Badlands w-3

by Jason Frost

  "What?"

  She looked at him with her good eye. A sliver of white shone under the swollen eye. "Say it, damn it!"

  "All right. I told you so. Better?"

  "Damn right, that's better," she slurred. "You warned me not to go out on my own. I didn't listen. Now you're saving my life for the second time. You at least owe me an I-told-you-so."

  "Not yet, lady. Not until you see what's next." He steadied her with his arm around her waist, half-carrying her toward the door.

  "The tapes!" she said. "Over there!"

  Eric leaned her against the Rabbit's hatchback and ran back to the workbench. The cassette player was there. He popped the cassette out and grabbed the one lying next to it, stuck them both in his shirt pocket. When he returned to help Paige, she waved him away. "I'm OK." She shuffled forward a few steps to demonstrate. "See?"

  Eric lead her outside. "Listen, Paige, there's only time to do this once. I'm going to jump across that ravine. Then you're going to jump."

  She laughed hoarsely. "There's got to be an easier way to kill me, Eric."

  "I'm serious."

  She shook her head. "I'll never make it. Maybe if I had a couple days' sleep and a few hours' practice. But not now, not this way."

  "No choice, Paige. It's the only way you'll be safe if I don't make it back. Then at least you have a chance of getting back to the shuttle in time."

  "The ravine's not the problem. I can probably jump that. But that damn cliff. It's too high, Eric. And too dark."

  "Don't worry." He smiled. "I'll catch you."

  She gave him a long, steady look. Finally she shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

  Eric paced out the distance first, then ran it, pushing off the edge, reaching both arms straight up to grab hold of anything. Just like all those times he'd tried to make a slam dunk back when he played varsity basketball. Only he'd never quite been able to do it. He'd bounced a few off the rim, though. Close. Only this time, close wasn't going to be good enough. His leap was better than he'd anticipated. Both arms and shoulders were above the edge of the cliff and he managed to wrap his fists around the thick bush he'd been aiming for. Quickly he pulled himself up.

  He waved at Paige. She walked up to the edge of the ravine and looked down. "I'm glad my other eye can't see," she said, "otherwise I'd be scared."

  "Throw the gun first."

  She swung the rifle back with both hands like someone giving the heave-ho, and flung it up into the air. But not high enough. Eric grabbed for it, but the gun was a foot too low. It struck the side of the cliff and dropped into the ravine, clattering noisily as it fell.

  "Hurry," Eric urged.

  "I hope you can catch better than that this time," she said as she backed up. She took a deep breath, tried to block out the pains that crisscrossed her body, and leaned over in the runner's start she'd learned in college. She leaned on her fingers, her butt high in the air, but she couldn't move.

  "Come on," Eric said.

  "I can't," she said softly to herself. "I can't make it."

  And then she heard the pounding footsteps behind her and she knew she had no choice. She sprinted forward toward the dark ravine.

  Fallows fired three shots into the air. "Leyson! Driscol! Rendall!" he shouted. "Come here!"

  He watched Paige Lyons dashing for the ravine and saw Eric poised to catch her. He might be able to pick off one or both, but he was certain one of them had the tapes. And he didn't know which one. If he shot either of them right now, they were liable to go plunging right into the ravine, taking the tapes, his flight ticket aboard the shuttle, with them.

  No rush. Soon she'd either be across or not. If not, well, he'd come up with something else. But if she made it, his men would be here soon anyway. Together they'd be able to finish both of them off.

  Paige pushed off from the ground much too early, she realized immediately. Instead of waiting until she'd reached the edge, she'd panicked and started jumping at least two feet too soon. That meant she had to jump an extra two feet. She felt like she was all arms and legs as she floated through the air, the way she felt when she was a gawky twelve-year-old leaping from the high dive for the first time on a double dare from Rodney Belson.

  She could see Eric through her good eye. He was stretched out on the ground, his feet anchored around some thick bush. For a moment they were face-level. But then she started dropping, and she was only a little more than halfway across. Her heart expanded until she was sure it was crushing the other internal organs. She forgot how to breathe. She began to fall, her hands straight over her head.

  Eric snagged one of those hands, clamping her wrist in his fist. She knocked into the side of the cliff, scraping a few inches of skin from her forehead. Her weight dragged him a few inches over the edge of the cliff. But he had her, of that he was sure. He reeled her in, slowly pulling her up until she could crawl free from the edge.

  Then he dove for his crossbow.

  With both of them safe, Fallows lowered his Walther's sights on Eric's chest while Eric was busy cocking his crossbow. "Don't bother, Eric me boy," Fallows said under his breath as he tightened his finger around the trigger.

  But a familiar sound behind him made him spin around in time to find Tim thumbing the single bullet into the clip and slamming the clip into the handle. Tim shoved the Walther into Fallows's face and fired.

