Where the Cats Will Not Follow

by Stephen Stromp

  While Ian tried to convince me to surrender, Todd the Toad bent his knees and curled his arms as if he was going to crush me with some wrestling maneuver. “He’s not gonna do anything,” he assured. “Let’s kick his ass.”

  I answered him by stepping forward and jabbing the blade into the air. Both jolted back. I grinned. They were truly frightened. Finally, I had them in the same position they had me in so many times. They knew, if only for that moment, what it felt like to be weak in the stomach and dry in the mouth. Their eyes widened as I casually closed the gap between us. “Don’t run. If you do, I’m close enough right now to get at least one of you.” I noticed Ian’s hand inching for the truck’s door handle. “Don’t you dare,” I warned. “Or I’ll split open the Toad’s fat stomach and stab you from behind before you can even turn the key.”

  Once I got going, I shocked myself with how bold I could be. I pressed the blade against Todd’s stomach. He did not call me a faggot. Instead, he nervously let out an extended, stuttered breath. I looked him in the eye. I hadn’t ever looked anyone in the eye longer than I had in that moment. But with the blade in my hand, its power on my side, I stared him down. The power I felt must’ve been similar to the power he usually felt over me. And with that power, I decided to ask him what I wasn’t brave enough to ask the prior two days: “Your head—why isn’t it split open? How come it’s not wrapped in bandages?”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

  “Your fat head!” I screamed. “Your thick skull should’ve smashed on the floor in English. You should be in the hospital right now with another broken collarbone.” I couldn’t understand it. Why did no one speak of the magnetic ceiling incident? The magically flipping desks should’ve been the talk of the school. But even at knifepoint, the Toad didn’t say a word. He only took in short, nasally breaths while staring at the blade against his round stomach. I shook my head, wondering what could’ve happened. “Cheap desks,” I finally fumed. “I bet that metal doesn’t even have any iron, nickel, or cobalt.”

  The Toad’s eyes followed the blade as I transferred it to Ian’s stomach. It was my one chance to say anything I wanted to the person who had oppressed me, who had made the mere thought of school a nightmare. Yet as I looked into his green eyes, the best I could come up with was, “I don’t think your hair is all that great. So it’s shiny. Who cares? It looks full of grease to me.” The funny thing was, the way he closed his eyes and tossed back his head, I believed the comment actually stung.

  My eye caught a flash of sunlight reflecting off Ian’s watch face. Although I was finding satisfaction holding them at knifepoint, it reminded me I must get on with the mission. “What time is it?” I asked in a panic. Ian looked down at the blade and then back to me, only offering his dutiful stare. “What time is it!” I demanded, poking the knife through his tank top. His wrist flew to his face.

  “Quarter to four.” I was behind schedule. And not only was I late, I had to remember I had Ian and Todd the Toad to deal with.

  I tightened my grip on the handle as I prepared for what I was there to accomplish. I lifted the knife to my shoulder for momentum before propelling it toward my hip with all the force I could muster. The tip pierced the side of the truck. I held the blade firmly in place for a moment, my eyes locked on to Ian’s, before slowly stepping backward. As I dragged the blade along the side of the truck, flakes of red paint cascaded to the blacktop.

  Ian watched in horror as the blade produced a deep, uneven gouge. “Fuuuck!” he cried.

  “Geez. You’re acting like you’d rather be getting stabbed,” I said with an eye-roll. When I reached the taillights, I rounded the other side—and ran like hell.

  I didn’t look back as I sprinted for Everett’s car. I slid inside and threw the knife in the passenger seat. I locked both doors before digging in my pocket for the key. When I finally had it in my grasp, I frantically started the car and flew out of the parking lot with the gas to the floor. On the short drive that led to the road, I hit the speed bump with full force. I gripped the wheel as I bounced off the seat. My head hit the roof. At the speed I was going, I expected the tires to burst upon impact. Although the engine choked for a moment, the car kept rolling.

