun as a last resort. Surprise is your only advantage right now.” Even though her chin shakes, she is focused like a laser on what he is saying. “If you come up against one of them in close contact, go for the eyes. Anything else will be useless for you.”
She repeats, “Eyes.”
“Don’t hesitate. Don’t hold back. Take this.” He hands her a knife. She puts it in her belt. “Check the storage shed. Hobbs had a lot of shit in there. Use your brain. It’s your best asset.”
“Yes.” She leaps off the porch and vanishes into the woods. He will wait for the gunfire and then he’ll know it’s over. He, too, understands the odds. He has stayed reclusive in these woods so his mind and emotions would remain as insensate as his legs. He has been at peace here, but he has not been alive. Having Alison blast into his consciousness has clarified that. She is what alive looks like. Seeing her run heedlessly into the woods is really no different from when he would run into a burning building. And while it has been his life’s goal not to care again, he cannot deny his need to see her survive, to succeed. He wants something today. He hasn’t wanted anything in such a long time. It feels peculiar. He wants her to win and he knows precisely how unlikely that is. If there’s any justice in the universe this young mom running around bloody and half-mad trying to save her family should win, but justice is accidental. Most of the women he’s ever known would have crawled crying into a hole and waited it out - hell, most men would have, too. Maybe that’s exactly what he has done.
In the lodge, Ben processes the problem with the carburetor float. Can he fix it? Should he try to replace it? He just loves puzzles. He decides to check the tool bench outside on the porch. He rises from where he’s been working on the floor. Every time one of the Burne brothers moves the hostages tense. Ben feels their fear. He’s embarrassed for them; what a pathetic little group of rodents. He opens the front door and steps out onto the porch. To the left, up against the building, is a tool bench. He lifts the top and searches inside. Alison creeps up onto the porch and aligns herself along one of the log posts. She slips the knife from her belt. She closes it into her fist, but wait, the stabbing needs to be down, and so she turns the grip in her hand so the blade points down. Jesus, she thinks. Oh, god, can I do this? Her throat is so tight she cannot swallow her own saliva. She closes her eyes and brings Jimmy’s face to mind. Her arm and leg muscles contract. Adrenaline floods her forcing her heart to pump harder. Every pore in her body opens and she becomes instantly clammy. She prepares to strike.
Bent over the tool bench, Ben raises his eyes. He senses her. He spins around. Methodically, he scans the woods in front. She is not visible only feet from him. Ben smirks at himself; too much time in the pen has his antenna’s working overtime. He returns his attention to the toolbox.
She runs through it: three quick steps, plunge it in. It’ll be gory. He might yell. Have to hope he doesn’t. So close though. Not like sending someone over a cliff. She lays her eyes on exactly the point in his back where she will do it. This is it! Go. She yells inside. Do it! She wills her feet to move. She grips the knife. Go! Frustration builds toward explosion! She is paralyzed.
Ben chooses a small metal piece he hopes he can make work. He flips the cover down on the tool bench and walks back inside the lodge closing the door. Alison smacks her head against the post in defeat. Her opportunity. She hits her head hard enough to bring a lump, but she doesn’t feel it. Shit! Rage engulfs her. She wants to scream aloud! She screams inside so hard and long that her face goes red and then blue, her muscles shake with unrestrained energy.
Minutes later, inside Hobbs’ cabin talking to Curtis, she is livid with herself. “He was right there! The first guy was chasing me. It just happened.” She begins to whine in trembling anger. “I had the knife. I couldn’t make my arm move, or my feet move.” She is nearly hysterical.
“Don’t melt down, Alison. Killing isn’t easy for most of us.”
“Goddamn it. God, god…”
“The other guy was kind of an accident. This is different. First, calm down.”
“Ughhh…” an animal like cry.
“You have to outthink them. Use what is on hand. Check the shed. I’ll keep trying to reach someone. The storm is lifting. It’s all I can do. I’ll keep trying. Go.”