  Fallows had started dropping the moment he'd recognized the sound. That instinct saved his life. Tim's bullet whipped by Fallows's temple with less than an inch to spare. But the powder flash scorched Fallows's eyes and he dropped to his knees rubbing them. "Fucking bastard!" he shouted. "I could have saved you!"

  Tim stood over Fallows, trying to decide whether or not to wrestle the gun from his hands and finish him off.

  Eric watched the scene from across the ravine, knowing what Tim was thinking. And knowing that Tim wouldn't have a chance. Even blind, Fallows could kill Tim instantly if he got his hands on him. He could kill Fallows himself with a shot of the crossbow.

  He heard the rustling of brush, the sound of men running.

  There wasn't time to kill Fallows and try to save Tim. It had to be one or the other. He didn't hesitate.

  "Grab my legs," he ordered Paige. "Hold tight." He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to Tim. "Run, Tim. Run, son, I'll catch you."

  Tim looked at his father, hesitated. Even now he remembered the things Fallows had said about his father. They couldn't be true, he felt that inside. But still, he hesitated.

  The sound of Fallows's men was louder.

  Fallows staggered to his feet, still rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

  "Run, Tim!" Eric called again.

  And Tim ran. Hard and fast and with tears in his eyes as each step brought him closer to his father.

  A shot cracked the air and Tim felt something bump the back of his thigh. Felt the leg fold under him. Felt himself tumbling toward the edge of the ravine.

  "Timmmm!" his father screamed.

  Tim dug into the ground, despite his wounded right leg. He stopped rolling a good ten feet from the edge of the cliff. He looked over his shoulder and saw Fallows squinting through one eye, holding the smoking Walther. "He's mine, Eric. My son now!"

  Behind Fallows his men emerged from the woods, their M-16s and shotguns lowered for action.

  Eric saw it was hopeless. He couldn't save Tim. Not this time. It would be all he could do to get himself and Paige out alive. He looked down at his son's dirty face, saw the blood seeping from his leg. The pain contorting his young face. And that look in his eyes, the look of abandonment. That look lodged in Eric's heart like a splinter.

  Fallows and his men opened fire.

  "Stay down," Eric said to Paige. "At this angle they can't hit us as long as we stay flat." Their bellies to the ground, Eric and Paige crawled away.

  Behind him, Eric heard Tim's cry: "Father!"

  When they were safely in the woods, Paige laid her hand on Eric's arm. "E
ric."

  "With Fallows and Tim wounded, we'll easily beat them back to your plane."

  "Eric," she repeated. There were tears in her eyes.

  Eric walked away. "Don't say anything, OK? Anything."

  24.

  "Christ, Paige!" was all Bart Piedmont could say as he and Daryl Budd carried her up into the belly of the Columbia.

  Eric tagged behind them while Phil La Porte kept guard outside.

  Tracy was waiting outside, hobbling about pretty spryly on her bad leg. Piedmont had put a real cast on the leg and she got about with a cane someone had cut for her from a branch. Tracy looked at both of them. "You're sure hell on women, Eric."

  Paige laughed, winced from her split lip. "We were fine until he wanted to dance. The man's just too clumsy."

  Tracy and Paige laughed together, one of those shared womanly laughs that Eric didn't pretend to understand. He just smiled at them, pleased they were able to find something to laugh about.

  "How secure are we, sir?" Daryl Budd, all business, asked. Eric had to admire the guy's sense of duty.

  "We've got a couple hours on them, I'd say. Maybe three hours, but I wouldn't want to bet on it. You'd better take off before then."

  "Right, sir."

  "What the hell happened out there?" Bart Piedmont demanded. "Did you find your father, Paige?"

  Paige told the whole story, carefully, precisely. Eric marvelled at her recall of details and even dialogue.

  As Paige spoke, Tracy put her arms around Eric and held him. She didn't have to hear the story to know what had happened. Eric was back, but Tim wasn't. That's all that mattered. At least Tim was still alive, but then so was Fallows.

  Bart Piedmont listened as he tended Paige's wounds, cleaning and dressing her face. He could see the blood where it had seeped through her clothes. "Any other wounds I should take a look at?"

  Paige brushed him away. "Not until you've at least bought me dinner."

  "That can be arranged."

  She stood up slowly. "Get this thing ready to take off, Bart."

  "Aye, aye, Captain Kirk." He mock saluted. He turned to Eric and Tracy and smiled. "Fasten yourselves in, folks. We wouldn't want any of our passengers getting hurt."

  Tracy knew what Eric would say, so she said it for him. "Thanks, Bart. Really. But we'll have to wait for the next train. There's still one passenger we've got to find."

  "Tracy-" Bart started.

  "Hey, I've already seen the in-flight movie." Tracy reached for her backpack. "See, I told you it was smart to pack this thing up this morning, just in case." She grabbed one of the HK 93s. "And this makes a nice little going-away present."