  Swerving down the road, I checked the rearview mirror. It was completely filled with the reflection of Ian’s grille. The sight was terrorizing. But it meant Everett’s plan was working. Ian was following. Trying to convince him to meet off school grounds never would’ve worked. No, he had to be lured. I tilted the mirror upward to see their faces. Gone were the expressions of fear and submission. There was only anger and vengeance.

  We sped down the country road with the football field on the left and the cornfield on the right. Ian’s front bumper tapped the rear of the Grand Am. I struggled to keep control as the powerful truck barreled down on me. I couldn’t risk flying into the cornfield. I didn’t even have a driver’s license. But Everett had convinced me it was OK to drive without a license in an emergency and that being chased by Ian would constitute an emergency.

  In case we were pulled over for reckless driving, Everett had warned me that the knife shouldn’t be in the car, especially since it would have metallic-red paint chips stuck to its tip, proving I had been the one who had vandalized Ian’s truck. So with Everett’s voice telling me what to do, I somehow managed to steer the careening vehicle with my left arm while reaching to the passenger side with my right. My injured shoulder seared in pain with each crank as I rolled down the window. I grabbed the knife and whipped it outside. It sailed through the air and disappeared between the rows of tan corn leaves. Everett had thought of everything.

  As we careened onto Henderson Road, I was sure I only had two wheels to the ground. Ian stayed viciously close, barely allowing a gap between us. We raced past the apple orchards and through the industrial area with the cardboard plant and distribution center. Semis pulled in and out of the intersection. We dodged the slow-moving trucks at high speed. The angry truckers honked their horns at our foolish driving. Ian held his fist to his own horn, honking back at them in defiance.

  I glanced at the dash as I took the final turn onto our road. It was almost four. I had made good time, was nearly back on schedule. The woods’ mature trees towered in the distance behind the sparsely spaced houses. The rest of the land was blanketed by the golden cornfields. Aligned with the cornfield, the horizon was where the sky met the pinnacle of yellow stalks blazing in the afternoon sun.

  I ran the car on the dirt shoulder just past our house. Stuck on my bumper, Ian did the same. As he slammed into me, I held my foot on the brake but was propelled forward, toppling several rows of stalks. I burst out under a cloud of dust. Yet instead of running deeper into the corn for cover, as any logical person would’ve with two large guys after him, I emerged at the side of the road. They tore after me as I desperately searched for the piece of white cloth that had been tied to the fifteenth row from our driveway. I spotted it just before they were to take me down and surely bash my head in. I leapt into the corn down the fifteenth row like a deer, frightened yet agile.

  16

  The Pit

  The golden leaves were stiff and brittle. I used their crackling rattle to gauge the proximity of my hunters. In contrast to their clodhopping feet, I was svelte, making little noise as I slipped between the leaves. Had we been in the halls or on the street, they no doubt could’ve tackled me immediately. But we were in the cornfield. My cornfield. And I knew just how to maneuver my way through it. I dashed down the row, anticipating its curves. It was a path I would’ve felt confident sprinting down any given time. Even so, the night before, I had rehearsed racing down the fifteenth row. Even a nimble bobcat wouldn’t have been able to catch me.

  Despite my prowess in the corn, there was still one big problem. “Two of them!” I shouted when I figured my voice would be in earshot. “There’re two!” I warned again with what little breath I had left in my lungs.

  I knew I was nearing the f
inal stretch when I spotted the second strip of Everett’s old T-shirt tied to one of the stalks. I slowed my pace just a bit, allowing them to close in. I glanced over my shoulder to gauge their distance. Ian wasn’t far behind. Red-faced. Eyes locked on me. I didn’t see the Toad until I turned to face forward and saw him out of the corner of my eye. He ran beside Ian, in the thirteenth row. At his size, I didn’t think he had it in him, but he kept up with Ian’s pace. He took deep breaths as his heavy frame galumphed down the row.

  With a final push, I sped toward the finish line. As planned, the moment my shoulder brushed under the white cloth, my feet left the ground. I leapt into the air, trying for as much height and distance as possible. I didn’t look below. Instead, I concentrated on staying airborne as long as possible. When gravity finally forced me to the ground, I crashed into several stalks and landed on my stomach. My breath was gone, the wind knocked from me.