She hates herself. That may have been her only opportunity, her best chance, and she failed. She has failed to save her child. Fear has been replaced with fury. Anger is the framework now supporting her, now keeping her from collapse. Anger is at least useful. She leaves the cabin and heads for the shed, which is about fifteen yards from the lodge on the path up from the dock. Be smart. Be smarter. Her feet have learned the terrain with exceptional speed. She knows instantly what is solid and what only looks solid. Like any animal in danger, her awareness is heightened and her muscle memory is flawless. Moving with alacrity and experience she has become a competent forest animal. She sneaks inside the shed. It is a tin structure. A countertop runs along three sides and holds what must be hundreds of screws, nails, saws, tools of all kinds. She finds a flashlight, very useful, as the floodlights from the lodge are quite dim here. She covers the light so it only casts a direct beam. She flips it on. There are old motors, anchors, clamps, ropes, what looks like a generator. The side wall has hooks holding fishing nets and lures. On the far wall on larger metal hooks various fishing poles, a harpoon, and several axes all orange with rust.
Ben tries to make one of the little metal parts he found in the tool bench work in the carburetor. Gravel snores on the sofa. The hostages, worn from terror, sit together in the corner. Kent flips through a book. Ben glances at the group. He watches as Jimmy realizes his foot is touching Bella. He pulls it back and presses against his dad. Ben rises from the floor. He slowly walks over to Jimmy. Electrified, the group tenses.
Ben speaks to Jimmy, “Hey, kid.” Jimmy looks up scared. “Is that really your mother?” He indicates Bella. Jimmy doesn’t know what to say. “Because I’m curious why you’d say it was if it wasn’t.”
Hank answers calmly, “It’s his stepmom. We’ve only just married.”
Bella adds quickly, “Jimmy is having a problem accepting me.”
“Yeah? Now he’s got bigger problems.” Ben turns away, “Kent?”
“Yup.”
“Go out to the shed and try and find me some metal-to-metal epoxy.” Kent puts on his coat, tucks his gun into his pant belt, and takes the flashlight. Ben continues, “And watch your step.”
“Hey, I’m not Theo. God rest is soul.” Kent makes the sign of the cross and leaves slamming the porch door.
The lodge door slams, instantly Alison flips off the flashlight. Her reflexes are sharpening. She peeks out the crack in the shed door. She sees Kent approaching. Oh, no. He walks slowly, stepping cautiously on the slippery rocks as his eyes adjust slowly to the scattered light and darkness.
She steps back from the door. What? She looks around. Here he comes. This time she will have no choice. Either way this is it. There is nowhere to hide. She looks at the axes and the harpoon. She grabs the harpoon and studies it in the dark. Her eyes are well adjusted. She finds the trigger. It is heavy. Here he comes. She res
ts her elbow on the countertop to steady it. Will it work? Here he comes. Is there a safety? Where’s the safety? Here he comes. The rain has let up so she hears his sloshing footsteps. It is now. Kent swings open the shed door and steps inside. His flashlight scans the room and hits her standing there pointing the harpoon right at him. Kent stares at her stunned. She is drenched and filthy. He sees her finger on the trigger. “Shit!” He reaches for his gun. She pulls the trigger. Flump! The harpoon spear comes out with so much force it throws her back as it skewers Kent’s chest and nails him to the back wall of the tin shed. His eyes are opened wide. His body jerks in spasms. She steps back horrified. It wasn’t quiet! She had hoped for quiet. Someone screamed. She knows he screamed. Or she screamed. Someone screamed. She begins to tremble convulsively. Yes, he screamed.
Gravel flies out of the lodge his weapon drawn and heading for the shed and at dead run. Alison sees him blast through the opened shed doorway. Think! Gravel is inside shocked to see his brother’s life oozing away pinned to the wall. He spins. And there is Alison.
Dramatically, “Oh god, those men killed this poor man!” She looks skinny and helpless.
“What men?” Gravel is in a fury! “How many?”
“Four.”
“Where are they?”