  "Except that you're not going anywhere," Eric said. He took the pack and gun from her.

  "What are you talking about? Tim's still out there."

  "Yes, and I'm going after him. Only I'm going alone this time."

  "Like hell!" she said.

  He smiled, stroked her cheek with his fingertips. "Listen, Tracy. I appreciate what you're trying to do. And I'm going to miss you, really miss you. But this is no good with you limping around this island forever. It's not going to do either of us any good."

  Tracy stared into his eyes for a minute without speaking. When she did, her voice fought against sobbing. "I wish I could be braver, Eric. I wish I could say to hell with safety and the mainland. I'll stay here forever if that's how long it takes." She swallowed. "But I can't. I want to go back. I do. And I want you to come with me. Only I know you won't."

  Eric leaned over and kissed her on the lips. It was a light, almost chaste kiss, yet there was an energy there that transcended their past passions and touched an even deeper friendship.

  Eric slung the pack over his shoulder and started for the ladder. "Hope there's some clean underwear in here."

  "There is," Tracy said through her tears, "mine."

  Eric laughed as he stepped onto the ladder.

  "If you give me a couple of minutes to throw some things together," Paige said, "you can escort me out of here."

  "What?" everyone said at once.

  "Are you crazy?" Daryl Budd asked, then remembered his position and added, "ma'am."

  "Paige, listen to me," Bart Piedmont said, his voice quietly calm. "You're in shock, some kind of delayed stress syndrome. You don't know what you're doing."

  "Sure I do, Bart. I'm packing a few basic necessities and getting out of here."

  "Listen to him, Paige," Eric said. "What just happened out there, that's only the beginning."

  "Don't patronize me, Eric. I learn fast. I can imagine what else goes on out there. Oh, and don't think I'll be traveling with you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm strictly on my own. I'm going to find my father."

  "Paige!" Bart pleaded, his voice no longer calm. "That's insane. He's probably dead. Those kids, those cannibal kids probably killed him. Or ate him like poor Steve."

  Paige walked about the deck gathering things and stuffing them into a nylon backpack. "I don't think so, Bart. He may be dead, but I don't think those kids knew him. I really don't. Something else happened to him, and that may mean he's alive."

  "Jesus, Paige," Bart said. "Why? Why mess around with this now? After all this time?"

  She nodded at Eric. "How come you don't ask him why he's going back out? Because he's a man and expected to look out for his family?"

  "Come on, Paige, this is no time for Joan of Arc feminism. I don't deserve that crap."

  "You're right, Bart. I'm sorry. I guess the only good reason I can give for going is that I think Dad would do it for me. The worst part about it is that it had never even occurred to me to try before today. For that, I'm ashamed."

  Bart continued to plead as Paige stuffed her backpack. But even he realized it was no use after a while. He tried to force her stay by gunpoint, but she merely smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

  Outside the ship, Daryl Budd made sure the others were aboard before climbing onto the ladder himself. He took one step, turned, and said to Eric, "Sir?"

  "Yes?"

  "The tapes." He held out his hand.

  Eric smiled, handed the tapes over. Budd pocketed them. "Sir?"

  "Yes?"

  Budd reached down under his jacket and yanked the silver chain from around his neck. A silver Mickey Mouse dangled from the end. "It's not religious or anything. My girlfriend gave it to me for our second anniversary of going steady. Like I said, it's not religious, not like a charm or anything. No big deal." He shrugged, not sure what he was trying to say. "I dunno, I just know I'd like it if you took it. It couldn't hurt, huh?" He handed it to Eric.

  "You think I'm nuts, too, don't you?" Paige asked.

  "Yup."

  "You think I should've gone back?"

  "Uh-huh."

  They stood on the edge of the dark runway and watched the Columbia rip along the pavement. Portable strobe lights had been set along the runway by Budd and La Porte and they blinked long after the plane disappeared into the dense Halo.

  "Do you think those kids killed my father?"

  "Nope."

  "Then he might still be alive?"

  "Maybe."

  "But you still think I'm nuts."

  "Yup."

  She thought about that for a moment. "But you could have gone back. You didn't. You stayed too. How do you explain that?"

  "Easy," he said. "I'm nuts too."

  They found a secluded place to spend the night. Eric cooked a rabbit while Paige piled leaves into a soft bed. They sat next to the fire and talked. Later they stripped naked and crawled into Paige's NASA sleeping bag. They made love twice. The first time Eric was careful because of Paige's wounds. The second time, Paige took control. Afterwards they slept holding each other close.

  In the morning, they ate some leftover rabbit and tea and hardly talked at all. When it was over, they buried the fire, kissed, and said goodbye.

  "See you." Paige waved as she headed south.

  "Probably," Eric said, h
eading north.

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