  Gasping for air, I flipped onto my back—only to find Ian sailing over the top of me! His descent was magnificent. When he landed, his feet planted firmly on either side of my head, kicking dirt in my face. He had jumped! That wasn’t part of the plan. He was supposed to fall. But when he saw me jump, he jumped too. He towered over me, leering at me with his red face. I looked up to him, helpless, unable to bring a breath in or let one out. With his hatred of me boiling over, he rolled his hands into tight fists, eager to do what would truly satisfy him.

  But Ian forgot we were not at school. We were in the cornfield. And that meant he was on our turf. Everett shot out from the stalks with the speed and precision of a predator. He grabbed Ian by the shoulders. Ian attempted to grab hold of Everett but, startled by the ambush, was quickly overpowered. Everett gave him a strong shove. Ian fell backward—and disappeared beneath the corn.

  I dropped my head to the soil and looked to the blue sky as I waited for my lungs to expand. Everett knelt beside me. He tossed aside the stalks that had collapsed over me and wiped the dirt from my face. “Calm down,” he said. “Just breathe.” He gently rubbed the upper part of my chest with the base of his palm. He stayed next to me until I was able to take in small breaths. Once assured I was OK, he stood next to where Ian had fallen. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek for a moment before turning back to me. I was afraid he’d be displeased about the mission not going as planned, but, slowly, he cracked a smile and nodded.

  “The Toad—” I warned, still catching my breath. “Todd’s—in the cornfield.”

  Everett’s face instantly transformed back into the wolf that had rushed Ian. “Shit!” Corn leaves crackled behind us. Everett helped me scramble to my feet.

  It was only Phillip. He entered the small clearing that had begun to develop from our trampling. His tan sweater and blond hair blended perfectly with the dried leaves. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Todd Snelling’s out here too. Stand still,” he ordered in a whisper. With the air still, even the slightest movements could be detected in a dry cornfield. We listened intently for the leaves to reveal the location of Todd the Toad. Sooner or later, he was bound to make a move. Yet a low gush of wind suddenly rushed through the stalks, masking any anomalies. “Dammit!” snapped Everett. “I’ll find him.” He turned to Phillip. “Stay here with Ayden.”

  Phillip and I listened as Everett marched off into the stalks. It sounded as if he ran toward the road, likely figuring the Toad had headed back to Ian’s truck. But after a few moments, his movements blended with the rest of the crackling, making it impossible to determine his course.

  “So did it work?” Phillip asked.

  “Sort of. Except he didn’t fall in. Everett had to push him.”

  Curious, Phillip stepped forward and carefully leaned over the edge of the pit. Camouflaged by the surrounding stalks, the pit was a well-hidden, oval-shaped trap. Not knowing it was there, Ian was sure to fall in as he chased me—or so we thought. Dug several feet wide and more than six feet deep, it was designed to be easy to fall into yet challenging to climb out of. Stuck inside, he’d beg us to pull him out. But to teach him not to mess with me again, we’d place a board over the top, anchored by rocks. We’d leave him out in the corn, where no one could hear his cussing. And after nightfall, when he was good and whipped, we’d pull off the board. Eventually he’d manage to climb out on his own and would have to find his way back through the field in the dark. Sure, it’d only ruin one Friday night out of his life. But it’d scare the hell out of him. And the humiliation would last forever.

  “C’mon, help me with the board,” I said.

  But Phillip didn’t move from the side of the pit. I could tell from the bulge on the side of his face that he was clenching his jaw. He spun toward me with his hands trembling and a look of horror in his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

  A wave of uneasiness rushed over me. I joined Phillip and peered below. Ian was at the bottom of the pit, on his back, attempting to push himself into a sitting position. He looked discouraged, confused as to why he couldn’t easily lift himself from the ground. It must’ve been shock that caused him not to notice the jagged piece of rusted metal protruding from his chest—or the other pieces impaling his hip and his leg just above the knee. His clothes were soaked in blood. A bit of it trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  The bottom of the pit had been laced with an arsenal of sharp, corroded metal. It didn’t take long for me to recognize that the metal came from the old discarded farm machinery up the hill. A variety of scrap had been brought from the heap and spiked into the ground. It jutted from the bottom of the pit, creating a deadly booby trap.