“There!” She points behind him. He whirls around ready to attack. He peers out from the shed. Alison leaps forward and with what she is sure will be the last move of her life, and with all the force that she can rally, for her husband, for her son, she plunges her knife up to the handle into Gravel’s back. She lets go and steps back expecting him to fall. He does not fall. He does not yell in pain. He turns his crazed eyes to her realizing. With manic rage and sudden speed, he jumps on top of her and they go down.
“Bitch. I’m going to strip your face from your skull while you’re still alive.”
He punches her in the face shattering her cheekbone. She reaches the knife in his back and twists. He rears up painfully. She pulls the handgun from her pants and flat on her back, screaming, she fires into his stomach, and again, and again, and again. He doubles over on top of her. He manages to point his gun at her and she shoots him in the forehead.
The shots echoed! In the lodge, Ben is instantly on his feet.
In Curtis’ cabin, he knows what this means. Engagement. The end. He sweeps his arm across the table throwing everything to the floor. “Damn!” Maybe someone is alive. Maybe her boy is still alive. Maybe someone escaped. What have I become here? What am I?
Gravel lies dead and hemorrhaging on top of her. His shocked and staring eyeballs are inches from her face. Her breaths are coming in short convulsive gasps. Off! Ah—off! She pulls herself out from under him. He is heavy but she slides because of the pooling blood. She continues to aim at his dead body and uses her feet to push away on her back. She sits. She is covered in blood and sweat. Her right cheek is turning deep purple and her eye swells. She struggles to her feet.
Ben slides up next to the front door and yells out, “Gravel?” “Kent?” No response. Wild-eyed, he walks to the hostages. “Who is out there?” No response from the terrified group. Ben grabs Bruce, jerks him to his feet, and shoots him dead. Agonizing screams from the hostages! “Again, who is out there?”
Alison hears the gunshot from inside the lodge. She grabs Gravel’s gun from his dead wet hand. Suddenly, she feels so oddly calm; the lights have been turned off inside of her and she is at peace in the dark. She is not confused. She is not scared. Everything that hurt has stopped hurting.
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
On the floor of the forest, approaching the lodge, hands are digging into the mud, a pair of strong hands, pulling through the dirt, grabbing the exposed tree roots and using them to propel his body. Moving at a powerful speed. Closing the distance. Released from a nihilistic void, Curtis crawls into violence.
Alison kneels down, gets some leverage, and wrenches her knife from Gravel’s back. She meticulously wipes it on his jacket and slips it back into her pants. Abruptly, a blast of static and then, loudly over the camp P.A. system, Ben’s voice.
“Listen carefully,” Ben’s voice fills the air.
Alison slinks from the tin shack and drops to the ground behind a rock between the shed and the lodge.
In the lodge over by the bookcase, Ben holds the microphone for the P.A. system. His tone carries the sureness that comes naturally from being the smartest one in the room. His chilling authority is implicit in every word. “I’m going to kill one hostage every five minutes until you come on in here so we can chat. And for everyone’s sake, my brothers had better not be hurt. You have four minutes.”
Alison considers her options. She could rush the main room shooting. But Jimmy or Hank could be easily killed that way. Think.
Meanwhile, those arms, muscular and gnarled, pull, pull, over the ground and approach the lodge because Curtis is no longer numb. He feels it. He can’t help but feel it. His breathing is thick and labored but he is not slowing down. He is almost there. To do what? He doesn’t know. He knows only that doing nothing is no longer his life.
Alison analyzes in eerie stillness. She scans the area around the lodge, the path, the shed - all areas she knows thoroughly now. She sees with different eyes. The connections in her mind have been rearranged. What is left of her grip on humanity is screaming at her not to allow another hostage death. Rationally, she knows giving up kills everyone. She knots her fingers in her hair and it looks like she might yank it out by the roots and not even notice.
Over the P.A., “Three minutes.”
And she lets loose! Alison utters a long loud wail, a wail that has been waiting, that has been gathering inside of her since that very first moment. It is an aberrant sound: not recognizably human yet not resembling any animal. The plaintiff yowl echoes through the camp with a searing rawness. Ben hears it and finds it exciting. It stirs the ugly stew at the core of him. He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, but if it sent his brothers into hiding, it must be powerful and cunning. The possibility that someone could have killed both his brothers is unthinkable. He considers what tools are at his disposal. He knows he is missing something. Something has been bothering him. And then, what he can only attribute to divine intervention, as a gift from God it comes to him. A small grin crawls across his face. He locks eyes with Hank. Hank holds his stare defiantly, but he sees it: the shift, the twinkle of delight from a puzzle solved. Ben begins talking directly to Hank and walking over, “I think the lady wants to be left alone. That’s what you said to my brother. I think the lady wants to be left alone. Like you didn’t know her. Odd words for a husband.” Hank does not give in to the force of Ben’s gaze. He holds his eyes with strength and says nothing. Bella’s stomach cramps and she fights a wave of nausea. Julie hasn’t lifted her head for an hour and Ed fears she is in deep shock.
“Aw,” Ben continues, “but this is easy.” He takes the muzzle of his weapon and points directly at Hank’s head. Hank does not flinch. He will not cringe in front of his son. He maintains. Jimmy begins to quiver. Without taking his gaze from Hank, Ben asks Jimmy. “So, kid, that’s not your mother there, is it?”
Jimmy is petrified and can barely form a word, “Ah…”
“Your mother’s out there isn’t she?” Ben moves the muzzle of the gun to rest on Hank’s left eye socket.
Jimmy cries out, “Don’t please. Yes. Yes. Please”
Ben always feels such a pleasant thrill when he’s calculated correctly. He loves that rush of superiority. He lowers the gun. He savors a moment of triumph face-to-face with Hank. Then, he bends down and grabs Jimmy by his arms, which are still tied behind his back. He drags him across the lodge floor as all of the hostages beg for him. Hank dives out after his son. With his ankles tied, his arms secured behind his back, all he can do is crawl on his knees and face. He saw the menace in Ben’s eyes. He knows pleading is worthless.
Hank explodes, “I’ll kill you! Let him go.” Hank crawls. �
�I’ll come back from the grave if I have to.”
Ben responds coolly, “You’ll have to.” He stands Jimmy on his feet, opens the lodge door, and pushes him out onto the porch. Ben steps out and ducks behind using Jimmy as a shield. He slams the door leaving Hank flailing around on the wood.
“Bitch! I’ve got your brat.”
Alison lying flat in some brush within sight of the lodge sees Jimmy. She sees his terrified expression and the tears on his face. She feels his fear and it feeds her fury.
Ben shoves Jimmy to the edge of the porch. “Woman, I am not a patient man.”
Something catches her glance. Underneath the lodge, in the crawl space, Curtis is dragging himself through the sludge. He is now directly below Ben and Jimmy. Ben is unaware.
Alison yells to distract, “I have your brother. Trade?”
Hank is riveted to hear her voice. That’s Alison. She’s alive. He shimmies his body up to the window to try to see. The other hostages are chewing on each other’s ties and making progress.
“I don’t like trades. Get out here with my brother at the count of three or I’ll start by shooting out this kid’s knee and then work my way up excruciatingly slowly.”
Hank lies flat out on the floor as Ed bites at his binding to free him.
Underneath the porch, Curtis sees the tips of Jimmy’s sneakers. He rolls onto his back so both his hands are free.
Ben begins, “One...two...”
Alison stands revealing herself fifteen yards away. For the first time, Ben and Alison lay eyes on each other. They connect animal-to-animal. Jimmy gasps at the sight of his mother: battered, bloodied, armed. Ben reviews this skinny beaten up woman.
Curtis’ strong hands dart up suddenly, unexpectedly, from under the porch; grabbing Jimmy by his shins, with all his might he pulls! He propels Jimmy off the porch and face down into the mud. Alison opens fire on Ben now exposed! Ben dives for cover rolling off the porch.
Inside the lodge, Hank yells wild with anguish. Bullets strafe the cabin: breaking windows, gouging chunks out of the bookcase. Hank crawls, staying low, to the door.