  Ian looked up to us. He didn’t speak. Unable to process what was happening, he only became more frustrated with his inability to stand. The sun was setting earlier each evening. Pink light had already begun to filter through the stalks. Several fragmented rays reached into the pit and over Ian’s struggling body. I was overcome with an odd sensation. I felt so—embarrassed for him. Not five minutes before, he was powerful and virile. But at the bottom of the pit, he was helpless. Pitiful. I couldn’t stand to look at him any longer. I lifted my gaze to the stalks. The silk protruding from the tips of the ears of corn had turned from a healthy yellow to a coffee-stained brown. Unwrapped from their protective leaves, the exposed kernels had hardened.

  I was startled by a sudden grip on my shoulder. Too engrossed in the scene before us, neither Phillip nor I had heard Everett approach from behind. He gently pulled me away from the edge of the pit, swapping places next to Phillip. “I couldn’t find the bastard,” he reported to Phillip. “But he’s still out here somewhere. The truck’s still by the road.”

  Phillip gave Everett the same horrified look he had given me. “What the hell is this!” he erupted.

  “I know you’re probably freaking out. But right now, we’ve got to find Todd.”

  “Where the hell did that shit come from? Last night there was nothing at the bottom of that pit—but dirt!”

  “How the fuck should I know?” Everett firmly replied. “That’s not important right now. Right now, like I said, it’s important we find Todd. We need to make sure he did not leave the cornfield.”

  “I don’t give a shit about Todd! Jesus, Everett. Ian’s going to die!” Phillip stumbled from the pit and bent over as if he was going to vomit.

  Everett placed his hand on Phillip’s back in an attempt to comfort him. “Ian treated Ayden like shit,” Everett reminded, looking to me sympathetically. Phillip lifted his head and looked to me as well as I bashfully twisted a dried corn leaf. “So maybe,” Everett continued, “this is what he deserves.”

  Apparently over his nausea, Phillip shot upright. “This is what he deserves!” He gestured toward the pit. “For teasing Ayden? For splashing him with cologne?”

  Everett shook his head as if he were a teacher disappointed in a pupil. He squatted at the edge of the pit. “Even Kirsten, his own girlfriend, apologized to me for what he did.” He sneered at the powerless Ian. “She said how much of an asshole you coul
d be. And you know something? The way she smiled at me, I think she really likes me.” Everett stood and spit in the hole. Phillip looked as if he were about to come out of his skin.

  “Watch out!” I found myself yelling as Todd the Toad suddenly burst through the stalks.

  This time it was Everett who was caught off guard. The Toad had been hiding near the pit in the same tight cluster Everett had hidden within before ambushing Ian. He attacked Everett with a brutal strike across the face. As Everett stumbled from the blow, Todd peered into the pit, confirming what he had surely overheard. “You sick fucks will pay for this!” he croaked. “I’ll make sure of it!” He held up his fists, willing to take on whoever dared step forward. He was wild, fueled by his need for retribution. Everett, still recovering, rubbed his jaw before stepping up to Todd’s challenge. The Toad did not hesitate to lunge his massive frame at him, and the two were locked in battle. Todd was powerful. He outmatched Everett in size. But Everett was swift and resilient.

  Phillip was silent. Clearly distraught. He didn’t have faith in Everett like I had. I remembered what it was like the first time Everett took me into the cornfield to meet the monsters. “Don’t worry,” I assured him as we watched Everett and the Toad swap punches and throw each other into stalks. “Everett knows what he’s doing.” I had seen him take on much more fearsome adversaries—and win.

  Everett’s face began to swell. He suffered a deep gash under his eye and one above his lip. “Get Ayden outta here!” he yelled to Phillip. “I don’t want him watching this. I’ll handle it. Just wait for me in the woods. Go!” he commanded before Todd charged him like a bull.